of war, the smallest of them larger than the Jesus; and though Hawkins, if he had been on the open sea, might have managed to make his escape from this very formidable force, it was shere madness to seek an engagement. "If he could," remarks Froude,[1] "have made up his mind to dispute the entrance of a Spanish admiral into one of his own harbours, he believed that he could have saved himself, for the channel was narrow and the enemy's numbers would give him no advantage. But neither his own nor Elizabeth's ingenuity could have invented a pretext for an act of such desperate insolence; at best he would be blockaded, and, sooner or later, would have to run. The Spaniards passed in and anchored close on board the Englishmen. For three days there was an interchange of ambiguous courtesies. On the fourth, Philip's admiral had satisfied himself of Hawkins' identity." He had been commissioned specially to look for him, "and by the laws of nations he was unquestionably justified in treating the English commander as a pirate."
The formality of summoning him to surrender was dispensed with. The name of Hawkins had become so terrible, that the Spanish admiral dare not give him any warning of his intentions. But, taking possession of the mole during the night, and mounting batteries upon it, and guns on every point of land where they could be brought to bear, the Spaniards opened fire upon the Jesus and her comrades. Though taken by surprise, and while many of their boats' crews were in the
- ↑ Froude's 'History of England,' vol. ix. p. 360.
