The Armada sailed up Channel in a curved line seven miles in extent,
with a light west wind, and at dawn on Sunday the English fleet was
sighted off Plymouth to the number of about fifty sail. The latter soon
gained the wind, and began firing into the Spanish rear-squadron. Then
began the memorable series of skirmishes which decided the fate of
Europe for all time to come. The Spanish ships were out-manœuvred
from the first. They found that the English vessels could sail round
them easily, their superior speed and sailing qualities enabling them to
harass their enemies without coming to close quarters. It was purely
artillery fighting, and in this the English were immensely superior. The
Spaniards shouted defiance and taunts that the English were afraid of
them and dared not approach. Drake and Howard knew where their strength
lay; kept the wind and followed the Armada, always harassing the rear
and flanks. Recalde’s flagship of the rear-squadron was for a time
exposed to the united fire of seven English galleons and became almost a
wreck. This first fight on Sunday demoralised the Spaniards. They felt
they were fighting a defensive battle and were running away from the
enemy. The contempt for their commander, and the knowledge of their
helplessness, crept over them like a paralysis. When late in the
afternoon the duke gave orders for the squadrons to be re-formed and
proceed on their way, Recalde’s damaged ship was found to be unable to
keep up with them. Don Pedro de Valdes went to her assistance, and in
doing so fouled one of his own ships, breaking his bowsprit and
foremast. His ship too became unmanageable. She had 500 men on board and
a large amount of treasure. An attempt was made to take her in tow, but
unsuccessfully. Night was coming on, and the duke himself wanted to get
away from the English, who hung upon his rear only a couple of miles
away. He would fight no more that night if he could help it, and he
abandoned two of the finest ships of his fleet without striking a blow.
Then Oquendo’s great ship, _Our Lady of the Rose_, was accidentally
blown up, and soon became a blazing wreck. The duke ordered the men and
treasure to be taken out of her and the ship sunk. But the heart of the
crews had gone, and such was the panic, that the unwounded survivors
scrambled out of the ship as best they might, leaving the vessel and
their scorched and wounded comrades to their fate. And so from day to
day the spirits of the men fell as they realised their powerlessness,
and the Armada crept up the Channel with the English fleet always
hanging on their rear and to windward of them. Every day the duke sent
beseeching letters to Parma to come out and help him. Parma was
indignant. Help him! How could he help him with flat-bottom barges that
would not stand a freshet, much less a gale? Besides, said he, the
arrangement was that you were to help me, not I help you. Justin of
Nassau, with the Dutch fleet, moreover, was watching as a cat watches a