The Duke then, flying the sacred banner on the _San Martin_, dropped
down the Tagus on the 14th of May, followed by the whole fleet. The
_San Martin_ had been double-timbered with oak, to keep the shot out. He
liked his business no better. In vain he repeated to himself that it was
God's cause. God would see they came to no harm. He was no sooner in the
open sea than he found no cause, however holy, saved men from the
consequences of their own blunders. They were late out, and met the
north trade wind, as Santa Cruz had foretold.
They drifted to leeward day by day till they had dropped down to Cape
St. Vincent. Infinite pains had been taken with the spiritual state of
everyone on board. The carelessness or roguery of contractors and
purveyors had not been thought of. The water had been taken in three
months before. It was found foul and stinking. The salt beef, the salt
pork, and fish were putrid, the bread full of maggots and cockroaches.
Cask was opened after cask. It was the same story everywhere. They had
to be all thrown overboard. In the whole fleet there was not a sound
morsel of food but biscuit and dried fruit. The men went down in
hundreds with dysentery. The Duke bewailed his fate as innocently as
Sancho Panza.
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