4th August 1588. The English Channel, off Dunnose Point. ‘Quarterdeck, ho! Enemy stragglers a mile off the larboard bow!’ ‘All hands, battle stations,’ Robert shouted, running to the fo’c’sle where he was joined by Seeley. Off the larboard bow was the shadowy coastline of the Isle of Wight. The Armada was close to Dunnose Point, the most southerly point on the island and from there the coast swept inward to the eastern entrance to the Solent. The two Spanish galleons were in close support of each other but completely isolated from the Armada’s defensive formation. It was a perfect opportunity and Hawkins’s squadron was closest to the prize, however just before dawn the westerly breeze had died away. ‘Where is the cursed wind?’ Seeley spat. ‘Coxswain! Launch the longboat,’ Robert shouted over his shoulder. He turned to Seeley. ‘If we’ve no wind, Thomas, then we’ll just have to use brawn. Cast a line from the bow to the longboat and hail any oared coasters nearby.
