'The forehead and whole brain are of extraordinary loftiness, and
perfectly upright; the nose long, aquiline, and delicately pointed;
the mouth, fringed with a short, silky beard, small and ripe, yet
firm as granite, with just pout enough of the lower lip to give
hint of that capacity of noble indignation which lay hid under
its usual courtly calm and sweetness; if there be a defect in the
face, it is that the eyes are somewhat small, and close together,
and the eyebrows, though delicately arched, and without a trace of
peevishness, too closely pressed down upon them; the complexion is
dark, the figure tall and graceful; altogether the likeness of a
wise and gallant gentleman, lovely to all good men, awful to all
bad men; in whose presence none dare say or do a mean or a ribald
thing; whom brave men left, feeling themselves nerved to do their
duty better, while cowards slipped away, as bats and owls before the
sun. So he lived and moved; whether in the Court of Elizabeth, giving
his counsel among the wisest; or in the streets of Bideford, capped
alike by squire and merchant, shopkeeper and sailor; or riding along
the moorland roads between his houses of Stow and Bideford, while
every woman ran out to her door to look at the great Sir Richard; or
sitting in the low, mullioned window at Burrough, with his cup of
malmsey before him, and the lute to which he had just been singing
laid across his knees, while the red western sun streamed in upon his
high, bland forehead and soft curling locks; ever the same steadfast,
God-fearing, chivalrous man, conscious (as far as a soul so healthy
could be conscious) of the pride of beauty, and strength, and valour,
and wisdom, and a race and name which claimed direct descent from
the grandfather of the Conqueror, and was tracked down the centuries
by valiant deeds and noble benefits to his native shire, himself
the noblest of his race. Men said that he was proud--but he could
not look round him without having something to be proud of; that he
was stern and harsh to his sailors--but it was only when he saw in
them any taint of cowardice or falsehood; that he was subject, at
moments, to such fearful fits of rage, that he had been seen to snatch
glasses from the table, grind them to pieces in his teeth, and swallow
them--but that was only when his indignation had been aroused by some
tale of cruelty and oppression; and, above all, by those West Indian
devilries of the Spaniards, whom he regarded (and in those days
rightly enough) as the enemies of God and man.'[11]
And the noble old house at Stow, with its chapel licensed by Bishop
Brantingham of Exeter, in 1386,[12] of which no vestige, alas!
remains, was worthy of being the abode of such a hero. It would be but
unprofitable labour to attempt a fresh description of it after the
graphic account which Kingsley gives:
'Old Stow House stands,' says he, 'or rather stood, some four miles
within the Cornish border, on the northern slope of the largest and
loveliest of those coombes'--which he had just been describing in a
memorable passage of a preceding chapter (the sixth) in 'Westward
Ho!' 'Eighty years _after_ Sir Richard's time there arose a huge
Palladian pile, bedizened with every monstrosity of bad taste, which
was built, so the story runs, by Charles II. for Sir Richard's
great-grandson, the heir of that famous Sir Bevil who defeated the
Parliamentary troops at Stratton, and died soon after, fighting
valiantly at Lansdowne over Bath. But like most other things which
owed their existence to the Stuarts, it rose only to fall again.
An old man who had seen, as a boy, the foundation of the new house
laid, lived to see it pulled down again, and the very bricks and
timber sold upon the spot; and since then the stables have become
a farmhouse, the tennis-court a sheep-cote, the great quadrangle a
rick-yard; and civilization, spreading wave on wave so fast elsewhere,
has surged back from that lonely corner of the land--let us hope
only for awhile.[13] 'But I am not writing of that great _new_ Stow
House, of the past glories whereof quaint pictures still hang in the
neighbouring houses; ... I have to deal with a simpler age, and a
sterner generation; and with the _old_ house, which had stood there,
in part at least, from grey and mythic ages ... a huge, rambling
building, half-castle, half-dwelling-house.... On three sides, to
the north, west and south, the lofty walls of the old ballium still
stood, with their machicolated turrets, loopholes, and dark downward
crannies for dropping stones and fire on the besiegers; ... but the
southern court of the ballium had become a flower-garden, with quaint
terraces, statues, knots of flowers, clipped yews and hollies, and all
the pedantries of the topiarian art. And, towards the east, where the
vista of the valley opened, the old walls were gone, and the frowning
Norman keep, ruined in the wars of the Roses, had been replaced by
the rich and stately architecture of the Tudors. Altogether, the
house, like the time, was in a transitionary state, and represented
faithfully enough the passage of the old middle age into the new life
which had just burst into blossom throughout Europe, never, let us
pray, to see its autumn or its winter.
'From the house on three sides the hills sloped steeply down, and
from the garden there was a truly English prospect. At one turn they
could catch, over the western walls, a glimpse of the blue ocean
flecked with passing sails; and at the next, spread far below, range
on range of fertile park, stately avenue, yellow autumn woodland, and
purple heather moors, lapping over and over each other up the valley
to the old British earthwork, which stood black and furze-grown on
its conical peak; and, standing out against the sky, on the highest
bank of the hill which closed the valley to the east, the lofty tower
of Kilkhampton Church, rich with the monuments and offerings of five
centuries of Grenvilles.'
Such were old Stow, and its gallant owner Sir Richard. And the women of
the Grenville home seem, for the most part, to have been as fair and
virtuous and accomplished as their husbands were sagacious and brave.
Polwhele, in after-times, particularly noticed the remarkable beauty
of Sir Richard's great-great-granddaughter Mary, the daughter of the
Honourable Bernard Grenville, of Stow. Sir Richard married Mary, the
daughter of Sir John St. Leger; but the lovely dame had, like the wife
of her illustrious grandson, Sir Bevill, to give up what was dearest
to her in the world, to the cruel necessities of the troubled times in
which they lived.
Yet I cannot doubt that these women had the spirits of Roman matrons
within them; and would have assented to Lovelace's lines had their
husbands whispered the couplet to them:
'I could not love thee, dear, so much
Lov'd I not honour more.'
To return to Sir Richard:--In 1591 we find him acting as Vice-Admiral
of a squadron sent out to intercept the richly-laden Spanish fleet on
its return from the West Indies; a service of the utmost importance,
as, in capturing or sinking the Indian supplies, observes Mr. Arber,
England 'stopped the sources of Philip's power to hurt herself.' How
the English ships were surprised in their lurking-place 'at Flores[14]
in the Azores,' and how valiantly Sir Richard Grenville fought and died
for Queen and country, let Raleigh and Tennyson tell.
It was towards the end of August, whilst the Admiral, Lord Thomas
Howard,[15] with six of her Majesty's ships and a few smaller vessels
and pinnaces, was at anchor at Flores, when news suddenly came of the
near approach of the great Spanish fleet. Many of the Englishmen were
ill on shore, while others were filling the ships with ballast, or
collecting water. Imperfectly manned and ballasted as they were, there
was nothing for it--at least so Lord Howard appears to have thought--in
the face of so enormously preponderating a force as they found was
close at hand, but to weigh anchor, and escape as they best could: and
so it became a complete _sauve qui peut_; some of the ships were even
compelled to slip their cables. Sir Richard, as Vice-Admiral, was the
last to start, delaying to do so till the final moment, in order to
collect several of his sick crew who were on the island, and who, if
he had left them there, must have been lost. This noble delay of his
resulted in the safety of the remainder of the fleet; but it cost Sir
Richard and his crew their lives; and the little _Revenge_, which had
four or five times narrowly escaped shipwreck, her existence: but she
was, as Admiral Hawkins described her, 'ever a ship loaden, and full
fraught with ill successe.' Grenville refused to 'cut his mainsail, and
cast about,' and so run from the enemy; but persuaded his crew that he
would contrive to pass through the two great Spanish squadrons which
intercepted him, 'in despight of them, and would enforce those of Sivil
to give him way.' It was the story of the 300 Spartans at Thermopylæ
acted over again. The huge _San Philip_ of 1,500 tons (carrying 'three
tier of ordinance on a side, and eleven pieces on every tier; she shot
eight forth right out of her chase, besides those of her stern ports'),
however, loomed to windward of the small English ship; and 'becalmed
his sails in such sort as the _Revenge_ could neither make way, nor
feel the helm;' and then--
'Sir Richard spoke and he laughed, and we roared a hurrah, and so
The little _Revenge_ ran on sheer into the heart of the foe,
With her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick below;
For half of their fleet to the right, and half to the left were seen,
And the little _Revenge_ ran on thro' the long sea lane between.'
What end could there be, but one, to courage so chivalric, so
desperate, and so devoted as this? 'After the _Revenge_ was entangled
with this _Philip_,' says Raleigh, 'four other boarded her--(_i.e._,
laid her aboard)--two on her larboard, and two on her starboard. The
fight thus beginning at three o'clock in the afternoon, continued very
terrible all that evening. But the great _San Philip_ having received
the lower tier of the _Revenge_, discharged with cross-bar shot,
shifted herself with all diligence from her sides, utterly misliking
her first entertainment. Some say that the ship foundered, but we
cannot report for truth, unless we are assured. The Spanish ships were
filled with companies of soldiers, in some two hundred, beside the
mariners; in some five, in others eight, hundred. In ours there were
none at all besides the mariners, but the servants of the commanders,
and some few voluntary gentlemen only. After many interchanged vollies
of great ordnance and small shot, the Spaniards deliberated to enter
the _Revenge_, and made divers attempts, hoping to force her, by the
multitudes of their armed soldiers and musketeers, but were still
repulsed again and again, and at all times beaten back into their own
ships, or into the seas.'
'And the rest they came aboard us, and they fought us hand to hand,
For a dozen times they came with their pikes and musqueteers,
And a dozen times we shook 'em off, as a dog that shakes his ears
When he leaps from the water to the land.'
'In the beginning of the fight,' Sir Walter Raleigh continues, 'the
_George Noble_, of London, having received some shot through her, by
the armadas, fell under the lee of the _Revenge_, and asked Sir Richard
what he would command him, being but one of the victuallers, and of
small force; Sir Richard bade him save himself, and leave him to his
fortune. After the fight had thus, without intermission, continued
while the day lasted, and some hours of the night, many of our men were
slain and hurt, and one of the great gallions of the armada, and the
admiral of the hulks both sunk, and in many other of the Spanish ships
great slaughter was made.'
The marvel is how a fragment of the brave little craft was still
afloat, for
'Ship after ship the whole night long, their high-built galleons
came,
Ship after ship, the whole night long, with their battle-thunder
and flame,
Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with her dead and
her shame.
For some were sunk, and some were shattered, and some could fight
us no more--
God of battles! was ever a battle like this in the world before?'
'Some write,' says Raleigh, 'that Sir Richard was very dangerously hurt
almost in the beginning of the fight, and lay speechless for a time
before he recovered. But two of the _Revenge's_ own company brought
home in a ship of Lime (Lyme Regis) from the islands, examined by some
of the lords and others, affirm that he was never so wounded as that he
forsook the upper deck, till an hour before midnight; and then being
shot into the body with a musket as he was a dressing, was again shot
into the head, and withal his chururgion wounded to death. This agreeth
also with an examination taken by Sir Francis Godolphin,[16] of four
other mariners of the same ship being returned, which examination
the said Sir Francis sent unto Master William Killegrue,[17] of Her
Majesty's Privy Chamber.'
But to return to the fight; 'the Spanish ships which attempted to board
the _Revenge_, as they were wounded and beaten off, so always others
came in their places, she having never less than two mighty gallions
by her sides, and aboard her: so that ere the morning, from three of
the clock of the day before, _there had been fifteen several armadas
assailed her; and all so ill-approved their entertainment, as they
were by the break of day far more willing to hearken to a composition
than hastily to make any more assaults or entries_. But as the day
encreased, so our men decreased; and as the light grew more and more,
by so much more grew our discomforts; for none appeared in sight but
enemies, saving one small ship called the _Pilgrim_, commanded by
Jacob Whiddon, who hovered all night to see the success; but in the
morning bearing with the _Revenge_, was hunted like a hare amongst many
ravenous hounds, but escaped.
'All the powder of the _Revenge_ to the last barrel was now spent, all
her pikes broken, forty of her best men slain, and the most part of
the rest hurt. In the beginning of the fight she had but one hundred
free from sickness, and four score and ten sick, laid in hold upon
the ballast. A small troop to man such a ship, and a weak garrison
to resist so mighty an army. By those hundred all was sustained, the
vollies, boardings, and enterings of fifteen ships of war, besides
those which beat her at large (_i.e._, from a little distance off). On
the contrary, the Spaniards were always supplied with soldiers brought
from every squadron; all manner of arms and powder at will. Unto ours
there remained no comfort at all, no hope, no supply either of ships,
men, or weapons; the masts all beaten overboard, all her tackle cut
asunder, her upper work altogether razed, and in effect evened she was
with the water, but the very foundation of a ship, nothing being left
overhead either for flight or defence.' Mr. O. W. Brierly's recently
engraved picture of this stage of the fight, showing the little
_Revenge_ with her mainsail down and lying over her 'like a pall,'
surrounded by her over-towering enemies, still afraid to approach the
dangerous little barque, gives a vivid, and probably accurate idea of
the tremendous odds against which the devoted Englishmen had to contend.
'Sir Richard, finding himself in this distress, and unable any longer
to make resistance, having endured, in this fifteen hours' fight, the
assault of fifteen different armadas, all by turns aboard him, and by
estimation eight hundred shot of great artillery, besides many assaults
and entries; and that the ship and himself must needs be possessed of
the enemy, who were now all cast in a ring round about him, now gave
the order to destroy his gallant craft:
'"We have fought such a fight for a day and a night
As may never be fought again!
We have won great glory, my men!
And a day less or more
At sea or ashore
We die--does it matter when?
Sink me the ship, Master Gunner--sink her, split her in twain!
Fall into the hands of God! not into the hands of Spain!"'
To this δαιμονίη ἀρετὴ [Greek: daimoniê aretê] (as Froude calls it)
of the fiery Sir Richard the master-gunner readily assented; but,
according to Raleigh's account, the captain and master pointed out that
the Spaniards would doubtless give them good terms, and that there were
still some valiant men left on board their little ship whose lives
might hereafter be of service to England. Sir Richard was probably
by this time too weak and wounded to contest the matter further; the
counsels of the captain and master prevailed; and the master actually
succeeded in obtaining for conditions _that all their lives should be
saved, the crew sent to England, and the officers ransomed_. In vain
did the master-gunner protest and even attempt to commit suicide:
Tennyson has summed up the story in one sad line:
'And the lion lay there dying, and they yielded to the foe.'
Sir Richard was now removed to the ship of the Spanish admiral, 'the
_Revenge_ being marvellous unsavoury, filled with blood and bodies of
dead and wounded men like a slaughter-house.'