The Sea: Its Stirring Story of Adventure, Peril, & Heroism (Vol. 1-4). Frederick Whymper
Duke of Medina Sidonia, admiral of the Spanish Armada, had ordered the whole fleet to weigh anchor and stand out to sea when he perceived the approaching fire-ships; his vessels were to return to their former stations when the danger should be over. When he fired a signal for the others to follow his example, few of them heard it, “because they were scattered all about, and driven by fear, some of them in the wide sea, and driven among the shoals of Flanders.” When they had once more congregated, they ranged themselves in order off Gravelines, where the final action was fought. Drake and Fenner were the first to assail them, followed by many brave captains, and lastly the admiral came up with Lord Thomas Howard and Lord Sheffield. There were scarcely two or three and twenty among their ships which matched ninety of the Spanish vessels in size, but the smaller vessels were more easily handled and manœuvred. “Wherefore,” says Hakluyt, “using their prerogative of nimble steerage, whereby they could turn and wield themselves with the wind which way they listed, they came oftentimes very near upon the Spaniards, and charged them so sore, that now and then they were but a pike’s length asunder; and so continually giving them one broadside after another, they discharged all their shot, both great and small, upon them, spending a whole day, from morning till night, in that violent kind of conflict.” During this action many of the Spanish vessels were pierced through and through between wind and water; one was sunk, and it was learnt that one of her officers, having proposed to strike, was put to death by another; the brother of the slain man instantly avenged his death, and then the ship went down. Others are believed to have sunk, and many were terribly shattered. One, which leaked so fast that fifty men were employed at the pumps, tried to run aground on the Flemish coast, where her captain had to strike to a Dutch commander. Our ships at last desisted from the contest, from sheer want of ammunition; and the Armada made an effort to reach the Straits. Here a great engagement was expected, but the fighting was over, and that which the hand of man barely commenced the hand of God completed. The Spaniards “were now experimentally convinced that the English excelled them in naval strength. Several of their largest ships had been lost, others were greatly damaged; there was no port to which they could repair; and to force their way through the victorious English fleet, then in sight, and amounting to 140 sail, was plainly and confessedly impossible.” They resolved upon returning to Spain by a northern route, and “having gotten more sea room for their huge-bodied bulks, spread their mainsails, and made away as fast as wind and water would give them leave.” Effingham, leaving Seymour to blockade the Prince of Parma’s force, followed what our chroniclers now termed the Vincible Armada, and pursued them to Scotland, where they did not attempt to land, but made for Norway, “where the English,” says Drake, “thought it best to leave them to those boisterous and uncouth northern seas.”
Meantime, it was still expected ashore that the Prince of Parma might effect a landing, and it was at this time that Elizabeth, who declared her intention to be present wherever the battle might be fought, rode through the soldiers’ ranks at Tilbury, and made her now historical speech. “Incredible it is,” says Camden, “how much she encouraged the hearts of her captains and soldiers by her presence and her words.” When a false report was brought that the prince had landed, the news was immediately published throughout the camp, “and assuredly,” says Southey, “if the enemy had set foot upon our shores they would have sped no better than they had done at sea, such was the spirit of the nation.” Some time elapsed before the fate of the Armada was known. It was affirmed on the Continent that the greater part of the English fleet had been taken, and a large proportion sunk, the poor remainder having been driven into the Thames “all rent and torn.” It was believed at Rome that Elizabeth was taken and England conquered! Meantime, the wretched Armada was being blown hither and thither by contending winds. The mules and horses had to be thrown overboard lest the water should fail. When they had reached a northern latitude, some 200 miles from the Scottish isles, the duke ordered them each to take the best course they could for Spain, and he himself with some five-and-twenty of his best provided ships reached it in safety. The others made for Cape Clear, hoping to water there, but a terrible storm arose, in which it is believed more than thirty of the vessels perished off the coast of Ireland. About 200 of the poor Spaniards were driven from their hiding-places and beheaded, through the inhumanity of Sir William Fitzwilliam. “Terrified at this, the other Spaniards, sick and starved as they were, committed themselves to the sea in their shattered vessels, and very many of them were swallowed up by the waves.” Two of their ships were wrecked on the coasts of Norway. Some few got into the English seas; two were taken by cruisers off Rochelle. About 700 men were cast ashore in Scotland, were humanely treated, and subsequently sent, by request of the Prince of Parma, to the Netherlands. Of the whole Armada only fifty-three vessels returned to Spain; eighty-one were lost. The enormous number of 14,000 men, of whom only 2,000 were prisoners, were missing. By far the larger proportion were lost by shipwreck.
QUEEN ELIZABETH ON HER WAY TO ST. PAUL’S.
“Philip’s behaviour,” says Southey, “when the whole of this great calamity was known, should always be recorded to his honour. He received it as a dispensation of Providence, and gave, and commanded to be given, throughout Spain, thanks to God and the saints that it was no greater.” In England, a solemn thanksgiving was celebrated at St. Paul’s, where the Spanish ensigns which had been taken were displayed, and the same flags were shown on London Bridge the following day, it being Southwark Fair. Many of the arms and instruments of torture taken are still to be seen in the Tower. Another great thanksgiving-day was celebrated on the anniversary of the queen’s accession, and one of great solemnity, two days later, throughout the realm. On the Sunday following, the queen went “as in public, but Christian triumph,” to St. Paul’s, in a chariot “made in the form of a throne with four pillars,” and drawn by four white horses; alighting from which at the west door, she knelt and “audibly praised God, acknowledging Him her only Defender, who had thus delivered the land from the rage of the enemy.” Her Privy Council, the nobility, the French ambassador, the judges, and the heralds, accompanied her. The streets were hung with blue cloth and flags, “the several companies, in their liveries, being drawn up both sides of the way, with their banners in becoming and gallant order.” Thus ended this most serious attempt at the invasion of England.
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