[14] Calendar of State Papers (Domestic). Record Office.

[15] Norris had greatly distinguished himself in Ireland and the

Netherlands, notwithstanding Leicester's persistent attempts to ruin

him; and, from his conduct there and during this expedition, he would

appear to have been brave, but turbulent and of doubtful discretion.

[16] Philip was informed late in December by his spies in England that

Drake was to contribute 12,000 crowns, the Earl of Essex 10,000, Norris

8,000, and London Merchants 24,000, and that the Queen had advanced

£20,000.

[17] On the eve of departure Norris and Drake officially told the

Council that the total number of all sorts was 23,375. Captain Fenner,

Drake's vice-admiral, gives the number as 21,000 (Bacon Papers).

Captain Baillie, of the _Mary German_, in a letter to Lord Shrewsbury

says the landsmen alone were 20,000; whilst Drake himself, in one of

his many letters begging for supplies, says, "20,000 men cannot be kept

for a trifle."

Camden, the historian, speaks of 12,500 soldiers, and Speed, following

Pricket's tract, puts the number of landsmen at 11,000 and mariners at

2,500. There is a letter in the British Museum from one of the

Portuguese nobles (Count de Portalegre) to Philip II., in which the

army before Lisbon is spoken of as 12,000 men; and the Spanish diarist

whose MS. I have mentioned says 16,000 men-at-arms left England and

very few sailors. The terrible mortality from sickness, &c., and the

comparatively small number that came back made English writers of the

time anxious to minimise the disaster by underrating the numbers of the

expedition.

[18] English accounts usually say six, but I am inclined to believe the

Spanish account is correct, as Drake writes to the Council (Record

Office, Domestic Calendar), after the six ships had been appointed,

asking for a larger vessel, the Victory, "in respect of the King Dom

Antonio."

[19] Venetian Calendar.

[20] The Venetian ambassador at Madrid, in his account to the Doge of

the events at Corunna, says that Drake's booty from that place

consisted of "6,000 salted oxen, fifteen thousand jars of biscuit,

6,000 barrels of powder and 3,000 hogsheads of wine; all of it

provision for the Armada which went so unsuccessfully last year, or

else to furnish a new Armada according to the design which they

entertain. This plunder will prove of the greatest service to the

English ... and here the news has caused much chagrin; and it is hidden

or minimised as much as possible."

[21] It was said in Madrid that these two thousand peasants had only

six muskets amongst them.--_Venetian Calendar of State Papers_.

[22] "She dowteth not but they have thoroughly weighed the heinousness

of the offence lately committed by Sir Roger Williams in forsaking the

army with one of her principal ships. If they have not already

inflicted punishment of death upon him he is to be deprived of all

command and kept in safe custody at their perils. If the Earl of Essex

has joined the fleet they are to send him home instantly. If they do

not they shall truly answer for the same at their smart, for as we have

authority to rule so we look to be obeyed and these be no childish

actions."--_State Papers_ (_Domestic_), May 4, 1589.

The draft of this letter, deeply scored by the Queen's own hand, was

submitted to Walsingham by Windebanke, the Secretary of the Signet, and

the minister said that although the letter was as mild as could be

expected "under the circumstances," he much feared that any proceedings

against one so beloved as Sir Roger Williams would breed mutiny. And

so apparently thought the generals, for they took no notice of the

Queen's commands.

The Queen wrote another outspoken letter to the generals on the 20th of

May, in which she says they were perverting the object of their

expedition; which was to burn the King of Spain's navy and restore Dom

Antonio, and then proceed to the Azores. Corunna, she says, is of

little importance and the risk great, and she commands them to fulfil

her orders at once. Do not, she says, suffer yourselves to be

transported with an haviour of vainglory which will obfuscate the eyes

of your judgment.

Secretary Windebanke, writing to Heneage at the same time, says the

Queen is strangely set against the expedition, and is intensely

incensed at the fruitless attack on Corunna. "She thinks they went to

places for their own profit rather than for her service."--_State

Papers_ (_Domestic_).

[23] The bitter jest in Madrid at the time was that, whereas with the

Armada the year before there went an army with no commander, there was

now a commander with no army.

[24] Contarini to the Doge. Venetian Calendar of State Papers.

[25] A letter in the collection of the Marquis of Salisbury at Hatfield

curiously illustrates the not altogether happy relations that existed

between the English invaders and the pretender's friends. The letter

is dated the 27th of May, and is from General Norris to Captain George

(Burton?), whom he had left in charge at Peniche, complaining that "the

King is aggrieved that you do take upon you to give the word since he

hath appointed a Governor. And in truth it is not reason but the

Governor should have the pre-eminence and therefore henceforward fail

not to let him have that honour." This is a sample of the frequent

complaints that the English did not treat Antonio quite as a king

expected to be treated in his own realm. The fact was that Antonio had

been too long a suppliant and a fugitive dependent largely upon

Elizabeth's caprices for the English to regard him otherwise than as a

tool for their own ends.

[26] Venetian Calendar of State Papers.

[27] This is more likely to be true than the assertion of my Portuguese

that Antonio could get nothing to eat. The great body of the people

were unquestionably in his favour, but had no leaders and would not

fight.

[28] If the Earl of Essex was rash and headstrong, he was also

chivalrous. Pricket (or Wingfield) says: "Hee for money hired men to

carrie sick and hurt upon pikes (for want of waggons) and hee (whose

true virtue and nobilitie, as it dooth in all other his actions appear

so did it very much in this) threw his owne stuffe, I mean apparell and

necessaries from his owne carriages, and let them be left by the way,

to put hurt and sick men upon them in this march."

[29] Essex started for England on the 16th of June, two days after his

brother, on receipt of letters direct from the Queen, brought by a ship

with stores from England. Williams was very desirous of accompanying

him, but the generals refused to let him go, as they doubtless wished

him to have the benefit of the favourite's mollifying influence with

the Queen for some weeks before he arrived in England.

[Illustration: Elizabeth R]

{73}

_JULIAN ROMERO--SWASHBUCKLER._

{75}

[Illustration: headpiece]

_JULIAN ROMERO--SWASHBUCKLER._

In a slumberous street in old Madrid, called anciently the Calle de

Cantaranas, but now inappropriately named after Lope de Vega, there

stands a venerable convent of barefooted Trinitarian nuns. The

fortress-like red walls with the tiny grated windows looking upon the

street, the quaint, sad tranquillity which hangs around the place, are

only such as mark hundreds of other like retreats in Madrid and

elsewhere; and yet to this particular convent many reverent steps are

bent from all quarters of the earth, for here lie the bones of the

"maimed one of Lepanto," the author of "Don Quixote." He died only a

few yards away, in his house in the Calle de Leon, and was quietly laid

to rest in the convent, where one of his own daughters was a nun. The

very fact of his burial there was almost forgotten--was indeed for many

years disputed, until proved beyond possibility of doubt not long

since--and when the fury for destroying religious foundations seized

the rulers of Madrid after the revolution of 1868, the convent was

marked down for destruction {76} like so many others of its kind. And

destroyed it would have been but for the pious zeal of the good

"setenton," Mesonero Romanos, most beloved of Madrid antiquarians, who

woke up the Academy of History, and brought such pressure to bear upon

the Government as to save the sepulchre of Cervantes from profanation

for all future time, and thus enabled the great author, after he had

lain in his grave for two and a half centuries, to repay his debt to

the Trinitarian fathers who rescued him from his galling slavery in the

hands of the infidel. A stone tablet is now fixed in the wall of the

convent setting forth the fact of his sepulture there in 1616, and the

foundation of the community a few years previously by Doña Juana

Gaitan, daughter of General Julian Romero. The name of the latter

awakens no responsive echoes in Spanish minds. I have before me,

indeed, a recently published Spanish historical work which ascribes his

very existence to a wrong period. With the exception of a few

particulars of his later life given in a local history of Cuenca by

Father Muñoz, no Spanish writer has ever been at the trouble of tracing

what little may be known of his stirring career. And yet the man in

his day was the very prototype of those indomitable adventurers,

lusting for blood and gold, who, the sword in one hand and the cross in

the other, hunted down to death the Indians of one hemisphere and the

"heretics" of the other. Keen, cruel, Alba had no more ruthless

instrument for his fell work than "Captain Julian," upon whom and

Sancho de Avila the hatred of the persecuted Flemings was mainly

concentrated. In the course of my somewhat out-of-the-track studies I

have found the {77} name of Julian Romero constantly cropping up, and

so many personal traits of him have appeared, that by carefully piecing

them together a more complete account may be formed of the life and

character of this typical swashbuckler than of, perhaps, any of his

fellows. His life, too, offers some interest to Englishmen, for he

swaggered and ruffled in London many a time and oft, and was one of

those Spanish mercenaries who, in the reigns of Henry VIII. and Edward

VI., fought so bravely against the French and Scots and quelled by

their ferocity the risings of Kett in Norfolk and Arundell in the West

Country. Practically nothing whatever was known of the lives--hardly

indeed the existence--of the Spanish mercenaries in England until the

recent publication of the anonymous "Spanish Chronicle of Henry

VIII.,"[1] which I now attribute to Antonio de Guaras, a leading

Spanish merchant in London, whom I know to have been on close terms of

intimacy with the Spanish soldiers, and particularly with Julian

Romero, whose early adventures in England are evidently related at

first hand in the Chronicle.

Of all the turbulent soldiers of fortune who quarrelled, intrigued, and

triumphed in England, and whose adventures are so minutely told in the

Chronicle, only one was heard of in after life. The general, Sir Peter

Gamboa, was murdered with Captain Sir Alonso de Villa Sirga in St.

Sepulchre's churchyard, hard by Newgate, one wet winter's night in

1551, by Captain Guevara, who was incontinently hanged in Smithfield.

Sir {78} Pero Negro died of the sweating sickness in one of the crowded

lanes of old London city. Juan de Haro was killed by the English for

attempted desertion with his company to the French enemy before

Boulogne; others fell in the Flemish wars, and only the rash and

boastful "Captain Julian" lived to become Alba's trusted henchman, and

to hand his name down to the execration of generations of Flemings as

one of the prime movers of the "Spanish Fury" in Antwerp. So great was

the fame of his ferocity that the panic mongers, who were for ever

sending to Elizabeth and Cecil intelligence of the dreadful vengeance

which was to fall upon England at the hands of King Philip, could

invent nothing more terror-striking than their constantly repeated

dread that Julian Romero was to swoop down upon the coast and serve

English Protestants in the same way as he had treated those of the

Netherlands. He had, indeed, as will be shown in his own words at

various periods of his life--now for the first time brought

together--all the vices and virtues of his class and time. Vain and

boastful, bigoted and cruel, he was nevertheless true to his salt,

faithful, brave, and steadfast; of that stern, self-sacrificing stuff

by which alone empires may be won or despotism defended. He was born

at Huelamo, in the province of Cuenca, of very humble folk, for even

when he was in high command and on terms of close intimacy with nobles

and ministers, he was never given the nobiliary address of Don, which

was enjoyed by the most remote and out-at-elbows representative of the

hidalgo class. He was not much of a scholar either, for his signature

which exists at Simancas is the only part of his letters in {79} his

own hand, and is painfully traced in great bold straight lines, like a

row of halberds.

In the winter of 1534 every village in Spain resounded with the

drum-beat of the recruiters, who were seeking soldiers for the

Emperor's great expedition against the Moors, which was to start from

Barcelona in the spring. Spanish hearts were all aflame with wondrous

stories of fortune and adventure. The excitement, the freedom, the

idleness, and the possible gains of a soldier's life had seized upon

the imagination of Spanish youth; and the turbulent spirit of war-like

adventure in far countries was, for the next century at least, to be

the dominant note of the national character. Julian must have been a

mere boy, but he joined the standard, so he wrote forty years

afterwards, at Christmas, 1534, as a foot-soldier, and, with a pike on

his shoulder, started on his life of adventure. There was no one to

record the doings and sufferings of the humble man-at-arms in those

stirring days, and beyond the fact that he drifted from Spain to Tunis,

from Tunis to Italy, and thence to Flanders and France, always in the

midst of the fighting in the Emperor's wars, nothing is known for the

next ten years of Julian Romero's service. In the beginning of 1544

Henry VIII. had arranged to enter into alliance with the Emperor to

jointly attack the King of France, and the probability is that if they

had together marched upon Paris promptly, they would have had France at

their mercy. But other counsels prevailed, and, whilst Charles

operated in Picardy and French Flanders, Henry sent the Duke of Norfolk

and his brilliant son, Surrey, with an army of 15,000 men, {80} to

besiege Montreuil. The King's brother-in-law, Charles Brandon, Duke of

Suffolk, at the same time with a large force "sat down before"

Boulogne, and, on the 14th of July, great Harry himself landed at his

good town of Calais to take the supreme command of his army before

Boulogne. He was accompanied by a brilliant train of courtiers and

soldiers, and took with him as his chief military adviser a great

Spanish noble, Beltran de la Cueva, third Duke of Alburquerque, whose

important share in the reduction of the town has been almost entirely

ignored by English historians. Besides the 200 Spanish soldiers who

followed the Duke, there were already three Spanish captains in Henry's

service, each with a company of his countrymen, to the aggregate number

of about 260 men, all of them seasoned veterans in the Continental

wars; and these, together with the less experienced English levies,

succeeded in capturing the town of Boulogne on the 15th of September.

It appears that a breach had been made in the walls three weeks before,

and the Spaniards begged Henry to let them take the place by assault.

He told them that he would rather waste 10,000 pounds of powder than

that a single one of his Spaniards should be sacrificed, "whereupon

they blushed for mere shame." But as usual Henry had his own way, and

the town surrendered; "_the Frenchmen_," says Wriothesley, "_departing

out of the towne with as much goodes as they might carye, both men and

women, besyde that the waggons caryed; and the King his Majestie

entered the said towne the 18th September with greate tryumphe, and the

20th day a solempne procession was kept with Te Deum songe for the

Victory of the King his Majestie {81} and many fyers made in the citye

and in every part of the realme. The last day of September the King

his Majestie landed at Dover at midnight_." The reason for Henry's

hurried return was his desire to retain all the credit for his victory

without waiting for the probable reverse. Charles V. had come to terms

with the French, and when he had sent word to his English ally that he

was negotiating, Henry arrogantly said that the Emperor might make

peace if he pleased, but he, Henry, would suit himself in the matter.

But when he found the whole French army turned against him he hurriedly

raised the siege of Montreuil, put all his forces into Boulogne under

Lord Grey, and got back to England as fast as he could, whilst his

laurels were yet green. All through the next year the French siege of

Boulogne went on, the three companies of Spanish mercenaries, steady

old soldiers as they were, being the mainstay of the defence. They

complained bitterly of the raw Englishmen's habit of killing the

prisoners instead of holding them to ransom, and on one occasion were

near mutiny because their prisoners were murdered. "How now," said

Captain Salablanca to Lord Grey, "do you think we are in the King's

service for the wretched four ducats a month we earn? Not so my lord;

we serve with the hope of taking prisoners and getting ransom. Your

men have even now killed a gentleman of mine for whom I should have got

at least five or six thousand crowns ransom." Whatever their object

may have been in serving the schismatic king, Henry thought very highly

of them, and when in the year 1545 he was about to send Warwick to

attack the Scots, an opportunity {82} occurred for him to engage some

more, he gladly seized it. Charles V. had disbanded a large proportion

of his army after the peace of Crespi was concluded, and had embarked

them for Spain with orders that, under pain of death, they were to take

service with no other sovereign. A ship with 800 or 1,000 of these

disbanded soldiers on their way home anchored in the Downs, and the

warriors being, we are told, "already tired of the sea," they sent an

offer of their services to the King of England. The captain of the

vessel, however, would not wait for the answer to reach them, but on

his putting into Plymouth the whole of them landed and entered the

English service. They were promptly sent off to Warwick's army in

Scotland under an experienced old soldier of their number called Pedro

Gamboa, who was made colonel, with power to create his own captains.

Julian Romero landed with this force in some subordinate capacity, but

on his arrival in Scotland received his first English commission as

captain, from Gamboa. This was in the summer of 1545, and when the

winter came the troops were put into quarters, whilst Gamboa and his

newly fledged captains came to London to air their finery at Henry's

Court. The King made much of them, and in the early spring of 1546, a

temporary peace having been patched up with Scotland, ordered them to

take their companies to the French coast between Calais and Boulogne,

where the English were erecting a fort. Whilst Gamboa, Julian Romero,

and the other new captains, had been ruffling at Court, receiving

grants and attentions from the King, the three or four old Spanish

commanders with their companies, who had {83} been long in Henry's

service, had been enduring hard fare and rough service, and obtaining

but little loot at Boulogne; so that on the arrival in France of the

new men, straight from Court favour, a very bitter feeling was shown

towards them. One of the old captains, Cristobal Mora, deserted bodily

with his men to the enemy, and another one, Juan de Haro, was killed in

attempting to do so. It may therefore well be supposed that when peace

was made in June, 1546, and the compatriots met again on neutral

ground, there was a good deal of thumb-biting and recrimination. Mora

was flouted in the streets by his fellow-countrymen for having

disgraced the mercenary creed by deserting his paymaster before the

enemy; whilst he retorted by accusing Gamboa and his friends of

disobeying their natural sovereign the Emperor in taking service under

an excommunicated heretic. Events came to a head at last by the

deserting captain, Cristobal de Mora, sending a challenge from

Montreuil to Colonel Gamboa in Calais in July. Either for some reason

of disparity of age or rank between the two, or else out of mere

hot-headed combativeness on the part of Julian Romero, the latter

accepted the challenge for his chief, and has left upon record an

extremely minute description of the fight. Sir Henry Knyvett went off

to obtain the King of England's permission, which was gladly given, and

"a thousand broad angels sent to Julian to put himself in order

withal." The King of France ordered the erection of lists at

Montreuil, where the wage of battle should be decided, and when all was

ready Julian Romero, in the full pomp of war, started on his road from

Calais {84} to Montreuil, attended by a great company of English and

Spanish gentlemen to see the fun. The following is the account given

by Julian's friend.

"Well when they arrived in France and the day being come the seconds

and umpires saw that each one had equal arms. They were to fight on

horseback and each one had a sword, and both rapiers and daggers, and

their corselets were open at the back with great holes big enough for

two fists to go in on both pieces. This scheme was invented by the

French because Mora had one of the best and quickest horses in France,

and as they were not to fight with the lance, Mora thought, with the

fleetness of his horse, he would be able to wound Julian in the back

with his rapier, and so vanquish him.

"When the umpires had seen the arms were equal they gave the signal for

the trumpets to sound, and the opponents at once closed with one

another, and, at the first blows with the swords, Julian's sword fell

from his hands and he seized his rapier. Mora was not backward and

threw away his sword for his rapier; and, as he had such an active

horse, he went circling round Julian so as to wound him in the back.

But Julian was no sluggard, and when Mora saw he could not do this, he

decided to kill Julian's horse, which he did with a thrust in the

chest; and a few moments afterwards it fell to the ground. At that

moment Julian, thinking to do the same for Mora, attacked him with that

object; but Mora was too quick with his horse for Julian to wound it,

and the rapier fell from Julian's hand, almost at the moment that his

horse dropped {85} under him; and as he felt his horse was going to

fall he leapt quickly off his back and Mora had not time to ride him

down, thanks to the horse which was on the ground. Julian to escape

being ridden down, and finding himself armed only with his dagger, was

forced to shield himself behind his fallen horse, whilst Mora went

round and round and Julian dodged behind the horse. This went on for

more than three hours, and at last Mora cried out, 'Surrender, Julian!

I do not want to kill thee!' but Julian did not answer a word. There

was hardly an hour of daylight left, and Julian would be vanquished at

sunset. And, as he saw that Mora was strutting about waiting for the

sun to go down, Julian kept wide awake and, watching his opportunity,

dropped on one knee behind his prostrate horse and with his dagger cut

the straps of his spurs, which he threw away. Seeing his rapier not

far from him he made a dash to regain it, and succeeded before Mora

could ride him down.

"The gentleman who was acting as Julian's second, seeing how things

were going, was very downcast and wished he never had come and said to

the Spanish captains: 'Gentlemen, our man is losing.' Then said

Captain Cristobal Diaz, 'What, sir! the day is not yet done and I still

hope to God that Julian will come off the victor.' 'Do you not see,

sir,' said the other, 'that Mora is only flourishing about waiting for

sundown?' As they were chatting thus, they saw how Julian had snatched

up his rapier again, and how Mora was attacking him. Julian had just

time to deal a thrust at Mora's horse, which, feeling itself wounded

began to prance, and its rider, fearing that it would fall {86} with

him underneath it, determined to get a short distance away and

dismount. Julian, however, being on foot and light, without his spurs,

went running after him, and when he was trying to dismount, embraced

him in such a manner as to bring him to the ground, and with his dagger

cut the ties of his helmet. Mora then surrendered at once, and Julian

took his arm, and with the sword of his enemy in his hand, led him

three times round the field that all might see how he had surrendered."

For this not very chivalrous victory Julian was overwhelmed with

honours, the French king, we are told, casting a gold chain round his

neck worth more than 700 crowns, whilst the Dauphin gave him a surcoat

stamped with gold, worth more than the King's chain; and King Henry of

England, when the Spanish officers returned to England, extended

special favour to Julian Romero, upon whom he settled a life pension of

600 ducats, which was a larger sum than any of his fellows, except

Colonel Gamboa, who got a thousand. In any case it was only paid for a

few years.

If the behaviour of the combatants in the duel lacked the chivalry we

are apt to expect, still less magnanimous was the treatment of the

Spanish officers towards their companies. When the peace was concluded

and Julian's duel fought, orders came from England that the troops were

to be dismissed, and the mercenary captains were to repair to London.

The latter portion of this order was concealed from the soldiers, who

were told by Colonel Gamboa that, as they were all dismissed from the

English service, they would march together and offer their services

elsewhere. He {87} thereupon led them across the frontier into the

Emperor's Flemish dominions, and then with the captains gave the men

the slip, and left them to shift for themselves. The captains hung

about the Court in London all the summer and autumn (1546),

quarrelling, gaming, and swaggering, and Julian Romero, less refined

and more hot-headed than the rest, well nigh got into serious trouble.

His friend who tells the story, evidently at first hand, says that he

had been "showing off" very much more than his means or his pay would

warrant, and he had borrowed money to such an extent that he hardly

dared to walk out publicly. One of his pressing creditors was a

Milanese called Baptist Baron, who after much trouble managed to get

him arrested for a debt of 200 ducats. Julian was furious with rage at

the idea of being haled off to jail, and persuaded the catchpole who

had him in custody to take him to Colonel Gamboa's house, in hope that

he would pay the money.

"No sooner had he arrived there, than he launched into loud complaints

and began to say unreasonable things, amongst others, that anybody who

would serve heretics must be a great big knave; and he swore that he

would have no more of it, but would go with only a pike on his shoulder

and four ducats (a month) pay to serve elsewhere; and he said a good

many other things that had much better have been omitted, for certainly

no good came of them."

Gamboa made himself responsible for the money, but Julian's loose talk

about heretics was dangerous, and the colonel, whose subsequent

behaviour to the other captains shows him to have been a bad-hearted

{88} man, seems to have done nothing to shield his subordinate from the

consequences of his indiscretion. Gamboa was himself accused at first

of treason by the Privy Council, for allowing such talk in his house

without punishment. He declared that he was deaf, and did not hear

what Julian had said, "which," says the narrator (almost certainly the

"merchant" Guaras), "was the truth, as he was in his chamber at the

time." "The Council presently sent for Julian and rated him soundly,

to which Julian replied: 'Gentlemen, I have said nothing for which I

should be so maltreated.' 'Well,' they answered, 'you said this, that,

and the other, and there are witnesses who heard you.' But Julian

denied it, and they called a merchant who was present in the house of

the colonel and had heard everything that had passed. Before this

merchant went before the Council, Gamboa spoke to him and begged him to

accuse Julian as much as he could, so that they should take away his

pay from him; but the merchant, seeing the malice of Gamboa, said,

'Señor Gamboa, I am no mischief-maker to do harm where I can do good,'

and he would not speak to Gamboa any more. The lords then sent for the

merchant; all the captains as well as Julian being present, and, as the

merchant was going in, Gamboa said to him aloud, so that all should

hear, 'Señor, I beseech you to favour Julian as much as you can; for

good or evil to him depends upon what you say.' Good God! how artfully

Gamboa said that, when not three hours before he had begged him

earnestly to accuse him and get his income taken away. But Julian and

the other captains thought that Gamboa was favourable to him." The

"merchant's" evidence {89} does not seem to have palliated the case

against Julian, but that perhaps was because "they made him place his

hands upon the Gospels, and he swore to tell the truth." He said that

Julian was in a rage at being arrested, and shouted out some coarse

expressions about the King and Council not caring much for him, and

that he would rather serve elsewhere for four ducats than here for a

mint of money. "Then," said the lords, "didst thou not hear him say

that he would come with a pike on his shoulder to fight against such

heretics?" To which the merchant replied that the soldiers were making

so much noise that he did not hear well what was said. The end of the

matter was that, just as the Council were going to sentence Julian to

punishment and dismissal, Paget put in a good word for him, and got him

off with a severe wigging and a threat to punish him severely if he let

his tongue run too loosely again; "whereupon Julian made no answer but

made a very low bow, and then they told him to go, and if any one was

sorry he was not dismissed it was Gamboa."

A few weeks after this the trouble with Scotland broke out again, and

the captains were ordered to raise a fresh force of Spanish

men-at-arms. This was not easily done at short notice, and Julian and

his fellow Spanish officers frankly said that they could not get

together men who would do them credit in the time specified, and they

had no confidence in Burgundians and others who could be quickly

recruited. Gamboa, however, made no difficulty about it; but to the

great disgust of the Spaniards raised a regiment of Burgundians, whom

he led to Scotland to take part in the siege of {90} Haddington. On

Gamboa's coming south for the winter this regiment, under its ensign,

Perez, deserted _en masse_ to the enemy, for which desertion Perez was

hanged when the place was captured; but in the meanwhile the

circumstance still further widened the breach between Gamboa and the

other Spanish officers. The King died, at the beginning of the year

1547, and by the time Somerset was leaving London for his short and

triumphant campaign in Scotland, plenty of Spanish and Italian

mercenaries had joined the standards of our captains. They confessedly

turned the tide of victory to the English side at the battle of Pinkie

by a dashing flank charge under Gamboa, and a few days afterwards, at

the burning of Leith, they again greatly distinguished themselves.

Julian, of course, was in the thick of it, and his friend asserts that

he was made an English knight after Pinkie. I can find no confirmation

of this, although the English authorities show that after the burning

of Leith the Protector knighted, amongst others, on the 28th of

September, 1547. Sir Peter Gamboa, Pero Negro, Alonso de Villa Sirga,

and Cristobal Diaz.

Julian remained in Scotland during the campaigns of 1548-9, and took

part in the relief of Haddington; but Gamboa in the latter year was

dismissed in consequence of his unpopularity with the other Spaniards

and an accusation of peculation made against him. Of Julian Romero we

hear in all parts. He and Pero Negro were in charge at Droughty Ferry,

near Dundee, and a few of their men made a dash one day at a French

general who was strolling a short distance from his lines, and captured

him in the face of his own troops before he could be {91} rescued. The

French complained especially of Julian's and Pero Negro's celerity of

movement, by which they were able to give them the slip, encumbered as

the French were by the unscientific methods of their Scotch allies.[2]

Warwick had the help of a considerable body of Spaniards, and almost

certainly of Julian Romero, in his defeat of Kett's rebellion in the

autumn of 1549; certainly in the winter of that year when Warwick, with

the prestige of his victories upon him, thought he was strong enough to

strike a final blow at the Protector, Julian was one of the foreign

captains he took with him to overawe Somerset at his levee, and to

demand of him in their name rich rewards for their services in Scotland

and elsewhere. As soon as Warwick had got rid of Somerset he changed

his tone. England was no longer a fit place for Catholics. The King,

Edward VI., was known to be dying, and the next heiress was a papist

and half a Spaniard, against whom the Spanish officers could not be

trusted to fight in favour of Northumberland's Protestant _protegée_.

So they were dismissed, those that were left of them, and are

thenceforward swallowed up in the unfathomable abyss of the dead past;

all except Julian Romero, who was reserved for greater things.

There was no lack of demand for the services of such men, for the

Emperor, his natural sovereign, was at war with the French once more,

and less than two years after he left England we hear of Romero again.

Sir John Mason, writing to {92} the English Council on the 7th of July,

1554,[3] reports that Julian with five standards of Spaniards and

others was holding out against the French in the castle of Dinant. He

is, Sir John says, unlikely to be taken; but if he be, all the Liege

country must soon follow. A week afterwards Dr. Wotton writes to Queen

Mary[4] an account of the fall of Dinant, and says: "The town and

castle of Dinant have been taken, the former surrendered by composition

without loss of goods, the latter, wherein were some Spaniards with

Captain Julian, who formerly served in England, made a gallant

resistance, but at last held parliament and yielded, the soldiers

departing with their swords by their side."

The Spanish historian Sandoval blames Romero for his capture and the

loss of Dinant, which he attributes to his want of prudence in going

out to parley, "but rarely indeed do both valour and prudence reside in

one person, although this captain afterwards proved that he possessed

both qualities; for he became one of the most famous soldiers of our

time." Romero seems first to have attracted general public notice by

his bravery and dash at the great battle of St. Quintin in 1557, and in

the contemporary poem called "La Araucana" he is mentioned as one of

the most conspicuous heroes of the storming of the town, in command of

a regiment of Spaniards, Germans, and Walloons. For the ten years that

followed the peace of 1558 the centre of war was changed, and the

almost constant struggles between Philip II. and the Turks kept Italy

and Sicily full of Spanish soldiers. Romero {93} during most of the

time was quartered in the Milanese, whilst not before the enemy; and in

the meanwhile had been promoted to the rank of Maestre de Campo

(colonel), but in 1567 Philip took the fatal decision of grappling in a

duel to the death with a closer and more dangerous power than the

Turk--namely, that of Protestantism and national freedom in his own

Netherlands dominions. The humble remonstrance of the Flemish nobles

and Egmont's visit to Madrid had convinced the stealthy bigot that, if

he insisted upon ruling his Flemish dominions according to Spanish

methods, he could only do it by the ruthless power of the sword. His

kindly and popular sister, Margaret of Parma, Flemish to the heart as

she was, had already shown signs of sympathy with the demands of her

countrymen, and was an unfit instrument for Philip's new plans. There

was no one but hard-hearted old Alba who could be trusted to carry them

out to the bitter end with the needful cat-like cruelty. So early in

1567 the Spanish troops from Milan and Naples, the Italians from Savoy

and Parma, the veterans who for years had been fighting the infidel in

the Mediterranean, were set in motion to join the Duke of Alba. Julian

Romero was at the time in command of the regiment of Sicily stationed

in Milan under the fourth Duke of Alburquerque, the son of Henry VIII's

military dry-nurse at Boulogne; and he, like the rest of them, led his

men to Brussels. The Flemish nobles were lulled into a feeling of

false security. Kindly messages came from Philip in Madrid. He

himself would come and set all things right. Alba and his son

flattered the shallow Egmont, and {94} courted the distrustful Horn,

whose brother Montigny was kept at Madrid by specious excuses, and the

smiling mask was kept over Alba's grim face till all was ready.

Egmont had readily accepted that fateful invitation to dinner for the

9th of September, and even Horn had been persuaded to leave the

security of his own country for the same purpose, when late on the

night of the 8th a Spanish officer of apparently high rank came

secretly to his (Egmont's) house in disguise and significantly warned

him to escape at once, whilst there was yet time. To the last day of

her life the Countess of Egmont was confident that this officer was

Julian Romero;[5] but, whoever he was, Egmont neglected the warning and

went to the feast next day. Sancho de Avila posted troops in all the

streets leading to the house, to the wonder of the townsfolk, and on

the stairs of the Hotel itself were stationed 200 stalwart

harquebussiers under Colonel Julian Romero, who himself stood at the

door of the room in which the treacherous arrest was to be effected.[6]

At the given moment Sancho de Avila laid hands on Egmont, whilst Romero

stood by and overawed any attempt of the Flemings at resistance.

At 11 o'clock in the morning of the 6th of June of the following year,

the day that the Counts were to die, Julian it was who went to Egmont's

chamber to conduct him to the scaffold on the great square in Brussels.

He wished to tie {95} the Count's hands, but the noble refused to be

thus degraded. During Egmont's last few moments he turned in bitter

anguish to Julian Romero and asked him earnestly whether the sentence

was irrevocable, and whether a pardon might not, even now, be granted

to him. Romero appeared to think that the Count's courage was failing

him, and only answered by a contemptuous shrug of his shoulders and a

negative sign; whereupon Egmont gnashed his teeth in silent rage and

went to his death.[7]

Alba's severity for the moment paralysed all resistance on land, and

only those "sea beggars," who afterwards secured the independence of

the Netherlands, kept alive the tradition of Flemish patriotism. Some

of the Spanish troops could therefore be dispensed with, particularly

as Philip's treasury was empty of money to pay them, and many found

their way back to Spain again. Amongst these was Julian Romero, who

had married a wife of his own province a few years before (1565), and

yearned for a spell of family joys far from war's alarms. His time of

rest was but a short one. He was marked out now conspicuously as one

of the most unscrupulous of Alba's officers, who could be depended upon

in any emergency, and who was fanatically loyal to his sovereign and

the faith for which he was fighting. An instance of this is given by

Don Bernardino de Mendoza.[8] Certain soldiers under that officer were

in treaty to enter into the service of the King of France--not a very

great offence, one would think, in the eyes of Julian, who had himself

served the King of {96} England--and Alba, desirous of appearing

impartial, had decided that the three ringleaders should be tried by

their own comrades, appointing Julian as president of the tribunal. He

sentenced them all to be shot, and on the decision being submitted to

Alba, the latter made a long speech in praise of such severity, and

highly commended Romero for his inflexibility. Philip was

contemplating a job that called for such a man as this. He had been

driven to desperation by Elizabeth's protection of the rebel Flemish

privateers, and her seizure of his treasure, and had effusively

welcomed Thomas Stukeley when he arrived in Madrid in 1570 with

proposals for the invasion of Ireland and the raising of the country in

favour of Philip. This would, at all events, keep Elizabeth's hands

full, and Philip, being misled as to Stukeley's standing and influence,

treated him with great honour. He had a large pension granted to him

and a palace to reside in; he was made a Spanish knight, and Julian

Romero, amongst others, was invited to confer with him as to the plans

for the subjugation of Ireland. It was decided that Romero should take

command of the expedition, if it were sent, and English spies soon got

hold of the news and communicated it to the Queen. Philip was not long

in finding out that Stukeley was a mere windbag, and very coolly got

rid of him as soon as possible; but for many months after the Spanish

king had abandoned the idea, when indeed he was in such straits us

hardly to be able to hold his own, the dreaded name of Julian Romero

was in everybody's mouth as the coming avenger of Philip's grievances

against the English queen and her ministers.

{97}

One zealous spy named Reynolds Digby writes to Cecil from St. Jean de

Luz on December 28, 1570, telling him of "the subtle and devilish

practices against his country," and saying that the Duke of Medina Celi

and Julian Romero had already embarked "a great store of ordnance for

battery and field, great numbers of copper ovens, baskets, mattocks,

and other stores, with 100 mule loads of money, the object being to go

to Flanders, ship Alba and his army, and sail to Scotland for the

purpose of attacking it and seizing the King."[9] There was no truth

in it, but on the 25th of January, 1571, another spy named Hogan,

living in Madrid, wrote saying that Romero was going to Ireland with

6,000 soldiers.[10] Walsingham, in Paris, reports the same news as

being brought by French agents from Madrid, and the Spanish ambassador

in England, evidently believed it, although he pretended not to do so,

in his interviews with the English ministers.[11] Elizabeth herself

was much alarmed, and wrote to Walsingham,[12] telling him to see the

Spanish ambassador in Paris (Francés de Alava), and say "that she

cannot believe the news sent her that there is an intention of sending

Julian Romero or such like with a number of soldiers to Ireland to

follow some vain device of these rebels, and she much wonders that the

King should give credit to such a man as Stukeley, about whom no good

can be said." The haughty Don Frances ("the proudest man I ever {98}

met," says Walsingham) told him that he had never heard of Stukeley,

"and as for any attempts by Julian Romero to be done in Ireland, they

were no Spaniards who had that enterprise in hand"--which was quite

true, for Philip never intended to send a Spanish force, and indeed

when, years after, he did aid an expedition, he ordered that all the

commanders should be Italians.[13]

Philip wanted Romero for more important work than aiding Stukeley's

hairbrained schemes. Alba was now face to face with a people in arms

in Holland and Zeeland, under one of the greatest men of his age, the

Prince of Orange. Cruel severity had only goaded the Netherlanders to

desperation, and Alba, old and ill, felt that his method had failed.

He was begging to be relieved from the conduct of the war, and the Duke

of Medina Celi was sent to replace him, with Julian Romero in command

of the reinforcements which accompanied him. Medina Celi himself never

took possession of his vice-royalty, for Alba was too jealous to give

it up, now that his health was somewhat better, and the fresh troops

sent enabled him to act more vigorously; but Julian Romero got to work

as soon as he set foot on shore. He had been partially disabled by a

severe wound in the leg, but landed his men at the Sluys and at once

joined Don Fadrique, Alba's son, before Mons; and on the 17th of July,

1572, only a few weeks after he landed, he led the first charge of the

battle in which Fadrique beat the French Huguenot force who were trying

to relieve Mons. Fadrique wrote to his father from the battlefield in

enthusiastic praise of Julian, whom {99} he coupled with the famous

Italian General Chapin Vitelli, who, although severely wounded, behaved

with great bravery. Unfortunately most of Genlis' troops that were

captured were murdered in cold blood afterwards, it is to be feared

with Julian Romero's full acquiescence, if nothing worse. He was now

an important personage since his sojourn at Philip's Court, and in a

letter to the King's secretary, Zayas, dated before Mons, August 23,

1572,[14] writes a full account of the state of affairs, in the wording

of which there are now and again signs that he was still a bluff

soldier.

"Holland," he says, "looks as ugly as ever, Friesland no better, and

Zeeland much worse, but I look upon it all as nothing by the side of

this Mons business, upon which I have set my heart. If we can only

stop up this hole in the frontier the rest is only so much air;

although we shall sweat if we are to camp before Mons all the winter,

for we shall have to fight on skates." Julian's fears were groundless.

The grim news of St. Bartholomew convinced the citizens of Mons that no

help could reach them from the French Protestants, and only a month

afterwards--the 22nd of September, 1572--Romero wrote a long account to

Zayas of the surrender of the devoted town, which "he says we were very

fortunate to get by surrender, for no troops but Spaniards could have

taken it, so strong is it, and of Spaniards we have very few."

Then, swift and relentless as a thunderbolt, came Alba's vengeance on

the southern provinces of Flanders, hopeless of succour now either from

Orange or the French. Every town was to {100} support a Spanish

garrison or be put to the sword, and of all the cruel instruments for

the work none were so much in tune with the mastermind as was Julian

Romero. The rebel garrisons of most of the little towns had fled,

there was but slight resistance, and Fadrique, on his march from

Zutphen to Amsterdam in November, summoned the town of Naarden to admit

the Spanish troops into the place. Some demur was made to this, but a

few days afterwards the principal men of the town were sent after

Fadrique, afraid of their own boldness, to discuss terms for

submission. They were refused an interview, and told that a force had

already been ordered to Naarden to compel compliance. The citizens,

panic-stricken at the news, sent a deputation to offer complete

unconditional submission, but before they could reach Fadrique's

headquarters at Bussem they met Julian Romero on his way to Naarden,

who told them that he had full authority to treat. Arrived at the

town, he demanded the keys, which were surrendered to him on his solemn

promise that the lives and properties of the townsfolk should be

respected. He gave (says Hoofd, the historian) his hand thrice as a

pledge of this, and no written pledge was exacted of him. From what we

know of Julian Romero's temper we can well imagine this. Romero and

his 600 harquebussiers entered the town and were hospitably received.

A great feast was spread to do them honour at Burgomaster Gerrit's

house. When the banquet was finished Romero collected his men in the

great square and summoned the citizens to a conference in the town

hall. The bell rang, and the citizens {101} came, all unsuspecting, to

hear the conditions imposed upon them; but when they were met, to the

number of about six hundred, in the hall, Romero gave a signal at the

door and his Spaniards fired a volley upon the closely packed crowd of

unarmed men. Thenceforward the little town was a shambles; men, women,

and children were all murdered amidst scenes of the most heartrending

atrocity, and even infants were made sport of, being cast by the

pikemen from spear to spear. The Burgomaster was roasted until he gave

up all his fortune as ransom, and was then hanged at his own door-post

in the presence of Romero and Don Fadrique, who had arrived the day

after the massacre. Motley, who takes his account from Hoofd, has not

added anything to the horror of the story, and it is confirmed by Alba

himself in a letter to the King, saying, "They cut the throats of them

all, soldiers and townspeople alike, without leaving a single soul

alive." Strada says that this massacre had an entirely opposite effect

to that expected. It aroused such fury and hate all over Flanders and

Holland as to double the difficulty of Alba's task. Strada makes as

light of it as possible, but even he says, "It really seems as if the

vengeance wrought exceeded the fault. All the inhabitants alike,

innocent and guilty, were killed, the houses burnt, the walls razed,

and it looked more like a crime than a punishment."[15]

But Holland and Zeeland were made of different stuff to South Flanders,

and the massacre of Naarden only caused Haarlem to be more obstinate in

its determination to hold out at any cost. Fadrique {102} and his army

were before it in the bitter winter of 1572, and it became necessary

for him to ensure an open passage between him and Utrecht, whence he

drew his supplies. This was interfered with by a rebel fort on the

outskirts of Haarlem, near the opposite bank of the Sparen to that upon

which the road lay. This fort was flanked on two sides by water--on

the one side, where the river was narrow, the defences were

impregnable; whilst on the other flank, where the stream opened out and

was considered impassable, the fort was otherwise undefended. Early in

December spies reported to Fadrique that at certain states of the tide

the broad water might be forded and the fort attacked by surprise on

its undefended side. His letter to his father detailing how this was

done is still at Simancas.[16] He says that at daybreak he sent Julian

Romero with 400 picked harquebussiers to attempt the task. Count Bossu

and other experienced soldiers had said that it was impossible, but

Romero insisted upon attempting it. The water reached above the knees

of the men, and the ice had to be broken at every step; the ford was

very narrow, and a false step precipitated the armed men into deep

water. The men in the fort discovered them and opened fire, and for a

full hour they thus skirmished in the frozen river, when they found

that a rebel force from the town, equal to their own, had crossed the

river on the ice higher up, and were attacking them from their own

bank, so that they were between two fires. Romero drew his men out of

the river, charged the new force and drove {103} them back over the ice

again. But in their flight they showed him the way across the ice as

well, and how by that road the undefended side of the fort might be

reached. With incredible dash he crossed after them and stormed the

fort on that side, carried it with pike and musket only, and, as

Fadrique tells the Duke, cut the throat of every man who did not escape

by flight. Fadrique is quite enthusiastic about Romero's share in the

affair. The "heretics," he says, showed surprising bravery, and the

fort was of enormous strength--"the best I ever saw." "I thought we

were fighting beasts, but I find we have to do with men." "Colonel

Julian has carried himself in this action as splendidly as he always

does and is as eager as ever to serve his Majesty. He marched for a

good league and half with the water over his knees, skirmishing with

the fort, before the Haarlem force came. Just think of it, your

Excellency; marching like this with such a leg as Julian's! I can

assure you that a better soldier than he for dash and enterprise never

came from our country. Pray thank him warmly for he richly deserves

it." Only a few days later Julian was once more to the fore. Lumay,

Count de la Mark, made an attempt to relieve Haarlem with a large

force, but was beaten by the Spaniards, "Julian with his regiment," we

are told by an anonymous eyewitness,[17] "leading the attack in front

of every one." Encouraged by this victory, the Spaniards a week

afterwards--the 20th of December, 1572--attempted to take the place by

storm, but were unsuccessful. Julian was standing on a trench

directing operations when a {104} musket-shot destroyed one of his

eyes, but even that did not put him _hors de combat_ for long, for he

writes to the Duke's secretary, Albernoz, on the 13th of the next month

(January, 1573) from Amsterdam: "I have been impatiently expecting

Illan's arrival, in order that I might go to the front, but if he comes

not I am determined I will wait no longer, but will set out to-morrow;

for I see that things are now going to begin in real earnest. I am

pretty well, but not so well as I want to be to serve Don Fadrique; but

I will do so with all my poor strength, standing or falling. He has

sent me word that I must go and lodge in his quarters or he will burn

mine down over my head. I will obey him in this as in all things, and

although I know full well I shall not lack for dainties there, I will

not spare you from sending me the other box of marmalade you promised

me, as the one you sent is half gone already."

For the next six months each step in the terrible siege of Haarlem is

related in the letters from Don Fadrique, Caspar de Robles, and Romero

himself. Wherever fighting was going on Colonel Julian was always in

the front rank, and we hear of him creeping forward from month to month

nearer to the devoted city as death and famine make it weaker.

Romero's own letter to Alba of the 25th of May, 1573,[18] gives the

best account I have read of the incidents of the siege from the Spanish

point of view, although neither that nor any other of the series I have

mentioned appears ever to have been utilised by historians. When at

last, in July, 1575, the famished heroes in the city surrendered,

Julian {105} Romero was deputed to accompany Count Bossu to the wood

where the submission was to be arranged, and himself to hold the town

gate that no soul should issue therefrom without due warrant. Of the

cruel massacre of the starving people which followed Julian Romero does

not boast, but it may be not uncharitably assumed that he played his

usual sympathetic part in it. Certain it is that no sooner was it over

than Colonel Julian, with an army of 4,000 men, commenced his fell

march over Holland. Mendoza[19] says: "Julian entered by the Dunes as

far as the Hague, taking Catwyk, Walkemburg, Wassenaer, Naeldwyk, St.

Geradique, Squelpewyk Noortwyk, Vlaerdingen, the fort of Mansendus,

where he cut the throats of St. Aldegonde and 600 men, Minister,

Gravesande, &c." And then he went towards Leyden, which was being

besieged by Valdes. Morgan, writing to Lord Burleigh from Delft[20] on

the 12th of November, 1575, represents the Dutch burghers as completely

cowed for the moment by Romero's ferocity. He says: "Julian with his

4,000 men is entrenched half-way between the Hague and Delft, cutting

off all communication between the latter place and Leyden."

But by this time Alba felt that cruelty had failed to crush Orange and

the Zeelanders, supported as they were by England and helped by the

German princes; and sated as even he was of blood, he determined to

give up the struggle and allow another policy to be tried. Romero was

tired of it too, and wished to retire with his chief. Alba {106}

himself wrote to the King from Brussels on the 15th of December,

1573.[21] "Colonel Julian Romero has served here in the way your

Majesty has been informed. He had returned here from Holland,

determined to go to Spain and beseech your Majesty to allow him to rest

at home, seeing that he has served for 40 years. When your Majesty's

letter for him had been handed to him and I had myself impressed upon

him how much he would be missed here at the present juncture, he

consented to send Captain Illan to Spain on his private affairs, whilst

he still remains in the service here. I pray your Majesty to take such

measures for rewarding Julian's many services as they deserve. I can

assure you that what he has done in this campaign alone places your

Majesty under a deep obligation to him. He is one of the most useful

men of his quality that I have ever known, and I shall warmly welcome

any mark of favour your Majesty may confer upon him."

Romero's own letter to the King to accompany this plainly tells how

much the hard old soldier yearned for rest. "I have been," he says,

"in your Majesty's service now in this guise for well-nigh forty years,

without leaving it for a single hour; my work in this campaign has

been, as your Majesty knows, extremely hard, and as I have lost the

full use of my legs, arms, and eyes, I besought the Duke to give me

leave to go home, which he did. When I went to Brussels to take leave

of him a letter was handed to me from your Majesty ordering me not to

leave these States. I obey your Majesty's orders, but the Duke and the

{107} Grand Commander (Requesens) have given me leave to send Captain

Illan to beg your Majesty personally to let me go and see my home

again. I need greatly to go, as is proved by my asking to do so now,

for otherwise I would not even go if I had leave."

Philip was the most ungenerous and ungrateful of employers, and for

reasons which presently will be stated it is doubtful whether Julian's

devotion was rewarded as Alba recommended that it should be,

notwithstanding a letter in the Record Office[22] from one of the many

false Englishmen then in Spanish Flanders, written to a Captain

Windebanke in Elizabeth's service. The writer was trying to get

Windebanke to play the traitor, and deplores that so good a captain

should be so scurvily rewarded by the Queen, whose penuriousness he

compares with Philip's (entirely imaginary) liberality. "Captain

Julian Romero," he says, "whom I knew a poor captain in Ireland, is now

worth £2,000, and has a pension of a thousand ducats." The writer was

probably false in his facts as he was in his patriotism, for I can find

no record of Julian's ever having been in Ireland, and only a few

months after the date of the letter we have his own word that he was

almost in indigence.

The new Viceroy, Requesens, was to try to do by conciliation what Alba

had failed to effect by severity. It was time to adopt a new policy,

for Southern Flanders was now nearly as disaffected as Holland, and

Zeeland was entirely in the hands of the Gueux. Its capital,

Middleburg, was held by Mondragon and his Spaniards, but {108} he was

closely beleaguered by the rebels and in the direst straits. Mondragon

was one of the best and bravest of the commanders on the Spanish side,

whose heroic relief of Tergoes still remains one of the brightest feats

of war ever performed, he had informed Requesens that, unless he were

relieved with food and stores, he should be forced to lay down his

sword and give up Middleburg to the despised "beggars of the sea"; so

the new Viceroy's first duty was to send aid to Middleburg and Ramua.

Two fleets were fitted out for the purpose in January, 1574, one

consisting of large ships under the famous Sancho de Avila was to go by

the main Scheldt and the Hundt, rather for the purpose of diverting the

rebel force than for any other action, whilst nine standards of

soldiers under Romero, and a great quantity of stores, were to go in a

fleet of seventy-two canal boats, barges, galliots, and crookstems,

through the narrow channels by way of Bergen-op-Zoom to the besieged

town. The naval commander was to have been De Beauvoir, with Glimes as

second in command. The former fell ill, and the Viceroy gave the chief

control to Romero, who protested that he was a soldier and not a

sailor, but at last consented to take the command.

The expedition began badly. Requesens came to the quay of Antwerp to

see it depart; Romero's flagship led the way, and as a salvo of honour

was fired, a gun on one of the boats burst, and the craft sank with all

hands. Then the leader looked behind and found several of his vessels

lagging. Antwerp itself was riddled with disaffection, and the Flemish

sailors had given him the slip, so the boats {109} had to be left

behind. Then Romero and his fleet dropped down the river and anchored

near Bergen, opposite Romerswald, to await another tide, Requesens, the

Viceroy, proceeding to the same place by road to witness the final

departure of the expedition from Bergen. At daybreak on the 21st the

rebel fleet, under Boisot, Admiral of Flanders, was seen to be

approaching them from the open water opposite. Romero's fleet was

surrounded by shallows and sand-banks, and largely manned by Flemish

sailors whose loyalty, to say the least of it, was doubtful, and de

Glimes, seeing the danger, begged his chief not to fight. Cardinal

Bentivoglio[23] says: "The Vice-Admiral would not have fought, knowing

the great disadvantage on his side. The enemy's ships were many more

in number, but Romero, either because his valour blinded his judgment,

or from his want of knowledge of maritime affairs, or perhaps because

the risk was forced upon him by Mondragon's urgent need, insisted upon

fighting." The disaster that followed is ascribed by Bentivoglio to

treachery of Romero's Flemish sailors, but, be that as it may, de

Glimes' ship first stranded, and others immediately followed, and, thus

helpless, were exposed to a galling musketry fire. Captain Osorio with

other ships went to the aid of de Glimes and immediately met with the

same fate. Greek fire was thrown into the Spanish vessels, and many of

them were burnt to the water's edge, the Viceroy the while standing on

the dyke helplessly witnessing the destruction of his force. When de

Glimes, the Vice-Admiral, had been killed, and his part of the fleet

destroyed, the rebels, acquainted {110} as they were with the intricate

passages, came alongside of Romero's flagship, grappling with it and

with its consorts. Boisot's decks towered high over the canal boats,

and the crews shot down from their superior position until nearly all

the Spaniards were killed, when at last a round shot crashed through

the timbers of the flagship, and Romero, fearing she was foundering,

jumped overboard on the land side with his few surviving comrades. He

came up spluttering and floundering within a few feet of the Viceroy,

who stood upon the bank. As he dragged himself up the dyke he blurted

out with a voice as vigorous as when he was giving the command to

charge, "I told your Excellency how it would be! You knew I was no

sailor but a foot soldier and nothing else. No more fleets for me; if

you gave me a hundred I should probably lose them all." Requesens gave

a graceful and generous answer, but the blow was a heavy one for the

Spanish power, for Middleburg and Ramua surrendered to the rebels, and

henceforward for ever Zeeland was lost to King Philip.[24] Seven

hundred of the Spanish force were killed, as was Boisot, the Flemish

admiral, and Romero's ship, with all his papers and instructions, fell

into the hands of the enemy.

Romero was sick at heart. Requesens' mild temporising looked to Alba's

iron lieutenant like lamentable weakness. There was only one way for

Julian to meet heresy and the assertion of independence, {111} and that

was by extermination. Philip apparently had sent him no rewards, or

even thanks, for his staying after Alba left, and had simply ignored

his prayer for leave to return home. This was nothing new, for the

King always treated his most faithful servants thus, but bluff Julian

probably did not know this at the time, and was bitterly disappointed.

After his defeat at Bergen he busied himself for some months in

planning fortifications and re-organising the forces, which Requesens

had found in a state of almost open mutiny for want of pay. By the end

of June his task was done, and affairs in South Flanders were looking

much more tranquil. No answer came from Madrid to Julian, who, sick

and mortified, counted the hours for the time when he might see his

home again. In June he wrote an interesting letter to the Viceroy,

which deserves to be repeated nearly in full. After recommending the

names of five officers for the future command of the forces he

says:[25] "I must now address you with my customary frankness and

clearness, and disabuse your mind, for once and for all, of the idea

that any offers or promises from his Majesty, or any one else, will

make me waver in my determination to return home next September.

Nothing but my own death shall stand in the way of this, so urgent is

my need to go; since my soul's health and the welfare of my wife and

children depend upon it, and the least of these reasons would be

sufficient to make me firm in my resolve. I have long wished to go but

have deferred it because my services here were so much required. I

very unwillingly consented to stay when the Duke of Alba {112} left;

with the sole object of being by your Excellency's side whilst you were

new to your position. I have been well repaid by the pleasure of

knowing you and would still serve you with all love and zeal, but the

moment now has arrived beyond which I cannot, and will not, stay. You

may judge whether I need go when I say that I have served his Majesty

40 years next Christmas without once resting from the wars and my duty.

I have lost in the service an arm, a leg, an eye, and an ear; and the

rest of my person is so seared with wounds that I suffer incessantly.

I have now just lost a dear son upon whom I built all my hopes--and

with good reason as the whole army will bear witness. You will judge

whether such troubles as these are not enough to break down my health

and spirits. Moreover I married nine years ago, thinking that I might

have some rest, but since then I have never been an entire year at

home. I have spent during my service nearly all the money I had with

my wife, and although I have a daughter at home, and one here of

marriageable age, I can do nothing to help them; except with the trifle

still left of my wife's money. I can, moreover, see plainly that this

is being exhausted by me at such a rate, that unless I can get home at

once, both my wife and myself will have to end our days in the

poor-house. You are so Christian a prince that I feel sure you will

not try to hinder my resolution, for, believe me, it is not for the

purpose of exalting or selling myself at a higher price that I urge it.

If when I have been home the King still thinks I may be useful, I will

try with all my heart, but it must be in some place where I may set up

my home and {113} have my wife by my side, for without her, all the

world shall not make me stir. I think I have already well deserved by

my sufferings and long service any favours his Majesty has conferred

upon me."

To this affecting and dignified letter the Viceroy replied saying that

he would no longer stand in the way. He had written four or five times

already to the King, urging him to fitly reward Julian's great

services, and had reason to believe that something would shortly be

done, but he had again written in the most pressing terms begging the

King not to neglect so good and true a servant. A day or two

afterwards Romero again wrote to the Viceroy another manly letter,

which shows how bitterly he felt the King's indifference to him. He

says: "With reference to your Excellency's kindness in begging his

Majesty to reward me, I am constrained to beseech that no further great

effort should be made. I will endeavour to pass the few years left to

me as decently as I can, and if I cannot have everything I desire I am

already as reconciled to leave it all as one who has the candle in his

hand. God is my witness that I have never served the King for lucre;

no, that has never been my target! True it is that I am cut to the

heart to see his Majesty extend his favours to others, who were

suckling at the breast when I was already a veteran, whilst he forgets

me, but this I lay to my ill luck and to God's will that I should

remain a poor man. But naked I was born; I have lived honourably and I

care for naught else. Pray therefore, trouble yourself no further on

my account. I trust before my departure hence God will settle the

affairs of {114} these States. At this season of the year there is

little stirring, and if when I have been home and set my house in

order, your Excellency should remain in your present straits; I pledge

my word as a Christian to come and serve again with all my strength.

If I were a batchelor and as hale as I used to be, you should see what

I would do. Worcum, June 27, 1574."

If Romero's desire of seeing his home again was fulfilled, as it

probably was, his visit must have been of short duration, for in

October of the next year he was commanding thirty standards of troops

before Zerusee, and endeavoured to capture an island near Dortrecht,

but was beaten by the Prince of Orange himself with the loss of 800

men.[26]

Early in the following year things had reached an acute stage.

Requesens was dead, and Don Juan of Austria, his successor, had not

arrived. The mercenaries in the Spanish service, unpaid and chafing at

inaction, were in open mutiny, and were plundering and maltreating

friends and foes indifferently to indemnify themselves. The Council of

State, mostly Flemish and Walloon nobles, were profoundly divided, and

already were doing their best to hold their own against the savage

Spanish soldiery. Brussels was held by Walloon troops in the interests

of the Council of State, the Spanish troops in the neighbourhood being

under the command of Romero. By the middle of March the Council were

obliged to meet and devise some means of pacifying the mutineers by

raising money to pay them, "without which many strange seditions must

happen." {115} They agreed with Romero to pay certain soldiers forty

crowns each, to satisfy them until the arrival of the new Governor, and

then sent him to parley with the mutineers. Strada says they would not

listen to him, but in any case most of his men fraternised with and

joined them. On his return to Brussels he was again sent by the

Council against the rebel Spaniards who had gone towards Maestricht.

English agents in Flanders[27] report that he had arranged a plot to be

carried out in his absence. He had left 200 of his men in Brussels,

and the plan was for Count Barlemont, one of the Council, to deliver

the keys of the city to them, in order that the mutineers, and probably

Romero with them, should enter the city and sack it. The plot was

discovered, and Barlemont deprived of the keys, and after Romero had

fruitlessly been to Maestricht, he found on his return to Brussels the

citizens in a frenzy of rage against the Spaniards in consequence of

the massacres at Alost and elsewhere by the mutineers. The infuriated

Flemings tore to pieces a servant of Jerome Rodas, the leading Spanish

councillor, and the latter, with Romero and Vargas, had to fly for

their lives to the stronghold in the palace. Henceforward the Flemish

Council and the Spaniards were completely estranged. The Council

proclaimed the mutineers rebels against the King, whilst Rodas assumed

to be Philip's sole representative.

Philip was in deep distress at the news.[28] Romero was to be warmly

thanked, the Council must {116} disband their forces, money would be

sent, Don Juan would soon arrive, and all would be settled. In the

meantime, however, the forces of the Council were attacking the

mutineers at Ghent, Maestricht, Alost, and elsewhere, and the Spanish

commanders, Sancho de Avila, Romero, Vargas, &c., whilst ostensibly

condemning them, were constrained daily to side more with their

fellow-countrymen. Romero at last escaped from Brussels and fortified

himself at Lierre, where a considerable force gradually joined him.

The Council sent word that they would attack him if he did not submit

to their authority, but when they attempted to do so his force, with

that of Vargas, routed the States troops. The massacre which followed

is explained by Mendoza by the fact that the Spaniards were hot-headed

youngsters, which they were not, but he is evidently ashamed of it. A

large number of spectators, students from Louvain and others, had come

out to see the fight. They were all slaughtered, as were soldiers and

civilians, armed and unarmed, men and women, without quarter and

without mercy, up to the very gates of Louvain. Thenceforward all hope

of restraint was lost. The Spanish soldiery were so many bloodthirsty

wild beasts, making no distinction between Flemish friends or foes, and

it was war to the knife on both sides. Romero's headquarters were

still at Lierre, although he kept up a close connection with the

mutineers at Alost, and his men seem to have outdistanced others in

their savagery, no attempt to moderate which appears to have been made

by their chief. Savage Rodas himself got frightened in October, and

wrote to the King that the Spanish soldiers were pillaging on {117} all

sides, and if some remedy were not sent soon from Spain, all would go

to perdition.[29]

Wherever Romero had a chance of fighting the States forces he did so,

and Mendoza gives particulars of many brilliant skirmishes in which the

Spaniards were successful, but which usually ended in an indiscriminate

massacre of Flemings. Sancho de Avila in the Antwerp citadel the while

was keeping up a close communication with the mutineers at Alost,

Ghent, and other places, whilst the citizens were collecting such

forces of Walloons and German mercenaries as they could. Sancho at

last was informed that unless he ceased to send aid to Alost he himself

would be held as a rebel to the King. This was a signal that he must

either submit to the dictation of the despised Flemish Council or

fight, and he chose the latter alternative. He sent out messengers on

all sides for the Spaniards to concentrate in Antwerp, and soon Romero

started out from Lierre with all his men. On his way he met the main

body of malcontents from Alost and greeted them with effusion. Vargas

with his men joined them also, and on the 4th of November they all

entered the citadel of Antwerp together. The townsmen and their troops

had already begun to run up earthworks to defend themselves against the

bloodthirsty marauders who had made a shambles of Alost, Maestricht,

and wherever else they had gained the upper hand. The rich booty of

Antwerp, and the thirst for blood, they knew would launch the greedy

hawks from the citadel upon the panting quarry {118} below, and they

determined to sell their lives and property dearly. Hungry and tired

as the Alost men were on their arrival at daybreak, no meal would they

consume until, as they said, they could break their fast in Antwerp.

Slaking their thirst and firing their brains only with wine, by eleven

o'clock before noon they were ready for the struggle. Then with solemn

prayer and blessing of banners as a preparation for their fell work,

they swept down in three bodies to the town to the aggregate number of

about 6,000 men. The scene that followed has often been described, and

need not be repeated here. In a few hours the richest city in

Christendom was a ravished corpse of its former self. Romero, with his

stalwarts of Spaniards and Almains, entered the city by the St.

George's gate and swept along the street of St. Michael, driving weak

young Egmont before him into a church at the end, where the Count was

taken.

Everywhere the Walloons turned and fled before the Spaniards. The

brave Champigny, Granvelle's brother, did his best heroically; the

townsmen, unused to arms, made what resistance they could, but the

States troops were worse than useless, and butchery was the only order

of the day. In the great square every house was occupied by Sancho de

Avila's men, who kept up a fusilade upon the frightened crowds of

unarmed people huddled together in the doorways. Soon the curling

smoke showed that the rich stores of merchandise, the noble palaces of

the merchant princes, and the lowly cottages of the artisans were alike

doomed to wanton destruction. The Spaniards, drunk with blood, blind

with rage, spared neither {119} age, sex, nor faith; and with one great

gust of fury swept like a blight over the doomed city. When the

blood-lust was partly sated, it was found that 6,000 unarmed people at

least had been slaughtered, and 6,000,000 ducats worth of property

stolen, with as much again burnt. The States infantry had all fled or

been killed. The Catholic Flemish nobles were scattered and lost, and

the Spaniards had Antwerp beneath their talons. Strada says that the

massacre and plunder were as much the work of the Walloons and Germans

as of the Spaniards, and bears testimony to the efforts of the Spanish

leaders to restrain the fury of their men, mentioning Sancho de Avila,

Mondragon, and others as having exerted their influence to that end,

but markedly omits the name of Romero. Rodas, writing to the King a

day after the fight, says the town was sacked against orders, and that

Avila, Romero, and Vargas, used great diligence to stop plunder. "They

deserve," he says, "well of his Majesty for the services they have

rendered in this great victory." Dr. Wilson, who certainly was not

prejudiced in favour of the Spaniards, says, on the other hand, in a

letter to Walsingham of the 13th of November,[30] that he fears the

Spaniards much less than the English refugees, "who are said to have

done the greatest murders and most horrible above all others, and all

Englishmen are hated for their sake."

Flemings of every faith were welded together now against the wreckers

of their homes, and even those nobles who, through all the evil past

had stood by Spain, the Perennots, the Croys, the Montmorencis, the

Zweveghems, were at one with {120} the Protestants of the North. Don

Juan found himself, when he arrived, in face of a united people glowing

with indignation, and determined to prevent the destruction of its

liberties, strong enough now to force terms upon him. The first demand

of the Flemings was that all Spaniards should withdraw from Flanders,

and the second that Rodas, Avila, and Romero should lose their heads

for their share in the massacres. To the first demand the Prince was

forced to accede, with the second he fenced diplomatically; and soon

Romero was on the march at the head of his men going from Flanders to

Italy with the curses of all Flemings following him.

Don Juan could not brook for long the dictation and exactions of the

Council, he took the bit between his teeth, seized the citadel of

Namur, defied them all to do their worst, and made up his mind to fight

it out in spite of the King's orders. Then the veteran forces, by

which Alba had crushed the Low Countries, the bloodthirsty savages who

had ravished them before, were once more recalled from Italy, late in

1577. Romero was designated for the chief command of an army of 6,000

men who were to act subsequently under Alexander Farnese in Flanders.

He was starting on his march from Cremona at the head of his force,

when the war-worn old soldier, without a moment's warning, fell from

his horse, dead. He breathed his last as he had lived, full-armed and

harnessed for the fray, surrounded by the fierce soldiery he had led so

often. Strada says his death caused the deepest grief, as he was

looked upon as the mainstay of the new attempt to dominate the

Flemings. Another {121} contemporary historian, Cabrera de Cordova,

wrote of him, "his loss caused profound sorrow by reason of the urgent

need for his valour and experience, which had enabled him to rise from

a common soldier to be a general, whilst his prowess and knowledge of

war well deserved, the last promotion to the rank in which he died,

namely, that of commander-in-chief of great enterprises."

For some years even after his death his name was used to threaten

England with, and the presence of another younger Captain Julian with

the Spanish auxiliaries to the Irish rebellion of 1579-80 gave rise to

many trembling rumours that the terrible Romero himself was there.

But he is forgotten now, even in his own country; the cause he fought

for, the supremacy of Catholicism, has been beaten everywhere but in

Spain, where stern intolerance, and indifference to personal suffering

still linger as things to be proud of. It has seemed to me, however,

that the devotion, the valour, and the self-sacrifice of the rough

soldier who rose to be "commander-in-chief of great enterprises,"

dimmed though they be by cruel ferocity, might well be rescued in this

gentler age from the oblivion in which they lay so long.

[1] "Chronicle of Henry VIII.," edited by Martin A. S. Hume. London,

1889.

[2] Jean de Beaugé, "Histoire de la guerre d'Ecosse," 1548-9. Maitland

Club.

[3] Calendar of State Papers (Foreign).

[4] Ibid.

[5] Motley.

[6] "Documentos ineditos para la historia de España," vol. lxxv.

[7] Motley.

[8] "Comentarios de las Guerras de los paises bajos." Mendoza.

[9] Calendar of State Papers (Foreign).

[10] Ibid.

[11] Calendar of State Papers (Elizabeth), Spanish, vol. ii.

[12] Calendar of State Papers (Foreign).

[13] Calendar of State Papers (Elizabeth), Spanish, vol. ii.

[14] "Simancas Documentos ineditos," vol. lxxv.

[15] Strada, "De Bello Belgico."

[16] "Documentos ineditos," vol. lxxv.

[17] "Documentos ineditos," vol. lxxv.

[18] "Documentos ineditos," vol. lxxv.

[19] "Comentario de las Guerras de los paises bajos."

[20] Calendar of State Papers (Foreign).

[21] "Documentos ineditos," vol. lxxv.

[22] Calendar of State Papers (Foreign).

[23] "Guerra di Fiandra."

[24] The account of this disaster is taken from three contemporary

accounts--Mendoza's "Comentarios de la Guerra de los paises bajos";

Strada's "De Bello Belgico," and Bentivoglio's "Guerra di Fiandra."

[25] "Documentos ineditos," vol. lxxv.

[26] Calendar of State Papers (Foreign).

[27] Herll to Burleigh, Rogers to Walsingham, and Harise to Burleigh.

Calendar of State Papers (Foreign).

[28] Philip to Rodas. Calendar of State Papers (Foreign).

[29] Rodas to Philip (intercepted). Calendar of State Papers (Foreign).

[30] State Papers (Domestic).

[Illustration: tailpiece]

{123}

_THE COMING OF PHILIP THE PRUDENT._

[Illustration: PHILIP AND MARY

(_After the painting by Antonio Mor._)]

{125}

[Illustration: Headpiece]

_THE COMING OF PHILIP THE PRUDENT._[1]

It is somewhat curious that English historians, in

describing an event fraught with such tremendous

possibilities to Christianity as the coming of the

Spanish prince to wed Mary of England, should

have entirely overlooked a source of information

which was more likely than any other to abound in

interesting and trustworthy details of the voyage--I

mean the contemporary narratives of Spaniards

who accompanied Philip hither. So far as regards

the splendid pageantry that marked the new

consort's entrance into London the English records

themselves leave nothing to be desired. Darnley's

tutor, John Elder, in his letter to his pupil's uncle,

the Bishop of Caithness,[2] descends to the minutest

particulars, and is amply confirmed by the anonymous

Chronicle of Queen Mary in the Harleian

manuscripts, whence John Stow derived his

{126}

information; by Edward Underhyll, "the hot-gospeller";[3]

and the letters of the French ambassador, Antoine de

Noailles.[4] The gorgeous ceremonies that attended

the marriage in Winchester Cathedral are also

sufficiently described by these and other authorities, as

well as in the official account of the English heralds

of the time, copied from the Book of Precedents of

Ralph Brooke, York herald, and printed in Leland's

"Collectanea," edit. 1774, and by the Camden

Society, 1849;[5] but the accounts given by English

historians of Philip's voyage and reception at

Southampton appear to rest entirely upon a

narrative of the Venetian, Baoardo, published in

Venice in 1558, four years after the event, and

the letters of Noailles to the King of France.

Miss Strickland and the late Mr. Froude, both

of whom draw upon Baoardo to a large extent

for their local colour, quote him as an eyewitness

of the scenes he describes. Whether he was so

or not I do not know, although I have been

unable to discover any evidence of his presence,

but in any case the bitter animus against Philip

shown in his narrative is so clear that it is unfair to

accept his statements without ample confirmation.

Such confirmation seems to have been sought,

{127}

by Mr. Froude at all events, in the letters of

the French ambassador, and from this material,

coupled with the fact that certain prudent measures

of precaution were suggested by Simon Renard,

the Emperor's ambassador, in his letters to his

master, the historian paints his highly coloured

picture of Philip as a sulky, seasick craven

trembling at his very shadow, in momentary

fear of poison, consummating a sacrifice from

which his soul revolts. To justify this view

Professor Froude depended mainly upon Noailles.

It must, however, be remembered, first, that the

French ambassador was not in a position to know

the exact details of Philip's voyage and reception;

secondly, that he was the last person in the world to

give a fair account of them; thirdly, that the

historian has gone beyond his authority, even such as

it was; and fourthly, that several witnesses of the

events described, whose evidence has hitherto been

ignored, entirely fail to confirm the view taken by

Mr. Froude from Noailles and Baoardo.

Throughout the whole negotiations that had

preceded the arrangement of the marriage Noailles

had been absurdly ill-informed and wide of the

mark.[6] His letters to the King of France and

the Constable teem with predictions and

assertions which subsequent events proved to be quite

wrong, and it is easy to see that for months

{128}

previous to the marriage he was entirely hoodwinked,

and out of touch with trustworthy sources

of information. In a letter to the French adviser

of Mary of Lorraine in Scotland, M. d'Oysel,

dated 29th of March, 1554, for instance, he

speaks of the Earl of Bedford's departure for

Spain as an accomplished fact, and has no doubt

that he had already sailed from Plymouth to fetch

the Prince. On May 18th, after ringing the

changes upon this for nearly two months, he tells

the King that the rumour runs that Bedford is to go

shortly to Spain, but that the Prince will not come

until the winter, whereas Philip had already left

Valladolid at the time on his way to England. On

the 31st of March Noailles is quite persuaded that

Wyatt's life will be spared, and less than a fortnight

later he describes his execution. On the 29th of

March, again, he says that the Bishop of Norwich,

the Queen's ambassador to the Emperor, had been

summoned to perform the marriage, and was to be

created Archbishop of York for the purpose.

Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, really performed

the ceremony. Noailles again is quite sure that

other Wyatts will arise, and that 50,000 men will be

in arms to receive the Prince, and in April, after

writing for weeks of the preparations for the arrival

of Philip on the south coast and marriage at

Winchester, he believes it all to be a feint and that the

Prince will suddenly appear and be married in London.

On the 29th of the same month he is strongly

of opinion that Sir James Crofts will be executed

on the following Monday, whereas that distinguished

old soldier lived and fought and sold himself for many

years afterwards. Hardly a letter, indeed, from

{129}

Noailles at this period fails to show that the man,

having been completely outwitted by Renard's

keen diplomacy, was entirely at sea, and badly

served by his informers.

But I go beyond this. Philip had anchored in

Southampton Water on the afternoon of the 19th

of July, 1554, and landed on that of the 20th.

On the night of the 20th, after the Prince had

landed, Noailles learnt in London, by an imperial

messenger, for the first time of his arrival, and

communicated the news to the King of France

immediately by letter; and on the 23rd he writes:--

"J'ai envoyé ung des miens á Hamptonne et a

Winchestre et despescheray demain encores ung

aultre pour estre mieulx par mesme informé de tout

ce qui se fera tant a la terre que sur la mer

... affin de tenir advertye vostre majeste."

It is clear, therefore, that Noailles had no

trustworthy person to give an exact account of the

reception of the Prince until the arrival of the latter

at Winchester; and the description in his letters of

Philip's voyage and doings at Southampton was

merely current gossip dressed up to suit the palate

of the writer and his master.[7] How much impartiality

could be expected from Noailles under the

{130}

circumstances may well be imagined. He had been

thoroughly outmanoeuvred, and French diplomacy

had received a greater blow than it had sustained

for many years in seeing England drift apparently

for good into the arms of Spain. His country was

at the very moment engaged in a long and costly

war with the Emperor, and he himself had just been

detected and exposed for the second time in his

attempts to suborn and support rebellion in England,

and was in high dudgeon at being pointedly excluded

from participation in the marriage festivities. What

wonder, then, that after slandering the Queen for

months past he should do as much as possible to

darken the shadows of the picture of Philip sent

for the delectation of Philip's enemy? It were

expecting too much to suppose that the outwitted

diplomatist and supple courtier would do otherwise.

Ill-natured, however, as are Noailles' references

to Philip, even they do not, in my opinion, warrant

the distorted picture inferentially derived from them.

To instance a small matter of which much is made

by Froude--namely, the vivid scene of the

sea-sick Prince gulping down beer on the night of his

arrival at Southampton, to please the English

spectators at his public repast--Noailles says not a word

about Philip's being ill or seasick, nor do any other

chroniclers of the time, that I am aware of. The

only foundation for the story seems to be a remark

contained in a letter from the Earl of Bedford and

Lord Fitzwalter from Santiago (Calendar of State

Papers, Foreign) to the effect that, "as the Prince

suffers much at sea, it will be well to make preparations

for him to land at Plymouth, or other port on

the south coast if necessary."

{131}

The voyage was a beautifully calm one, and

the Prince had remained on board the _Espiritu

Santo_, at anchor in Southampton Water, for

twenty hours at least before he landed; and,

instead of the dramatic scene at his public supper

described by Froude, his repast was a private

one; and according even to Noailles, who is alone

responsible for the story, _after supper_, in the

presence chamber, Philip told his Spanish courtiers

that in future they must forget the customs

of their country and live like Englishmen, and

"when, according to the English fashion, a quantity

of wine, beer, and ale was brought in silver flagons,

he took some beer and drank it"--a very simple

and appropriate compliment to his new country; but

even Noailles tells the story without a hint of the

loathing of unwilling sacrifice with which Froude

invested the perfectly natural scene.

Having thus far spoken of the authorities upon

which English historians have hitherto based their

descriptions of the coming of Philip the Prudent,

and pointed out a few of what I venture to think

their obvious shortcomings, I will mention some

other contemporary narratives which may well, it is

true, sin just as much on the score of partiality, but

at any rate afford a view of the events recorded

that has hitherto been almost entirely

ignored--namely, the view taken by those Spaniards who

accompanied their Prince in his voyage to England

in quest of his eager but elderly bride.[8]

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Amongst the five hundred courtiers and servants,

besides soldiers, who accompanied Philip to England,

several would naturally be able and disposed

to put upon record, for transmission to their friends

in Spain, full narratives of the great events they

witnessed--events, be it said, which had deeply

stirred the public imagination of Spaniards, who had

been taught to believe that the marriage of their

prince in England would mean not only the mastery

of their country over France, but the restoration of

all Christendom to the true faith. These letters, in

a period when newspapers were not, would

frequently be printed and circulated by enterprising

booksellers, and no doubt many of such newsletters,

both in print and manuscript, are still hidden

in bundles and volumes of miscellaneous papers in

the public and private libraries in the Peninsula.

One curious manuscript letter, written from

Winchester by Juan de Barahona to Antonio de

Barahona, was found in the library of the Escorial fifty

years ago, and published in the first volume of the

"Documentos ineditos para la Historia de España"

in 1842. The manuscript had belonged to the

contemporary chronicler Florian de Ocampo, and gives

an extremely full account of the voyage, reception,

and marriage, abounding in curious details of the

life, dress, and manners of the time. In referring

to this narrative in the following pages I shall

distinguish it as narrative No. 1.

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Many years later there was discovered in the

Biblioteca Nacional a record which, to Spaniards at

least, was much more valuable and interesting. It

was a printed tract entitled "Summary and

Veracious Relation of the Happy Voyage made by

the Unconquered Prince of the Spains, Don Felipe,

to England, and his Reception in Vinchester, where

he was married, with his Departure for London;

in which are contained the great and marvellous

things that happened at that time. Dedicated to

the Most Illustrious Lady Donna Luisa Enriquez

de Giron, Countess of Benavente, by Andres

Muñoz, Servant to his Serene Highness the Infante

Don Carlos. Imprinted in Caragoca, in the house

of Esteban de Najera, 1554, at the cost of Miguel

de Çapila, bookseller." The author was a lackey

to the unhappy Don Carlos, then a child, and his

own personal observation is confined to the elaborate

preparations for Philip's voyage made in the

city of Valladolid and the journey of the little prince

to Benavente, in Castile, to take leave of his father.

What he saw and heard he relates with a trivial

minuteness of detail, particularly as to the persons

who were to accompany Philip and the clothes they

took with them, which to an ordinary reader would

be tedious in the extreme. But although his own

share in the voyage ended at Benavente, whence

Don Carlos returned to Valladolid, Muñoz

apparently made arrangements with some member of

the suite--no doubt of similar rank to himself--to

send him particulars from England, and his account

is therefore carried down to the departure of Philip

and Mary for London after their marriage. This

is by far the fullest account known, especially as to

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the events prior to Philip's embarkation; but the

writer's position naturally caused him to dwell

mainly upon the sartorial aspect of things which

came under his observation, and he describes the

splendour and pageantry rather as a spectator than

as an actor. I shall call Muñoz's narrative No. 2.

About the same time as the discovery of Muñoz's

letter three other letters, which in my opinion are

even more valuable, because of the position of the

supposed author, were found in the Escorial library.

The first is a printed tract in the form of a diary and

is entitled "Transcript of a Letter sent from

England to this City of Seville, in which is given a

Relation of the Events of the Voyage of our Lord

the Prince Don Philip, from his Embarkation in

the Coruña, a Port of Spain, to his Marriage to the

Serene Queen of England. 1554." The book

bears the well-known device, although not the

name, of the celebrated Sevillian printer Andres de

Burgos. In the same library was found a manuscript

letter taking up the narrative where the

last-mentioned tract ended--namely, after the marriage

at Winchester at the end of July--and carrying it

to August 19th, when the Court was at Richmond.

No printed copy of this continuation is known to

exist, but it is almost certainly written by the same

hand, and contains many remarks and opinions

which would probably have been suppressed if the

letter had been published. A continuation of this,

again, was also found in the Escorial, written

apparently by the same person, bringing the narrative

down to October 2nd, and is dated from London,

where the King and Queen then were. These three

letters, which I shall distinguish by the numbers 3,

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4, and 5, were published, together with Muñoz's

narrative (No. 2), by the Society of Bibliophilists of

Madrid in 1877, under the editorship of Don

Pascual de Gayangos.

In inquiring into the probable authorship of these

three extremely valuable and interesting letters

Señor de Gayangos gives good reason for supposing

that they were written by a young courtier

named Pedro Enriquez, one of Philip's stewards.

He is known to have had a perfect mania for

writing relations of what he saw and heard, and has

been called the Spanish Tacitus.[9] He was a

brother of the Marquis of Villanueva and a relative

both of the Duke and Duchess of Alba, of whose

movements he gives a very minute account in the

above letters. He also identifies himself as a

steward of the King in one of his complaints of the

exclusive service of Philip by Englishmen, and is

known to have been one of the very few Spanish

noblemen who remained with Philip in London.

His style, moreover, is peculiar, and I have had a

former opportunity of commenting upon it in

connection with a rapid and industrious piece of

historical transcription of his, executed in the

following year in Ghent;[10] and I have no doubt

that Don Pedro Enriquez was the author of the

three letters I am speaking of. Few people could

have had better opportunities of observation than

he. He accompanied Philip everywhere; his rank

and his relationship to the all-powerful Alba brought

him within the inner circle of the Court, and the

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feelings he expresses are those of the nobles who

surrounded the King and not the gossip of the

servants' hall or a valet's list of his master's finery.

With these four letters the Society for Bibliophilists

printed another by a different author, addressed

from London at the end of December, 1554, giving

a very full account of the reception of Cardinal Pole;

but as this does not touch the subject in hand I

omit any further reference to it.

In the British Museum there is a small tract in

Italian, apparently printed in Milan in 1554, called

"The Departure of the Serene Prince with the

Spanish Fleet, and his Arrival in England, with the

Order observed by the Queen in his Highness's

Reception, and the most Happy Wedding; with the

Names of the English, Spanish, and other Lords

and Gentlemen who were present, and the Liveries,

Festivities, and other Things done at the Wedding." It

is signed "Giovanni Paulo Car," and the writer

was a servant of the Marquis of Pescara. A

paraphrase or adaptation of the letter also exists in the

Museum, and appears to have been published in

Rome in the same year, but it is not signed, and

contains many additional particulars. The contents

of these two tracts, again, appear to have been

blended into a narrative published in the following

year, probably in Rome, in which the person to

whom the letter is addressed is described as the

"illustrious Signor Francesco Taverna Cracanz,"

and although it is not signed by Car it evidently is

by him, as he speaks of the Marquis of Pescara all

through the narrative as his master. I propose in

referring to this narrative to call it No. 6. We have

thus a mass of contemporary evidence from persons

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who were certainly attached to Philip's suite, by the

aid of which and the authorities already known a

more minute and trustworthy account than any

hitherto presented of the events in question may be

constructed.