noon
But what day is this ? The twenty-fifth , St. James 's - day , sacred to the patron saint of Spain . Shall nothing be attempted in his honor by those whose forefathers have so often seen him with their bodily eyes , charging in their van upon his snow-white steed , and scattering Paynims with celestial lance ? He might have sent them , certainly , a favoring breeze ; perhaps , he only means to try their faith ; at least the galleys shall attack ; and in their van three of the great galliasses -LRB- the fourth lies half-crippled among the fleet -RRB- thrash the sea to foam with three hundred oars apiece ; and see , not St. James leading them to victory , but Lord Howard 's Triumph , his brother 's Lion , Southwell 's Elizabeth Jonas , Lord Sheffield 's Bear , Barker 's Victory , and George Fenner 's Leicester , towed stoutly out , to meet them with such salvoes of chain-shot , smashing oars , and cutting rigging , that had not the wind sprung up again toward noon , and the Spanish fleet come up to rescue them , they had shared the fate of Valdez and the Biscayan . And now the fight becomes general . Frobisher beats down the Spanish admiral 's mainmast ; and , attacked himself by Mexia and Recalde , is rescued by Lord Howard ; who , himself endangered in his turn , is rescued in his turn ; `` while after that day '' -LRB- so sickened were they of the English gunnery -RRB- `` no galliasse would adventure to fight . '' And so , with variable fortune , the fight thunders on the livelong afternoon , beneath the virgin cliffs of Freshwater ; while myriad sea-fowl rise screaming up from every ledge , and spot with their black wings the snow-white wall of chalk ; and the lone shepherd hurries down the slopes above to peer over the dizzy edge , and forgets the wheatear fluttering in his snare , while he gazes trembling upon glimpses of tall masts and gorgeous flags , piercing at times the league-broad veil of sulphur-smoke which welters far below .