their extermination much more easy for the highly trained British
seamen of all grades, none of whom had any reason to hide their heads
in shame for any part they individually took in the complete ruin of
the Spanish Navy.

One cannot read the sordid story without feeling a pang of pity for
the proud men, such as Recaldo, who died on landing at Bilbao; or
Oquendo, whose home was at Santander. He refused to see his wife and
children, turned his face to the wall, and died of a broken heart
begotten of shame. The soldiers and sailors were so weak they could
not help themselves, and died in hundreds on the ships that crawled
back to Spain. The tragic fate of these vessels and their crews that
were dashed to pieces on the rocks of the Hebrides and Ireland added
greatly to the tale of horror. Philip was crushed, but was a man of
tender sympathies, and free from vindictive resentment against those
who were placed in charge of his terrific and ill-fated navy. He
worked and exhorted others to relieve the sufferers in every possible
way. He obviously regarded the disaster as a divine rebuke, and
submissively acquiesced with true Spanish indolence, saying that he
believed it to be the "great purpose of Heaven."

On the authority of the Duke of Parma, "The English regarded their
victory with modesty, and were languidly indifferent to their valour."
They looked upon the defeat of the Spanish Navy as a token of the
Ruler of all things being decidedly partial to the Protestant faith.
The Spaniards, as a whole, would not allow that Heaven was against
them or that the verdict was that of Providence. They declared that it
was entirely the result of the superior management of the English
ships and the fighting quality of their crews. With this chivalrous
testimonial no one could then or will now disagree. It was very