SCENE I.—DECK OF THE PACHA.

Transcribed from the 1876 Arliss Andrews edition by David Price, email

ccx074@pglaf.org

DRAKE:

OR THE

TRANSFER OF THE TRIDENT

A National Drama

BY

WILLIAM MAC OUBREY,

OF THE MIDDLE TEMPLE, BARRISTER.

* * * * *

“_Thus saith the_ LORD _which maketh a_ WAY _in the_ SEA, _and a path

in the mighty_ WATERS.”

“_The_ ISLES _shall wait upon me_, _and on mine arm shall they

trust_.”—_Isaiah_ xliii., 16, _and_ li., 5.

* * * * *

* * * * *

LONDON:

PRINTED AND PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR BY ARLISS ANDREWS,

31, MUSEUM STREET, BLOOMSBURY, W.C.

1876.

Dramatis Personæ.

Drake (Sir Francis).

Earl of Leicester.

Lord William Howard, Earl of Effingham.

Cecil, afterwards Lord Burleigh.

Don Bernardino de Mendoza, Spanish Ambassador.

Sir Edward Killigrew.

Sir Edward Horsey.

Thomas Cobham, son of Lord Cobham.

Sir John Hawkins, Bolton, and Hampton, his Captains.

William Hawkins, Bill Carvell, &c.

John Oxenham, Thomas Moone, Sayers.

Comagre (Indian Cacique).

Chiruca (his son).

English and Foreign Spies.

Joe Jolly (Landlord of the Blue Anchor).

Lord — (General of the El Dorado).

Poet, (who sings the National Ode).

Sailors, Spaniards, Indians, Attendants, Page.

Queen Elizabeth.

Mrs. Ashley (her Chamberwoman).

TO THE ANGLO-SAXON RACE.

BRETHREN,

The first great object which I have had in view, in the construction of

this Drama, was to bear my humble acknowledgment to an ALLWISE

PROVIDENCE, who alone could have developed the unprecedented might of the

Anglo-Saxon Race—and who alone could have laid the foundations, or

builded up, the giant structure of the British Empire—so vast, so rich,

so powerful—unparalleled in extent, or wealth, or population—in arts and

arms, in manufactures, in literature and laws, in civilization and

commerce, in the history of mankind. Great have been the four preceding

Empires of PROPHECY! each, for its allotted period, having dominion over

the Earth; but of none of them, as of England, could it be said “The

abundance of the sea shall be converted unto thee.”—(Isaiah lx, 5)

Whilst I would put on record my own conviction, I would invite the

attention of my countrymen to the assured fact, that no enlarged views of

policy of our statesmen, no magnitude of our armaments, no superior

science of our Generals, have wrought this wonder, for our race and

country. The PECULIAR GLORY of England is, that her greatness is the

work of GOD! to whom is known from the beginning the destiny of his world

and the means of carrying it out—when to put forth the fury of his anger

and the strength of battle. Indeed! on taking a summary view over the

wondrous past—over the steps in her career—the evidence is striking, that

her success and conquests have been gained, without the aid or

counsel—not seldom, in defiance of her statesmen, by inexperienced

generals, and with totally inadequate means. That often her leading men

and government have favoured to their utmost her enemies, and poured

ignominy and vituperation, injustice and persecution, on those that

served her, the valiant and the wise who have _achieved_ her triumphs and

her greatness. This has been peculiarly the case with regard to the

great Actors with whom we are at present concerned, whose transactions

and virtues we would illustrate, and of the age of which we have

endeavoured to give “the form and pressure.”

It is impossible to doubt that the strength of England lies in her

Navy—that her Navy results from her commerce—her vast and unequalled

commerce from her manufactures; therefore that we cannot err in selecting

the reign of Elizabeth, as the starting point in her progress. And

examining closely the transactions and opinions, the struggles and

changes during that reign, we may clearly discover, not only the truth of

the statement, but the manner and the agency by which her success was

achieved. It certainly was not by the statesmen—of these most, steeped

in baseness and corruption, were ready to sell their services for direct

bribes to the enemies of their Queen and country. Some were in the

interest; of Spain, some in that of France, or the Queen of Scots. Those

that were for their Queen were entirely wrong in their views and policy,

which, if carried out, would have frustrated forever the prosperity of

England.

All were at variance among themselves. The Queen differed with them all

in her principles and policy. She loved her country, its glory and

independence; and to secure these, pursued her own eccentric and

mysterious path, urged on by impulse, instinctive, spiritual or Angelic,

maintaining it with apparent self-will and unreasonableness, perverseness

and irresolution, vacillation and caprice. But still, in proud and

lonely grandeur, with unflinching courage and firmness, undeterred by the

fear of war or assassination, “_Semper Eadem_,” against all opposition.

She foiled with unexampled and unfailing skill, traitors and spies, and

false advisers, and every species of secret or open foe, constrained to

fence, deceive, betray, even to coquet, to save her country, her throne,

and her life! She came through it all in triumph with the TRIDENT of the

OCEAN in her grasp, acknowledged by the Nations, as the “QUEEN OF THE

SEA, the Restorer of Naval glory.” Even the Pope (Sixtus V.) forgetting

the policy of his faith, was struck with admiration of “this valiant and

noble woman.” The name of her great hero, Drake (Il Draco) was

constantly in his mouth, who, he said, “took the King of Spain by the

beard,” and he ascribed the exploits which filled Europe with their fame

to the high spirit of the Queen who sent him out.

The reign of Elizabeth is one of the most glorious epochs in the history

of our Nation—a most important CRISIS in the Destiny of the World.

The Feudal system, which, with brute force, had trampled down humanity in

its own blood, had spent its fury. That Iron Age was fast fading away.

A brilliant dawn had unexpectedly appeared, of that Intelligence, which

with the power of Science and Manufactures, Commerce, and the rights of

Man, was to rule the world. Our great race, having “renewed its strength

in the Islands” with the “abundance of the sea converted” to it, was now

to go forth on its mission, and push its people to the utmost bounds of

the everlasting hills.

The Wars of the Roses, battle and the block, had consumed the Barons, the

Knights, and the Men-at-arms. The Church, which had endeavoured to

strangle Liberty and Thought itself, was now a crumbling and bloody ruin,

shorn of its pomp, its authority, and its land.

A NEW POWER was rising from the Sea, before which the Earth was to quail,

and its despotisms to succumb. Elizabeth was the head, the Elect of

Providence, to lead it forth into action, and the noble Spirits who were

driven by the bigotry and persecution of the Marian faction to the

liberty of the wild waves, as freebooters, were the accomplished

instruments to effect its purpose. Light and Darkness, Liberty and

Despotism, had once more entered on a mortal struggle, and the Ocean was

the arena on which they were to fight it out—Spain and the Pope on one

side, England on the other. That STRUGGLE it is the PURPOSE of the

present Drama to represent, its Nature, its Conduct, its Agents, and its

Issue.

We shall just make a sketch, take a view of the combatants who were to

enter the lists for this great contest—as of yore, Rome and Carthage, for

the possession of the world. Not to take into account the Pope, whose

influence on any side was so vast over the minds of men; and which was

entirely against England, Spain, whose own people were then the foremost

military nation by sea and land, had also under her command the whole of

the princes of Italy, the House of Austria with its vast connexions, the

Low Countries, the seat of Arts, Manufactures, trade and Commerce;

America—a New World!—pouring the wonderful wealth of its mines into her

lap; lastly Portugal, and with it the Commerce of the East.

England stood alone against a giant that bestrode the world! and what was

she at that moment? Weakened by civil war in many a bloody

field—disorganized by misgovernment, divided by religion, and rival

claims to the Crown—without a regular army, or her ancient discipline,

without much of a Royal Navy, or the finances to create one. A girl of

twenty-five, her presiding genius, by her own singular wisdom, without

Statesmen whose advice she could follow—her very Cabinet Council in

receipt of bribes from her enemies—war in Ireland aided by Spain—France

threatening her through Scotland—thus DISTRACTED, to be invaded by the

whole power of Spain!

Where were the Iron men who, a few years ago, swept France before them in

every battle, though outnumbered by twenty to one, until they made it an

appanage to the Crown of England? They were sleeping in their bloody

shrouds on many a field like that of Touton and Barnet, or their bones

had been stuck to moulder on City gates and Castle walls. In their days

no one dreamt of invasion. But now! although the spirit of the men of a

later day, who chased the Chivalry of France at the battle of the SPURS,

and smote down the might of Scotland on red Flodden, was still burning in

the bosoms of their descendants, from many causes—such as the confusion

in the succession to the crown, the decay of the Feudal system, the total

change in military science, England without an Army, or sufficient Navy,

or finances to create one, was quite unprepared for war.

Considering the vast odds, the success of Spain seemed certain—the

ultimate triumph of England by herself, a thing absolutely impossible.

The rational mind is constrained to the conclusion that it was the work

of God for the purpose of developing the Anglo-Saxon race, a new ordering

of the nations, and a new disposal of the possession of the Earth. All

which directly followed, or is still in progress.

It is necessary for our purpose to take note also of the mode or means by

which this mighty duel was carried on. Philip aspired to universal

dominion; England was the great obstacle that stood in his way. His

first endeavour was to obtain the hand of Elizabeth, and thus to become

its king as he had been before. Failing in this, he tried to flatter and

cajole her, by his Ambassadors and hirelings, into a belief that he was

her friend, without whom she could not reign; whilst all the time he was

labouring to have her assassinated—organizing rebellion against her by

Jesuit spies—Then he tried more openly to ruin her Commerce and her Naval

power, by seizing English ships in his ports, confiscating them and their

cargoes, delivering over their crews to the Inquisition to be burned at

the stake, or consumed by cruel treatment in his dungeons. Finally, he

slily invaded Ireland, in order to wrest it from England. All this

without a declaration of war. Nay! whilst his Ambassadors were

pretending peace and amity. The English Government was paralysed, and it

would seem as if our Commerce was to have been suppressed, and our very

maritime existence stamped out in blood. England, however, was not left

to a weak, divided, or corrupt Government for defence. The proud fierce

Briton of that day was not slow to take his own part, or that of his

county against any odds. The ships of Commerce went armed for war, and

fearlessly flouted their saucy flag in the face of the foe, whose Royal

Navy, in terror, gave them generally what Sailors call a wide berth!

Patriotic Nobles, Gentlemen, Merchants, and Adventurers, rallying to

their standard the bold fishermen and sailors of the Western Counties, at

their own expence, fitted out a Volunteer Navy. They covered the Channel

and the Ocean with a swarm of Privateers, which not only securely

defended England, but preyed fearlessly on the Coast and Commerce of

Spain, plundering Churches, sacking towns, burning or sinking ships,

crews and all, making prize of whatever was worth carrying away, and

audaciously putting up to open auction in our seaports any Great Officer,

Noble, or Merchant, who could find money or friends to pay his ransom.

The tide of blood if not of battle was turned. Philip was not only

frustrated in his object of Conquest, but became alarmed for his own.

His losses were enormous, and even his military operations in the Low

Countries were seriously embarrassed.

Drake, by his wonderful achievements in the West Indies and the Pacific,

gave the finishing blow. His seizure of three millions completely

crippled Spain. Alva’s army was in mutiny for their pay, and had Drake

been allowed to pursue his own BOLD PLAN, Philip would have been driven

from the Sea in a month.

These are the men who have founded the greatness of their Country, and

base and ungenerous is the Englishman who, reaping the fruits of their

valour, would withhold from them his tribute of grateful fame. Instead

of that, they have been loaded with reproach and vituperation—called

pirates! cutthroats! robbers!—whilst the atrocities of the Spaniards are

entirely overlooked as if they were legitimate warfare, whereas our

Volunteers with their cruizers were the only DEFENCE of their Country,

and their acts, inadequate, but most justifiable RETALIATION. I have

endeavoured to do them justice, I have summoned them from the dead to

speak their own sentiments, and plead their own cause.

I have essayed also, as a most important task, to remove a vulgar

prejudice, very general on the minds of both parties, and to do justice

to the Catholic Nobility of England, who framed, and have in every age

upheld her liberties and CONSTITUTION against encroaching Popes and

tyrannical kings. It is a common, almost universal, political error that

the age of Mary and Elizabeth was a mere struggle between Protestants and

Roman Catholics for ascendancy. Gardiner, the uncompromising persecutor

of the Protestants, who desired to set up the Inquisition, and to

extirpate heresy with fire and sword, was “FIERCELY JEALOUS” of the

independence of England, and when the Spanish Ambassador urged the

marriage of Mary with Philip, he told him that Nobles and people were

against the Pope, and against foreign interference of all sorts, that

Mary could not marry Philip without a dispensation from the Pope, which

must be kept secret. The COUNTRY would not TOLERATE it.—(_Froude_, vi,

119.)

Queen Mary herself told Commendone, the Pope’s messenger, that for the

present she was in the power of the People, of whom the majority mortally

detested the Holy See, and that the Lords of the Council were in

possession of vast estates which had been alienated from the Church, and

they feared their titles might be called in question.—(_Froude_ vi, 89.

Citing letter of Pope Julius III, to Pole). Yet certainly there was not

one Protestant on her Council. Paget, and he was not a Protestant, was

the only man who favoured the Spanish match. But he was opposed to

persecution, and would not permit the Queen to alter the succession. He

told Gardiner that if she should send Elizabeth to the Tower her own life

would not be safe for a single day.—(_Froude_ vi., 120.)

The nation was unanimous in the dread of a marriage between their Queen

and Philip. They feared that England might then sink into a Spanish

dependency, and have to endure the horrors inflicted on the Low

Countries. They wished to keep their country isolated and not entangled

in the wars of the continent. They therefore desired that their Queens

should marry with the English Nobility (_Froude_ vi, 92), who were then

as they are now, every way superior in family fortune, the eminent

qualifications of mind or body—above all in social and political

importance, to any rank or class of men in the world, many of the great

Houses of the Aristocracy being allied to our Plantagenet kings, the

greatest heroes, legislators, and rulers that ever governed men.

It is true that Protestantism, the right of private judgment, is

favourable to Civil Liberty, as was evident in the struggle of our

Puritan Fathers with the Stuarts. But the principles of the English

Constitution were laid before Protestantism had a being or a name. Who

were the men that wrung from the tyrant John the GREAT CHARTER at

Runnemede, and many another after it, and maintained them in defiance of

all the thunders of Rome?—Who passed the Statutes of Premunire, of

Provisors, of Mortmain, and all the other Acts for restraining the

illegitimate authority of the Pope and the Clergy, and defending their

estates and country against both Regal and Ecclesiastical Despotism? The

Catholic Nobility of England, who knew well how to distinguish between

their Creed and their Civil Polity, between their duty to their Church

and their duty to their Country, to themselves—to Posterity! And so long

as that Posterity are worthy of the great inheritance they have

bequeathed to them, so long as Englishmen shall be capable of

appreciating Civil Liberty and the value of their Constitution, the

founders of that Constitution shall receive their just reward, IMMORTAL

GLORY!

Where is that Constitution now? Let the Protestant Parliaments that have

legislated during late years, and regardless of our ANCIENT CONSTITUTION,

have delivered over Englishmen to be TAXED by boards, without the consent

of Parliament, and to be fined! imprisoned! degraded! ruined! in their

persons, characters, and fortunes, by arbitrary Magistrates, Councils,

and Officials, without TRIAL BY JURY, and who but for the timely protest

and warning of the Judges, would have ABOLISHED that great BULWARK of

CIVIL LIBERTY altogether. Let them answer! Let the great THAUMATURGISTS

who pulled the strings of these parliamentary puppets, and before whom

they danced, answer! England may some day awake from her torpor, to

examine that legislation, and to ask the QUESTION—WHERE?—Then—What then?

Some people not sufficiently read in the history of those times, may be

startled at the extraordinary nature of the facts which constitute the

action of the Drama; and may consider them exaggerated, if not altogether

improbable. I intended a National Drama, and I have adhered to history.

I shall be borne out by authority. Those who are well informed, will

recognise in the first Act the actual picture our seaboard presented at

the time. The pious Catholic may feel scandalized at the treatment of

the Pope, and the sack of Rome by the generals of Charles the Fifth at

the head of a Spanish army. I have not invented the transaction. It

would be impossible to exaggerate its atrocity. And Philip with all his

zeal for his professed religion, so long as it subserved his ambition,

was quite ready to repeat his father’s lesson, if the Pope had trespassed

on his dominion. Further, though he was anxious to have Elizabeth

assassinated, he was entirely opposed to the Bull of Excommunication, or

the Pope’s interference in the temporal government of her kingdom.

With respect to myself and the literary merits of my work, I am very

sensible of the little fame (as small as the emolument) that can accrue

to me. It was not my aim to contest the palm of genius and eloquence

with the great Dramatists of the age, who with so much talent and

success, minister to the amusement of the Public. My humble effort must

be regarded as a literary experiment—I was anxious to TEST whether TRUTH

was not stronger than FICTION, and if so, whether the Drama might not, in

abler hands, become the great Pioneer, if not the exponent and teacher of

history. Secondly, whether it could not be conducted on PRINCIPLES free

from the OBJECTIONS which Moralists now raise against it. I have

therefore carefully excluded everything having a tendency to excite those

emotions, which the wisdom of Philosophers, and the guides of society in

every age have agreed ought to be kept in abeyance.

The Greeks, in timid foresight of the abuse, forbade that women should

appear upon the stage. Without going so far I have shunned the evil they

feared. There is not a love scene in my Drama, nor anything which could

minister to that dangerous passion. I had a HIGHER AIM! to call the

attention of my country to the origin and principles of her greatness; to

hold up to her view the valour, the achievements, the glory of our

ancestors; to excite in their descendants a generous rivalry, and to

rouse again the national pride: the spirit and the patriotism of England.

If I shall have succeeded in this, I shall have attained the summit of my

ambition—I shall have reaped the priceless reward—the satisfaction of

having done my DUTY!

I cannot conclude without my humble acknowledgment of the public debt to

Mr. Froude, who has done so much to vindicate the character of Elizabeth

and the glory of his country from the foul aspersions of a party alike

hostile to England and humanity; and my personal obligation, for through

his great History, suggesting the subject, and so much of the material

for the construction of my Drama.

WILLIAM MAC OUBREY.

DRAKE:

OR THE

TRANSFER OF THE TRIDENT.

ACT I.

SCENE I.—PLYMOUTH—A STREET ALONG THE QUAY.

_The harbour and ships_, _sailors swaggering about with a bold_, _saucy_,

_defiant air_, _richly dressed_, _displaying a profusion of silks_,

_gold_, _and jewelry_; _their women also flaunting in rich

dresses_.—_Enter an English spy_.

ENGLISH SPY, (_In a serious musing attitude_)—I have watched this game

from its beginning, when Mary married Philip. With all the might of

Spain and Rome to back her she failed to crush a seeming helpless girl.

The young Nobility, the proud hold chivalry of England took her part! On

high paced steeds they rode her escort, or thronged her house with levies

which shamed the deserted Court. Where’er she moved abroad, the roaring

multitude surged round her, unbonneted to their idol as she passed. I

saw that Church and Spain must lose! Elizabeth would be Queen at last!

(_He walks a few steps with a satisfied air_.) When Mary’s reign was

closed, what shouts of joy broke from emancipated London! A pall as

black as death seemed lifted off men’s souls. What tables of rejoicing

lined the streets! What blazing bonfires reddened all the walls!

Catholic and Protestant forgot their creeds to hail the rising sun of

Liberty! I said Priests and Monks may plot. There is one only party in

the State. England for herself against the WORLD! So hath it been of

yore, so let it be for ever. No foreign Despot will she ever brook.

(_He walks proudly_). What experience has been mine? Poverty! Power!

Influence! rare companions! meeting only in the Monk—and he a Jesuit, a

Missionary; what lands I have visited, what dangers and hardships

encountered! hunger, thirst, travel, fatigue; frozen in the snows of

Siberia, burnt to a living cinder in the Torrid Zone; perils by sea and

land, the barbarous savage with open violence or poisoned weapon; still

worse the pestilence that walketh in darkness. All have I endured.

(_His reverie is interrupted_—_startled by tremendous shouts and cheers

of a violent crowd rapidly approaching_).

CROWD, (_behind the scenes_). Hurrah for England! Down with Spain and

her inquisition! Hurrah for the El Dorado! Hurrah for the General!

(_Startled_) What terrible hurly, burly now? Another gust of the rising

tempest that is to shake the nations!

_Enter a turbulent crowd of sailors_, _bursting in with a great banner on

which is blazoned a ship in gold_, _and in similar letters the name_ “_El

Dorado_,” _cheering and shouting with violent gestures and confusion_.

CROWD. Hurrah for the Virgin Queen! Down with Spain and her

Inquisition.

1st SAILOR. The Queen! God bless her, and give her a good English

husband. No foreign rule here!

2nd SAILOR. Confusion to Philip and all Foreigners! England for the

English!

3rd SAILOR. Aye! Aye! lads. We’ll keep them out! No landing of the foe

on our coasts. Our cruizers will keep the channel clear.

4th SAILOR (_with energy_). The Channel’s ours!

SPY (_aside_) No doubt, they will clear it of everything that carries

gold, or other foreign valuables, without being over particular about

their nationality.

_The chief or general_, _standing beside the banner_, _a tall powerful

man_, _though young_, _sunburnt_, _and weather-beaten_, _gaudily dressed

as silk_, _velvet_, _gold and jewels can make him_. _In his broad belt

plaited with gold_, _are stuck a brace of heavy pistols_, _richly chased

with silver_, _and a long dagger hafted with gold and diamonds_. _On his

head a blue velvet cap with a gold band_. _On the velvet_, _emblazoned

with jewels_, _a ship with the words_ “_El Dorado_.” _He holds forth in

his left hand a large ingot_, _or bar of gold_.

CHIEF. Look ye here, ye sons of the Ocean Queen, ye storm-birds that

have the daring spirit of your sea-king race, that love the raging surf,

and the mountain wave when it rolls the highest! Ye of the forward step,

and the ready fist, who wish for a little of this! (_holding out the

ingot_). (_Cheers_). Who’ll volunteer for the good ship El Dorado? We

don’t want every lubber that may offer, only roaring boys that are not

afraid to board a Spanish galleon without counting the square feet of her

lumbering hull, or the hundreds of her cowardly crew. The El Dorado has

a speedy forefoot, I can tell you; she can run the Caribs in about a

fortnight, and we don’t care who knows the WHEN and the WHITHER, not as

much as one!—Copper!—Maravedi! (_snapping his fingers_).

CROWD, (_cheering_), Hurrah! That’s the talk and no bunkum! We know

you, General. We’ll follow you to the death.

1st BYSTANDER. Who is he? A gallant bearing and tall! He looks a hero

born for command.

2nd BYSTANDER. So he ought to look; Don’t you know him? That’s young

Lord —. (_He whispers the name_), one of Elizabeth’s early lovers. One

of the five hundred young nobles who rode beside her in defiance of

Mary’s wrath. When his idol was insulted at Court, he behaved so

violently that he became a marked man, and the persecution growing hot,

he took to the sea for vengeance on the Spanish party. Now he sticks to

it, you perceive, for something else, (_with a knowing look_).

CHIEF. Now then! who’s for the free flag and the gold coast? We have

already seventy hands, and want a few to make up a hundred. That’s

enough of Englishmen to carry any of their goldships, or any Spanish town

in the world. We want especially the sons of our brave men who have died

in Spanish dungeons, or by fire and faggot! (_Shouts of indignation and

hurrah for the General_).

CROWD. Here we are, General! We’ll man your guns for you! Hurrah!

We’ll pay them off all old scores!

1st SAILOR, (_in a swaggering tone_.) I have searched the whole coast,

from Rio de la Hacha to San Juan, have been up the Darien and the Bocco

del Torro, I know every creek where a Cruizer can lie like an Alligator

for her prey.

2nd SAILOR. And I every coral-reef, from the Windward islands to Bahama.

I’ll pilot you, General.

CHIEF. Come on then, my Bullies!—To the brave ship El-Dorado! March!

_They advance with the Standard singing and stamping in time as sailors

do when weighing anchor_; _the crowd following and joining in with

excitement_, _as they chant the following doggerel_.

Our free born comrades languish.

In dungeons, and in pain:

We’ll tear them from their anguish,

Or take revenge on Spain. (_Cheers_.)

Come on ye Tars! we’ll all go,

With hearts both true and bold:

We’re bound for El-Dorado,

And we will have the gold! (_Cheers_. _Exeunt singing_.)

We’re bound for El-Dorado

And we will have the gold!

SPY, (_looking after them_.) A tempting offer! had I not a deeper game

upon the die of Fate, and a loftier stake to play for than all the gold

of the Indies—the liberty of the world! How many parts I have filled in

social life! A bigot and inquisitor in Despotic Rome, I saw fierce

Bourbon, called the Constable, rush with hot valour on her wall; I fired

the death-shot! saw the Apostate fall! ’Twas vain! The mighty wave

swept on resistless. The City of the Caesars and the Popes—the twice

Mistress of the world—lay helpless under the ruffian foe, defiling what

fierce Vandal and noble Goth majestic in strength and courage spared. No

place was sacred. No party safe. The sanctuaries of religion, the

sepulchres of the dead, the very tomb of St. Peter rifled for their

wealth; Guelph and Ghibeline, Priest and Layman, the vilest trades and

callings taxed for contributions when plunder failed;—and when the

blood-hound scent for gold came to fault, torture was applied, without

respect to rank, or sex, or age, to wring the last scudo from the

prostrate people. There was a spoil! ten millions of gold! the garnered

harvest of centuries of corruption, the imposts of a taxed world gathered

in one stagnant pool. Offerings of pilgrims, gifts of the dying; the

orphan’s patrimony; the widow’s dower; extortions of Ecclesiastical

Courts; INDULGENCES; the liquidated value of every vice, lust and crime!

BRIBES for which Heaven had bartered its joys, and HELL had commuted its

torments of the damned! The sack of Imperial Rome! (_holding up his

hands in dismay_) Satanic Bourbon! Infernal Tempter! Thou knew’st the

mystic Solder which alone could weld that Rebel Host, mad with lust and

hunger, discordant, dissolute, through battle, fatigue, and famine! And

hurl the blazing Meteor on the goal of thy Vengeance and Ambition! I

beheld the Holy Father himself a prisoner in his castle of St. Angelo;

his jailors! the Catholics of Spain. My eyes were opened! I fled from

the Desolation. Before me spread an Earthquake of Republics, a wreck of

Nations. France and Spain had torn the land. I took refuge in the fleet

of Dorea with the Spirits that were left. Genoa rose at his heroic

summons. We proclaimed the Republic. Yes! I saw that last flame of

Italian Glory! It flickered and went out for ever. Through the once

free cities of Italy I harangued the Infidel—in democratic clubs on the

RIGHTS of Nature—the Republicans on their LAWS—to gather up the broken

fragments of their liberties, and arm against the spoilers of the land.

In Holland I preached freedom through the grim creed of Calvin, and urged

the dull Flemmings to defend their Constitutions. I have been ALL things

to ALL men. My single foe—Despotic Spain—My creed, its overthrow. In

England two characters by turns. A conspirator to assassinate the Queen

with fanatics who would deluge the land with blood, destroy their own and

other’s freedom, and yield our glorious Island to a foreign tyrant—the

execrable Philip. And now I am an agent of the unselfish Patriot,

Walsingham (I would trust none other!)—to foil this foul conspiracy, and

save my native country from slavery and ruin. I must to the “Blue

Anchor” to meet this Arch-plotter for the Church and Philip. I’ll search

his inmost thoughts. I’ll sound the very depths of all his treason!

(_Exit_.)

SCENE II.—“THE BLUE ANCHOR”—THE TAP ROOM.

_Ornamented with model ships of every form and rig_; _all of a warlike

character_. _Here and there are hung up arms_, _chiefly those used at

sea_, _with Parrots and curious birds_, _shells and other productions of

foreign climes_, _all indicating that the owner and his friends are

familiar with distant lands_, _in fact_, _all maritime contributions_.

_The room is filled with sailors and their women_, _profusely decorated

with gold_, _reckless of expenditure_, _playing at dice for gold pieces_,

_and displaying masses of gold and silver articles_, _chalices and cups_,

_the fruit of plunder by land and sea_. _Their bold dashing air shows a

character not likely to hesitate about what they would attack_, _and

themselves ready to take their own part_, _or that of England_, _against

the world_. _They call for wines of the most expensive sorts like men

habituated to wealth_. _The two spies at a table_, _served with a flagon

of wine and cups of silver_, _by the landlord_. _The foreigner is much

surprised at the scene_.

1st SAILOR. Mine Host there! Some Hippocras for the ladies!

and—and—more Gascony!

2nd SAILOR (_saucily_). Bear a hand, Joe Jolly! or Jolly Joe! another

measure of that old Sack. You’re an old sack yourself. Ho! here he

comes, rolling like a dismasted ship in the trough of the sea

(_laughter_). Ha! Ha! Ha!

_Enter Host_, _scowling fiercely and holding out in his right hand

menacingly a great tankard of Wine_.

HOST. I say, Cut-throat! Belay your damned tongue! Don’t you think to

make a butt of me for your gibes, or I’ll give you this (_holding out the

tankard_) on your head!

_The sailor laughs and holds out by the muzzle his heavy pistol as if to

show its weight_.

2nd SAILOR. If you did, Joe, I would, and that quickly too, make a butt

of yours. Look you! Butt to Butt. This has cracked many a skull as

thick as Joe Jolly’s.

ALL (_interfering_). Avast there! Enough of that messmates! Here,

Jolly, drink with me! Here, Joe (_says another party_), drink with us!

Hurrah! old chap!

ENGLISH SPY (_to his companion_). I made our appointment here, Brother,

to give you an idea of what is going on in the world—a mighty

revolution—which I think neither His Majesty of Spain nor His Holiness

yet comprehends, and to show you the character of our people. You will

thus understand with whom you have to deal.

FOREIGN SPY. They surprise and almost frighten me with their fierce

demeanour and warlike defiant air.

ENGLISH SPY. Of that anon. Now, Brother what of the Great Cause in the

Low Countries? There the struggle is at present.

FOREIGN SPY, (_Slowly and with emphasis_), And there, brother, it is

almost ended. William the silent is silent for ever! (_The English spy

starts with surprise_). That Arch-Heretic, the Prince of Orange, is no

more!

ENGLISH SPY. What? The Prince of Orange dead!

FOREIGN SPY, (_With bitter emphasis_), Three poisoned bullets did for

him, spite of all his caution! Parma outmanœuvred him. Philip is at the

right game of war now!

ENGLISH SPY, (_Interested to excitement_), How? How was this, brother?

It will be a thunder clap to Europe!

FOREIGN SPY. It was difficult; William was so closely guarded; so many

attempts had failed. He seemed unapproachable. We found the fitting

tool! (_He pauses_, _watching his startled companion with exultation_,

_then continues_). Balthazzar Gerard, an enthusiast from Burgundy. We

fanned the Bigot-flame, and armed his fiery soul with all the panoply of

Faith the church could give, a Martyr’s Crown! Immediate bliss in

Heaven. Philip added earthly honours, nobility and estates in Spain.

Balthazzar swallowed the baited hook, and counted not the cost! (_He

pauses_, _looking at his deeply interested and astounded companion_.)

ENGLISH SPY, (_Eagerly_), Pray go on, Brother! He was seized of course!

how did he proceed, or obtain access?

FOREIGN SPY. He repaired to the palace at Delft, petitioned for

protection and aid, he pretended to be a Calvinist whose father was

executed, and himself a fugitive for his religion. The mask was

sufficient, he obtained employment, and was at length received into the

palace. There he watched his opportunity, and as the Prince was passing

through his hall to dinner fired into him three poisoned bullets. The

victim dropped, “William the Silent” was no more.

ENGLISH SPY, (_with emotion_), Villain! He was cut down, or seized,

tortured, hung!

FOREIGN SPY. Quick as his bullets he bounded from the hall, crossed the

court-yard, and gained the city wall, where aid was ready.

ENGLISH SPY, (_Hurriedly_), Good God! The perfidious traitor escaped.

FOREIGN SPY. There, just as the tiger was about to spring, a strong hand

arrested him. His Spanish title, his broad lands, his order of St. Jago

vanished, and the dread spectre of rack and dungeon rose before his eyes,

but Balthazzar was a hero and accepted death. They dragged him to the

rack, ’twas vain! They tried every torture ingenuity could invent, or

the wickedness of Heretics employ to tear from this soldier of the church

a confession of his employees. Balthazzar fixed his eye upon his

Martyr’s crown, and pointing to his dislocated limbs, with grim but

triumphant smile, heaved his last breath, said “_Ecce Homo_,” and

expired.

ENGLISH SPY, (_Shocked and excited_), Oh! Brother, this is horrible!

FOREIGN SPY, (_Rather Surprised_), But the end, Brother, justifies the

means. You see the good cause advances! ’Tis Philip’s most successful

warfare; thus Murray in Scotland, Coligny at Paris, and now the Prince of

Orange at Delft have paid the penalty of heresy. These were only the

horns Brother, the head itself shall be cut off. In England is the very

head of Heresy! She must fall next, and then the Church’s triumph is

complete. Philip himself, great as he is, must bow as kings of yore, and

hold the stirrup.

ENGLISH SPY, (_Aside_), This will do for Walsingham, he’ll trap the

wolves! (_To his companion_), We’ll talk of this anon, Brother.

_Cheers and shouts without_, _tumult_, _rushing_, _and cheers_. _Shouts

of_ “_To the Market-place_.” _The cheers taken up by the sailors

within_, _who brandish their gold goblets and shout_, “_Hurrah for old

Plymouth_,” “_Hurrah for the Craft_!”

1st SAILOR. What’s up messmates?

2nd SAILOR. Some Spanish prize, I’ll warrant; It’s no mere row that, I

know the heavy tread of a Rover’s crew. That’s the game for me. Let’s

out and join the fray. (_Exeunt sailors_, _rushing in confusion_).

ENGLISH SPY, (_hurriedly_), Come! Brother come, there is much that you

must see here before you make up your horoscope of the future. (_Exeunt

spies_).

SCENE III.—THE MARKET PLACE.

_A great crowd surging along_, _pushing_, _fighting_, _and hallooing in

the rear of a compact body of Rovers or freebooters_, _well armed_,

_bringing with them a band of Spanish prisoners_, _captured in a ship in

the channel_, _bound from Cadiz to the Low Countries_, _with a rich cargo

of Silks_, _Wines_, _and other such articles of value_, _besides a

quantity of money_, _for the payment of the Troops there_. _Among the

captives_, _Soldiers of rank, Noblemen_, _Great Merchants_. _Some are

hauled along in irons_, _screaming for mercy_, _to be kept prisoners till

ransomed_. _A group of three_, _the assumed property of one party_, _are

about being put up to auction_. _A Sailor stands upon a barrel with an

axe in his hand for a hammer_, _as auctioneer_. _Jews and Spectators in

front_, _ready to bid_, _and chaffing the extemporized Auctioneer_.

SEVERAL VOICES. Why don’t you go on, Bill Sayers! go on! go on! put one

of the Hidalgos up. (_Laughter_.)

_Whilst the chief is bargaining with a rich Jew aside_, _a Ruffian grasps

at one of the Spanish Captives_.

RUFFIAN. I should like one of those gold buttons.

_The leader_, TOM COBHAM, _turning from the Jew_, _brandishes his axe not

very particular whether or not it lopped off an arm_.

TOM COBHAM, (_fiercely_.) Back varlet! on your life, I’ll cleave the

first man, to the brisket, who dares to lay hand on one of them!

(_Sweeps round him with his terrible weapon_, _the crowd fall back_.

_Turning to the Jew again_) I’ll tell you what, Isaac! We cannot deal!

ISAAC. They’re not worth an Angel more. There’s not an Hidalgo among

them. Only traders like myself.

TOM COBHAM. You Jews can jabber all the languages in the world. But I

have robbed Churches, sacked towns along the coast of Spain, from Cadiz

to Finisterra, have plundered her gold ships, and seized her Merchantmen

(_he pauses musing_) ever since the execution of Sir Thomas Wyatt, and I

can talk Spanish as well as you. They are Nobles, every one of them.

ISAAC (_whispering in his ear_.) There now! I will do no more.

TOM COBHAM (_turning away indignant_.) Two thousands Rials! Not even

Sovereigns! We only count in Sovereigns, you old screw! You mean to

rob. It’s not the price of the gold lace and buttons on their coats, not

to speak of the jewels, silk, and velvet. Speak up, or be off! I know

what to do with them.

ISAAC (_again whispering_). There now! That’s because you are a friend,

Tom. By the Holy Moses and all the Prophets, I’ll not advance another

Rose Noble.

TOM COBHAM (_considering_). Well! I’ll take your note of hand. I know

you, Isaac. I’m in haste. I want to get to sea. There’s something

coming down the wind that far beats this. I say, old hard fist, you’ll

clear a good fire hundred out of this job. Well! well! business!

business! I’m in a hurry. (_Exeunt Sailors_, _Jews and Captives_, _the

latter apparently pleased with the arrangement_. _The Market Place and

its frequenters_, _Booths_, _Stalls for Gold and Silver_, _Casks of Wine

being measured out for sale_.)

ENGLISH SPY. There’s a sight for you! Booths where richest silks are

sold as basest stuffs to peasants at a rustic fair. Casks of Gascony

drawn for the mob like Common Beer.

FOREIGN SPY (_amazed_). Gold and Silver weighed on open stalls.

ENGLISH SPY. Our Seaboard is the Mart of Precious Metals, debased in

price by quantity. Merchants come here to buy. It costs the vendors

nothing. Our Seamen take it as their right from Spain.

FOREIGN SPY (_in deep refection_). What waste of luxury! Masses of

wealth surpassing proudest Capitals.

ENGLISH SPY (_scrutinizing his amazed companion_). You seem bewildered,

Brother, I thought you should be. Engaged about this serious business,

’tis well, you see, to understand the Drama that’s being acted in the

world. These are the Actors, not Priests and Politicians, blind with

their own cobwebs, self-wove before their eyes. What think you of the

scene?

FOREIGN SPY. Horror-struck—amazed—such lawless violence—such heaps of

Gold and Silver—altar-plate made common traffic! Grandees of Spain put

up to open auction! It passes comprehension.

ENGLISH SPY (_smiling_). Philip knows it all, and cannot help himself.

He sees his Gold-ships captured, or sunk, crews and all—his merchants

plundered; Cities sacked and churches rifled on his own coast; His

Officers and Nobles sold like slaves by public auction; kept in chains

till ransomed; shuts his eyes and must endure the affront. (_He walks

aside with a grim smile_, _and triumphant air_. _Then returns and

continues solemnly_.) There is a Crisis now in the affairs of mankind.

Providence re-adjusts his plan to open another chapter in the course of

Destiny. ’Tis a New Power that rises from the sea, and has its source

at Plymouth; to rule the world, and set the nations free! (_He walks

aside eyeing his companion exultingly_.) I’ve seen it for some time, and

in my waking dreams, this little Isle expands and fills the Globe, whilst

Spain recoils, and shrinks before it like a burning scroll. (_He walks

with triumph_—_then slowly_, _with emphasis_). Here’s food for thought,

Brother! (_aside_) Now for proud Spain’s Ambassador, and learn his plans

to murder Queen Elizabeth.

FOREIGN SPY (_serious but firm_). The prospect for the Church is ominous

and gloomy. Still, Brother, we must cut off the Head of Heresy! Let us

be moving, (_going_).

ENGLISH SPY (_aside as they go off_). Cut off the Head! Still the power

remains to crush thy Despotism—the stone to strike the Image, and crumble

it to dust! (_Exeunt_).

SCENE IV.—A ROOM IN THE PALACE.

_Enter the_ QUEEN _and the_ EARL OF LEICESTER.

LEICESTER (_laughing_). Ha-Ha-Ha! I cannot see it. Excommunicated!

How is it possible? Even the Pope cannot put one out of his house who

never was in it. Ha! Ha! Ha! It’s a joke. Excommunicated indeed!

Because a fellow like a thief in the night nails a paper on the Bishop of

London’s door, your Majesty is to be deprived of your throne and life.

All the world knows the Statue of Premunire.—(_with emphasis and

deliberation_) No Bull can be published here without the licence of the

Crown. This is poor thunder from the Vatican. Not thus did Leo roar,

and yet a German Monk laughed him to scorn, burned his Bull in the open

Market-place, and challenged him to prove his title before the Christian

world. Ha! Ha! Ha! (_He walks about laughing_—_then comes up to the_

QUEEN _sarcastically_) Pius the Fifth is no Hildebrand, his wretched

missive thus stolen into the kingdom is no more than waste paper. The

thunder of the Seven Hills has lost the bolt. Ha! Ha! Ha!

QUEEN. By the Rood, Robin, I agree with you; It is an insolent joke

(_She laughs to herself grimly_). The world begins to see it too.

France contemptuously suppressed his Bull, Philip forbade him to issue it

and refuses to permit its publication in his dominions, (_with proud

defiance_) I have answered his insolence in my own way, by hanging up his

messenger at the very door where he committed the offence. Ha! Ha!

Ha!—He’ll carry no more messages.

LEICESTER. Well! Is there one Catholic Nobleman in England who did not

acquiesce in the execution of Felton? Parliament too gave a quick and

substantial reply, by passing an immediate act, without a dissentient

voice. “That to affirm by word or writing that the Queen is not Queen,

or not entitled to the Crown, or that any other person ought to be Queen,

even without an overt act, shall be High Treason.”

QUEEN. And the Nation indignant, shouted its assent. I plant my throne,

Leicester in the hearts of my people! They are the true foundation of

all Political right.—They are my Guards! My bulwark! my support!—I did

not wait for an Act of Parliament to hang Felton.

LEICESTER (_rubbing his hands and laughing_). No! No! Your father’s

daughter for that! It was a masterly counter-thrust for him. I should

like to see the Pope’s face when he considers your position. (_He walks

musing_, _then confronts the_ QUEEN) Here you stand an excommunicated

Princess; entirely unscathed by his thunder. Your throne is as firm as

the primeval rock. You hold prisoner Mary, that was Queen of Scotland,

the Dowager Queen of France, the Representative of Papal claims upon the

throne. Yet not one member of the Catholic Nobility is ready to do the

behests of the Pope in regard to your life or title.

QUEEN. And the people! the Great English people! the fearless! the free!

Are they not more enthusiastic than ever? When do I show myself among

them that they do not crowd around me with the idolatry of devotion,

proud to kiss the hem of my robe, or touch the horse that bears me. Woe

to the assassin who should lift a finger! He would be torn limb from

limb. Yes! Yes! Leicester, I am safe among my People (_she walks about

confidently then stands and passionately continues_) They know I love

them, and will never betray their liberties or their honour (_walking

aside with emotion_).

LEICESTER. You are the only Sovereign in the world that can freely move

abroad without other guards than the people.

QUEEN. The Catholics of England never did, and never will, acknowledge

the power of the Pope to annul their liberties, or to interfere in the

government of their country. They will hear the Mass, but they will have

none of his Bulls. They have had too much of Ecclesiastical Courts, and

Appeals to Rome. That question was decided long ago, when the Clergy

tried to substitute the Canon for the Common Law, and Parliament and

People proclaimed with one voice “We will not have the Laws of England

changed” (_she walks with a triumphant air_).

LEICESTER. The Court of Rome takes credit for great cunning and deep

policy. Their present folly does surprise me; to threat without the

power to strike. On whom does it rely? On France or Spain? Neither

could permit the other to attack us, and concert is impossible ’twixt

elements ajar.

QUEEN. They both are suing me for favours and alliance. Nay! every

Power in Europe.—I am the Arbitress of Nations.

LEICESTER (_fiercely_). Besides! Our Naval heroes boldly say, their

fleets combined could never land an army on our shores, and if they

could, England like one man would rise and dash invasion from her! (_He

walks exultingly aside_).

QUEEN. I believe it all, Leicester. My faith is in my country! In my

people! Nor would their Queen in such an hour be wanting. Elizabeth

would lead the van with them to conquer, or with them to fall. (_She

walks with a fierce and triumphant air_) Yet, Leicester! Though with

thoughts like these my Lion spirit rises to the occasion, there are times

when sadness sits brooding o’er me, and in the lone, darkness of my soul,

kindred and goblin forms arise, the brood of melancholy to fright my

woman weakness. William, Prince of Orange, butchered in his Palace! the

loaded pistol! the assassin’s knife! ever at one’s defenceless breast—Ah!

Leicester (_she shudders with horror_) ’tis too much to bear! too much!

too much! (_she weeps and turns aside with great emotion_, LEICESTER

_approaching her with deep sympathy_, _and kneeling_, _kisses her robe_,

_to which he timidly ventures to apply his lips_).

LEICESTER. My honoured Mistress! My beloved Queen! God, who raised you

up His chosen instrument, has hitherto supported, and will preserve you.

(_The_ QUEEN _turns abruptly and surprised_).

QUEEN. What, Robin! This from thee? Art thou turned Puritan, man?

LEICESTER. Of late, my Queen, I have had dreams! Visions of Prophetic

import, which seem to touch the times.

QUEEN. Dreams! Dreams that touch the times, belong to anxious brains

like mine, troublous as my checkered life, with danger and alarm. Thine

are of thyself, of love and selfish gain, intrigues with traitor wenches

of my Court that pay me hollow homage, and take the pay of France, or

Philip, or the Queen of Scots, or even thyself! (_Looking at him

piercingly_).

LEICESTER, (_attempting to speak_). Oh! My loved Mistress!

QUEEN (_interrupting him_), Nay! Nay! Ne’er deny it, Leicester. I

watch the games of all, and play my own! (_with a grim smile_).

LEICESTER (_earnestly_, _as to repel the insinuation_). My Liege, my

thoughts are capable of proof. The vision long hath left my brain, and

found material body. Art hath moulded it in jewelled gold, and given it

tongue prophetic! Futurity will unfold the truth; but it would be

presented to you on the throne. May it please your Majesty to be seated.

QUEEN. What mean you, man? Robin! No mummery now, my mood is serious!

(LEICESTER _bows solemnly_), Well! Well! I will indulge you. (_She

gives him her hand and he leads her to the throne_).

LEICESTER. My Liege! It is behind the arras, permit me to introduce it.

QUEEN (_impatiently_). Do as thou listest and be quick. (_He goes for

the intended present_). There’s something in it, else he’s acting well.

What can it be?

_He returns with a splendidly gilt and ornamented box_, _lays it down_,

_and opening it_, _withdraws a group of statuary of jewelled gold_.

_Approaching the throne_, _he kneels on one knee_, _and presents it to

the_ QUEEN, _who all the time watches the proceeding with intense

interest_, _then takes the present with great surprise and curiosity_.

LEICESTER. Behold, my Liege! The symboled future! May the God of

England verify it soon.

_He buries his face in his hands and continues kneeling_. _The_ QUEEN

_eyeing it for a moment_, _on all sides_, _in deep abstraction_, _rushes

from the throne_, _and placing it on a highly ornamented table under the

light_, _examines it curiously_, _not without awe_, _as if something

supernatural_. LEICESTER, _still kneeling_, _watches her askance_.

QUEEN (_slowly_). Magnificent! sublime! Art indeed, which can embody

thought in gold, and almost shape the lips to speech. Prophetic Vision!

Symboled future, humph! The future still to me is mystic, dark, and

awful. (_She looks around for_ LEICESTER, _who is still kneeling before

the throne and watching the_ QUEEN _with great anxiety askance_). No

more of that play-acting; up man, and expound thy riddle. (LEICESTER

_comes forward_, _and taking up the group in one hand_, _whilst he points

with the other to the figures_, _thus explains their meaning_, _the_

QUEEN, _anxiously awaiting the result_).

LEICESTER. The central figure, seated on a throne, with features so

beautiful, the express image of Majesty itself, is the Queen of England!

the likeness unmistakeable. At her feet kneeling, is the so-called Queen

of Scots. Around the stormy ocean your bulwark, strength, and power. On

either side, figures of France and Spain overwhelmed in the waves, whilst

Neptune, rising in front, presents to you the globe, and does homage to

the true Sovereign of the seas.

QUEEN. Oh Leicester! Leicester! (_The_ QUEEN _sinks upon a chair_,

_overcome by the weight of thought and the tumult of her ideas_).

Prophetic Vision! Symboled Future! I am lost in a tumult of thoughts,

and hopes, and fears. Call Ashley! Be quick! Quick, my Lord!

Exhausted! Overcome! (_Exit_ LEICESTER. _She leans sobbing on the

chair_, _her face buried in her hands_).

_Re-enter the_ EARL OF LEICESTER _with_ MRS. ASHLEY, _who rush to her

assistance_.

_Curtain falls_.

ACT II.

SCENE I.—THE HARBOUR OF SAN JUAN DE ULLOA.

_It is surrounded by high cliffs with batteries_. _An Island at the

mouth_. _Spanish and English ships_. _The town_. _Deck of the_

“_Jesus_” _of Lubeck_.—SIR JOHN HAWKINS, DRAKE, HAMPTON, BOLTON. _A

Council of War_. _Thunder_! _Lightning_! _Tempest_!

HAWKINS. Comrades, we may well thank God for this refuge. We had a

narrow escape in that gale. I thought the “Jesus” of Lubeck would never

weather it. Our voyage has been prosperous beyond expectations. Above a

million and a half netted, with four hundred Negroes still on hands. To

have left it all behind, with our bodies to the sharks, in the Gulf of

Mexico, would have been a calamity. Now with our freight of enormous

value, even if we were rid of our remaining Negroes, we could not move

till we refit. This old hulk in her present condition, would never float

to England. Besides, the possibility of falling in with a Spanish

fleet—our canvas in rags, and spars in this state. Weigh it well,

comrades!—Weigh it well.

BOLTON. This is the very spot for us; we ride here in safety. Neither

wind nor sea can touch us. And we are masters of the place. Our guns on

the island command the entrance, the town is at our own mercy, the

fortified heights are in our hands; we could sink the whole Navy of Spain

in five minutes.

DRAKE. I should be very sorry to see the whole Navy of Spain for the

present. There are twelve first-rate ships here, and two hundred

thousand pounds worth of gold and silver in them, which with what we have

already made, and our pearls, emeralds, and precious metals, would be a

goodly return—say something like two millions. It would give us some

weight in our native country! Heh! (_He walks about with a smile_, _as

they stare at him excited_) Why Old England has not seen the like. How

jolly Plymouth would shout with all her Tars. By St. George, I think I

see the uproar when they should behold our Gallant Navy riding in the

Sound. (_He looks at them as they gaze in excitement_—_even_ HAWKINS _is

surprised_) It is a great temptation! Philip might threaten. Cecil

might grumble and make notes; the Jesuits might plot; but England and our

noble Queen would look at us with other eyes. I say, take the treasure

and the ships; put the town to ransom; and let us be off! I don’t like

the look of the place. Delays are dangerous. Action! action! for me. I

hate Spain and her people. Treachery, perfidy, and cruelty make up the

mind and character of a Spaniard.

HAWKINS. Hitherto we have acted within law, and under treaty, solemnly

made between Spain and England.

DRAKE. I have no faith in and treaty or peace subsisting between the

nations (_He comes up to_ HAWKINS, _looks at him archly in the face_.

_All observing with great interest_) Why man, you forget the small

exchange of national amenities just before our departure.

HAWKINS (_laughing_) Oh! you allude to that Spanish ship which—

DRAKE (_interrupting with comical seriousness_) I mean the Spanish

man-of-war, with Flemish prisoners, who came for shelter into Plymouth

Harbour. You fired upon her with the Castillian flag at her main; made

her haul down her colours, and deliver up her prisoners, which you sent

home to fight against Spain. You remember the stir Philip made about it,

and when the Queen sent you an angry message (Lord, she never meant it—a

mere blind) you audaciously told her that you deserved her thanks for

maintaining the honour of the country (_laughter_). You know we sailed

under the protest of De Silva and have carried on our trade by force of

arms.

BOLTON. We could not venture to sea without repairs. We want at least a

week.

HAMPTON. Oh! we could soon victual—seize the ships, levy contributions,

put the town to ransom, and make sail.

HAWKINS. But then, you see the Treaty. What would the Council say?

What would Cecil say? He is against us as it is. Besides, the

legitimate trade we are carrying on—a million! in a single voyage. This

in my opinion is better than booty and open war.

DRAKE. Treaty!—Peace!—Legitimate trade!—Hawkins don’t deceive yourself;

bits of paper cannot disguise the virulent hostility subsisting between

Spain and England. The legitimate trade we are carrying on in ships

armed to the teeth! It is nothing but open war—a defiance of Philip and

his power. Talk of the Council being against us, and what Cecil may say.

(_Contemptuously_). Cecil! who can see no other way to keep up our Navy

than an Act of Parliament to compel the Protestant People of England to

eat fish. Ha! Ha! Ha! (_laughter in which the crews join_. _With

emphasis_). Bluff King Hal and his Parliament, thought Beef at a

farthing a pound was the right way to keep up the stout hearts and strong

arms of Englishmen, who themselves have ever been the true and only

defence of their Country and Freedom. (_He walks aside indignant_.

_Laughter_—_caught up and echoed back with tremendous cheers by the

sailors around and below decks_). Whenever Britons, in sloth and

ignorance shall delegate their duty to a Council, or a Government, they

will forfeit their high Destiny—their Commission from on High!—Their

safety and their Liberties will sink together in the dust of Rottenness,

and the proud Island of the Brave and Free, remain only a bleak,

deserted, and ruined rock amid the breakers, a monument of the past; a

warning to the future, like Tyre and Carthage, and Great Rome herself.

England can only fall through treason and corruption. (_Cheers from the

sailors and shouts_).

SAILORS. May God defend us from that. We can defend us from our enemies

ourselves, Hurrah!

HAWKINS. The Jesus is a wreck, can scarcely float, her mainmast

sprung—she could not go to sea.

DRAKE. Abandon her then.—Here are plenty of ships fit for a voyage, with

treasure in them. Take your choice, burn the rest, and make sail with

what we have. Put no faith in Spaniards. They will consider the treaty

as so much waste paper, when it serves their ends to do so. They fear

and hate us, and neither bonds nor treaties will stop them in their

vengeance. Our only treaty to rely on is in ourselves when we are too

strong for them—God grant it may ever be so—or woe to Merry England.

HAWKINS. Abandon the Jesus! You forget that she is the Queen’s ship—the

only one in the expedition. Do you know the temper of our good Queen?

She will expect her ship back, and also her share of the profit. What

if, instead, I should bring the Kingdom under heavy demands from Philip

for our infraction of the Treaty; I ask you, do you know her temper, or

what her Royal and gentle Majesty would say? Heh!

DRAKE (_laughing as at a joke_). Fire and Steel! I should think I did,

Ha! Ha! Ha! I know our Royal Mistress well. Her Majesty is a good

Protestant, but she has two idols set up in her heart, whose worship she

will never abandon for any other creed, “ambition and avarice;” the love

of power, and the love of gold. Give her these, what cares she for an

old hulk. Let her know that her heroes can sweep the seas, that we defy,

and soon shall break the force of haughty Spain. Above all, drench her

with gold and show me the power on earth that can drag it from her. (_He

walks aside with his hands up_). She will swallow man the gold of the

Indies, but believe me, disgorge it, never. Temper! Fire and Steel! I

think I see her temper on the receipt of a dispatch from Philip, that

clerk king, whose sceptre is his pen with which he dooms brave men to

death, and nations to slavery, whilst he himself, the veriest slave to

Monks and Priests, delegates the authority of his high office to what he

calls the Holy House of the inquisition. Restitution forsooth! What she

would say! “God’s death,” she would exclaim, “Is the fellow a fool, to

ask me for money? Let him catch Hawkins and Drake, and the rest of the

freebooters himself, and take what satisfaction he can out of them.”

That is pretty much what she would say. But if he should come himself to

demand it, I think she would be very likely to box his Royal ears for

him, and tell him to go and be hanged, as she did the stout Earl of

Essex, when he had the impudence to turn his back upon her.

(_Laughter_.)

HAWKINS. This is bold advice, Drake, but I do not like the

responsibility.

DRAKE. Responsibility! To whom? To our Queen? She will hold us

responsible, only for failure in our enterprise. In plain words, for

bringing home no money. Besides, she has no jurisdiction here, nor are

we sailing under her flag, or the authority of a Lord High Admiral, or

his Court. We Rovers sail under our own red bunting, acknowledging no

Courts; and fight our way, not palter about Treaties. Law cannot defend

us; should the Spaniards but get us into their clutches, would they

vouchsafe to us, trial in a lawful court? No! We should have neither

law nor mercy. The Inquisition! Torture! the Auto-de-fe, that is fire

and faggot, would be our lot. For my part, I will acknowledge no

responsibility, but to God, upon His own ocean! So long as I live, I

shall consider it my best duty to him, to make war upon Spaniards, who

are alike his enemies and ours. Is that monster Philip without other

motive than the impulse of a cruel nature, to sit unopposed in his

cabinet like a spider weaving his webs of slavery for mankind, to

monopolise the earth’s surface with all the gold in its bosom, and the

whole ocean as well? Why not its circumambient air, that we may ask his

leave to breathe? I tell you, Hawkins, that whilst I can muster a keel,

and men and Britons to man it, I shall ask no licence from mortal man; I

shall boldly take my share of its wild waves, in spite of all the Despots

in the world, and claim it as my patrimony from God! (_He turns away in

great excitement_.)

_The report of a solitary gun booms along the water_, _and cuts short the

debate_. _They are all startled_, _but before there is time for

utterance_, _it is followed by a discharge from the batteries on the

island_, _and successive volleys from a number of Ships in the offing_.

HAWKINS, (_in alarm_), What can this mean? Those are no signal guns, no

friendly salutes.

HAMPTON. No, General, no blank cartridges there! The report is too

sharp; it has the ring of metal. We are surprised. It is time to get

ready, and stand by our guns; it must be a Spanish fleet!

HAWKINS. God grant it be not the outward bound fleet of Spain, we must

keep them out. Get ready my pinnace! Bear a hand! We must be off to

the island, and see to this. Get your ships under weigh, and stand by,

to dispute the mouth of the harbour. (_Exeunt_.)

SCENE II.—AN ISLAND WITH BATTERIES COMMANDING THE MOUTH OF THE HARBOUR.

_The Spanish fleet of thirteen sail_, _sent out expressly to look for_

HAWKINS, _and to treat him as a pirate_. _The English forbid entrance_.

_A party of Spaniards_, _with the Spanish Ambassador and the new Viceroy

of Spain_, _under a flag of truce_, _await the arrival of the English

Commander to treat_.

Enter Sir JOHN HAWKINS, DRAKE, HAMPTON, BOLTON, and others.

SPANISH AMBASSADOR. Have I the honour to address the great, invincible

and renowned, Sir John Hawkins, whose fame is throughout the world?

HAWKINS. Your excellency has before you the Admiral and the gallant

Captains of a small English fleet, bound on a trading voyage, put in

under stress of weather, to victual and re-fit; and for our own security,

during the time we find it necessary to occupy the harbour, we intend to

prevent the entry of armed vessels.

AMBASSADOR (_amazed_). But we are the fleet of His Majesty the King of

Spain, carrying a thousand soldiers, thirteen galleons with others their

consorts and tenders. I have the honour to be his Ambassador, and this

is his viceroy, with authority to govern his possessions in the New

World. Allow me to present to you Don Martini Henriqnez, viceroy of all

the Indies. (_Hawkins bows_.) This is His Majesty’s town and dominions,

and we claim not only free entrance, but entire jurisdiction. The

nations are at peace, and we concede to you the right freely to occupy it

as friends, to trade and re-fit, with freedom of departure. What would

you more?

HAWKINS. True, your Excellency, the nations are nominally at peace, but

we Englishmen have been in these times of peace treated as worse than

enemies in war. We have been attacked by ships carrying the Castillian

flag, thrown into prison, tortured, famished in dungeons, given over to

the inquisition, to fire and faggot, contrary to the law of nations, and

to actual treaty. We must take care of ourselves. Either you shall

force an entrance at the cannon’s mouth, which you will not find a very

easy matter, or you enter on such conditions as I shall dictate. That we

have liberty to trade, victual, and re-fit, and to depart without

hindrance or molestation, that the fortifications remain in our hands,

and that you give hostages, as a guarantee for their fulfillment.

AMBASSADOR. This, Senor, is a very serious matter. It is against law,

reason, and justice that we should be under conditions imposed by a

foreigner who has no claim or authority here, to enter our own

possessions. I do not know how I should answer to my Royal Master,

should I so far compromise his authority and right, conceding to a

stranger, the privilege of dictating conditions to our ships in our own

waters.

HAWKINS. Nor I to answer to my Royal Mistress for the loss of her ships

and men by any laxity or cowardice on my part in not defending them. We

Englishmen are accustomed to consider our duty to our country paramount

over all else, to fight under the national flag till Death or Victory;

never to yield a point in debate or battle, but to stick to our guns, and

No Surrender!

ENGLISH ALL. No Surrender! No Surrender!

HAWKINS. Your Excellencies, and you Senores, you see your choice.

Either you fight or depart, or enter on our conditions.

AMBASSADOR. I shall retire if you please, and consult with his

Excellency. (_Exeunt Spaniards_. _English laughing_).

HAWKINS (_laughing_). Well, Comrades, I think I have settled their

Excellencies; what think you? They must be off. If they meant fighting,

they would have boldly entered like men, and asked no one’s leave. They

dare not enter into conditions. Philip would execute them all, and

rightly too, the poltrons. It would be complete surrender of his

authority.

HAMPTON. It is not long you would have hesitated with such a fleet,

General! I think with you, they will be off if the gale will allow them

to weather the headlands. Lord! you frightened them; they turned pale at

your very look. That’s the way to talk to them. No backing and filling;

no hauling of tacks and sheets with Spaniards. A straight course, good

headway; with half a gale blowing. That’s what they can’t stand. (_He

walks aside haughtily_).

BOLTON. General, you have spoken like a Tar, and an Englishman. I call

that sailing to half a point of the compass. (_Turning to_ HAMPTON). I

am like you, Hampton, for carrying all sail, and keeping the red flag

flying. Damn their thirteen ships and their new Viceroy Don Martini

Henriquez, too, with his thousand soldiers. What’s all that to us? We

can soon settle accounts with them, and their odds.—I never once thought

of counting the number of Spaniards or Frenchmen, or of their ships

either. Before we shall have sunk or burned the half of them, it will be

very difficult to find the other half. We are not only a match for them

on the open sea, but here they are at our mercy, keep them out, and then

the gale will do for them.

DRAKE. Well said, Old Rough and Ready, you know how to deal with

Spaniards. If you trust them, Hawkins, you will rue it all your life.

(_Exeunt_).

SCENE III.—HARBOUR OF SAN JUAN DE ULLOA.

_The Spaniards during the night have got possession of the batteries on

the heights_, _filled with men a hulk close to the Minion_, _in order to

board her_. _Their fleet of thirteen large ships arranged for action_;

_their guns brought to bear on the English_, _who are unprepared_; _many

of their men having been decoyed into the town_, _the battle commences

with an attack on these_. _The English fight their way to their boats_,

_and pull for their ships_. _The Council of War on the deck of the Jesus

see it and get ready for action_.

_Enter_ HAWKINS, DRAKE, BOLTON, and HAMPTON.

HAWKINS. Comrades! This harbour of San Juan de Ulloa wears a different

face this morning from that it bore when we last surveyed its beauties

from this deck; and doubtless inspires you all with altered feelings.

With what hope we entered it, as the last waves of the angry sea broke

vainly in our wake, and when we dropped anchor, our shattered barks rode

easy as seagulls on the waters of the peaceful bay. We congratulated

ourselves on our escape from danger—on the profits of a successful

voyage—and we surveyed the beauteous landscape in comfort and security.

How vain the dream! How changed the reality!

BOLTON. Glad as I was then, General, of its friendly shelter, I would

rather the fiercest gale that ever howled its threats in the open ocean,

than behold that thunder-cloud gathering over our heads (_he points to

the batteries_). How did they get possession of these forts?

HAWKINS. Our men, deceived by pretended friendship, cajoled by favour,

and seduced by the fascinations of the Creole women, have been allured

into the town. During the night the enemy seized the batteries.

DRAKE (_looking towards the town_). They are reaping the bitter fruits

of disobedience now, or I am much mistaken. (_Shouts_, _tumult_, _and

confusion of a multitude intermingled with shots and cheers come from the

shore_.) Hark to that! It is an English cheer and an angry one! It

cuts sharp and clear like the tone of a fife through the roar of battle.

_Shouts of_ SAILORS ON SHORE. Hurrah for Moone! Stick to them boys!

Hurrah!

DRAKE. That’s Moone in the front; how he wields his axe! He cleaves

them like sheep in the slaughter house. That’s big Jack Winter, with the

boat-hook; he handles it as if it were a quarterstaff. How he scatters

the little Spaniards! Brave boys, lay on!

BOLTON. The crowd falls back before these two men, (_great excitement on

board the Jesus_). Our fellows have the best of it. They have gained

their boats and are pulling for their ships. (_Shouts continue_, _the

sailors in the boats hail_).

SAILORS IN THE BOATS. “Jesus a-hoy.” (_The sailors on board begin to

crowd the deck in great excitement and prepare to cheer_).

HAWKINS. Hush! No cheers as you value our safety. Silence! Silence in

the ship! Boatswain, all hands to quarters in silence. Men to the guns,

deck watch, stand by to get under weigh. (_He rushes about to restore

order_).

HAMPTON. Could not our fellows by a sudden charge surprise the forts?

HAWKINS (_With assumed confidence_). It is too late, alas! But I signed

the treaty with an Ambassador of Spain, and with Philip’s Viceroy of all

the Indies. We have their honour and the credit of their nation for its

fulfilment. Upon its conditions I gave them entry into the harbour, and

saved them from destruction. Suppose they have got possession of the

batteries, they are bound to give us safe and peaceable right to victual

and re-fit, with freedom of departure.

DRAKE. Oh Hawkins, delusion, mere delusion! A treaty when you have not

the means to enforce it. There is not a moment to waste. Action!

Action! (_With energy_) Prepare for instant battle, or it will be every

way too late.

HAMPTON. They are getting into line with springs on their cables, so

that every gun may bear.

DRAKE. And the batteries, they are pointing the guns on us. Look there

Hawkins. You have the weather gage, make for them under all sail; with

the command of the wind, you can give a double broadside. Set your ship

on fire, and run her aboard the Admiral. In the confusion take to your

boats and pull for the Minion. We shall pepper away, and get to sea. On

the blue water our legs will be too long for them, should they dare to

follow us. Goodbye, God bless you, Hawkins, should we not meet again,

(_they shake hands_). No surrender. Victory or death. (_Exeunt_ DRAKE,

HAMPTON, _and_ BOLTON.) (_Scene changes_.)

SCENE IV.—THE BATTLE OF SAN JUAN DE ULLOA.

_The harbour filled with burning ships_. _The Jesus is aboard the

Spanish Admiral_, _both in flames_, _yet still fighting broadside to

broadside_. _Three hundred Spaniards attempting to board the Minion from

a hulk are being repulsed_. _The Jesus and the Minion in font_. _The

Spanish fleet at the back_. _Deck of the Jesus_.

HAWKINS. Blaze away, my sea-dogs, stick to the Admiral. Don’t let him

out clear. Hurrah! upon bows and guns. (_He turns towards the Minion_.)

See! They are on the deck of the Minion. Hurrah for Hampton! Stick to

them gallant tars. Pike, axe, and cutlass, follow me. (_He rushes at

their head through the pinnace on to the deck of the Minion_, _shouts and

cheers as they clamber over the bulwarks_). Hah! Minion to the rescue!

Down with the traitors! Down with the villains, Hah! the axe of Moone!

Great Winter, hurl them overboard with a run. Brave men, strong men,

hurrah for merry England, the day is ours, God gives us the victory;

Hurrah! Hurrah! (_with great eagerness_). Look to the deck of the

Jesus, Hampton. How well our men behave. Fire upon the Admiral, ply

shot and shaft. (_They shoot_) Hah! The long bow of England against the

world. These are the scorpions that sting our foes. My gallant fellows

have done their work, they are both blazing. It’s all up there, keep the

Spaniards in confusion and let our men get away. (_They are crowding

into their pinnace and leaping overboard_). Boats and spars for those

that are in the water. (_Men run about with spars_).

HAMPTON. Out with the sweeps and try to crawl ahead, we shall fall in

with a cap-full of wind, once clear of the vibration of the guns.

HAWKINS. Now serve out the ale. (_Leaning exhausted against the

main-mast_, _he calls to his cupbearer for Ale_). Samuel, fill me a cup

of ale, for my very soul is exhausted, but I thank God for this

deliverance, (_his cupbearer hands him a silver goblet_, _he comes

forward and poises it in the air_). Here’s to our Noble Queen and her

heroic Tars! (_He quaffs the Ale and lays down the goblet_, _which a

cannon shot dashes to pieces the moment his hand quits it_, CAPTAIN

HAMPTON _rushing forward to assist him_).

HAMPTON. Are you hurt, General? That was a narrow escape, but we are

accustomed to such chances.

HAWKINS. It was the will of God, Hampton—a warning voice to give him the

glory. There is no such thing as chance. He has not done with me yet.

(_Look_, _he looks around._) But we are all right now. Avast rowing,

let us have a view of the battle-field. Heavens! what a wreck, they are

utterly disabled. (_The harbour is strewn with wreck_. _The Spanish

fleet is blazing_; _some driven ashore_, _some sunk_, _the masts and

flags appearing above water_).

HAMPTON. The Jesus is burned to the water-mark, but she has done her

work. She has set fire to the Admiral, the flame has spread. They are

all either destroyed by fire, shot to pieces, or driven ashore. It is

truly marvellous how so small a force should destroy a powerful fleet

like that. You ought to have taken Drake’s advice to seize them with all

their arms, ships, treasure, and batteries of the place; then we should

have been masters of Spain and the Ocean.

HAWKINS. Let us be satisfied. You see I was hampered with the Treaty,

and our undetermined, perhaps divided Government.

HAMPTON. Say the traitors in the Government!—Damn the Government!—Damn

the Treaty!—But as you have said, General, perhaps we should be satisfied

with our lives. There is Drake and the Judith ahead. Pull away my boys,

there is not a breath.—What a lull the storm of battle leaves, as if the

very Ocean quailed. Hurrah upon the starboard sweeps! Hurrah! (_the

ship is drawn off_, _the Orchestra striking up_ “_Rule Britannia_.”)

_Curtain falls_.

ACT III.

SCENE I.—PLYMOUTH.

_The Hoe_—_a high ground commanding a view of the Town_, _Harbour and

Sound seaward_. _Ships sailing in and out_. _Privateers cruising by the

Offing_—_a number of the same sort in the Harbour ready to make sail at a

moment’s notice_. WILLIAM HAWKINS, _with a Telescope having taken a

view_.

HAWKINS (_melancholy and brooding_). Not a speck! No hope! All gone!

or worse, captured, and then the Inquisition, fire and faggot! Nothing

too cruel for Spaniards to Englishmen. My poor Brother!

_Enter_ SIR HENRY KILLIGREW, _who comes up to him unseen_, _one of the

many nobles and gentry driven to the sea as daring Buccaniers_, _by the

Marian persecution_, _now a most confidential agent of the_ QUEEN.

SIR HENRY KILLIGREW (_clapping him on the shoulder_). Well! old friend,

what does the Telescope say? For I can guess what you are on the look

out for. I came down from London, to have a look myself, and to have a

talk with you about these Spanish ships in port, with specie. I shall

detain them until the result of this affair is ascertained. The Queen is

in a towering rage. You know her temper when she feels not only that she

is injured, but that her honour and power are slighted. She says this is

a foul business; worse than open war.

HAWKINS. My poor Brother, with all his gallant spirit and seamanship,

when dealing with the enemy, was so confident in his crotchets of Law and

Treaty!

KILLIGREW. Law and Treaty with the Spaniard; that means let him tie your

hands until he cuts your throat and robs you! There is hardly a day

without some demand of redress from Philip, whilst even an answer is

refused to us for the gravest breaches of Law, human and divine. The

state of affairs is ominous. The Council is divided. Men say the Nation

is divided; a foul falsehood. This affair of the Queen of Scots with the

Duke of Norfolk, the poor fool! an idle threat of rebellion aided by

Spain and the Pope. The Queen hardly knows whom to trust. Her reliance

is on the Privateers, but we had better retire to talk of these matters.

Here comes a suspicious looking rascal (_he looks at him_) he walks lame!

Yet, observe, it is only a limp now and then; and that patch over his

eye—it is only put on for a blind; the fellow does not look before him,

like a man with one eye; yet he has a bold bearing, and tall. But for

the patch and the awkward limp, I should think I knew the rake of his

top-mast.

HAWKINS (_after a view of the new-comer through his

telescope_—_laughing_) You know him well. It is bold Tom Cobham, that

fought his way with Wyatt, to the very gates of the Tower. He is after

some devil’s play, I’ll warrant—and I think I know his game; he wears a

disguise in Plymouth; there are so many spies here; he is supposed to be

dead, you know.

KILLIGREW. Of course; it was given out that he was sentenced to an

extravagant death—unknown to our laws. It was a trick of the Queen’s.

She laughs when she tells how she humbugged the Ambassador, who took it

all in, and actually wrote it to his master. Elizabeth knew better than

to execute one of Lord Cobham’s sons, who so nearly forfeited their lives

in her cause. You know his offence?

HAWKINS. Yes, Yes! the Spanish ship he captured, with eighty thousand

ducats, in the Bay of Biscay, and which, after sewing up the Captain and

all hands in their sails for winding sheets, he sent to the bottom! It

was cleverly done, that affair; just like Cobham, who is not the man to

do things by halves where Spaniards are concerned. I marvel how the

thing got wind. When we scuttle a ship, we expect to hear no more of

her: dead men usually tell no tales!

KILLIGREW. In this case the adage turned out to be untrue; the westerly

swell in Biscay’s shallow waters washed eighteen bodies ashore, sewed up

in the mainsail; they of course were recognized, and the chase through

the chops of the channel was seen by another Spaniard, who knew Cobham’s

Sea Eagle before, only too well! Here he comes; let us affect not to

know him!

COBHAM _passes_—_Then walks round surveying them comically_, _using his

hand as a telescope_, _held to his covered eye_.

COBHAM. I am just taking an observation before hailing—you are a pretty

pair of land-lubbers, you are, not to recognize a brother tar and

messmate, who has only to open his mouth to hang you both for piracy and

murder on the high seas; and levying war on Her Majesty’s faithful ally

the King of Spain, a hundred times.

_They all burst into laughter_, _with a hearty recognition_.

KILLIGREW. My dear Tom, I am heartily glad to see you; but we were

carrying out your own joke, man; when you take your next observation,

just remember not to put the glass to the blind eye.

COBHAM (_laughing_). Good, good, I only show a little false bunting for

the occasion, to pass unnoticed through the crowd. We have a little

business on here, and don’t want to draw attention till it is over. (_He

takes off the patch_). But I find O cannot do this trick well; Tom

Cobham fits better his part in the rough work of battle.

HAWKINS. Aye, aye, Tom; you may as well open the other port. We could

recognize your bold sailing, whatever canvass you should hoist. What’s

the game now? I have an idea, these Antwerp-bound Spaniards, eh! They

are here, you know under the protection of the law. If they are

attacked, Philip will demand redress, and what will the Queen say?

COBHAM (_indignantly_). Say, Say! Let her say what she ought to say.

That the banner of England has been trailed through the dirt, in the

streets of Madrid, by Public officers in obedience to his own order, as

if he had taken it in battle from the Turk. Her Majesty’s subjects,

without having committed other offence than that of being free born

Englishmen, have been tortured, burned, or famished in inquisition

dungeons, and buried like dogs in dunghills; and all this by royal

authority, and during peace. Peace! There can be no peace between Spain

and England. Talk of protection, does he expect Her Majesty to became

his water bailiff, or to erect an ocean police for him? As to our Acts,

under what responsibility is she for them? They are our own private

Acts. Our ship’s are private property, our crews are volunteers; we sail

under our own flag, and are alone responsible for what we do. Let him

take care of his own by his means, and seize us if he can. Then it will

be scant mercy or justice we shall receive. As for me, I have never

sought to cover myself with my country’s flag; I go forth from my Irish

cove under my own free bunting, I have a mission of blood and vengeance

against Spain and her inquisition, and with the help of God I will never

cease a war of extermination until they are destroyed; and, Killigrew,

there is a continual voice within me which whispers, “The end it near.”

KILLIGREW. The government thinks it belongs to them, to demand

retribution for the nation, and I can speak for the Queen; she is

resolved.

COBHAM. Tush! tush! government will never do anything. No! the

merchants and sailors must take care of themselves, by self-defence and

just retaliation. It is a private war against robbers and murderers.

Look at this late affair of the five Bristol briggs at the Azores. The

English were getting under weigh as the Spanish Admiral entered the

harbour. It was enough that they carried St. George’s Cross at their

main. He fires upon them, carries their crews to Cadiz in irons, makes

over their property to the Inquisition, confiscates the ships, and throws

the men into prison to rot like thousands of their fellows, in hopeless

dungeons! (_He walks aside indignant_).

KILLIGREW. Well, but it is under negociation.

COBHAM (_sarcastically_). Negociation with the Inquisition, over whose

holy house Philip says he has no control, (_a bitter laugh_.) No, no!

the murderers must be put down as the people of St. Malo put them down.

The Spanish Inquisition burned at the stake, sixty French sailors from

St. Malo, notwithstanding Philip’s entreaty to the contrary. The French

manned their pinnaces, looked out for Spaniards, captured one hundred and

sent their heads into Spain, leaving one man in every vessel to steer her

into port, and show inquisitors the fell retribution of their bloody

work! (_He walks exultingly_). The Spanish Inquisition has meddled no

more with French sailors.

HAWKINS. All true, about our affair at the Azores. I know merchants in

Plymouth, who were owners in the ships. Now about these Spanish ships in

port, what? You see they have taken refuge from those sea-hawks outside

and from some that are inside, or I’m mistaken. What is that low black,

snake-like lugger, with her anchor just atrip, like a greyhound in the

leash?

COBHAM (_with a malicious smile_). She is a fishing-boat of mine, with

fifty hands in her, ready to make sail the moment the Spaniards move.

And those Clippers outside are the sea-hawks of the best blood in

England, driven by persecution and tyranny, to the liberty of the ocean.

There is ruffling Ned Horsey, Strangway, well known as the Red Rover of

the Channel, Carew’s, Tremaine’s, Throgmorton’s—enow—and I think,

gentlemen, you know something of two of those clippers yourselves (_with

a knowing look_). Well, you see we have law for what we do. These

Spaniards are carrying specie from Spain to support their bloody war

against our friends in the low countries, who are gallantly fighting for

civil and religious liberty. We have resolved the gold shall never reach

its destination—we shall baulk Philip in that at least, and so far, help

our brethren in the faith.

KILLIGREW (_laughing as if at a good joke_). Hold on! Hold on! every

inch there, Tom; is that your only object? Suppose it were to be

employed in some work of charity would the Rovers take the same interest

in it.

COBHAM. Well, Harry, you who have spent such a peaceful life—you who

never sunk a Spaniard or overhauled a wine brig, and ran the contents on

the sands of Lowestoft, you can do what you like with your share (_They

laugh at the sarcasm_).

HAWKINS. I say, Killigrew, that’s a broadside! Tom carries too many

guns for you! Ha! ha! ha! (_laughter in which all join_).

COBHAM. But you see I have spent my life fighting for religion and

vengeance, and, with the help of God, will so continue to the end (_with

firm resolution_) I can’t forgot the times of Wyatt!

KILLIGREW. Well, it helps the work, Tom, when there is good plunder as

well as vengeance.—Somehow, I cannot help thinking that if they carried

corn instead of gold and silver, they might have continued their voyage.

COBHAM. That is as it may be. If they hailed from a Protestant

country—England or Holland—or carried a neutral flag, Moor, Greek, or

Turk.—But Spain and her Inquisition sets my blood a boiling, I would sink

one of her ships with all hands; even if freighted with manure or sand.

Do you think our blood is to cry to Heaven in vain for vengeance? Not

while Thomas Cobham has one shot in the locker—a Rover’s deck, manned

with fifty free, daring boys, that can fight five hundred or a thousand

Spaniards wherever we meet them on the ocean. But with respect to these

Spaniards I cannot see any good reason, why we should not spoil, as well

as slay, the Philistines.

_Enter_ SIR EDWARD HORSEY _from behind_.

HORSEY. Praise the Lord! England has still one of her saints

left—spoken like a true son of a Puritan! You have chapter and verse for

that—go-a-head, Tom,—slay and take possession, and when your hand is in

the throat of the common foe, Edward Horsey is not the man to baulk you

in your purpose.

_They all shake hands with the new-comer_, _laughing_.

COBHAM. Ned! I am glad to see you. I beg your pardon! (_bowing low_).

Sir Edward Horsey! Why man, I understand the Queen has knighted you and

made you Governor of the Isle of Wight. She is coming to her senses, and

recognizing her true friends at last—a Rover of the genuine stamp

(_laughing exultingly_) Governor of the Isle of Wight! No Frenchman or

Spaniard will land there I trow. She sees that the real defence of the

coast, as well as the ultimate overthrow of Spain and the possession of

the Trident, lies with the free flag, and must pass to England through

her Freebooters.

KILLIGREW. Well she is beginning to see, that we are the men that she

must rely on at last, and even Cecil is opening his eyes. This last

affair of Sir John Hawkins, so base, cowardly, and cruel. Such an

outrage upon truth and honour. Her pride has been seriously hurt, and

you see she was a large partner in the venture, and the profits of

enormous value, entirely lost. This has wounded our Queen in the

tenderest part—her pocket. She has sent me down to ascertain if any

direct tidings have come to hand—and to consult with William Hawkins and

the rest of you, what can be done. She does not like open war, and fears

Philip will declare it.

COBHAM. How can he further declare it than by his acts? Has he not, as

far as Edicts can, closed his Ports against us, and attempted to destroy

our trade with the Flemings, who cannot do without us. Bah! has not

Hawkins boldly and seamanly answered the challenge just before he sailed,

by firing upon a Spanish Man of War, with prisoners, in Plymouth Harbour?

What is peace and what war. Well! I fear Spanish justice has overtaken

him at last with all his tricks and finesse, and all his gallantry and

skill, what is the truth? Is there any intelligence at all, William?

That is what I followed you up to hear.

HAWKINS. Nothing direct, I fear the worst. That they are all gone down

after the battle, or worse perhaps, taken, and handed over to the

Inquisition. The dreaded name of Hawkins, would bring down on them, the

full vials of Philip’s wrath. Whatever we know, is from Spanish

sources—Killigrew can give it authentic, through the Government.

KILLIGREW. Alas! We expect information here. A terrible battle has

been fought. The Queen’s ship the Jesus, with immense value has been

captured by the Spaniards, and a vast number of English killed, or made

prisoners. Some of the smaller vessels however got away. The Ambassador

observes strict silence of Sir John, or Drake, we can learn nothing, the

disaster has been terrific, we fear they are all gone. The Queen is in a

rage, and says we may go at the treasure ships, that have taken refuge in

our ports. I have taken measures to secure those at Southampton, before

coming to give you the hint, and to seize these here. She is determined

on redress.

COBHAM. You see by what I have said, I did not wait for any hints. Don

Francisco Diaz, lying there beside my lugger, carries as freight about

half a million a Genoese loan to Philip, for which the Duke of Alva hangs

fire, his army being in mutiny for their arrears of pay. The Duke

promised Philip, that he could make the war self-supporting. He has

failed entirely. The Flemings are too much for him in that, they carry

off their valuables. He gains battles but there is no plunder! (_He

turns his eye to the Spanish ship and raising his finger addresses her_).

Don Francisco Diaz! Thou shalt not deliver thy precious freight at

Antwerp! (_Cheers in the offing_).

KILLIGREW, (_laying his hand on_ COBHAM’S _shoulder_,) Hush! What’s all

that? Something of importance. (_They all look_.)

HAWKINS. What can be up? They are crowding to the beach, and the piers.

The cruisers too, they are firing salutes in the offing and showing their

bunting. What can it mean? Surely that was a cheer, rolling down upon

the wind. Let us go and see, besides, there are queer rumours I should

like you to hear whispered about the disaster of our friends, said to

come from the Spaniards in the harbour. (_A cheer in the offing_).

COBHAM. That is an undoubled cheer in the offing. There is something

ill the wind, go a-head. (_Exeunt_).

SCENE II.

_The pier_, _crowd of sailors_, _and citizens running as if for some

strange news_, _or standing in groups conjecturing_.

_Enter_ W. HAWKINS, SIR H. KILLIGREW, _and_ SIR E. HORSEY.

HAWKINS. Let us get among the sailors and hear what they think, their

instinct for the real is marvellous, as their far-sightedness at sea.

Here’s a group of the right sort for us! _Pointing to some powerful men

of haughty bearing and daring expression_, _dressed in a superior style_,

_flaunting gold chains and massive jewellery_, _with Indian silk

handkerchiefs carelessly worn_, _and other marks of wealth obstentiously

displayed_. _They seem not only to stand aloof by themselves but to

shoulder their way without considering much whether or not_, _they give

offence_. _As_ HAWKINS _and his companions make their way into the group

one of them salutes with an air of recognition_.

SAILOR. Good day, Captain! If there were Spaniards here, I would say to

them “War hawks, make all sail!” (_Looking with a knowing wink at his

companions_).

HAWKINS. Why, Bill Carvell! Is it you? What’s all this stir and

curiosity about? They are firing salutes, and cheering, in the offing.

(_Rounds of cheers_, _firing of salutes_, _and hoisting of flags by the

cruizers echoes along the shore by the people_.)

CARVELL. It is only that poor cripple limping into the harbour, with

broken legs. She is tattered, and torn, wounded and weak; and no mistake

whether by storm or battle.

2nd SAILOR. Not so overweak, that she cloud not take her own part, in

case of need. She has a dammed rakish look about her, like some broken

down gentle-woman, whose rank no poverty can conceal! I can see her

pride and high spirit, though all her rags. See how she answers the

helm, and takes the windward of that great Flemish bark!

3rd SAILOR, (_with a knowing emphasis and nod_). She’s off a long

voyage, and carries no freight; unless perhaps, it may be a dust or so of

the precious metals. I’m mistaken if she’s not in fighting gear, as well

as sailing trim.

4th SAILOR. She has passed through a heavy gale, her rigging is sadly

mawled.

3rd SAILOR. Gale be damned! It has been a thunder storm with iron for

hail! No wind or waves ever did that damage. Those bulwarks have shot

holes in them, man. Some Spaniard has got the worst of it, with that

Falcon.

HAWKINS. What think you of her, Bill Carvell? Have you any guess?

CARVELL. I am quite out of my reckoning, and yet I think she is no

stranger. But you see her spars are so handled, and the main is only a

jury mast.

HAWKINS. I imagine somehow, I know the sheer of her gunwale, and the

manner in which the foremost is stepped, (_Aside to himself_), can it be?

(_Shouts of_ “_The Judith_, _The Judith_.” _Tremendous cheering_). Yes

it is! It is the Judith and Francis Drake, if he is alive.

_The cheering and rushing about increases_. _Shouts of hurrah for the

Judith_. _Hurrah for_ DRAKE. _Hurrah for_ HAWKINS! _Down with the

Spaniards_.

CARVELL (_to_ HAWKINS). Right, Captain, I thank God for one of them.

See how the privateers gather round her. Hurrah my boys. Stand by to

lend her a hand. (_He runs about_). Get a hausser to the shore and help

her round the pier. (_The hausser is handed up_. _He and others lay

hold of it and run pulling_). Hurrah, men, with a run.

_The vessel is hauled alongside_, DRAKE _is handed up and presented to

the people amidst tremendous cheers_, _congratulations and confusion_.

_Shouts of Hurrah for_ DRAKE.

CROWD. Hurrah for Drake. (DRAKE _after grasping a hand or two shakes

them off_).

DRAKE (_with excitement_). Bear with me, friends! Bear with me! (_He

prostrates himself on the earth_, _kisses it with devoted fondness_,

_then rising on one knee addresses it with gesticulations of emotion_).

Land of my birth! Land of my love! Land of my duty! Blessed England.

Once more I press thee. Sacred be thy soil, I love thy very dust. Thus,

(_kissing the ground_), thus (_again kissing it_), I greet thee. Land of

the brave, land of the free! Tyrants may have trampled thy fields.

Fierce passions and civic strife, like the rage of fire, have scorched

thy loveliness, devoured thy people. Red hast thou been with brothers’

blood, the blood of Patriots and Martyrs. Still thou wert ever glorious.

Sanctuary of Liberty and Law, who would not die for thee? Sacred be thy

soil, may I perish ere the foot of the invader shall degrade thee. (_He

is interrupted with excitement_, _friends press round him_, _raise him up

and embrace him_. _He is much excited_).

CROWD (_with violence_), Invade us? Never! Never shall that be.

TOM COBHAM (_fiercely_). Accursed be the slave who could outlive the

insult. Never shall they touch dry land. We’ll show them the road to

the bottom of the channel. Let them invade that. (_Shouts of

indignation_, _and_ A Cobham! A Cobham.)

SAILOR. Hurrah for Cobham! He knows how to bury a Spaniard.

CROWD, Hurrah! A Cobham! A Cobham.

DRAKE (_turning to_ WILLIAM HAWKINS _with emotion_). Ah! Kinsman, all

lost but honour. Foul play! Treachery! Robbery! Murder! Spain has

outdone herself in perfidy and baseness. Poor Sir John!

HAWKINS. What of him, and the rest?

DRAKE. Alas, I know not. I saw the Jesus and the Spanish Admiral both

in flames. I fear they are all dead, or worse—prisoners. We fought our

way through fire and slaughter, and we alone remain to tell of their

glory and their fate.

HAWKINS. Alas! Alas, (_wringing his hands with great emotion and

grief_). This is a dreadful business; the fellest swoop Spain has yet

made on us. What is to be done? Alas! Alas! (_he walks about in

distraction_.)

COBHAM (_fiercely_). Cover the ocean with our cruizers! Burn their

towns! Sink their ships! Seize their treasure! War! War to the death.

CROWD. War! War to the death! A Cobham! A Cobham.

SAILOR (_stepping out and brandishing his axe_). I’ll swear eternal war

(_walks about brandishing his axe_). Death to every Spaniard I fall in

with on sea or land.

DRAKE (_much agitated_). Come along, kinsman, I must be off at once to

London and see the Queen, I must tell her all personally; her treaties

broken, commerce invaded, her own ship burned, her seamen slaughtered,

above a million gone; let me be off.

(_Exeunt_ DRAKE, HAWKINS, COBHAM, _and others_, _excited and followed by

a raging crowd_, _gesticulating violently and shouting_).

CROWD. We’ll pay them. War! Plunder! That’s the game! War! Revenge!

Hurrah for Drake, and war! Plunder! Plunder! (_Exeunt Omnes_).

(_Scene changes_).

SCENE III.—THE TERRACE OF GREENWICH PALACE.

(_Enter_ QUEEN ELIZABETH _and the_ SPANISH AMBASSADOR).

AMBASSADOR. Three large and richly laden merchant ships for Flanders,

after a brave defence, taken off the Goodwins, and their crews massacred,

drowned or captive! A Spanish vessel saw the fight, and barely escaped

to tell of the event. There is scarce a day that some prize is not

brought into Plymouth, Dover, or Southampton; the cargoes, and often the

passengers, openly sold, and the ships confiscated, or armed and added to

their fleet if suitable. These sail in and out under English colours.

QUEEN ELIZABETH (_laughing_). English Colours. Ha! Ha! Ha! Every one

knows that Pirates show as many colours as the dying Dolphin—no doubt

Spanish when it suits them. Well, I suppose the crews taken were

Spaniards, and the Corsairs Flemish, driven to the sea by the

persecutions of Alva, and who have dealt to their enemies the measure of

mercy, that he has shown their murdered families. You see your faithless

mode of warfare makes war to the knife! Look what happened at Rotterdam.

The town in terror, shut its gates against Alva’s Stadtholder. Bossu

entreated them to allow his men only to pass through, and solemnly swore

that no hurt should be done to any one. The Burghers consented. What

better disposition could be shown by loyal subjects? Well, how were they

treated? Humanity recoils from the thought. Men, women and children

were put to the sword with the practice of the most brutal atrocities,

(_with great emotion_). Defenceless women! Innocent children. What

robbers? What Corsairs ever disgraced their manhood like this? (_She

walks about indignant_). Talk no more of Tom Cobham making a winding

sheet of a mainsail, or of flinging men into the sea in just vengeance

against your tyranny. Their acts are mercy when compared with the

civilised warfare of Spanish Generals.

AMBASSADOR. Promises made to rebels are not binding after they have

answered their purpose.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. Oh! Oh! You throw the responsibility on your master.

Just so! Just so! (_with a sarcastic laugh_), just what I expected.

Perjury! Treachery! Open premeditated lying are legitimate strategy in

Spanish warfare. We read in history of Punie faith. Now we know the

faith of Spain. Carthage is outdone in Perfidy (_she walks aside with a

sarcastic laugh_). How often have I said, and said justly, that I

decline to interfere with Corsairs that keep the peace in my own realm.

Your master must take care of his own. (_With emphasis_). My

merchantmen don’t ask either him or me for protection, though they have

been attacked in the Mediterranean by the Royal Navy of Spain. They

repelled the attacks in defiance of all odds against them. English

sailors know how to take their own part, and scorn to lower their flag to

any numbers. Your master’s complaints are a sham to cover his own

delinquencies. ’Tis I that have a right to complain. Twenty six of my

subjects burned at the stake in one year by the Inquisition in your

Master’s dominions, hundreds rotting in their dungeons. My ears are

wounded! My heart bleeds to hear the cries of their widows and orphans.

(_She storms about_).

AMBASSADOR (_hurriedly_. _Anxious to get away_). Your Majesty will

pardon me for declining to go into this subject. I have no instructions,

I will now take leave. (_Aside going out_). It is useless remonstrating

with this Tigress. I must try what I can do with her secretary. Perhaps

I can bully Cecil.

(_Exit_.)

(_Enter_ SIR HENRY KILLIGREW _and the_ EARL OF LEICESTER)

QUEEN (_eagerly_). Well, Sir Henry, what has been done? How does our

account stand now with Spain? This affair of Hawkins. We must

re-imburse ourselves without stint or hesitation. I’m resolved.

KILLIGREW. We are pretty safe now; I have seized all the speice of Spain

in our harbours—a good round sum. And there is a capital joke in it,

beside the value. It turns out to be a Genoese loan to Philip, to be

delivered at Antwerp. It cannot be his till delivered. But if he does

not agree to pay it, he will certainly get no more money from the Jews,

and Alva will be in a fix.

QUEEN (_laughing_). Oh! Capital indeed, I shall take the loan; Ha! Ha!

Ha!

LEICESTER (_laughing_.) Loan! it will be along one, I fancy, but Hatton

says it is no one’s property.

QUEEN. Hatton says! Hatton’s opinion! You know he’s my sheep, I’ll

show you the value of his bleating, for I’ll take care to prove that it

is my property, and mine it shall remain. I sent Captain Holstook out

with a squadron immediately, before they should have time for

precautions, and he was not long in finding quarry. He has already, in

addition to odd Spanish prizes of considerable value, secured two fleets

of Flemish merchantmen, one now in Harwich and the other in the Thames.

KILLIGREW. And there is not a day that the privateers don’t bring a rich

prize or two into Dover, Plymouth, or Southampton. Not to speak of the

wine brigs, on the sly, discharged along the coast. When all is counted

up, Philip will find his murderous attack on Hawkins and the illegal

seizure of our traders’ capital, guaranteed by treaty, a losing game.

QUEEN. I have just arranged for my morning ride, and the French

Ambassador is to accompany me. I am curious to ascertain the effect of

these measures of retaliation in that quarter. I have my reasons for it.

Besides, I wish them to see what they are to expect should they dare to

trespass on my realm. (_Exeunt_.)

SCENE IV.—A ROOM IN THE PALACE.

_Enter_ QUEEN _and_ CECIL.

QUEEN (_proudly_). It is their born faith—the creed they’ll fight

for—that the ocean, all that floats upon its waves or lives in its

waters, of right belongs to England. This is the creed of every

Englishman, born within the inspiring influence of the four seas. With

this spirit-stirring notion they must conquer Cecil. It will be all up

with England’s power when shallow pated politicians and place-hunting

doctrine-mongers teach them other ways, and curb with their enactments

and official rules the daring spirit of our seamen.

CECIL. A notion involving war. To foster it is to play a part I dare

not.

QUEEN. Play a part. I have been a player all my life. The world my

theatre. The poor hireling acts upon the stage for pay, perhaps for

fame. My wages were my life, and England’s power and glory. I’ll play

my part until the end.

CECIL. Howere that be, your Majesty must see, we have traced these plots

of assassination home to Philip himself.

QUEEN. Then why be nice with him? (_with abrupt energy_) Unslip the

leash and let my sea-dogs loose upon their own responsibility.—They ask

no more—nor aid—nor sanction—the genuine blood of England—bold and

free—true to their country—as needle to the pole. I have sent an

expedition out that will astonish Philip; young Drake commands it—gifted

by heaven for undertaking great and high exploit. Original, cool,

confident, and daring—truth written on his face. My life on his success.

This is the way to meet conspiracy (_she walks aside excitingly_).

CECIL. It is the way to war, my Royal Mistress. Without a Royal Navy, I

tremble for the consequence.

QUEEN. Navy! Without a navy! Our western counties have just sent forth

a fleet (_with emphasis_) thirty cruizers at their own expense, which

can, and will, command the Channel. They swear they’ll have the ocean

and the Indies for this country. Philip will have enough to do, guarding

his coast and gold-ships, without assailing us. War, you say, call you

this peace?—to aim assassins’ daggers at my life—to violate our solemn

treaties—stop our commerce, seize our ships and cargoes, consign our

noble seamen to flames, or to rot by hundreds in his dungeons.—I call

this the worst of wars. Open war he dare not wage. France could not

allow him. She would fall next. Between them we are safe. (_With

disdain_) Not that I fear either—England can defend herself. In this my

people are agreed. No foreign despot shall ever rule them. You see my

mind’s made up, so to the Council and tell them so (_she walks aside

decided_. _Exit_ CECIL) No Royal Navy? What of our twenty great ships

reviewed so lately, whose crews and power were held so high that foreign

nations have already named me “Queen of the Seas—Restorer of Naval

Glory?” What of our great ships of commerce, which our merchants have

armed for war—able to fight their way upon the waves and ready at a

moment’s notice to join our fleet? Where is Philip’s navy? Engaged as

convoys of his Indian trade. Concentrate that for an attack on us, what

would become of his gold-ships? Our privateers would have them before a

month anchored in the Thames. So think Hawkins, Drake, Lord William

Howard, and all that band of men who know something about the business.

Lastly, I have Drake’s gigantic scheme, locked safe and secret in my

Cabinet, to seize the Newfoundland fishing-fleet, twenty-five thousand

fisherman! and thus leave Spain without a sailor to man her navy—then to

take possession of her gold-ships and the Indies. I confess that

startled, almost frightened me. Conception vast! Genius! Greatness!

Inspiration! Invasion is impossible! With Drake alone, England, thou

art safe! (_exit_)

_Curtain falls_.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.—DECK OF THE PACHA.

_Nombre de Dios_. _Moonlight_. _The bright Caribean sea and luminous

sky_. _The islands with their picturesque forms and foliage_. _The

ample bay with its rivers_. _The land covered with forest_. _The

mountains in the far distance_, _with snow-clad summits_, _above the

range of the highest clouds_.

DRAKE. Land of wonder! Beauty! Richness! Abundance! which poets in

their wildest flights of fancy never dreamed of.—Beyond!—The vast

continent, stretching one knows not whither. Whose bowels teem with

gold. The appanage of a single crown. Such is the greatness and the

wealth of Philip—enough to conquer or to bribe the world wasted in his

feeble hand. Our cockle-shells have sailed these summer seas without

control. Spain’s giant frame asleep—incapable—or paralysed. How easy to

sweep her from the sea. That looms in the future. It flits before me

like distant land—now seen in sunshine—now lost in haze—a shapeless form.

Still the vision never leaves me. Even in my sleep my country grapples

her; always triumphant—fiercer—stronger every time. The death struggle

wakes me—I see it clearly—Spain falls—and England takes her place. Here

comes our canoe of observation, her low black outline scarce

distinguishable from a ripple of the ocean (_the boat comes alongside_,

JOHN DRAKE _and_ OXENHAM, _with an Indian_, _climb upon the deck_) Well

Brother, I trust a good report?

JOHN DRAKE. The course is clear. Seize the batteries and take what you

like.—There’s not an armed ship in the harbour.

DRAKE. I’ll give them a lesson for the one they taught me at San Juan de

Ulloa. Therefore cut down, burn, destroy—save only gold, silver, jewels,

and things worth carrying away. I’ll teach them to leave off their

bloody work.

OXENHAM. Well, General, we have done pretty fair, to put our hands in

practice. For months we have sailed through these parts—sacking towns,

burning houses, sinking ships, crews and all, plundering and taking

prizes, without being over scrupulous as to kind or quantity. Has there

been a church, within our reach, where we have left a chalice, or a

crucifix, worth carrying away?

DRAKE. The real work is now beginning. This Nombre de Dios is the

shipping port for Spain—the store house of her treasure. Gold abounds

here. Men, women, children—the proud Castillian—the feeble Creole—the

wild Indian, are covered with it. Who is this you have brought with you?

OXENHAM. Oh! We have found a treasure worth the whole plunder of the

town. This is one of the noble Symerons, who defend their country

against the invader. He will tell you all, and introduce you to his

countrymen, at war with the Spaniards.

DRAKE. Oh, excellent! (_he turns to the Indian_) I am glad to be

acquainted with one of the oppressed children of the land. We English

hate Spaniards like you, and have come here to make war upon them. What

is your name?

INDIAN. Chiruca.—I am son of the Great Cacique who after the massacre of

our people by the cruel Alonzo de Ojeda and the robber Enciso, rallied

our nations against the invaders. We have heard of the brave Inglesos,

and the terrible Drake. I came to seek you with an offer of friendship.

Five great Caciques, with all their warriors, will join you against the

foe. I will be your guide to them. You must go up the rivers of

Panama—fight them in the woods, and seize the Racoes with the treasure.

Our nation will assist you. I shall send Symerons by land to bring them

to meet us.

DRAKE. The thing I most desire is to cross the Isthmus and catch a

glimpse of the great ocean on the other side.

CHIRUCA. Nothing can be easier. We shall conduct you through

fruit-laden forests, which yet a Spanish foot hath never cursed.

DRAKE. Good! When we shall have surprised and plundered Nombre de Dios.

(_The men are bustling into the boats and making ready for the

attack_.—MOON _salutes_ DRAKE _and eagerly observes_).

MOON. That galleon at anchor, General!—Would’nt it be as well to cut

away her rigging and send adrift her boats, as we go in? She might make

sail whilst we are engaged.

DRAKE. Well said, my boy. You’ll see to that. Clip her wings and make

her wait our pleasure. We can ease her of her precious burden at our

leisure. Now, my men, for action! Nombre de Dios is a victim bound for

slaughter, and delivered into our hands.

MOON (_saluting_). The Pinnaces and boats, General, are manned and

ready.

_Officers are bustling about and giving orders_.

DRAKE. Well done, Moon! You wait for orders. (_To_ OXENHAM.) A word

before we start, Oxenham. You land on the left—lead your corps round to

the back.

OXENHAM. And that high ground on the east, General. There might be

cannon there?

DRAKE. Take it in your way. Then push for the eastern gate; it leads to

the royal treasure house. Wait there the signal. Here is a plan of the

place (_he points to it with his finger as he gives it to him_,

_explaining it_). You see the course is clear and simple. When you hear

the first volley, rush in with tremendous shouting, and meet me in the

market-place.

OXENHAM. I shall be there, if alive.

_Exit_ OXENHAM _with his corps in a pinnace_.

DRAKE. Now then pull for the Quay. Away, my men, away! (_Exeunt_).

_Scene changes_.