Great was the enthusiasm certainly of the English people as the volunteers marched through London to the place of rendezvous, and tremendous were the cheers when the brave Queen rode on horseback along the lines of Tilbury.  Glowing pictures are revealed to us of merry little England, arising in its strength, and dancing forth to encounter the Spaniards, as if to a great holiday.  “It was a pleasant sight,” says that enthusiastic merchant-tailor John Stowe, “to behold the cheerful countenances, courageous words, and gestures, of the soldiers, as they marched to Tilbury, dancing, leaping wherever they came, as joyful at the news of the foe’s approach as if lusty giants were to run a race.  And Bellona-like did the Queen infuse a second spirit of loyalty, love, and resolution, into every soldier of her army, who, ravished with their sovereign’s sight, prayed heartily that the Spaniards might land quickly, and when they heard they were fled, began to lament.”

But if the Spaniards had not fled, if there had been no English navy in the Channel, no squibs at Calais, no Dutchmen off Dunkerk, there might have been a different picture to paint.  No man who has, studied the history of those times, can doubt the universal and enthusiastic determination of the English nation to repel the invaders.  Catholics and Protestants felt alike on the great subject.  Philip did not flatter, himself with assistance from any English Papists, save exiles and renegades like Westmoreland, Paget, Throgmorton, Morgan, Stanley, and the rest.  The bulk of the Catholics, who may have constituted half the population of England, although malcontent, were not rebellious; and notwithstanding the precautionary measures taken by government against them, Elizabeth proudly acknowledged their loyalty.

But loyalty, courage, and enthusiasm, might not have sufficed to supply the want of numbers and discipline.  According to the generally accepted statement of contemporary chroniclers, there were some 75,000 men under arms:  20,000 along the southern coast, 23,000 under Leicester, and 33,000 under Lord Chamberlain Hunsdon, for the special defence of the Queen’s person.

But it would have been very difficult, in the moment of danger, to bring anything like these numbers into the field.  A drilled and disciplined army—­whether of regulars or of militia-men—­had no existence whatever.  If the merchant vessels, which had been joined to the royal fleet, were thought by old naval commanders to be only good to make a show, the volunteers on land were likely to be even less effective than the marine militia, so much more accustomed than they to hard work.  Magnificent was the spirit of the great feudal lords as they rallied round their Queen.  The Earl of Pembroke offered to serve at the head of three hundred horse and five hundred footmen, armed at his own cost, and all ready to “hazard the blood of their hearts” in defence of her person.  “Accept hereof most excellent sovereign,” said the Earl, “from a person desirous to live no longer than he may see your Highness enjoy your blessed estate, maugre the beards of all confederated leaguers.”