“NO PROVISIONS, NO WATER, BUT PLENTY OF POWDER!”
On the morning of the second day after this, Chester lands at Sandwich,
and by relays of horses travels as fast as is in man and beast to
London.
Arriving at the capital, he learns that his sovereign and her court are
at Hampton, and to his joy discovers from popular tongue that the Queen
is enjoying the best of health. He is in time to prevent any attempt at
Borgia business with the hope of the realm.
For at that time all true Englishmen, Catholics or Protestants, feared
that by some underhand, insidious Italian plot, Elizabeth of England
was in some way to be done to death and the kingdom given to her
legitimate successor to the throne, Mary Queen of Scots, who was a
prisoner in Elizabeth’s hands; one ambitious noble of Catholic faith,
the Duke of Norfolk, being not only anxious to liberate the beautiful
Mary and put her on the throne of England, but also to marry her and
reign as Prince Consort. This would have placed Britain thoroughly
under the influence of Philip II., of Spain, and have opened the way
for his pet scheme, the establishing of the Inquisition in England,
with all its horrors of burnings, flayings, and torturings as practiced
in the Netherlands under similar circumstances by Alva, his Viceroy and
lieutenant.
Better Englishman than bigot, Guy Chester, though a moderate Catholic,
is exceedingly anxious for the safety of his Protestant Queen.
All this makes Guy in desperate haste to give her warning of her danger
at the hands of Ridolfi, Alva’s agent in London.
So, taking horse again, though thoroughly tired by his long ride from
Sandwich, the young Englishman finds himself in the early evening at
the palace of Hampton Court. There getting quick audience with Cecil,
Lord Burleigh, he gives him the cipher letters from Vitelli to Ridolfi,
and also the key furnished by Oliver.
Upon Guy’s hastily mentioning the purport of these letters, his
lordship, with a very serious face, says: “You have done a great
service to the State. But I imagine you have been riding all day. I
will see that you have supper and refreshment,” and summoning a lackey,
gives order to this effect. “By the time you have finished making
yourself comfortable, I and my under-secretary will have translated and
transcribed these letters for the Queen’s private eye. These you shall
present in person to your sovereign, as is your right.”
This arrangement is very satisfactory to the young man, who has been in
the saddle twelve hours and has partaken of but hasty refreshment on
the road.
So an hour afterward Guy, his body made comfortable with food and his
spirits heightened by wine, accompanies Lord Burleigh, who now holds
England in his grasp, having the favor and confidence of his sovereign,
to Queen Elizabeth’s waiting room, where they are received in rather
off-hand style by Her Majesty of England, who is in great fashion of
jeweled stomacher, above which her white shoulders glitter with
necklace of pearls and diamonds. Very vain, as she has a right to be,
as daughter of Anne Boleyn, the beauty of her father’s court, she
stands in kirtle and long train covered with aglets inlaid with
precious stones and high-heeled Spanish shoes, making a great show of
vanity, sprightliness, dignity and domination. In short, she is good
Queen Bess, at her best and bravest—at thirty-five—at her zenith—before
age gets the better of her beauty and her temper.
“My good Burleigh,” she says, “what a hasty man you are. I have but
just received your communication saying time was important, and have
omitted five courses of my supper and sent my tiring women where their
prying ears will not catch private conference. And you, Master Chester,
my robber of the sea, have you discovered another eight hundred
thousand crowns of Alva’s money within my jurisdiction and government?”
“No,” answers Burleigh, as the two bow before her, “Master Chester has
simply discovered a plot of my Lord of Alva against your life. These
letters from Vitelli, his maréchal de camp and confidant to Ridolfi,
the Italian banker of London, prove it.”
“Oho! in cipher,” says the Queen, looking at them.
“Yes, but thanks to Master Chester’s being willing to risk his life for
Your Majesty again, he has obtained the cipher in Antwerp. These
letters are now transcribed into English.”
“Quick—let me see!” And Elizabeth, sitting down and hastily glancing
them through, cries out: “So they would poison me, and put that traitor
Norfolk on the throne as consort to the lady whom I hold in my hand.
That settles Norfolk! He was yesterday condemned for high treason by
the Lords. These letters, my Burleigh, are his death warrant. With the
lady I’ll reckon afterwards, and as for Ridolfi—”
“Orders have already been given to have Ridolfi seized, Your Majesty,”
interjects Burleigh.
“Very well,” replies Elizabeth, “then there is nothing more to do for
the present, though I shall change my cook; except”—here Her Majesty’s
eyes light up—“except to reward this young gentleman whom we have
outlawed for matters of State policy: but then, we love pirates! There
is our Francis Drake, who thinks no more of despoiling a Spaniard and
turning in ten per cent. of his booty than he does of eating and
drinking. There’s old John Hawkins, who’ll steal blackamoors on the
coast of Africa to sell them to the Dons and cut their throats while
trading with them—all for the glory of England! In fact, I think,
Burleigh, pirates are my best subjects. But since I have dismissed my
own mummers this evening on your account Master Chester, I ought to
have some compensation. Tell me the tale of your adventures in the
Netherlands.”
This Guy doing, Her Majesty listens with open ears and one or two
little chuckles and slaps with her fan upon Burleigh, though at the
mention of Doña de Alva they give earnest attention, especially at that
portion of Chester’s story which refers to his various interviews with
that young lady. And Guy, getting warmed up to his subject, his eyes
brighten once or twice in mentioning the beauty of the girl.
“Odds bodkins!” cries Elizabeth, as he closes. “This is a story as
romantic as the troubadours tell of Amadis de Gaul saving maidens from
giants, as you did Miss Minx of Alva from the Sea Beggars. Egad, I’m
afraid she has disturbed his loyalty, my Burleigh. When speaking of his
Spanish wench, Master Chester looks at his sovereign of England in a
manner that the Lords might condemn as high treason.”
“Ah, Your Gracious Majesty,” replies Guy, who is courtier as well as
pirate, “if love is high treason, then every young man who gazes upon
his sovereign of England is a traitor.”
His ardent glance emphasizes his speech, which is easy, as Elizabeth is
in the zenith of her beauty—a beauty that is hardly understood now,
most of her portraits having been taken when she was fifty and upward.
But as Chester looks at her she is only thirty-five.
“And I will punish this audacious gallant,” she says, laughing, “though
he is no traitor. Give me your sword, Guy Chester.”
The young man is about to unbuckle the weapon.
“No, naked, as you use it on my enemies!”
Drawing it from the scabbard and sinking on one knee, Guy, a sudden
hope of unexpected glory coming to him, hands it to his sovereign.
“He is of good birth, Burleigh, I hear?”
“Your Majesty,” says Cecil, bowing, “on his mother’s side he has the
blood of Lord Stanhope of Harrington. His father is cousin to the
Stanleys and High Sheriff of Cheshire. His grandfather was belted
knight.”
“Then,” says the Queen of England, “he shall be knight also!” And
administers with dainty hand the accolade, saying: “Rise up, Sir Guy
Chester!”
But Sir Guy does not rise before he does homage to the fair hand that
has knighted him so gallantly that Her Majesty gets red in the face,
and cries out: “What new science in hand kissing has this Spanish girl
taught him?”
Next the young man standing before her she tenders him his sword,
holding it by the naked blade, the handle toward his hand, saying: “May
you as belted knight use this as you have before to the terror of the
enemies of England; especially he of Alva—do not spare him for his
daughter’s sake.”
“No,” returns Guy, “for every blow I strike against the father brings
me nearer to the daughter.”
“Odd stale fish!” jeers Her Majesty, “what does this new made popinjay
of Chester think to do with the daughter of a prince?”
“To marry her, by God’s will and Your Majesty’s most gracious
permission,” cries Guy, and retires with Lord Burleigh, leaving the
Queen of England in very good humor with her new knight.
But notwithstanding Chester’s information has, perchance, saved the
life of his Queen, Elizabeth, great sovereign as she is, has a strange
parsimony in affairs of State, and though Guy petitions for money to
refit his vessel and pay his crew, it does not come. So, being
desperately anxious to get to the Netherlands again, he uses the
hundred doubloons, the present from his sweetheart, to fit up his
vessel against her father, devoting half of them to the embellishment
and ornament of the cabins of the Dover Lass, making her staterooms so
fine in woodwork and appointments that Harry Dalton, his first
lieutenant, ejaculates: “By saucy Poll of Plymouth, one would think he
meant this for a wedding cruise!”
But despite the hundred doubloons Chester soon finds himself without
money sufficient to provision and make his vessel thoroughly effective,
and goes up to London from Sandwich to make a final appeal to his
parsimonious sovereign.
Expecting to do this through Burleigh, who possesses more than any one
the royal ear, and who has always stood his friend, Chester is shown
into his Lordship’s private cabinet one afternoon late in March, to
find that nobleman in a brown study.
“You’re just the man I wish to see, Sir Guy,” he remarks. “Tell me all
about the Gueux, these Sea Beggars of the Netherlands.”
“That, my lord, I can do in very few words,” replies Chester. “They are
men of all classes from Brabant, Flanders, Friesland,
Holland—everywhere that Alva rules, driven by cruelty and persecution
to take to the sea, for to live on the land means execution by fire,
with torture additional. They have been outlawed on account of their
resistance to Spanish tyranny. In it are men high in the councils of
the Prince of Orange, who has attempted to regulate them by granting
commissions, one of which I have the honor to hold, and the medal
accompanying it I wear,” and he exhibits his badge of the Gueux to Lord
Burleigh. “In it are all those driven from land to ship, from the
Chevalier Van Tresslong and William de la Mark, the Lord of Lumey to
Dirk Duyvel, whose name proclaims him a free and easy pirate. But why
do you ask me about the Gueux?”
“For this reason. Twenty-five vessels manned by them are now in the
harbor of Dover. They appeal to us for protection, provisions, water.
Van Tresslong, and their admiral, De la Mark, are in London to ask
assistance. We are nominally at peace with Spain and Alva, but I don’t
like to refuse them hospitality.”
“Twenty-five sail—’tis a fleet! You must refuse them hospitality,”
returns Guy.
“Why?”
“Please let me explain this to the Queen. Take me to her; I must have
money for my ship.”
“Which I’m afraid Her Majesty will not grant very readily. She’s had a
dozen new dresses this month—millinery bills in the female mind have
the preference over naval equipment,” laughs Cecil; but orders his
carriage.
So the two proceed to Westminster, where the Queen has summoned
Burleigh, to obtain his advice before receiving the envoys of the
Gueux.
“Zounds!” cries Her Majesty, “My Lord of Burleigh, I see you have
brought another Gueux with you. Is he their ambassador also?” With this
she looks at Guy frowningly, for the Gueux have bothered Queen
Elizabeth’s mind for the last day or two. They are hungry people, and
she does not care particularly about feeding them; they are thirsty
people, and she does not desire to diminish her exchequer to buy drink
for them; but they are enemies of Alva, and she would like to succor
them.
“No, Your Majesty,” replies Guy with sudden inspiration, “I do not
appeal for succor for the Gueux. Don’t give them any!”
“Why not?” asks Queen Elizabeth, who is unaccustomed to being advised
so freely outside of her Privy Council.
“For these reasons: If you give them provisions and drink, they will
stay here, and be your guests and pensioners as long as your
hospitality holds out.”
“Out on the lazy rascals they would eat me out of castle and kingdom,”
grumbles Her Majesty.
“Twenty-five vessels are a fleet. They have left the Netherlands, that
leaves Alva’s hands so much more free to deal with you.”
“Then you would refuse them food?”
“Yes,” replies Guy. “Not a barrel of provisions.”
“But they have no water.”
“Not a barrel of water. Provision them and water their ships, and,
though they be ordered from England, they will not go back to the
Netherlands. The Spanish Main, where booty is thick for bold hands like
theirs, will perchance be more to their liking than Alva’s hard knocks.
Give them nothing but powder and ball. Then they must sail to near-by
port. They dare not go to France, they must go back straight at Alva’s
throat, and twenty-five vessels of them are a power that may change the
whole course of military events. They have been weak before because
they were never banded together. Now there is unity. Give them powder,
Your Majesty, give them powder and ball for him of Alva!”
“Ho! ho! Make ’em fight for their dinners! Gadzooks!” cries Her
Majesty. “My Sir Guy Chester, uses not only his sword, but his head.
What say you, Burleigh?”
“Say?” replies the English statesman, who is great enough and generous
enough to admit the wisdom of another, “I say he has given you the
wisest advice you have ever received. You make the Spanish ambassador
happy by telling him you will refuse admission or succor to the Gueux,
and by doing so you send a thunderbolt straight at Alva and Spain,
stronger than you could unless you waged open war with England’s powers
at land and sea, for which we are not ready—”
“But it will come in good time, my lord,” remarks Elizabeth. Then
summoning a page, she says: “Give order for the two envoys of the Gueux
to enter.”
Then Van Tresslong and De la Mark enter to receive what they think is
their despair, but in time will be their glory.
Her Majesty of England, standing upon a dais, receives very haughtily
the two adventurers, whose doublets are shabby with hard usage, but
whose swords are long, and whose gaunt faces give evidence of poverty
and half rations.
“You are here, gentlemen,” she says, “to petition me—for what?”
“Provisions to keep us from starving,” answers the admiral.
“No provisions!”
“Good heavens! In the name of charity. We had supposed you enemy of
Alva.”
“I am the friend of Alva. No provisions! What else?”
“And water—we have only three days’ water in our vessels. Permit us at
least that which humanity never refused to thirsty sailor—water!”
“No water! Dare to land to take water from running stream or lake and I
make war upon you!”
“And this is a Christian country?”
“Yes, Christian enough to keep its obligations and faith with Spain, a
friendly power. If within twenty-four hours you have not sailed from
our port of Dover our batteries and castle open upon you with bombard
and culverin.”
“And drive us away without water, without food, upon the open ocean?”
“YES!”
“Then, Your Majesty,” says Van Tresslong, “God forgive your inhumanity.
We have given up for our religion, which is yours; for our country that
you have professed to love, everything we have on earth—save our lives.
When the time comes we will give up them also. It must now be our
lives. We must go back to death grip with Alva!”
“Heaven help us,” sighs the admiral. “We have not even powder to fight
with!” and the two, bowing together, retire in despair from the
presence of England’s sovereign.
She makes one step as if to stay them, then cries harshly: “God forgive
me! I shall be called an inhuman woman. I shall dream of these poor,
starving Gueux to-night. But they shall not go back without ball and
powder!” With this she says to Chester: “Has your vessel sailed?”
“No, Your Majesty.”
“Then you shall go also. Here are orders for you to have all the
powder, arms, ball and ammunition you can carry. Take them. Sail from
the port of Sandwich to-night. Meet the Gueux fleet off Dover. Arm
them; ammunition them, give them plenty to fight with.”
“But, Your Majesty,” replies Guy, who now knows he will win what he
wants, “I have no money to pay my crew.”
“Here is an order on my treasury for twenty thousand crowns.” And
Elizabeth, sitting down to write, says suddenly: “But your crew is only
one hundred and twenty-five men. Fifteen thousand crowns will keep your
surly dogs from growling,” and signs order to that effect, next almost
tears it up, muttering: “I think ten thousand will be sufficient.”
“No, Your Majesty, it will not, and the expedition will be cheap at
fifteen thousand crowns, for by it you will set a band of cut-throats
on Alva, who, while they may curse your inhumanity, will fight far
better than your belted knights, for they will be fighting, not for
country now, not for religion now, but for that thing that dominates
all men’s souls—EXISTENCE! Besides, they do it free of charge!”
“Egad, we have an orator here, Cecil,” laughs Her Majesty. “A regular
sea lawyer. Some day, perchance, he may be—under-secretary of state,
eh, Lord Burleigh?”
“Perchance, Your Majesty. You have had many of them with less brains.”
“And less jabber,” replies Elizabeth, who cannot forget that she has
fifteen thousand crowns less in her treasury. “He talked me out of the
money, he took advantage of my weakness, Lord Burleigh. Take him away
from here before I take the treasury order back. But go after those two
poor Gueux nobles, have them to dinner with you. Show them you have a
heart if your Queen has not.” Then the two go out from the presence of
Elizabeth of England, Guy stepping quite rapidly. He fears Her Majesty
may rescind the draft on her exchequer.
Burleigh accompanies him to the treasury, apparently nervous himself
about this matter. But the money being paid over, he says to Guy: “Her
Majesty said to see these Gueux well armed and well ammunitioned. Will
your vessel carry enough?”
“For a campaign?—No!”
“Then,” says Burleigh, “here is my order, Sir Guy Chester. Take with
you four ships, fill them up with powder, arms and munitions of war,
for which I will give you royal warrant on the Queen’s arsenal at
Sandwich, Harwich, or any other to which you may apply. This is not
merely an engagement for which we send these men, but a war, long and
continued, against Alva; for it is now his head or those of the
starving Beggars of the Sea. Here is also warrant permitting you if
satisfactory charter cannot be obtained, to take the vessels you need
for our purpose. But of course all this is private and privileged
between us. England is at peace with Spain. So, God speed you.”
So Guy, going upon his errand with all the expedition he can command,
obtains possession of four large caravals in the port of Sandwich, and
loads them to the gunwale with all the arms and munitions of war he can
obtain, powder enough for many a battle and many a siege, and taking
these with him sails on the morning of the next day through the Downs
and lies off and on between the Goodwin Sands and Coast of France. Here
the Gueux, coming out of Dover, can’t very well miss him, and he is
very shortly overhauled and apparently captured by these desperate
gentry of the sea.
“Elizabeth of England would not give you provisions, but here are arms
and ammunition with which to take them from Alva,” Chester laughs, as
Tresslong’s vessel ranges alongside of the Dover Lass.
And understanding this very well, the Gueux loot the four captured
vessels in great style, leaving him of the Dover Lass hardly enough
powder to defend her with, which causes Guy to put very hastily into
Dover for ammunition for himself.
Word of this being brought to Queen Elizabeth she cries out very
savagely to her counsellor, Lord Burleigh: “Gadzooks, man, you have
ruined my kingdom. You’ve robbed my arsenal at Sandwich of munitions
sufficient to defend the realm of England. Thou art a vile traitor!”
“Under favor, my liege,” remarks Cecil, “you said to munition and arm
the Gueux well and thoroughly. I have done so. The more powder I give
them, the more ball I give them, the harder it will be for your friend
of Alva.”
“Very well,” answers Her Majesty, “this I forgive you if you gave a
good wholesome dinner and plenty of strong wine to those poor famishing
officers of the Gueux, Van Tresslong and Lord de la Mark.”
“Your Majesty’s orders in that respect were obeyed also,” replies
Burleigh. “They had every delicacy of the season and wine of finest
vintage. Oho! I can see them eat now. No such assault was ever made on
provender and wassail since the time of giant Glutton himself. Your
Majesty will know how they ate by the bill that is already with your
treasurer.”
“The bill with my treasurer!” screams Elizabeth. “Out upon you for a
miserable, thieving knave! Burleigh, you’re robbing me; robbing your
sovereign, you vile caitiff traitor—and my gear women and millinery
scores still due and unpaid. Look to your weazened head if the Gueux
win not victory over Alva!”
And with these words the Queen of England strides from the room in
anger and dismay.