Ill-managed, panic-struck, staggering before their foes, the Spanish fleet was now close upon the fatal sands of Zeeland.

Already there were but six and a-half fathoms of water, rapidly shoaling under their keels, and the pilots told Medina that all were irretrievably lost, for the freshening north-welter was driving them steadily upon the banks.

The English, easily escaping the danger, hauled their wind, and paused to see the ruin of the proud Armada accomplished before their eyes.

Nothing but a change of wind at the instant could save them from perdition.

There was a breathless shudder of suspense, and then there came the change.