crown some of the rich jewels he offered her, and, apart from the daring of the enterprise, all men understood how valuable was the work Drake had done in opening for England a new passage for traders to India and beyond it, round the Cape of Good Hope. After this voyage matters grew more and more hostile between Spain and England; Drake was allowed by the Queen to lead a fleet of twentyfive ships to plunder the Spanish ports in South America, and Philip began to make preparations for the sending forth of his "Invincible Armada." But before this set sail, the Spaniards were to suffer one more indignity at the hands of Drake in the famous "singeing of the Spanish King's beard." In April 1587, he sailed from Plymouth with thirty small barques, and rounded Cape St. Vincent on the fifth day. When opposite Cadiz harbour they could see the thick forest of masts, and the fleet which was being prepared to dispute with them the sovereignty of the sea. The daring enterprise just suited Drake; straight into the harbour he led the way, among the unprepared galleons of Philip, sinking the guardship, scattering the galleys, and shedding destruction and dismay on every side. The Duke of Medina Sidonia, who was governor of the town, feared his landing, and hurried away to make preparations to prevent it. Meanwhile Drake, who had no intention of landing at all, did his work in the harbour in his usual effective manner, boarding the Spanish ships, plundering, burning, and cutting their cables, and when no more damage remained to be done, sailing out of the harbour, without loss of ship or man. He made his way back to Plymouth, burning the ships he met with off the Cape St. Vincent, on their way to bring stores to the Armada, and being fortunate enough to capture on the way the great San Philip, on her return from the West Indian Islands, "so richly loaded," it was said, "that every man in the fleet counted his fortune made." His reception in England was enthusiastic, and in Spain such fearful honour was accorded him for the valour of his deeds, that it was said "if he was not a Lutheran there would not be the like of him in the world." And one Court lady who was invited by the King to join a party on a lake near Madrid, replied that she dared not trust herself "on the water with his Majesty lest Sir Francis Drake should have her." Such was his reputation among his foes, and he had the satisfaction of bearing his part the following year in the defeat of the Invincible Armada, of which we speak elsewhere. After such a life of brilliant and constant success it is undramatic that the end came to Drake in a moment of defeat. He and Hawkins had sailed in 1595 to try to conquer the Isthmus of Panama, but the Spaniards had learned wisdom from experience, and had their ports and towns now well fortified and garrisoned. So the expedition failed, and both the great seamen died during its course, Hawkins first off Porto Rico, and Drake somewhat later off Porto Bello. Drake had lived a daring life of enterprise and discovery on the high seas, and had served his Queen and country well. When we consider his hatred of Spain, his inborn love of battle, and his loyalty to home, we feel that no words could be more appropriate as his farewell than those put into his mouth by a west country poet of our own day "Rovin' tho' his death fell, he went wi' heart at ease, If the Dons sight Devon, I'll quit the port o' Heaven, An' drum them up the Channel as we drummed them long ago."" A fit comrade for him was Sir Richard Grenville, who dared Spain, with "his one little ship,” in the year 1591, off the coast of the Azores. A little English fleet of twelve vessels, under the command of Lord Thomas Howard, was surprised suddenly by fifty-three Spanish ships. Sir Richard had ninety of his men sick on shore, and these he would not leave "to the thumbscrew and the stake, for the glory of the Lord." So he saw the other English ships sail away, while he was busy in bringing on board his sick men. And when the Spanish ships came on he faced them gallantly, "with his hundred fighters above, and his ninety sick below." No words can improve on Tennyson's magnificent telling of the tale of the "fight between the one and the fifty-three." Sir Richard was blamed at the time for foolhardiness, but his wonderful sea-fight, and his gallant death on board the Spanish flag-ship to which the Dons had borne him, will live in history when saner exploits have been forgotten. The last of these great "sea-dogs" of whom we speak is John Davis, the man who so ably followed up the work of Frobisher, and who was by far the most systematic and scientific of the seamen of his time. He was a Devon man, a friend of Raleigh and Adrian Gilbert, and had grown up with them among the stirring sea-tales that were rife on the Devonshire coast, and from the first his heart was set on the discovery of Frobisher's North-West Passage. On July 20th, 1585, at the age of thirty, he started on his first voyage to the Arctic Regions, under the patronage of Elizabeth's secretary, Sir Francis Walsingham, of Raleigh, and of a great friend of Raleigh's, William Sanderson, who largely financed the expedition. It consisted of two ships, the Sunshine and the Moonshine, of 50 and 35 tons respectively, and the comfort of the crew had been considered in every way then possible by giving them thick woollen clothes, and laying in good stores of provisions, cod, salt meat, bread and cheese, butter, peas, and beer. Davis was a scientific explorer, and in his little cabin, among his few nautical books and imperfect charts and instruments, he worked from the first as no mere maritime adventurer. He was "skilled and experienced," it was said, “in all a sailor's art, full of enthusiasm, brave and resolute. At the same time he was "-as most of the seamen were "a God-fearing man, gentle |