sailed into the harbor, Raleigh leading, in the flagship, the _Water
Sprite_; behind him the _Mary Rose_, commanded by his cousin, Sir
George Carew; and the _Rainbow_ under Sir Francis Vere. All were eager
for the fray, and it was not long before their approach was observed
by the Spanish fleet. Instantly a huge galleon, the _Saint
Philip_--the largest in the Spanish Navy--swung out of her position,
followed by the _Saint Andrew_, second only to her in size.
"They're coming to meet me!" cried Raleigh--joyously.
Instead of that, the galleons sailed for a narrow strait in the
harbor--followed by the rest of the Spanish fleet--and cast anchor
just under the stout fortress of Puntal. They arranged themselves in
close array and awaited the attack of the English.
The English fleet anchored, but at daybreak, the impetuous Raleigh
bore down upon the formidable mass of hulking galleons. The sun rays
streamed over the old, Spanish town, gilding the pinnaces and spires
of the churches, shining brightly upon the flapping pennons of
Britisher and Don. The white sails flapped, spars creaked and groaned,
the sailors cheered, and--in a moment--the cannon began to bark, like
wolf hounds. The fight had begun.
Raleigh was the incarnation of battle. Passing rapidly from point to
point upon the deck of his vessel, he encouraged and urged on his men,
exposed himself as freely as the rest; and whenever a man faltered,
there he appeared to urge the faint heart on with words of inspiration
and hope.
_Roar! Roar! Roar! Zoom! Zoom! Crash!_
The arquebusses spittled and spat; cannon growled; and iron crashed
into solid oak planking.
The orders were not to board until the fly-boats (long, flat-bottomed
vessels with high sterns) came up, which were manned by Dutch allies.
For three hours the battle raged, but the fly-boats did not arrive.
The Earl of Essex--the commander of this expedition--now ordered his
flagship to pass through the advance line of vessels, and make the way
to the front. Raleigh was chafing with rage because the fly-boats did
not come, yet, in spite of the danger of being shot, he jumped into a
light skiff, and was rowed over to the galleon of Essex.
"I'll board the _Saint Philip_," cried he, "if the fly-boats do not
soon arrive. Even though it be against the orders of the Admiral. For
it is the same loss to burn, or to sink, and I must soon endure one or
the other."
"Go ahead!" yelled Essex, over the bow. "I'll second you, upon my
honor!"
Raleigh hastened with all speed to the deck of the _Water Sprite_,
where his men were pounding away at the Spanish galleons with all
their might and main. No sooner had he mounted the poop, than he saw,
with anger, that two vessels of his own squadron had forced themselves
into a position in front of his own; for their commanders wanted to
win first honors in this battle at sea.
Raleigh, himself, wished to have the honor, just like other sea
captains in later battles. But,--that's another story.
So, the gallant seaman ran the _Water Sprite_ between the two other
ships and took up his position as leader. Sir Francis Vere of the
_Rainbow_ was resolved to keep in front as well as Raleigh.
As the _Water Sprite_ passed him he slyly cast a rope to a sailor, who
tied it to her stern, and his own vessel thus kept abreast of the
lumbering galley of his chief. "But," writes Sir Walter, "some of my
company advising me thereof, I caused the rope to be cast off, and so
Vere fell back in his place, where I guarded him--all but his very
prow--from the sight of the enemy. I was very sure that none would
outstart me again for that day."
The guns of the fort appeared to be silent and the big galleons lay
apparently helpless in the face of the valiant enemy. Raleigh moved
on, but, as he was about to clutch his splendid prize, it escaped him,
for the Spaniards--finding that they would be captured--made haste to
run the _Saint Philip_, and several of her sister ships, aground on
the sand.
"Blow them up!" came the order.
The Spanish sailors and soldiers came tumbling out of the ships into
the sea in heaps--"as thick as if coals had been poured out of a sack
into many pots at once." Then a terrific roar boomed forth. The air
was filled with flying splinters, canvas, iron, and lead. The portions
of the galleons were now floating upon the waves and the water was
alive with the struggling bodies of the Spaniards as they desperately
endeavored to save themselves.
The spectacle was lamentable. Many drowned themselves. Many, half
burned, leaped into the water; while others hung by the ropes' ends;
by the ships' sides; under the sea, even to their lips. "If any man
had a desire to see Hell, itself," wrote Sir Walter, "it was there
most lively figured!"
Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!
The English sailors were cheering, for victory was theirs, and of all
the gallant warriors of that day, Raleigh had been the most
persistently daring and heroic.
"The _Saint Andrew_'s still afloat, good Sire!" cried one of his
sailors at this moment.
"Then we'll take her!" cried Raleigh.
She was boarded and captured with little difficulty, while yet another
galleon--the _Saint Matthew_--fell into his hands. These were the only
vessels of all that proud Spanish fleet which had escaped the flames.
Raleigh, himself, had been severely wounded in the leg, but he refused
to release the command of his ship. He gave orders that all lives
should be spared, and although these mandates were rigidly obeyed by
the English soldiers, the Dutch cruelly slaughtered many of their
hapless prisoners, for their hatred of the Spaniards was bitter and
savage.
Cadiz had not yet fallen and Raleigh was determined to go on shore
with the troops and witness the taking of the town, in spite of his
wound. A litter was prepared for him--he was lowered into one of the
boats--rowed ashore, carried upon the shoulders of some of his
faithful soldiers, and witnessed the furious struggle which now
ensued. Cadiz fell. Although the lives of the people were spared; the
castle, fortifications and the greater part of the town itself, were
burned and demolished. If you go there, to-day, you will still find
the marks of this great and stirring strife.
There was nothing left but to put the Spanish prisoners aboard the
galleons, collect the plunder, and set sail for England. When the
fleet again swung into the little harbor of Plymouth it was received
by the people with wildest enthusiasm and delight. All England rang
with the praise of the valor and courage of her heroes, for Spain had
been stripped of her ability to injure her English rival and England's
power was supreme upon the sea. Raleigh and his comrades had done
this,--and the descendants of Raleigh and his comrades have continued
to uphold the supremacy. Hurrah for Raleigh!
But how about those jealous courtiers? They were still around--Oh,
yes!--And Raleigh was greeted at court as coldly as when he had
departed with the fleet. He had been deprived of his office of Captain
of the Queen's Guard, and even his bravery at Cadiz did not win this
back for him. Nor did he receive any of the spoil which had been won
by himself and his comrades. Even Queen Bess was angry because her
share of the booty taken from Cadiz was not as great as she had hoped
for.
"What the Generals have got," wrote Sir Walter, "I know least. For my
own part, I have got a game leg, and am deformed. I have received many
good words and exceedingly kind and regardful usage; but I have
possession of naught but poverty and pain."
Not long afterwards the old Queen was persuaded to write Sir Walter to
come to court, and thus he and his wife, whom Elizabeth had also
forgiven, appeared daily in the brilliant throng which clustered in
the halls and corridors of the Royal Palace. He was restored to his
old office of Captain of the Queen's Guard and rode forth again in all
the splendor of his uniform, at the side of the sovereign.
The rest of Sir Walter's life can be briefly narrated. With Essex he
took part in a successful expedition to the Azores, where they
captured many ships, and with him divided much booty and fame. But
Essex became too ambitious and started a conspiracy to place himself
upon the throne of England. It was a failure. He was captured by the
Queen's soldiers--a part under Sir Walter himself--was tried, and
executed for High Treason.
Queen Bess soon died and was succeeded by a man who disliked Sir
Walter from the start. This was James the First of Scotland--a "dour"
fellow--who charged the valorous knight with treason, for it was
alleged that he had conspired, with Lord Cobham, to place the
youthful Arabella Stuart upon the throne. He was tried, convicted, and
thrown into the Tower, where he lived for twelve long, tedious years.
Think of it! A fellow of his venturesome and restless spirit forced to
remain in a dungeon-keep for such a time! Weep for brave Sir Walter!
This was fine treatment for a patriot!
But the jealous courtiers did not weep. Oh no! _They_ laughed.
When gallant Sir Walter was thrown into the Tower (for he had not
plotted against the King) he was a hale and stalwart cavalier of
fifty-two. He was released--after twelve years--when his hair and
beard were grizzled, his face worn and wrinkled, his body somewhat
bent, and his features grave and sorrowful. With what tearful joy he
clasped to his breast his ever faithful wife and his two sons! At
sixty-four his brave spirit was still unshaken; his ardent and
restless ambition was as keen as ever.
He went forth with the sentence of death still hanging over his head;
for King James, although giving a grudging consent to his release, had
refused to pardon him. And he went forth with the understanding that
he should lead an expedition to the coast of Guiana in South America;
there to attack the Spaniards and gain plunder, gold, and jewels. If
successful he was to go free. If non-successful, he was to suffer
punishment--perhaps death!
The expedition was a failure. The Spaniards and natives were well
aware of his coming, for 'tis said that King James, himself, sent them
news of the expedition.
"If I go home it's off with my head," said Sir Walter. "But I'll risk
it."
Don't you think if you had been Sir Walter, instead of sailing to
England where you knew that a headsman's axe awaited you, you would
have coasted by the shores of the Chesapeake Bay and dropped off
quietly where is the home of the canvas-back and the terrapin! Just
stepped into one of the jolly-boats and peacefully drifted ashore on a
dark night?
I think that you would have been strongly inclined to do so,--but
_you_ are not Sir Walter Raleigh. _He_ was a lion-hearted adventurer.
Opportunity after opportunity came to him to escape to the shores of
France. He let them go by, but, when he found that his enemies
demanded his trial for treason, he thought it high time to get away.
He learned that a French envoy had arranged to get him to France and
had a barque for this purpose. A certain Captain King had found a
small boat commanded by one of Sir Walter's old boatmen, which lay at
Tilbury awaiting his orders. It was arranged by Raleigh's guard--one
Stukeley--that he should be rowed to the little lugger on the evening
of Sunday, August the 9th, 1618. The latter was sent up the Thames
river to Gravesend.
At the hour designated, Raleigh, Captain King, Stukeley and his son
Hart, with a page, jumped into two small wherries in order to row to
the lugger. They had just shoved off, when keen Sir Walter saw another
boat push out from the bank and follow them.
"How's this?" said he to Stukeley.
But silent Stukeley did not answer.
The boat rowed fast, but the pursuing craft moved with equal speed.
The tide was singing and gurgling in a mad flow, and it became
doubtful whether the wherries could reach Gravesend under the
protection of darkness, for day was breaking, and the whirling water
made progress very slow.
At last--seeing that they could not get away--the shallops were forced
to turn about and retrace their passage. The pursuing boat swung,
also--like a shadow of the first. Sir Walter's heart beat
tumultuously.
When the fugitives reached Greenwich--Stukeley stood up and appeared
in his true colors. Laying a hand upon the shoulder of faithful
Captain King, he cried--
"I arrest you in the name of our Monarch, James First!"
Raleigh looked around in anger and dismay.
"Stukeley," he said with heat, "you are a trait'rous cur. These
actions will not turn out to your credit!"
But the knave laughed derisively,--so derisively that the common
people dubbed him "Sir Judas Stukeley." And it well suited him. Didn't
it?
The boatmen rowed directly to the Tower and the boat which had pursued
the wherries--which contained a courtier named Herbert (to whom
Stukeley had betrayed the projected escape)--followed them close. The
soldiers in her (for they had been well hidden) escorted the dejected
Sir Walter to the grim walls of the dungeon.
There was now no hope for that gallant adventurer: the man had
brought honor and renown to England. He was tried for Treason:
condemned: executed.
As he stood waiting for the axe to fall, he said:
"I have many sins for which to beseech God's pardon. For a long time
my course was a course of vanity. I have been a seafaring man, a
soldier, and a courtier; and, in the temptations of the least of these
there is enough to overthrow a good mind and a good man. I die in the
faith professed by the Church of England. I hope to be saved, and to
have my sins washed away by the precious blood and merits of our
Saviour, Jesus Christ."
A quick shudder ran through the multitude when Sir Walter had ceased
to live, and many groaned aloud at the horrible sight. One stout
yeoman cried out angrily, "We have not had such another head to be cut
off."
The crowd separated slowly, muttering and crying out against the
enemies of the valiant man; while his friends, who were present,
parted with tears coursing down their cheeks.
And the jealous courtiers said: "Magnificent!" It was now their turn
to shout. And they did it, too.
* * * * *
So, you see, Sir Walter Raleigh's patriotism was paid for by death.
The trouble with him was, he was too much of a man.
_Nowadays_--when a soldier or sailor does something for England--they
give him a Hip! Hip! Hurray!
He is appreciated. He is presented with titles, honors, and a warm
reception.
_Then_, when a man did something for England, those in power gave him
the cold shoulder; the icy stare.
That's the reason why England's sons will do something for her now. If
she had kept treating them as she did Sir Walter Raleigh she wouldn't
have many of them around when it came to a fight. _And, some day,
she'll need them all!_
So when a fellow does something really great, don't greet him with
frozen silence. _Cheer! He needs it! Besides,--it won't hurt you!_
_Give a tiger and three times three!_
THE VANISHED SAILORS
Say, sailors, what's happened to young Bill Jones?
Jones of Yarmouth; the bright-cheeked boy?
Jones who could handle a boat like a man,
Jones, who would grapple a smack like a toy?
"_Fell o'er the sea-end with Raleigh. Ahoy!_"
Well, sea-dogs, where's Thompson of Yarmouthport dock?
The chap who could outwit old Hawkins, they say,
The man with th' knowledge of charts and of reefs,
There wasn't his equal from Prawle to Torquay.
"_Fell o'er the sea-end with Raleigh, to-day!_"
Where's Rixey of Hampton; Smith of Rexhill?
Who'd coasted and traded from London to Ryde,
Huggins and Muggins, all seamen of worth,
Who could jibe and could sail, sir, when combers were wide?
"_Fell o'er the sea-end with Raleigh. Last tide!_"
Well, seamen, when that day shall come near,
When the salt sea is moved from its bed,
Some will there be, who can give us the news,
Of all that brave band, whom Adventure has led
To
"_Fall o'er the sea-end with Raleigh, 'tis said!_"
"Such is the man,
Whom neither shape nor danger can dismay,
Nor thought of tender happiness betray;
Who, not content that worth stands fast,
Looks forward, persevering to the last,
From good to better, daily self-surpassed."
--_Ballads of the Day._
JEAN BART
THE SCOURGE OF THE DUTCH
(1650-1702)
As long as selfishness remains a Human
Passion,--Warfare will continue.
JEAN BART
THE SCOURGE OF THE DUTCH
(1650-1702)
"'What means that canvas, Skipper? It's bearing down to port,
And it drives a blackish barquentine, with every topsail taut,
There're guns upon her poop deck. There're cannon near her bow,
And the bugler's bloomin' clarion, it shrills a how-de-row?'
The skipper took a peep at her, his face turned ashen pale,
His jaw began to tremble, and his knees began to fail,
As the flag of France swung to the breeze and fluttered without check,
'Jean Bart!' he gurgled weakly, and fainted on the deck."
--_Rhymes of The Dutch Channel Fleet._--1676.
The good ship _Cochon Gras_ boiled along off the coast of Normandy
under a full spread of canvas, for the breeze was light, and was from
the southward. A boy of sixteen stood at the helm. He was well bronzed
by exposure to the elements; was sturdy and strong. His dark hair
waved luxuriantly about a face in which keenness and shrewdness were
easily to be seen. His name was Jean Bart and he had been born at
Dunkirk in France.
The Captain of the _Cochon Gras_ strode about upon the deck below. He
was in an evil mood and his voice showed his ill feeling.
"Put the helm over!" he shouted to the steersman. "Don't you see that
your sails aren't half full! Boy, will you never learn!"
Jean Bart obeyed.
"Very good, my Captain!" said he. "Very good, my Monsieur Valbue."
And, at this, the captain scowled, for he was in a beastly temper.
"I am glad that you act quickly," said he. "You know nothing. By
acting quickly you will learn a thing or two. _Tiens!_ Be speedy! Be
very quick! Be like the Bishop of Oleron!"
He smiled and lurched against the rail.
"Ah, this good prelate was a true seaman," said he. "He knew the tides
like a mackerel. He knew as much as I do, myself, and that is saying a
good deal."
Jean Bart chuckled at the vanity of Monsieur Valbue.
"The good Bishop was standing on the rocks upon a stormy evening,"
continued the captain, "when he saw some fisher boats making for the
harbor. One of them was bearing too close to the shore. One of them
was going to go upon the rocks. One of them was steered by a poor
fellow who knew neither the reefs nor the shoals. 'Voila!' cried the
good bishop. 'Voila! I will save this dull-witted sailor.' And,
forthwith, what do you think that he did,--?"
A small knot of seamen had, by this time, collected around the
talkative captain. They all shook their heads.
[Illustration: JEAN BART.]
"Fools," cried Captain Valbue. "Fools! Why, he strode into the sea, of
course. Being a pure man of God and a member of the true church, he
walked upon the surface of the water. The boat coming in was manned by
Huguenots, by unbelievers, mark you! By fellows who had neither the
sense nor the grace to be members of the true church. _They_ could not
walk upon the water. Oh! No! But the good Bishop _he_ walked as easily
as a stormy petrel, for he was a man of God. And, as he reached the
boat he made the sign of the cross, saying, 'Beware of the rocks which
you sail down upon! Bear off to the left! When you see the red buoy,
bear to the right, and then come home by keeping your bow pointed for
the spire of the big church!' And they did so. They were saved by the
good Bishop, whom I know well. As for me. I would have let the foolish
Huguenots get their just deserts. It would have been one heretic less
and good riddance."
At this one of the seamen was plainly angered.
"Piff!" said he. "Piff!" That was all. But Monsieur Valbue had noticed
it and Monsieur Valbue grew angry in a moment. Seizing a half-empty
cider mug, from which he had been drinking, he hurled it at the head
of the fellow who had made the remark.
"You dog of a Huguenot!" he roared.
The seaman dodged, and the cider mug spun into the planks of a jolly
boat. Then he stepped forward and said,
"Captain Valbue, the Laws of Oleron, under which we sail, say that you
cannot and must not strike a seaman with any missile. I, Lanoix, will
strike back if you hit me."
But Monsieur Valbue was like a bubbling tea-pot. Seizing a
hand-spike, he shot it out at the man who knew the law.
"The Laws of Oleron allow me just one blow," blubbered Captain Valbue.
"Just as the laws of England allow each dog one bite."
As luck would have it, he missed his shot.
Lanoix leaped over the iron rail which separated the forecastle from
the after part of the vessel. Then he turned around.
"Follow me here, you coward!" he shouted to the captain, "and I will
have the right to crack you through the middle. Consult the Laws of
Oleron under which we sail and see if they do not back me up!"
"The laws be blowed!" yelled Monsieur Valbue, now beside himself with
rage. And, leaping across the rail he struck the Huguenot two sturdy
blows in the face.
Jean Bart, meanwhile, steered the ship: looked on; and said nothing.
R-i-i-p! There was a flash, a blow, and a cry of pain. A large, keen
knife was clenched in the strong right hand of Lanoix, and the captain
was running red, with a deep gash in his shoulder.
"Down with the Mutineer! Down with the dog!" came from the throats of
the members of the crew who had clustered about the two enraged men,
smiling at the little affair.
With a rush they were upon the Huguenot; had forced him to the deck;
and wrested the knife from his hand. But, before it was wrenched from
his fist, the blade had pierced the body of a seaman and had felled
him to the boarding.
"Bring up the Laws of Oleron," cried Captain Valbue, when the Huguenot
had been secured. "Bring up the Laws of Oleron from my cabin, and let
us see whether or no I was right, when I struck this prating Lanoix!"
The cabin-boy dove below and was soon again upon the deck.
"The law shall be read," cried the captain. "Out with it!"
Now, aboard the vessel was one Antoine Sauret--a good, old
boatswain--a friend of the father of Jean Bart, and a courageous man.
"The law shows you to be in the wrong," said he.
"Yes," cried Jean Bart from the wheel, which he had not left. "You
were, and are, in the wrong." Monsieur Valbue glowered at them.
"I am the law," said he. "Is this not my vessel?"
"But the right is on his side," interrupted the good Antoine Sauret.
"You wait and see what I do to this cur of a Huguenot," snarled
Captain Valbue. "And no more talk from either you or Jean Bart. Hear!
Six out of eight of the crew agree that this Lanoix has wounded me and
has slain one of his ship-mates--without proper provocation--I will
now fix him."
And this he did in the most approved manner.
Lashing his victim's arm to a sharp sword tied to the windlass, he
knocked the unfortunate Lanoix upon the deck with a hand-spike. Then,
tying him--still alive--to the dead sailor whom the Huguenot had
killed when the crew rushed upon him,--he cried out:
"Throw 'em both to the fishes!"
They were seized.
"One! Two! Three! Heave Away!" sounded from the throats of the
Frenchmen.
Lanoix and the dead sailor spun out above the blue water. A splash. A
gurgle of white foam, and the Atlantic closed above them.
Seamen--you witness--were brutes, in these merry days of privateering.
But hear the sequel of the gruesome story!
Jean Bart and the good boatswain Sauret had, from that moment, no high
opinion of the Laws of Oleron. So, when the vessel touched at Calais,
upon the coast of France, they walked up to the captain, saying:
"Sir. We wish to leave you! We cannot sail any longer beneath your
orders."
The brutal Valbue scowled.
"Go!" said he. "And good riddance."
But when the circumstances of the death of the two men were reported
to the authorities, the captain was tried.
"The Law of Oleron," said the Judge to him, "acquits you, for the
Huguenot sailor was in the wrong to draw his knife, when you struck
him only with your fists. But it is a bad law and must be changed."
Here he turned to young Jean Bart and the good Sauret.
"As for you two," said he, "I most highly commend you for protesting
against the brutality of this captain. Would that all the sailors of
France were as good as both of you. If they were, there would be less
trouble aboard ship. Again I commend you!"