Part 4

So here--no fighters ever bled as did the English when the greedy hands of Spain were clutching at their shores. The light ships hung near the Spaniards at a distance and did not board until spars were down and the great rakish hulls were part helpless. Then--with a wild cheer--the little galleons--often two at a time--would grapple with the enemy and board--cutlasses swinging, pistols spitting, and hand-spikes hewing a way through the struggling, yellow-faced ruffians of Philip of Arragon.

While the awful battle raged, fire ships were prepared on shore and sent down upon the Spanish fleet, burning fiercely and painting the skyline with red. Some of the large vessels had anchored, and, as these terrors approached, they slipped their cables in order to escape. Confusion beset the ranks of the boastful foe and cheered on the British bull-dogs to renewed exertions.

At six in the evening a mighty cry welled from the British boats. "They fly! They fly!" sounded above the ruck and roar of battle.

Yes--it was the truth. Beaten and dismayed, the Spanish fleet bore away to the North, while the English--in spite of the fact that their powder was wet, and nearly all spent--"gave them chase as if they lacked nothing, until they had cleared their own coast and some part of Scotland of them." The Armada--split, part helpless--drifted away from Plymouth, and wild cheers of joy came from the deck of the vessel which carried bold Sir Francis Drake. The great battle had been won.

So crippled were many of the Spanish hulks that they were wrecked in stormy weather, off the coast of Scotland and Ireland. Not half of those who put to sea ever reached Spain again. Many sailors were drowned, or perished miserably by the hands of the natives of the coast, and some who escaped were put to death by the Queen's orders. Fever and sickness broke out in the English ships and the followers of bold Drake died by hundreds, "sickening one day and perishing the next."

The English vessels, themselves, were in a bad way--they had to be disinfected and the men put ashore--where the report of the many wrecks and the massacre of Spanish soldiers, eased the anxiety of the once terrified inhabitants of the tight little isle, and made it certain that the Armada would never return. Drake and his bold seamen had saved the people of Merrie England. Again hats off to this pirate of the Spanish Main!

Safely settled in Buckland Abbey, knighted, honored, respected--the hero of the defense of England--one would think that Drake would have remained peacefully at home to die "with his boots on." But not so. The spirit of adventure called to him with irresistible force, and again he set out for the Spanish Main. He had sailed around the world before his grapple with the Armada; he had harassed the Spaniard in an expedition to Lisbon; he was the idol of the English. He had done enough--you say. Yes, he had done enough--but--like all men who love the game of life he wished to have just one more expedition in search of gold and adventure, for--by nature he was a gambler, and he was throwing the dice with Fate.

So a goodly crew sailed with him again, hoping for another raid upon mule trains and cities of treasure. But alas! There was to be a different story from the others. All the towns and hamlets of the Spanish Main had been warned to "be careful and look well to themselves, for that Drake and Hawkins were making ready in England to come upon them." And when the English arrived they found stout defense and valiant men, nor was a sail seen "worth giving chase unto." Hawkins died, many grew ill of fever, and finally Drake, himself, succumbed to the malarial atmosphere of Panama. He was to remain where gold and adventure had first lured him.

On January the twenty-eighth, 1596, the great captain yielded up his spirit "like a Christian, quietly in his cabin." And a league from the shore of Porto Rico, the mighty rover of the seas was placed in a weighted hammock and tossed into the sobbing ocean. The spume frothed above the eddying current, sucked downward by the emaciated form of the famous mariner, and a solitary gull shrieked cruelly above the bubbles, below which--upon beads of coral and clean sand--rested the body of Sir Francis Drake, rover, rogue, and rattling sea ranger. It was his last journey.

"Weep for this soul, who, in fathoms of azure, Lies where the wild tarpon breaks through the foam, Where the sea otter mews to its brood in the ripples, As the pelican wings near the palm-forest gloom. Ghosts of the buccaneers flit through the branches, Dusky and dim in the shadows of eve, While shrill screams the parrot,--the lord of Potanches, 'Drake, Captain Drake, you've had your last leave.'"

SEA IRONY

One day I saw a ship upon the sands Careened upon beam ends, her tilted deck Swept clear of rubbish of her long-past wreck; Her colors struck, but not by human hands; Her masts the driftwood of what distant strands! Her frowning ports, where, at the Admiral's beck, Grim-visaged cannon held the foe in check, Gaped for the frolic of the minnow bands. The seaweed banners in her fo'ks'le waved, A turtle basked upon her capstan head; Her cabin's pomp the clownish sculpin braved, And, on her prow, where the lost figure-head Once turned the brine, a name forgot was graved, It was "The Irresistible" I read.

--HEATON.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH

PERSECUTOR OF THE SPANIARDS

(1552-1618)

"All great men have lived by hope."--JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH

PERSECUTOR OF THE SPANIARDS

(1552-1618)

"When the sobbing sea is squally, Then,--look out for Walter Raleigh! He's the fellow whom Queen Bess is said to love. He's a reckless, handsome sailor, With a 'Vandyke' like a tailor, He can coo fond words of loving like a dove. Faith! I like this gallant rover, Who has ploughed the wild seas over, Who has passed the grim and wild equator's ring. And I cheer, whene'er I view him, For--my Boy--off Spain I knew him When he trimmed the Spanish cruisers, like a King."

--_Chant of the Plymouth Dock-Hand._

Boys! You have all heard about the _Square Deal_. Well--Here is the story of a man who didn't get one.

Walter Raleigh was a brave man; he was an able seafarer; his younger manhood was spent in the midst of the most brilliant Royal Court which England has known. He proved his courage and military prowess in more than one bitterly contested battle-field and naval conflict. His love of his own land and his hatred of his enemies was ardent.

He was also a fellow of wit, and, as an author, took rank with the great literary lights of the Elizabethan Age. He was an adventurer, and, in middle life, as well as in old age, braved the great deep and perils of savage lands in the magnificent attempt to make discoveries and to settle English colonies in the New World. Chivalrous in actions and feeling; of handsome person; graceful manners and courtly address; it is no wonder that he had a host of enemies: those fellows who couldn't do anything worth while themselves, and wanted to "pull the other fellow down." There are plenty of them around, to-day, doing the same thing in the same, old way.

As an Englishman he loved England to such an extent, that--upon the return from one of his numerous voyages--he dropped upon one knee and kissed the sand.

"My men," said he to his followers, "I love this land as nothing else on earth!"

The hostility of his rivals subjected him to harsh ill treatment. It did not dampen his love for England.

The silly caprices of Queen Elizabeth, who--like most women--was swayed, not by her reason, but by her sentiments, made him suffer imprisonment. Yet, it did not dampen his love for England.

The terrible and bitter dislike of King James--who succeeded the Virgin Queen--finally led to his trial for treason; his execution; and his death.

Yet, it did not dampen his love for England.

If England can produce men of such a mold, nowadays, she will continue to be a mighty world power.

Do you think that _you_ could be as patriotic as Sir Walter Raleigh? Particularly if _you_ were treated as _he_ was treated? Think it over!

* * * * *

One day, the ancient palace of Greenwich, which stood on the banks of the Thames--a few miles below London--presented a lively and brilliant scene. Courtiers, arrayed in gorgeous colors and glittering ornaments, walked about, chattering gaily,--like a flock of sparrows. Fine, young cavaliers were there, attired in rich velvets, sparkling with gems, armed with gold-hilted swords. Grave statesmen wandered around,--with beards as white as their ruffles. Stately dames, with heavy and gaily trimmed trains, peered at the beautiful belles, and said:

"My, isn't she a fright!" or

"Goodness, what _dreadful_ manners the Duchess so-and-so has!"

Just as they do to-day. Times do not change.

Trumpets blared a fan-fa-rade and lines of soldiers gave forth inspiriting sounds, with many musical instruments. There was a stir and flutter in the crowd; and some one called out:

"She's coming! Hats off to the Queen!"

So all the men took off their hats,--for they were courtiers, and it was their business to do so, whenever Her Royal Highness came around. Many of them didn't like to do it but if they hadn't done so, some spy would have cried out "Treason!" And they would have been hustled off to the Tower. You _just bet_ they took off their hats!

Descending the broad flight of steps, with proud and majestic mien, the tall and slender figure of Elizabeth--the maiden Queen of England--was seen approaching.

She was then in the mature ripeness of middle age, but she still preserved not a few remnants of the beauty of her youth. Her form was straight and well proportioned. Her large, blue eyes were yet bright and expressive; her complexion was still wonderfully fair and smooth. Her well arranged hair was luxuriant and was of a light red. A large, fan-like collar of richest lace rose from her slender neck, above her head behind; and her tresses were combed high from her forehead. Jewels blazed from her dress. Her attire was far more splendid than that of any of the ladies of her court.

As it happened, a heavy shower had just passed over, and little puddles of water stood all around upon the gravelled paths. Bursting through the fast-vanishing clouds, the sun cast its rays upon the trees still dripping with glittering drops; and upon the smiling Queen, who--surrounded by a gay group of courtiers--set forth upon a promenade through the park. She chatted affably with all. They tried to make themselves as agreeable as possible, for he who was most agreeable received the best plums from the Royal Tree. Politics haven't changed any since that day.

The Queen walked on, playing with a beautiful, white greyhound, and, pretty soon she came to a muddy spot in the path.

"Zounds!" said she (or it may have been something stronger, for historians say that she could "swear valiantly"). "Zounds! Now I will spoil my pretty shoes!"

"And also your pretty feet," interjected a courtier. He received a smile for this compliment and the Queen mentally made a note of it,--for future use in the distribution of Court Favors.

She hesitated, looked around aimlessly, and stood still.

At this instant a young noble--six feet tall and elegantly attired--stepped forward; and, throwing aside his richly embroidered cloak, spread it over the muddy pool.

"Prithee, pass onward!" said he, bowing low.

Elizabeth was delighted.

"Good Walter Raleigh," said she, smiling. "You are truly a gallant knight!" And she tripped gaily across the embroidered mantlet. "I will reward you right well for this!"

But the courtiers, the Ladies, and the Statesmen glanced with undisguised envy at the young gallant who had so readily pleased their Mistress; and they scowled at him as Elizabeth kept him at her side during the rest of her promenade. "The Beggar's outdone us all!" said one. "Down with him!"

But they could not down Sir Walter just then. After awhile they had "their innings."

Rough, vain, whimsical Queen Bess was fond of handsome, and especially of witty and eloquent young men. She grew more attached to Sir Walter Raleigh every day. He rapidly rose in power and influence, and, as a poet, became well known. His verses were read in the luxurious halls of the palace with exclamations of delight, while the tales of his military exploits were eagerly repeated from mouth to mouth; for Raleigh had fought valiantly in France and had helped to suppress an insurrection in Ireland.

And still the jealous courtiers murmured among themselves.

Raleigh was appointed "Warden of the Stanneries," or mines, in Cornwall and Devonshire, from which he derived, each year, a large income. He was made Captain of the Queen's Guard. He was created Lord Lieutenant of Cornwall and Vice-Admiral of Devon. He received vast estates in Ireland and many privileges and licenses, so that he was fast becoming a rich man. He was splendid and extravagant in his dress. He grew arrogant. He had, in fact, "too much Ego in his Cosmos."

So, the jealous courtiers continued to murmur among themselves.

Elizabeth was fickle as well as sentimental. Her fancy passed lightly from one gallant to another. For some time Leicester (who had once been her sole favorite, and who desired to regain his position) had been growing jealous of Raleigh's ascendency; and he had been delighted to see that Queen Bess had taken a violent fancy to the impetuous Earl of Essex. A quarrel took place between Raleigh and the Ruler of England. He was affronted before the whole court and retired to his chambers, overwhelmed with grief.

And all the jealous courtiers punched each other beneath the ribs, and laughed "Ha! Ha! Ha! What did we tell you?"

It took the "Ego" out of Raleigh's "Cosmos."

But the gallant courtier had a half-brother--Sir Humphrey Gilbert--who had just returned from a voyage around the world in the good ship _Golden Hind_.

"Let's fit out a small fleet," said he to Raleigh, "and establish an English colony in Newfoundland."

"I'm with you," cried Sir Walter. "We'll found another England in far distant America! On with it!"

Thus, an expedition of five ships sailed from Plymouth, in the early summer of 1583. Sir Humphrey boarded the _Squirrel_, and bade his kinsman an affectionate adieu.

"You must remain behind," said he, "and regain our position at court!"

"That I will endeavor to do," answered Raleigh. "Good luck and God speed."

The expedition was a failure from the start. Scarcely had the shallops gone to sea, than one of them--the _Raleigh_--deserted its companions and put back. The rest reached Newfoundland, but the men were lawless and insubordinate.

"This is the Deuce of a cold place for a colony," they said. "Home to Merrie England!"

Gilbert was forced to yield to their angry demands, and re-embarked.

"Don't sail in that rattle-trap of a _Squirrel_," said his officers to him. "She'll founder!"

But Sir Humphrey had that obstinacy which characterized General Braddock.

"No: I will not forsake the little company, going homeward," said he. "I'll stick to my ship."

He stuck--and--when they hailed him one stormy night, he said:

"Be of good cheer, my friends: we are as near to Heaven by sea as by land!"

That night the _Squirrel_ was sailing a little in advance of the other ships, and, as those on board the _Golden Hind_ watched the frail barque, they saw her lurch, heave, and then sink from view. Thus the soul of brave Raleigh's kinsman found a watery grave. He had paid for his obstinacy with his life.

Raleigh was overwhelmed with grief when he learned of the death of his heroic half-brother.

"I'll yet found my Colony," said he. "And I'll go myself."

This pleased the jealous courtiers more than ever, for they would now have him out of the way for all time.

With his ample wealth, the indefatigable adventurer found no difficulty in fitting out an expedition, and, in the year after the death of Sir Humphrey Gilbert, he sent forth two vessels to explore the coast of the Carolinas.

"I'm going to stay at home and face my enemies!" said the gay blade. "Again good luck and God Speed!"

They had a fortunate voyage, and, when they returned, the Captains told of the beautiful harbors, fine rivers, magnificent forests and abundance of game. The Queen was delighted, and at once named the fair country for herself, with characteristic egotism. That men might know that this fruitful land was explored in the time of the Virgin Queen, it was called "Virginia." Raleigh was wild with delight.

And the jealous courtiers looked dejected and sad.

A fleet of seven vessels--with one hundred colonists--was now sent to Virginia, under the command of one Grenville, who was eager to become suddenly rich: a disease as common now as in those venturous days. No sooner had the people landed, than they began to treat the savages with such harshness and rapacity--that they had to gain their own food, as the natives would have nothing to do with them. Dissensions tore the little community into shreds. So they were only too glad to return with the gallant old sea-dog, Sir Francis Drake, when he happened that way, with a large amount of booty which he had just taken from the Spaniards in the southern seas.

Another expedition was sent over by Raleigh; and yet another. They were failures. But there was one, single thing which was not a failure. This was the discovery of a herb called "Yppowoc," or tobacco, the leaves of which--when dried--were smoked by the natives in long pipes.

Curious Sir Walter had a jeweller in London make him a silver pipe, after the fashion of those used by the native Virginians. In this he began to smoke the tobacco, and soon grew to like it very much; so much, indeed, that he was scarcely ever without this comforter, when enjoying the quiet of his home.

One day he was sitting cosily by his fire with his Long Nine in his mouth, and the smoke was curling gracefully over his head. Just as he was puffing out a particularly thick cloud, one of his servants happened to enter the room with a tankard of ale, for the luncheon table.

"Ye Gods!" cried he. "My Master's on fire!"

_Swash!!_

Over Sir Walter's head went the ale, and the frightened lackey dashed down the steps.

"H-e-l-p! H-e-l-p!" cried he. "My Master is burning up! H-e-l-p!"

But Sir Walter did not burn up this time. Instead he near split his gallant sides with laughing.

Now, Boys, don't smile! 'Tis said that good old Queen Bess tried, herself, to smoke a Long Nine. But--hush--"she became so dizzy and ill from the effects that she never ventured upon the experiment again!" (Keep this quiet! Very quiet! Will you!)

On one occasion she was watching Sir Walter blowing circles of smoke over his head, and said to him--

"Zounds! (or something stronger) Sir Walter! You are a witty man; but I will wager that you cannot tell me the weight of the smoke which comes from your pipe!"

"I can, indeed," was the confident reply of the gallant courtier. "Watch me closely!"

At once he took as much tobacco as would fill his pipe and exactly weighed it. Having then smoked it up, he--in like manner--weighed the ashes.

"Now, Your Majesty," said he, smiling. "The difference between these two weights is the weight of the smoke."

And again Queen Bess remarked "Zounds!" (or Eftsoons!). At any rate, she paid the wager, for--with all her frailties--she was a Good Loser.

Raleigh, in fact, shortly became reinstated in Royal favor, and, when he aided Drake and Hawkins--soon afterwards--in dispersing the Invincible Armada, he was again in the good graces of his sovereign.

There was, however, a pretty, young Maid-of-Honor at court, called Elizabeth Throgmorton, and no sooner had the bright eyes of Sir Walter fallen upon her, than he fell in love. In paying court to this amiable lady he was compelled to use great caution and secrecy, for jealous Queen Bess watched him narrowly, and with suspicion. In spite of her preference for Essex, Elizabeth was quite unwilling that Raleigh--her less favored lover--should transfer his affections to another. So, in making love to Elizabeth Throgmorton, the gay courtier was compelled to use the utmost care.

But Murder (or Love) will out!

It chanced one day, that the Queen discovered what was going on between her Maid-of-Honor and the cavalier. Her rage knew no bounds. She berated Raleigh before her ladies, and forbade him to come to court. She fiercely commanded the Maid-of-Honor to remain a prisoner in her room, and, on no account to see Raleigh again. So the venturous Knight turned his attention once more to wild roving upon the sea.

Now the jealous courtiers fairly chuckled with glee. "Ha! Ha! Ha!" laughed they. "Ho! Ho! Ho! He! He! He!"

But Sir Walter engaged very actively in fitting out some squadrons to attack the Spanish ships.

"Egad! I hate a Spaniard!" he said. "They are my country's special enemies and I intend to do them all the harm that I can!"

The Queen was glad enough to separate him from his lady love and not only consented to his project, but promised to aid him in it. Ere long fifteen vessels were anchored in the Thames--all ready to sail--but, before he set out, the gallant commander made up his mind that he would marry his beloved Maid-of-Honor. It was not difficult to find a clergyman who would splice him tighter than he ever spliced a rope aboard ship. The deed was done. He set sail. All was going propitiously.

"I'll attack the Spanish ships in the harbor of Seville," said Raleigh. "Then--off to the Spanish Main and sack the town of Panama." He laughed,--but what was that?

Rapidly approaching from the coast of England came a swift pinnace. It gained upon the squadron in spite of the fact that all sail was hoisted, and, at last came near enough to give Raleigh a signal to "Heave to." In a few moments her commander climbed aboard.

"The Queen has changed her mind about your expedition," said he. "She has sent me--Sir Martin Frobisher--to tell you to come home."

Raleigh said things which made the air as blue as the sea, but he put back--for he could not disobey the Royal command. He was soon at court.

The Queen was furious with anger.

"You have disobeyed my commands," said she. "I find you have secretly married my Maid-of-Honor. To the Tower with you! To the dungeons of the Tower!"

And all the jealous courtiers were so happy that they danced a can-can in the ante chamber.

What do you think of this? Thrown into prison because he loved a Maid and married her! Nowadays "all the World loves a Lover." In those times all the world _might_ have "loved a Lover" except Queen Bess,--and a number of courtiers hanging around within easy call: _They_ kicked a Lover. And then they all got together and said:

"Fine! Fine! Now we've got him where he ought to be. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ho! Ho! Ho!"

But women relent; that is one of their chief characteristics. Queen Bess softened, grew lukewarm, finally became molten.

"Sir Walter Raleigh can go free," said she.

The gallant courtier returned to his country estate, where--with his wife and children he enjoyed the luxuries and comforts of country life. And the jealous courtiers began to look strangely sober.