"No man doth know better than I how well she behaved on that same occasion," said he. "I was then but her master's mate, and of no great account on board. But I mind well every incident and movement in the engagement—how we met the Armada down by the Lizard in Cornwall, how we beat them and shuffled them together first to Portland, where they shamefully abandoned Don Pedro de Valdes with his mighty ship to be taken by the Revenge; how we chased them from Portland to Calais, where they lost Hugo de Monçada with the great galleass of which he was captain; then how we drove them with squibs and fireships from their anchorage in Calais Roads, gave them a sound drubbing off the coast of Flanders, and anon chased them out of sight of England, round about Scotland and Ireland, where the storms of the northern seas speedily finished the destruction that we had begun. And I tell thee that there was no ship in all Queen Elizabeth's fleet that did greater service for our country than the Revenge. And yet, for all that, she must still be counted the unfortunatest ship her Queen's Majesty hath had during her reign—"
"Heaven grant that her misfortunes will have forsaken her during this present voyage!" interposed Hartop. "For, although I set not a single groat's value upon my own poor life, yet I am well assured that every man and every ship of our company will be sorely needed ere we fulfil the work that is before us. But, prithee, wherein lieth the ship's ill-luck and misfortune?"
"In many particulars," answered Pennington. "As for example, on her very first voyage when coming back from Ireland, with Sir John Parrot in command, she was like to be cast away upon the sand-banks that are off the Kentish coast. After, in the voyage of Sir John Hawkins in 1586, she struck aground in coming into Plymouth harbour, before her going to sea. Upon the coast of Spain she left her fleet, ready to sink with a great leak. At her return into Plymouth she beat herself upon the Winter Stone and stove in her bows. Twice did she run aground in going out of Portsmouth haven; and on the latter occasion lay two-and-twenty hours beating upon the shore. Once more she was driven upon the rocks outside of Plymouth here, and lay helpless and abandoned for six winter months. Forced off again, she was being taken to the river Thames to be docked, when, her old leak breaking upon her, she was like to have drowned all her ship's company. And ye have surely heard that even four short months since, when riding at her moorings in the Medway, she turned right over with her keel uppermost. So you see, my masters, in whatsoever way you do regard it withal, she is a ship well laden with disaster and full fraught with ill-success."
"Marry!" cried Jacob Hartop, "but that is indeed a most woeful record for so young a ship. But, I pray you, Master Pennington, wherefore do you so meekly consent to be one of her crew, knowing that she hath been so unfortunate?"
And Pennington answered:
"For the reason that, notwithstanding her misfortunes, she doth still remain the ship which beyond all others in Her Majesty's navy hath given the soundest thrashing to the Spaniards. And I do firmly hope and believe, that if there be any glory to be won on this present expedition it will be mostly won by the Revenge and her gallant commander Sir Richard Grenville. For you must know that Sir Richard hath already won the name of 'the Spaniards' terror'."
Now, while Pennington was in the midst of this speech Mercy Whiddon had gone out of the room, and as she crossed the passage she was startled by hearing the sound of men's feet outside, and the loud rapping of a stick upon one of the panels of the door.
"Save us all!" she exclaimed in sudden alarm. "Who can be coming here at such an hour as this?" And then returning to the room she called upon her husband. "Jacob!" she cried. "There be someone at the door, I pray you open it, for I fear 'tis some unruly stranger." And as she spoke yet another thundering blow fell upon the door.
Jacob Whiddon strode out into the passage and flung open the door.
"What want you?" he demanded, as he espied a tall cloaked figure upon the step. "And who are you that dares to disturb honest folk at this time of night?"