The Spanish fleet lay in the shape of a broad crescent, as they sailed on towards Plymouth; a noble fleet, the great galleons towering above the water, and the sails seemed endless, as ship after ship, one hundred and forty-nine in all, stretched out as far as the eye could see. Truly it seemed folly in the little English fleet with only eighty vessels, some of them mere pinnaces, to attack these great vessels. It was as though a bulldog, little and plucky, was about to spring at the throat of a great bull.
As we sailed down upon them, Sir Francis motioned for silence, and springing upon a huge cask of powder, cried:
"My men, we are about to strike a blow for liberty to-day, that shall ring around the world. Is there a man before me, so base, so fallen, that he would not defend his home, his family, his land, his Queen? If there be any such here to-day, let him stand out from among his fellows," and he paused.
No sound, the men stood stern and silent. He resumed:
"The Spaniards boast that they will sleep in London to-morrow night, and that they will sack the town. If every one among this crew stands true and firm, and will do his duty to his country and his God, many of their men shall sleep to-night in a warmer clime than London."
A deep roar of laughter went up from the men about him at this sally.
"If each one of you will but remember this, when you strike at your foes, we will deal such a blow to Spain, that it will be ages ere she recovers. Give back but an inch, and you will forge a link in the chains of your slavery; bear yourselves bravely, and you will put a nail in the coffin of Spain. I swear to you that the first man of mine who shall give way but an inch, I will run him through with my sword, though I fight my way through the ranks of the Spaniards to do it. Should you fall back, I will blow up the ship and all on board, rather than she should fall into the hands of the enemy. Stand firm, strike hard and fast, and the day is ours," and he stepped down and wiped the sweat from his brow with his hand.
With a cheer the men responded, "Drake forever!"
With our flag nailed to the mast, as Sir Francis had ordered, we bore down upon the Spaniards. Then began that long fight, immortalized in song and story, which will be told wherever English blood flows, and wherever pluck and courage are known and honored among the sons of men.
We sailed under a great galleon, her decks thronged with mailed soldiers; as we ran beneath them they jeered long and loud, for we looked so little, so insignificant as they towered high above us; it seemed so foolhardy that we should attack the huge vessel. Silence reigned on board our ship; half-naked gunners, lighted matches in hand, stood by the culverins waiting for the word of command; the soldiers, musketoons in hand; the little knot of gentlemen gathered around Drake—it was in strange contrast to the Spaniard, which rang with laughter, with taunt, and gibe.