CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.
HOW LUDAR SAILED NORTH AND I SOUTH.
The next day (it was Saturday), I was hovering near Captain Desmond's quarters on some excuse to enquire after my comrade, when there came a summons for hands forward, and a general stir as of something untoward afoot.
So far as I could judge, we were bowling along before a smart westerly breeze with all canvas set, just about where the Channel straitens betwixt Dover on the English side and Calais on the French.

Though we were towards the French side, we could clearly see the white cliffs of England to our left, and betwixt us and them, scarcely a mile to rear of us, hovered a certain number of English craft which had not followed their greater ships into Dover.

To our right the towers and steeples of Calais town rose up clear and bright, while straight ahead of us the long line of the Armada, of which we closed in the rear, swept forward as though they would dart clean past the Straits and make for the Dutchman's land beyond.
But as I went forward I marked a rapid passing of signals along the line, and a crowding on each ship at the forecastle.

The great anchors of the _Rata_ were swung in readiness over the prow, and a score of men stood by to pay out the cable.

Then, as we strained our eyes eagerly ahead, we could see the tall masts of the Duke's ship, and of all the ships betwixt him and us, suddenly swing round into the wind's eye.
There was a great flapping of canvas, a rattle of chains, and a plunging of anchors, and then, as if by magic, the great Armada stood still, at bay.
It was easy to guess the object of this strange movement, and as I looked away towards the English fleet, I felt uneasy.