Having dealt these great blows, Drake set sail again from Lisbon, and, twenty leagues from St. Michaels, fell in with one of those famous Spanish East Indiamen, called carracks, then the great wonder of the seas.  This vessel, San Felipe by name, with a cargo of extraordinary value, was easily captured, and Sir Francis now determined to return.  He had done a good piece of work in a few weeks, but he was by no means of opinion that he had materially crippled the enemy.  On the contrary, he gave the government warning as to the enormous power and vast preparations of Spain.  “There would be forty thousand men under way ere long,” he said, “well equipped and provisioned; “and he stated, as the result of personal observation, that England could not be too energetic in, its measures of resistance.  He had done something with his little fleet, but he was no braggart, and had no disposition to underrate the enemy’s power.  “God make us all thankful again and again,” he observed, “that we have, although it be little, made a beginning upon the coast of Spain.”  And modestly as he spoke of what he had accomplished, so with quiet self-reliance did he allude to the probable consequences.  It was certain, he intimated, that the enemy would soon seek revenge with all his strength, and “with all the devices and traps he could devise.”  This was a matter which could not be doubted.  “But,” said Sir Francis, “I thank them much that they have staid so long, and when they come they shall be but the sons of mortal men.”

Perhaps the most precious result of the expedition, was the lesson which the Englishmen had thus learned in handling the great galleys of Spain.  It might soon stand them in stead.  The little war-vessels which had come from Plymouth, had sailed round and round these vast unwieldy hulks, and had fairly driven them off the field, with very slight damage to themselves.  Sir Francis had already taught the mariners of England, even if he had done nothing else by this famous Cadiz expedition, that an armada, of Spain might not be so invincible as men imagined.

Yet when the conqueror returned from his great foray, he received no laurels.  His sovereign met him, not with smiles, but with frowns and cold rebukes.  He had done his duty, and helped to save her endangered throne, but Elizabeth was now the dear friend of Alexander Farnese, and in amicable correspondence with his royal master.  This “little” beginning on the coast of Spain might not seem to his Catholic Majesty a matter to be thankful for, nor be likely to further a pacification, and so Elizabeth hastened to disavow her Plymouth captain.’