t latest he expected that the attempt
to cross would be made. The Governor took his leave, and the Duke,
relieved from his anxieties, was left to a peaceful night. He was
disturbed on the Sunday morning by an express from Parma informing him
that, so far from being embarked, the army could not be ready for a
fortnight. The barges were not in condition for sea. The troops were in
camp. The arms and stores were on the quays at Dunkirk. As for the
fly-boats and ammunition which the Duke had asked for, he had none to
spare. He had himself looked to be supplied from the Armada. He promised
to use his best expedition, but the Duke, meanwhile, must see to the
safety of the fleet.

Unwelcome news to a harassed landsman thrust into the position of an
admiral and eager to be rid of his responsibilities. If by evil fortune
the north-wester should come down upon him, with the shoals and
sandbanks close under his lee, he would be in a bad way. Nor was the
view behind him calculated for comfort. There lay the enemy almost
within gunshot, who, though scarcely more than half his numbers, had
hunted him like a pack of bloodhounds, and, worse than all, in double
strength; for the Thames squadron--three Queen's ships and thirty London
adventurers--under Lord H. Seymour and Sir John Hawkins, had crossed in
the night. There they were between him and Cape Grisnez, and the
reinforcement meant plainly enough that mischief was in the wind.

After a week so trying the Spanish crews would have been glad of a
Sunday's rest if they could have had it; but the rough handling which
they had gone through had thrown everything into disorder. The sick and
wounded had to be cared for, torn rigging looked to, splintered timbers
mended, decks scoured, and guns and arms cleaned up and put to rights.
And so it was that no rest could be allowed; so much had to be done, and
so busy was everyone, that the usual rations were not served out and the
Sunday was kept as a fast. In the afternoon the stewards went ashore for
fresh meat and vegetables. They came back with their boats loaded, and
the prospect seemed a little less gloomy. Suddenly, as the Duke and a
group of officers were watching the English fleet from the _San
Martin's_ poop deck, a small smart pinnace, carrying a gun in her bow,
shot out from Howard's lines, bore down on the _San Martin_, sailed
round her, sending in a shot or two as she passed, and went off unhurt.
The Spanish officers could not help