It was little good except to relieve the admiral's anger. The splendid
opportunity was gone; the fruit of his brilliant exploit was snatched
from his lips; for, even had the remnant of his fleet been less
shattered than it was, the great convoys were beyond its strength. The
only hope was to hurry back to England and beg for reenforcements to
fight Santa Cruz for the life-blood of Spain.
Yet ere he sailed there was a consolation at hand. As he lay waiting for
his shattered squadron to close up, fuming at traitors, and marvelling
at the inscrutable will of Heaven, the dawn of June 9th lit up the gray
sea and showed him a huge carack in the offing. On a smart breeze he
gave chase. The carack kept her course, but, as Drake drew near, began
displaying her colors nervously. Drake made not a sign in reply, but
held on till he was within range. Then on a sudden, with a blaze of her
ensigns and her broadside, the Elizabeth Bonaventura told the stranger
what she was. Two of Drake's squadron threw themselves resolutely
athwart-hawse of the enemy, and the rest, plying her hard with shot,
prepared to run aboard her towering hull. But, ere they closed, her flag
fluttered sadly down, and the famous San Filippe, the King of Spain's
own East-Indiaman, the largest merchantman afloat, was a prize in
Drake's hands.
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