A week of desultory running battle ensued as the fleets moved slowly through the Channel; the English fighting "loose and large," and seeking to pick off stragglers, still fearful of a general action, but taking advantage of Channel flaws to close with the enemy and sheer as swiftly away; the Spanish on the defensive but able to avoid disaster by better concerted action and fleet control. Only two Spanish ships were actually lost, one of them Pedro de Valdes' flagship Neustra Señora del Rosario, which had been injured in collision and surrendered to Drake without a struggle on the night of August 1, the other the big San Salvador of the Guipuscoan squadron, the whole after part of which had been torn up by an explosion after the fighting on the first day. But the Spanish inferiority had been clearly demonstrated and they had suffered far more in morale than in material injuries when on Sunday, August 7, they dropped anchor in Calais roads. The English, on their part, though flushed with confidence, had seen their weakness in organized tactics, and now divided their fleet into four squadrons, with the flag officers and Frobisher in command.
It betrays the fatuity of the Spanish leader, if not of the whole plan of campaign, that when thus practically driven to refuge in a neutral port, Medina Sidonia thought his share of the task accomplished, and wrote urgent appeals to Parma to join or send aid, though the great general had not enough flat-boats and barges to float his army had he been so foolhardy as to embark, or the Dutch so benevolent as to let him go. But the English, now reënforced by Seymour's squadron, gave the Duke little time to ponder his next move. At midnight eight fire hulks, "spurting flames and their ordnance exploding," were borne by wind and tide full upon the crowded Spanish fleet. Fearful of maquinas de minas such as had wrought destruction a year before at the siege of Antwerp, the Spanish made no effort to grapple the peril but slipped or cut cables and in complete confusion beat off shore.
At dawn the Spanish galleons, attempting with a veering wind from the southward and westward to form in order off Gravelines, were set upon in the closest approach to a general engagement that occurred in the campaign. While Howard and several of his ships were busy effecting the capture of a beached galleass, Drake led the attack in the Revenge, seeking to force the enemy to leeward and throw the whole body upon the shallows of the Flanders coast. With splendid discipline, the Spanish weather ships, the flagship San Martin among them, fought valiantly to cover the retreat. But it was an unequal struggle, the heavier and more rapid fire of the English doing fearful execution on decks crowded with men-at-arms. Such artillery combat was hitherto unheard of. Though warned of the new northern methods, the Spanish were obsessed by tradition; they were prepared for grappling and boarding, and could they have closed, their numbers and discipline would have told. Both sides suffered from short ammunition; but the Armada, with no fresh supplies, was undoubtedly in the worse case. "They fighting with their great ordnance," writes Medina Sidonia, "and we with harquebus fire and musketry, the distance being very small." Six-inch guns against bows and muskets tells the tale.
A slackening of the English pursuit at nightfall after eight hours' fighting, and an off-shore slant of wind at daybreak, prevented complete disaster. One large galleon sank and two more stranded and were captured by the Dutch. These losses were not indeed fatal, but the remaining ships staggering away to leeward were little more than blood-drenched wrecks. Fifteen hundred had been killed and wounded in the day's action, and eleven ships and some eight thousand men sacrificed thus far in the campaign. The English, on the other hand, had suffered no serious ship injuries and the loss of not above 100 men. In the council held next day beyond the Straits of Dover, only a few of the Spanish leaders had stomach for further fighting; the rest preferred to brave the perils of a return around the Orkneys rather than face again these defenders of the narrow seas. Before a fair wind they stood northward, Drake still at their heels, though by reason of short supplies he left them at the Firth of Forth.
In October, fifty ships, with 10,000 starved and fever-stricken men, trailed into the Biscay ports of Spain. Torn by September gales, the rest of the Armada had been sunk or stranded on the rough coasts of Scotland and Ireland. "The wreckers of the Orkneys and the Faroes, the clansmen of the Scottish isles, the kernes of Donegal and Galway, all had their part in the work of murder and robbery. Eight thousand Spaniards perished between the Giant's Causeway and the Blaskets. On a strand near Sligo an English captain numbered eleven hundred corpses which had been cast up by the sea."[1]
[Footnote 1: History of the English People, Green, Vol. II, p. 448.]
"Flavit Deus, et dissipati sunt"—"The Lord sent His wind, and scattered them." So ran the motto on the English medal of victory. But storms completed the destruction of a fleet already thoroughly defeated. Religious faith, courage, and discipline had availed little against superior ships, weapons, leadership, and nautical skill. "Till the King of Spain had war with us," an Englishman remarked, "he never knew what war by sea meant."[2] It might be said more accurately that the battle gave a new meaning to war by sea.
[Footnote 2: Sir Wm. Monson, Naval Tracts, Purchas, Vol. III, p. 121.]
From the standpoint of naval progress, the campaign demonstrated definitely the ascendancy of sail and artillery. For the old galley tactics a new system now had to be developed. Since between sailing vessels head-on conflict was practically eliminated, and since guns mounted to fire ahead and astern were of little value save in flight or pursuit, the arrangement of guns in broadside soon became universal, and fleets fought in column, or "line ahead," usually close-hauled on the same or opposite tacks. While these were lessons for the next generation, there is more permanent value in the truth, again illustrated, that fortune favors the belligerent quicker to forsake outworn methods and to develop skill in the use of new weapons. The Spanish defeat illustrates also the necessity of expert planning and guidance of a naval campaign, with naval counsels and requirements duly regarded; and the fatal effect of failure to concentrate attention on the enemy fleet. It is doubtful, however, whether it would have been better, as Drake urged, and as was actually attempted in the month before the Armada's arrival, if the English had shifted the war to the coast of Spain. The objections arise chiefly from the difficulties, in that age, of maintaining a large naval force far from its base, all of which the Spanish encountered in their northward cruise. It is noteworthy that, even after the brief Channel operations, an epidemic caused heavy mortality in the English fleet. Finally, the Armada is a classic example of the value of naval defense to an insular nation. In the often quoted words of Raleigh, "To entertain the enemy with their own beef in their bellies, before they eat of our Kentish capons, I take it to be the wisest way, to do which his Majesty after God will employ his good ships at sea."
Upon Spain, already tottering from inherent weakness, the Armada defeat had the effect of casting down her pride and confidence as leader of the Catholic world. Though it was not until three centuries later that she lost her last colonies, her hold on her vast empire was at once shaken by this blow at her sea control. While she maintained large fleets until after the Napoleonic Wars, she was never again truly formidable as a naval power. But the victory lifted England more than it crushed Spain, inspiring an intenser patriotism, an eagerness for colonial and commercial adventure, an exaltation of spirit manifested in the men of genius who crowned the Elizabethan age.