The Duke had faults enough, but poltroonery was
not one of them. He, who till he entered the English Channel had never
been in action on sea or land, found himself, as he said, in the midst
of the most furious engagement recorded in the history of the world. As
to being out of harm's way, the standard at his masthead drew the
hottest of the fire upon him. The _San Martin's_ timbers were of oak and
a foot thick, but the shot, he said, went through them enough to shatter
a rock. Her deck was a slaughterhouse; half his company were killed or
wounded, and no more would have been heard or seen of the _San Martin_
or her commander had not Oquendo and De Leyva pushed in to the rescue
and enabled him to creep away under their cover. He himself saw nothing
more of the action after this. The smoke, he said, was so thick that he
could make out nothing, even from his masthead. But all round it was but
a repetition of the same scene. The Spanish shot flew high, as before,
above the low English hulls, and they were themselves helpless butts to
the English guns. And it is noticeable and supremely creditable to them
that not a single galleon struck her colours. One of them, after a long
duel with an Englishman, was on the point of sinking.
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