The news brought many of the _Rata's_ men on deck, some of whom doubted what to make of it all, and others cursed the impudence of this English Drake and his low-born salts.
But at daybreak, when we looked out, there hovered some threescore or more English craft, drawn up in an irregular line from south to north, looking at us.

Foremost sailed their great flagship called the _Ark Raleigh_, so near that I could plainly discern the royal cross of Saint George at the poop.

Compared with the mighty _Rata_ she was a small craft, yet, beside the light, low ships that followed her, she towered aloft like a castle, and looked the only ship of all that fleet could stand a quarter of an hour of our ordnance.
While we looked, there came a dull boom from the Spaniard who lay nearest her.

We could see the shot, pitched high, plough up the water some twenty yards short.

And then--as I thought, rather foolishly--we sat glaring across at one another in the still air, waiting for a breeze.
It came at last, freshly from westward.
We could see the English catch it, and come along with it before ever it filled out our great sails.