To make a long story short, Blake dashed into the harbour, attacked at the very closest quarters, and before evening had burnt, blown up, or sunk every Spanish ship in it. Then, under cover of the dense masses of smoke blowing seaward, the British ships crept out into safety, with not above fifty men slain outright and one hundred and twenty wounded. Nothing so daring or so brilliant had ever been accomplished before, not even by Drake when he “singed the King of Spain’s beard.” The sea-power of Spain was absolutely annihilated, and England rang with the praises of the man who had done it. A public thanksgiving was held, and the Protector wrote to the victorious admiral: “We cannot but take notice how eminently it hath pleased God to make use of you in this service, assisting you with wisdom in the conduct and courage in the execution; and have sent you a small jewel”—his own portrait set in gold and diamonds—“as a testimony of our own and the Parliament’s good acceptance of your courage in this action.” Blake now sailed for home, and his countrymen eagerly waited his coming. Alas, he was never to tread the shores of his native land again, never to see the fields and hedgerows, the hills and moorlands of his dear-loved West Country. Worn out by the fatigues and anxieties of warfare, he grew feebler day by day, and constantly asked if the shores of England were in sight. When at last the look-out at the masthead cried “Land O!” Blake was a dying man. He called his captains to him and bade them farewell. Then just as his ship entered Plymouth Sound he breathed his last. In what lay the great glory and inspiration of Blake’s life? Not so much in his brilliant achievements, not so much in the care and forethought which he exhibited, as in his chivalrous character and splendid patriotism. His men loved him and honoured him because his honour and honesty of purpose were unimpeachable, and because he had no trace of self-seeking in his character. His first and only thought was for the honour and glory of his land. He was a British sailor—nothing more and nothing less. To him was entrusted the sacred jewel of the national honour, and never was it placed in cleaner or more zealous hands. “It is not for us,” he once declared, “to mend state affairs, but to keep foreigners from fooling us.” This was the watchword of his life, and this was his fame. [Illustration] Chapter XIV. FROM THE RESTORATION TO THE REVOLUTION. THE RESTORATION OF CHARLES THE SECOND. “_Who comes with rapture greeted, and caressed_ _With frantic love,—his kingdom to regain?_”