I
The great sailors of the Elizabethan era--Hawkins, Drake, Frobisher,
Howard, Davis, and Sir Humphrey Gilbert--were the prototypes of the
sailors of the nineteenth century. They discovered new lands, opened
up new avenues of commerce, and combined these legitimate forms of
enterprise with others which at this date would be regarded as rank
piracy. Since, however, they believed themselves to be the ambassadors
of God, they did everything in His name, whether it were the seizing
of Spanish treasure or the annexing of new worlds by fair means or
foul, believing quite sincerely in the sanctity of what they did with
a seriousness and faith which now appear almost comic.
For many years the authorities of the Inquisition had plundered goods
and put to death English seamen and merchants, and Spanish Philip,
when remonstrated with, shrugged his shoulders and repudiated the
responsibility by saying that he had no power over the "Holy House."
Drake retaliated by taking possession of and bringing to England a
million and a half of Spanish treasure while the two countries were
not at war. It is said that when Drake laid hands on the bullion at
Panama he sent a message to the Viceroy that he must now learn not to
interfere with the properties of English subjects, and that if four
English sailors who were prisoners in Mexico were ill-treated he would
execute two thousand Spaniards and send him their heads. Drake never
wasted thought about reprisals or made frothy apologetic speeches as
to what would happen to those with whom he was at religious war if
they molested his fellow-countrymen. He met atrocity with atrocity. He
believed it to be his mission to avenge the burning of British seamen
and the Spanish and Popish attempts on the life of his virgin
sovereign. That he knew her to be an audacious flirt, an insufferable
miser, and an incurable political intriguer whose tortuous moves had
to be watched as vigilantly as Philip's assassins and English
traitors, is apparent from reliable records. His mind was saturated
with the belief in his own high destiny, as the chosen instrument to
break the Spanish power in Europe. He was insensible to fear, and knew
how to make other people fear and obey him. He was not only an
invincible crusader, but one of those rare personalities who have the
power of infusing into his comrades his own courage and enthusiasm.
The Spanish said he was "a magician who had sold his soul to the
devil." The Spanish sailors, and Philip himself, together with his
nobles, were terror-stricken at the mention of his name. He was to
them an invincible dragon. Santa Cruz warned his compatriots that the
heretics "had teeth, and could use them." Here is another instance,
selected from many, of the fanatical superstitions concerning Drake's
irresistible power. Medina Sidonia had deserted the Andalusian
squadron. Drake came across the flagship. Her commander said he was
Don Pedro de Valdes, and could only surrender on honourable terms. The
English commander replied, "I am Drake, and have no time to parley.
Don Pedro must surrender or fight." So Don Pedro surrendered to the
gallant captain of the _Revenge_, and lavished him with praise,
evidently glad to have fallen into the hands of so famous and generous
a foe. Drake is said to have treated his captive with elaborate
generosity, while his crew commandeered all the vast treasure. He then
sent the galleon into Dartmouth Harbour, and set off with his
prisoners to chase Medina Sidonia.
In the whole range of Drake's adventurous career there does not appear
to be any evidence of his having been possessed with the idea of
supernatural assistance, though if perchance he missed any of Philip's
treasure-ships he complacently reported "the reason" to those in
authority as "being best known to God," and there the incident ended.
On the other hand, the Deity was no mystery to him. His belief in a
Supreme Power was real, and that he worked in harmony with It he never
doubted. When he came across anything on land or sea which he thought
should be appropriated for the benefit of his Queen and country, or
for himself and those who were associated with him in his piratical
enterprises, nothing was allowed to stand in his way, and, generally
speaking, he paralysed all resistance to his arms into submission by
an inexorable will and genius. The parsimonious Elizabeth was always
slyly willing to receive the proceeds of his dashing deeds, but never
unduly generous in fixing his share of them. She allowed her ships to
lie rotting when they should have been kept in sound and efficient
condition, and her sailors to starve in the streets and seaports.
Never a care was bestowed on these poor fellows to whom she owed so
much. Drake and Hawkins, on the other hand, saw the national danger,
and founded a war fund called the "Chatham Chest"; and, after great
pressure, the Queen granted £20,000 and the loan of six battleships to
the Syndicate. Happily the commercial people gave freely, as they
always do. What trouble these matchless patriots had to overcome!
Intrigue, treason, religious fanaticism, begrudging of supplies, the
constant shortage of stores and provisions at every critical stage of
a crisis, the contradictory instructions from the exasperating Tudor
Queen: the fleet kept in port until the chances of an easy victory
over England's bitterest foes had passed away! But for the vacillation
of the icy virgin, Drake's Portugal expedition would have put the
triumph of the Spanish Armada to the blush, and the great Admiral
might have been saved the anguish of misfortune that seemed to follow
his future daring adventures for Spanish treasure on land and sea
until the shadows of failure compassed him round. His spirit broken
and his body smitten with incurable disease, the fleet under his
command anchored at Puerto Bello after a heavy passage from Escudo de
Veragua, a pestilential desert island. He was then in delirium, and on
the 28th January, 1596, the big soul of our greatest seaman passed
away beyond the veil. His body was put into a lead and oak coffin and
taken a few miles out to sea, and amidst manifestations of great
sorrow he was lowered down the side and the waters covered him over.
Two useless prize ships were sunk beside him, and there they may still
lie together. The fleet, having lost their guiding spirit, weighed
anchor and shaped their course homewards.
Drake was not merely a seaman and the creator of generations of
sailors, but he was also a sea warrior of superb naval genius. It was
he who invented the magnificent plan of searching for his country's
enemies in every creek into which he could get a craft. He also imbued
Her Gracious Majesty and Her Gracious Majesty's seamen with the idea
that in warfare on sea or land it is a first principle to strike first
if you wish to gain the field and hold it. Having smashed his
antagonist, he regarded it as a plain duty in the name of God to live
on his beaten foes and seize their treasures of gold, silver,
diamonds, works of art, etc., wherever these could be laid hold of.
The First Lady of the Land was abashed at the gallant sailor's bold
piratical efforts. She would not touch the dirty, ill-gotten stuff
until the noble fellow had told her the fascinating story of his
matchless adventures and slashing successes. Doubtless the astute
Admiral had learned that his blameless Queen was only averse to
sharing with him the plunder of a risky voyage until he had assured
her again and again that her cousin, Philip of Spain, had his
voracious eye on her life, her throne, and all her British
possessions, wherever they might be.
The valiant seaman appears to have played daintily and to good effect
with the diabolical acts of the Spaniards, such as the burning of
English seamen, until they roused in Elizabeth the spirit of
covetousness and retaliation. It was easy then for her incorruptible
integrity (!) to surrender to temptation. A division of what had been
taken from Philip's subjects was forthwith piously made. Elizabeth,
being the chief of the contracting parties, took with her accustomed
grace the queenly share. On one occasion she walked in the parks with
Drake, held a royal banquet on board the notorious _Pelican_, and
knighted him; while he, in return for these little attentions,
lavished on his Queen presents of diamonds, emeralds, etc. The
accounts which have been handed down to us seem, in these days,
amazing in their cold-blooded defiance of honourable dealing. But we
must face the hard facts of the necessity of retaliation against the
revolting deeds of the Inquisition and the determined, intriguing
policy of worming Popery into the hearts of a Protestant nation, and
then we realize that Drake's methods were the "invention" of an
inevitable alternative either to fight this hideous despotism with
more desperate weapons and greater vigour than the languid,
luxury-loving Spaniards had taken the trouble to create or succumb to
their tremendous power of wealth and wickedness. Drake was the chosen
instrument of an inscrutable destiny, and we owe it to him that the
divided England of that day was saved from annihilation. He broke the
power of Spain at sea, and established England as the first naval and
mercantile Power in the world. He was the real founder of generations
of seamen, and his undying fame will inspire generations yet unborn to
maintain the supremacy of the seas.
The callous, brutal attitude of Elizabeth towards a race of men who
had given their lives and souls so freely in every form of danger and
patriotic adventure because they believed it to be a holy duty is one
of the blackest pages of human history. The cruelties of the Spanish
Inquisition and the treatment of sailors in the galleys were only
different in degree, and while there are sound reasons for condemning
the Queen and the ruling classes of that time for conduct that would
not be tolerated in these days, it is unquestionably true that it was
a difficult task to keep under control the spirit of rebellion of that
period, as it is to-day. Doubtless those in authority were, in their
judgment, compelled to rule with a heavy hand in order to keep in
check wilful breaches of discipline.
Attempts to mutiny and acts of treason were incidents in the wonderful
career of Francis Drake which frequently caused him to act with
severity. Doughty, the Spanish spy, who was at one time a personal
friend of Drake's, resolved to betray his commander. Doughty was
caught in the act, tried by a court composed of men serving under
Drake, found guilty, and after dining with the Admiral, chatting
cheerfully as in their friendly days, they drank each other's health
and had some private conversation not recorded; then Doughty was led
to the place of execution and had his head chopped off, Drake
exclaiming as it fell, "Lo, this is the end of traitors!" Then Drake
relieved Fletcher of his duties as chaplain by telling him softly that
he would "preach this day." The ship's company was called together and
he exhorted them to harmony, warning them of the danger of discord.
Then in his breezy phraseology he exclaims, "By the life of God, it
doth even take my wits from me to think of it." The crew, it appears,
was composed of gentlemen, who were obviously putting on airs, and
sailors, who resented their swank as much as did the great captain. So
Drake proceeds to lay the law down vehemently. "Let us show
ourselves," said he, "all to be of one company, and let us not give
occasion to the enemy to rejoice at our decay and overthrow. Show me
the man that would refuse to set his hand to a rope, but I know that
there is not any such here." Then he proceeds to drive home his plan
of discipline with vigour. "And as gentlemen are necessary for
government's sake in the voyage, so I have shipped them to that and to
some further intent." He does not say quite what it is, but they
doubtless understand that it is meant to be a warning lest he should
be compelled to put them through some harsh form of punishment. He
concludes his memorable address with a few candid words, in which he
declares that he knows sailors to be the most envious people in the
world and, in his own words, "unruly without government," yet, says
he, "May I not be without them!" It is quite clear that Drake would
have no class distinction. His little sermon sank deep into the souls
of his crew, so that when he offered the _Marigold_ to those who had
lost heart, to take them back to England, he had not only made them
ashamed of their refractory conduct, but imbued them with a new
spirit, which caused them to vie with each other in professions of
loyalty and eagerness to go on with him and comply with all the
conditions of the enterprise.
The great commander had no room for antics of martyrdom. He gave human
nature first place in his plan of dealing with human affairs. He did
not allow his mind to be disturbed by trifles. He had big jobs to
tackle, and he never doubted that he was the one and only man who
could carry them to a successful issue. He took his instructions from
Elizabeth and her blustering ministers, whom he regarded as just as
likely to serve Philip as the Tudor Queen if it came to a matter of
deciding between Popery and Protestantism. He received their
instructions in a courtly way, but there are striking evidences that
he was ever on the watch for their vacillating pranks, and he always
dashed out of port as soon as he had received the usual hesitating
permission. Once out of reach, he brushed aside imperial instructions
if they stood in the way of his own definite plan of serving the best
interests of his country, and if the course he took did not completely
succeed--which was seldom the case--he believed "the reason was best
known to God."
John Hawkins and Francis Drake had a simple faith in the divine object
they were serving. Hawkins thought it an act of high godliness to
pretend that he had turned Papist, in order that he might revenge and
rescue the remnant of his poor comrades of the San Juan de Ulloa
catastrophe, who were now shut up in Seville yards and made to work in
chains. Sir John hoodwinked Philip by making use of Mr. George
Fitzwilliam, who in turn made use of Rudolfe and Mary Stuart. Mary
believed in the genuineness of the conspiracy to assassinate Elizabeth
and set up the Queen of Scots in her place, to hand over Elizabeth's
ships to Spain, confiscate property, and to kill a number of
anti-Catholic people. The Hawkins counterplot of revenge on Philip and
his guilty confederates was completely successful. The comic audacity
of it is almost beyond belief. The Pope had bestowed his blessing on
the conspiracy, and the Spanish Council of State was enthusiastically
certain of its success. So credulous were they of the great piratical
seaman's conversion, that an agreement was signed pardoning Hawkins
for his acts of piracy in the West Indies and other places; a Spanish
peerage was given him together with £40,000, which was to be used for
equipping the privateer fleet. The money was duly paid in London, and
possibly some of it was used for repairing the British squadron which
Hawkins had pronounced as being composed of the finest ships in the
world for him to hand over to Philip, even though they had been
neglected owing to the Queen's meanness. The plausible way in which
the great seaman put this proposition caught the imagination of the
negotiators. They were captivated by him. He had caused them to
believe that he was a genuine seceder from heresy and from allegiance
to the Queen of England, and was anxious to avow his penitence for the
great sins he had committed against God and the only true faith, and
to make atonement for them in befitting humility. All he asked for was
forgiveness, and in the fullness of magnanimity they were possibly
moved to ask if, in addition to forgiveness, a Spanish peerage, and
£40,000, he would like to commemorate the occasion of his conversion
by a further token of His Spanish Majesty's favour. It is easy to
picture the apparent indifference with which he suggested that he did
not ask for favours, but if he were to ask for anything, it would be
the release from the Inquisition galleys of a few poor sailor
prisoners. The apparently modest request was granted. Hawkins had
risked his life to accomplish this, and now he writes a letter to
Cecil beginning "My very good Lord." I do not give the whole of the
letter. Suffice it to say that he confirms the success of the plot so
far as he is concerned, and in a last paragraph he says, "I have sent
your Lordship the copy of my pardon from the King of Spain, in the
order and manner I have it, with my great titles and honours from the
King, from which God deliver me."
The process by which Hawkins succeeded in obtaining the object he had
in view was the conception of no ordinary man. We talk and write of
his wonderful accomplishments on sea and land, as a skilful, brave
sailor, but he was more than that. He was, in many respects, a genius,
and his courage and resolution were unfailingly magnificent.
I dare say the prank he played on Philip and his advisers would be
regarded as unworthy cunning, and an outrage on the rules of high
honour. Good Protestant Christians disapproved then, as now, the
wickedness of thus gambling with religion to attain any object
whatsoever, and especially of swearing by the Mother of God the
renunciation of the Protestant faith and the adoption of Roman
Catholicism. The Spaniards, who had a hand in this nefarious
proceeding, were quite convinced that, though Hawkins had been a
pirate and a sea robber and murderer, now that he had come over to
their faith the predisposition to his former evil habits would leave
him. These were the high moral grounds on which was based the resolve
to execute Elizabeth and a large number of her subjects, and take
possession of the throne and private property at their will. It was,
of course, the spirit of retaliation for the iniquities of the British
rovers which was condoned by their monarch. In justification of our
part of the game during this period of warfare for religious and
material ascendancy, we stand by the eternal platitude that in that
age we were compelled to act differently from what we should be
justified in doing now. Civilization, for instance, so the argument
goes, was at a low ebb then. I am not so sure that it did not stand
higher than it does now. It is so easy for nations to become
uncivilized, and we, in common with other nations, have a singular
aptitude for it when we think we have a grievance. Be that as it may,
Hawkins, Drake, and the other fine sea rovers had no petty scruples
about relieving Spaniards of their treasure when they came across it
on land or on their ships at sea. Call them by what epithet you like,
they believed in the sanctity of their methods of carrying on war, and
the results for the most part confirmed the accuracy of their
judgment. At any rate, by their bold and resolute deeds they
established British freedom and her supremacy of the seas, and handed
down to us an abiding spirit that has reared the finest seamen and
established our incomparable merchant fleet, the largest and finest in
the world.
There is no shame in wishing the nation to become imbued with the
spirit of these old-time heroes, for the heritage they have bequeathed
to us is divine and lives on. We speak of the great deeds they were
guided to perform, but we rarely stop to think from whence the
inspiration came, until we are touched by a throbbing impulse that
brings us into the presence of the great mystery, at which who would
dare to mock?
It is strange that Hawkins' and Drake's brilliant and tragic careers
should have been brought to an end by the same disease within a short
time of each other and not many miles apart, and that their mother,
the sea, should have claimed them at last in the vicinity of the scene
of their first victorious encounter with their lifelong enemies, the
Spaniards. The death of the two invincibles, who had long struck
terror into the hearts of their foes, was the signal for prolonged
rejoicings in the Spanish Main and the Indies, while the British
squadron, battered and disease-smitten, made its melancholy way
homeward with the news of the tragedy.
For a time the loss of these commanding figures dealt a blow at the
national spirit. There are usually long intervals between Cæsars and
Napoleons. Nations have, in obedience to some law of Nature, to pass
through periods of mediocre rule, and when men of great genius and
dominating qualities come to clear up the mess, they are only
tolerated possibly by fear, and never for long by appreciation. A
capricious public soon tires of these living heroes. It is after they
are dead that they become abiding examples of human greatness, not so
much to their contemporaries as to those generations that follow them.
The historian has a great deal to do with the manner in which the fame
of a great man is handed down to posterity, and it should never be
forgotten that historians have to depend on evidence which may be
faulty, while their own judgment may not always be sound. It is a most
difficult task to discipline the mind into a perfectly unbiased
condition. The great point is to state honestly what you believe, and
not what you may know those you are speaking to wish you to say. The
contemporaries of Hawkins and Drake unquestionably regarded them with
high admiration, but I question whether they were deified then as they
are now. The same thing applies to Nelson and Collingwood, of whom I
shall speak later on, as the historian has put the stamp upon their
great deeds also.
Drake and Hawkins attracted attention because of their daring voyages
and piratical enterprises on Spanish property on sea and land. Every
obstacle was brushed aside. Danger ever appealed to them. They dashed
into fortified ports filled with warships fully equipped, silenced the
forts, sank and set fire to Philip's vessels, and made everything and
everybody fly before them in the belief that hell had been let loose.
To the superstitious Spanish mind it seemed as though the English must
be under Satanic protection when they slashed their way undaunted into
the midst of dangers which would inevitably spell death for the mere
mortal. These corsairs of ours obviously knew and took advantage of
this superstition, for cannon were never resorted to without good
reason, and never without effect. The deliberate defiance of any
written or unwritten law that forbade their laying hands on the
treasure they sought so diligently, and went far and near to find,
merely increased public admiration. Elizabeth pretended that they were
very trying to her Christian virtues. But leave out of count the
foregoing deeds--which no one can dispute were prodigious, and quite
equal to the part these men played in the destruction of the
Armada--what could be more dashingly brilliant in naval warfare than
Drake's raids on San Domingo, Carthagena, Cadiz, and other ports and
cities of old and new Spain, to which I have already briefly alluded?
It was their great successes in their great undertakings, no matter
whether it was "shocking piracy" or not, that immortalized these
terrible creators of England's greatness all the world over!
Thomas Cobham, a member of a lordly and Protestant family, became a
sailor, and soon became fascinated with the gay life of privateering.
Once when in command of a vessel, eagerly scouring the seas for
Spanish prizes, one was sighted, bound from Antwerp to Cadiz. Cobham
gave chase, easily captured her in the Bay of Biscay, and discovered
there were forty Inquisition prisoners aboard. After rescuing the
prisoners, the captain and crew of the Spanish vessel were then sewn
up in their own mainsail and tossed into the sea, no doubt with such
sententious expressions of godliness as was thought befitting to
sacred occasions of that period. This ceremony having been performed,
the vessel was scuttled, so that she might nevermore be used in
trading with British sailors or any one else for Inquisition
purposes. When the story became known, the case was discreetly
inquired into, and very properly the gallant Cobham was never
punished, and was soon running here and there at his old game.
It may be taken for granted that there was no mincing matters when an
opportunity for reprisals occurred. The Spaniards had carried
barbarism to such a pitch in seizing our ships and condemning their
crews to the galleys, that Queen Elizabeth was never averse to meeting
murder and plunder by more than the equivalent in retaliation, except
when she imagined that Philip was showing signs of overpowering
strength; she then became timid and vacillating. She was never
mentally disturbed by the moral side of the great deeds that brought
her vast stores of plunder. Moreover, she could always find an
accommodating bishop to put her qualms (if she ever had any, except
those of consequence to herself) at rest on points of conscience. One
noted personage, who held high ecclesiastical office, told her that it
was a virtue to seize treasure when she knew it would otherwise be
used for the purpose of murdering her Protestant subjects. Sir Arthur
Champernowne, a noted vice-admiral of Elizabeth's reign, in writing to
Cecil of the vessel that had put into Plymouth through stress of
weather with the needy Philip's half-million of ducats on board,
borrowed, it is said, from a Genoa firm of financiers, said it should
be claimed as fair booty. Sir Arthur's view was that anything taken
from so perfidious a nation was both necessary and profitable to the
Commonwealth. No doubt a great deal of pious discussion would centre
round the Vice-Admiral's easy moral but very logical opinions. The
main thing in his mind, and in that of everybody else who was free
from poisoned cant, was that the most shocking crimes were being
openly advocated by Philip, King of Spain, against all European
Protestants, rich or poor, who came within the clutches of the savages
that administered the cruelties of the Inquisition. The canting crowd
shrieked against the monstrous impiety of such notions, but their
efforts to prove purity of motive were unavailing.
After considered thought by a committee of men of high rectitude, it
was decided to act without fear or favour in a strictly impartial
manner, so Philip's half-million of bullion was divided between the
Prince of Orange and the rigid moralist, Elizabeth, who is credited
with having spent her share on the Navy, a very admirable way of
disposing of it.
This act was the cause of a deluge of reprisals on the part of Spain.
But, from all accounts, Elizabeth's corsairs had always the best of it
in matters of material importance. The Spanish are naturally a proud,
brave race. In the middle of the sixteenth century their power
dominated two-thirds of the universe, and had they stuck to business,
and not so feverishly to the spreading of their religious faith by
violent means, they might have continued a predominant nation.
Their civil, naval, and military position was unequalled. The
commerce and wealth of the whole world was pre-eminently in their
hands, and in common with other nations who arrive at heights of
power, prosperity, and grandeur (which last sits so easily on the
Spaniard), they gave way to pleasures and to the luxury of laziness
which invariably carries with it sensuality. Wherever they found
themselves in the ascendancy, they intrigued to impose the Roman faith
on the population, and if that method did not succeed with felicity,
whenever the agents of their governing classes, including their king,
met with opposition from prominent men or women, their opponents were
put to the rack, burnt, or their heads sent flying. In this country no
leading Protestant's life or property was safe. Even Elizabeth, during
the reign of her half-sister, Mary, was obliged to make believe that
her religious faith was Roman in harmony with that of the Queen. It
was either adoption, deception, or execution, and the future queen
outwitted all their traps and inventions until Mary passed on, and
Elizabeth took her place on the throne.
Meanwhile, Spain, as I have indicated, was tampering with abiding
laws. Catastrophe always follows perilous habits of life, which were
correctly attributed to the Spanish. As with individuals, so it is
with nations; pride can never successfully run in conjunction with the
decadence of wealth. It is manifestly true that it is easier for a
nation to go up than to realize that it has come down, and during long
years Spain has had to learn this bitter lesson. It was not only
imperious pride of race and extravagant grandeur that brought the
destruction of her supremacy of the seas, and the wealth and supremacy
of many lands, but their intolerable religious despotism towards those
who were not already, and refused to become, as I have said, adherents
of the Roman Catholic creed. Poor wretches who were not strong enough
to defend themselves had the mark of heretics put on them; and for
nearly thirty years Spaniards carried on a system of burning British
seamen whenever they could lay hands on them. They kept up a constant
system of spying and plotting against the British Protestant Queen and
her subjects of every position in life. The policy of the Spanish King
and government was to make the British and other races vassals of the
Pope. Philip, like all powerful monarchs and individuals who are put
into power without any of the qualities of fitness to fill a high
post, always believed that his presence on earth was an act of supreme
Providence. Philip, in proclaiming his glorious advent for the good of
mankind, explained it with a decorum that had a fascinating flavour.
Unlike some imitators of great personalities, he was never vulgarly
boastful in giving expression to the belief that his power came from
above and would be sustained by the mystery that gave him it in such
abundance, but, in fact, he never doubted what was known as the
doctrine of the divine right of kings.
The human support which kept him in authority did not enter into his
calculations. The popular notions of the democracies then was that no
physical force could sever the alliance which existed between God and
monarchs; and there is no evidence that Philip was ever disillusioned.
He regarded his adversaries, especially Hawkins and Drake, in the
light of magicians possessed of devilish spirits that were in conflict
with the wishes of the Deity. His highly placed and best naval
officer, Santa Cruz, took a more realistic view than his master,
though he might have had doubts as to whether the people who were at
war with Spain were not a species of devil. But he expressed the view
which even at this distance of time shows him to have been a man of
sane, practical thought. Philip imagined he could agree with the acts
of assassins (and also support the Holy Office) in their policy of
burning English sailors as heretics. Santa Cruz reflected more deeply,
and advised the King that such acts were positively courting disaster,
because "the British corsairs had teeth, and could use them."
Spain looked upon her naval position as impregnable, but Elizabeth's
pirates contemptuously termed it "a Colossus stuffed with clouts."
Priests, crucifixes, and reliance on supernatural assistance had no
meaning for them. If any suggestion to impose on them by such means
had been made, they would have cast the culprits over the side into
the sea. They were peculiarly religious, but would tolerate no saintly
humbugs who lived on superstition. When they had serious work in hand,
they relied on their own mental and physical powers, and if they
failed in their objective, they reverently remarked, "The reason is
best known to God"--a simple, unadorned final phrase.
Some of the sayings and doings, reliable or unreliable, that have been
handed down to us, are extremely comical, looking at them from our
religious standpoint in these days; for instance, Drake's method of
dealing with insubordination, his idea of how treason was to be
stamped out, and the trial of Doughty, the traitor.
People who sit in cosy houses, which these early sailors made it
possible for them in other days and now to acquire, may regard many of
the disciplinary methods of Drake and his sea contemporaries as sheer
savage murder, but these critics are not quite qualified to judge as
to the justice or injustice of the actions of one man who is
responsible for the safe and proper navigation of a vessel, no matter
whether on an enterprising voyage of piracy, fair trade, or invasion.
If a nautical project is to be carried out with complete success, the
first element in the venture is discipline, and the early seafarers
believed this, as their successors have always done, especially during
the different periods of the sailing-ship era. A commander, if he
wishes to be successful in keeping the spirit of rebellion under, must
imbue those under him with a kind of awe. This only succeeds if the
commander has a magnetic and powerful will, combined with quick action
and sound, unhesitating judgment. All the greatest naval and military
chiefs have had and must have now these essential gifts of nature if
they are to be successful in their art. The man of dashing expediency
without judgment or knowledge is a great peril in any responsible
position. When either a ship or nation or anything else is in trouble,
it is the cool, calculating, orderly administrator, who never makes
chaos or destructive fuss, that succeeds. That is essential, and it is
only this type of person that so often saves both ships, armies, and
nations from inevitable destruction. The Duke of Wellington used to
say that "In every case, the winning of a battle was always a damned
near thing." One of the most important characteristics of Drake's and
Hawkins' genius was their fearless accurate methods of putting the
fear of God into the Spaniards, both at sea and ashore. The mention of
their names made Philip's flesh creep. Even Admiral Santa Cruz, in
common with his compatriots, thought Drake was "The Serpent"--"The
Devil." And the Spanish opinion of him helped Drake to win many a
tough battle. Amongst the thrilling examples are his dashes into
Corunna and Cadiz. Drake never took the risk before calculating the
cost and making certain of where the vulnerable weak spot of the enemy
lay, and when and where to strike it. The complete vanquishing of the
Armada is another instance of Drake's great qualities of slashing yet
sound judgment put accurately into effect.
Of course, the honours of the defeat of the Armada must always be
shared with other naval experts who had acquired their knowledge of
sea warfare in what is called the piratical line. But the spirit that
inflamed the whole British fleet was that of Drake, Hawkins,
Frobisher, Seymour, and Howard, and the inspiration came mainly from
the two former. On the Spanish side, as a naval battle, it was a
fiasco, a mere colossal clerical burlesque. Neither naval strategy nor
ordinary seamanship was in evidence on the part of the chief commander
or his admirals. The men fought with rough-and-tumble heroism. The
sailors were only second in quality to our own, but there was no plan
of battle, and the poor Duke of Medina Sidonia had neither knowledge
of naval affairs nor courage. Philip's theory seems to have been that
any lack of efficiency in the art of war by his commanders would be
made up by the spiritual encouragement of the priests dangling their
crucifixes about the decks amongst the sailors and soldiers, who had
been put through a course of instruction on spiritual efficacy before
sailing on their doomed expedition. They were made to believe that the
Spanish cause was so just that assistance would be given from God to
defeat the "infernal devils" and to invade their country.
This great battle transferred the sea supremacy from the Spanish to
the British, who have held it, with one interval, ever since, and will
continue to hold it, provided that Philip's theories of relying merely
on the help that comes from above be supplemented by, first, the
appointment of a proper head at the Admiralty with some nautical
instinct and knowledge of affairs; and secondly, the keeping up of an
efficient fleet, manned with efficient officers and men. Heaven helps
those who help themselves. No department of government can be properly
managed by novices. The reckless, experimental appointment of untried
men to positions of grave responsibility on which the happiness,
comfort, and life of the whole public may depend, and the very
existence of the country be put in jeopardy, is a gamble, and may be a
crime.
It is always risky to assume that any person holding authority in the
bigger affairs of life is in consequence an instrument of Providence.
Had the conception of the Armada and the organization of every detail
been put into the hands of experienced and trained experts with sound
judgment in naval matters, such as Admiral Santa Cruz, and had it not
been for Philip and his landsman ideas of the efficacy of priests and
crucifixes, and greenhorns such as the Duke of Medina Sidonia and his
landlubber colleagues, Spain might never have been involved in the
Armada fight, and if she had, it is scarcely likely that so appalling
a disaster could have come to her. Apart from any fighting, the fact
of having no better sea knowledge or judgment than to anchor the
Spanish ships in an open roadstead like Calais was courting the loss
of the whole Spanish fleet. One of the fundamental precautions of
seamanship is never to anchor on a lee shore or in an open roadstead,
without a means of escape. The dunderheaded Spanish commanders made
their extermination much more easy for the highly trained British
seamen of all grades, none of whom had any reason to hide their heads
in shame for any part they individually took in the complete ruin of
the Spanish Navy.
One cannot read the sordid story without feeling a pang of pity for
the proud men, such as Recaldo, who died on landing at Bilbao; or
Oquendo, whose home was at Santander. He refused to see his wife and
children, turned his face to the wall, and died of a broken heart
begotten of shame. The soldiers and sailors were so weak they could
not help themselves, and died in hundreds on the ships that crawled
back to Spain. The tragic fate of these vessels and their crews that
were dashed to pieces on the rocks of the Hebrides and Ireland added
greatly to the tale of horror. Philip was crushed, but was a man of
tender sympathies, and free from vindictive resentment against those
who were placed in charge of his terrific and ill-fated navy. He
worked and exhorted others to relieve the sufferers in every possible
way. He obviously regarded the disaster as a divine rebuke, and
submissively acquiesced with true Spanish indolence, saying that he
believed it to be the "great purpose of Heaven."
On the authority of the Duke of Parma, "The English regarded their
victory with modesty, and were languidly indifferent to their valour."
They looked upon the defeat of the Spanish Navy as a token of the
Ruler of all things being decidedly partial to the Protestant faith.
The Spaniards, as a whole, would not allow that Heaven was against
them or that the verdict was that of Providence. They declared that it
was entirely the result of the superior management of the English
ships and the fighting quality of their crews. With this chivalrous
testimonial no one could then or will now disagree. It was very
sporting of them to admit the superiority of the British ships and
seamanship.
Drake and his compeers had reason to be proud of their efforts in the
great naval contest. Their reputations were enhanced by it all over
the world, though never a sign or word came from themselves about
their gallantry. They looked upon these matters as mere incidents of
their enterprising lives.