What man could do had been done, and the rest was
left to the elements. Never again could Spanish seamen be brought to
face the English guns with Medina Sidonia to lead them. They had a fool
at their head. The Invisible Powers in whom they had been taught to
trust had deserted them. Their confidence was gone and their spirit
broken. Drearily the morning broke on the Duke and his consorts the day
after the battle. The Armada had collected in the night. The nor'-wester
had freshened to a gale, and they were labouring heavily along, making
fatal leeway towards the shoals.
It was St. Lawrence's Day, Philip's patron saint, whose shoulder-bone he
had lately added to the treasures of the Escurial; but St. Lawrence was
as heedless as St. Dominic. The _San Martin_ had but six fathoms under
her. Those nearer to the land signalled five, and right before them they
could see the brown foam of the breakers curling over the sands, while
on their weather-beam, a mile distant and clinging to them like the
shadow of death, were the English ships which had pursued them from
Plymouth like the dogs of the Furies. The Spanish sailors and soldiers
had been without food since the evening when they anchored at Calais.
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