Part 5

Still the sea called. The sea sang its old song, and, fired with the spirit of adventure, Sir Walter decided upon another expedition: this time to the coast of Guiana, in South America, where, it was said, "billets of gold lay about in heaps, as if they were logs of wood marked out to burn." With a large fleet at his command he soon started upon this expedition for plunder and for fame. This time no Sir Martin Frobisher sailed after him to bring him back to a dungeon in the Tower and he was able to reach his destination.

The expedition was a howling success. Whenever and wherever Sir Walter could inflict injury on the Spaniards, whom he so bitterly detested, he did so with eagerness. A Spanish ship was soon seen, chased, and--after a brief, hot fight--surrendered and was boarded.

"Egad!" cried Raleigh. "Here's luck, for the cargo's of fire arms. I'll stow them away in my own vessel and let the captive go!"

Proceeding on his voyage, he not long afterwards encountered and captured another prize; a Flemish ship sailing homeward with a cargo of fine wine. Twenty hogsheads were transferred to the hold of Raleigh's ship and the captured craft was allowed to sail on,--empty.

Things continued to go well. The Island of Trinidad (off Venezuela) was reached at last. The natives were friendly and told of vast deposits of gold far up the river Orinoco. "But would Raleigh not please besiege the Spanish town of St. Joseph?" said they, "and rescue some of their chiefs whom the Spaniards held prisoners--in chains."

"I always strike a Spaniard when I can," said Raleigh. "On, men, we'll sack this proud city!"

St. Joseph speedily fell into his hands. The chiefs were released. They were so gratified, that they paddled him far up the river, where they found glittering gold, which they tore out of rocks with their daggers. The Englishmen were delighted, and, collecting a mass of nuggets to show to those at home, they put back to the ships, set sail, and were soon in England again.

The people were astonished at this exploit, but the jealous courtiers did all they could to deprive Raleigh of the renown which was justly his due.

"What this fellow has told is a lie," whispered they into the ears of good Queen Bess. "There is no such place as Guiana. Raleigh has been down upon the coast of Spain and hidden himself. He has not crossed the Atlantic at all."

Which proves that no one can ever do anything adventurous without stirring up the hammers of the Envious: the Little Men. Is it not so to-day? Look around! You can hear the carping critic at any time that you may wish! _Do_ something _big_, sometime. Then put your ear to the ground and listen!

But the sea called for the fifth time. A vast English fleet was hurled against the Spanish at Cadiz,--a great English fleet, accompanied by an army. England was bound to get even with the Spaniards for daring to launch the supposedly invincible Armada against them--and Sir Walter eagerly sailed for the coast of Spain.

The harbor of Cadiz was seen to be fairly jammed full of stately galleons and men-of-war. Arranged in compact rows, close to shore, just below the towering and frowning castle of Cadiz; they were protected, on either side, by fortresses, whence heavy guns peeped forth to defend them. There were nearly sixty large vessels in all, four of which were galleons, and twenty of which were galleys: well-manned and well-armed with small cannon. There were many more ships than in the attacking fleet.

It was the evening of June the 20th, 1596. The British vessels rapidly sailed into the harbor, Raleigh leading, in the flagship, the _Water Sprite_; behind him the _Mary Rose_, commanded by his cousin, Sir George Carew; and the _Rainbow_ under Sir Francis Vere. All were eager for the fray, and it was not long before their approach was observed by the Spanish fleet. Instantly a huge galleon, the _Saint Philip_--the largest in the Spanish Navy--swung out of her position, followed by the _Saint Andrew_, second only to her in size.

"They're coming to meet me!" cried Raleigh--joyously.

Instead of that, the galleons sailed for a narrow strait in the harbor--followed by the rest of the Spanish fleet--and cast anchor just under the stout fortress of Puntal. They arranged themselves in close array and awaited the attack of the English.

The English fleet anchored, but at daybreak, the impetuous Raleigh bore down upon the formidable mass of hulking galleons. The sun rays streamed over the old, Spanish town, gilding the pinnaces and spires of the churches, shining brightly upon the flapping pennons of Britisher and Don. The white sails flapped, spars creaked and groaned, the sailors cheered, and--in a moment--the cannon began to bark, like wolf hounds. The fight had begun.

Raleigh was the incarnation of battle. Passing rapidly from point to point upon the deck of his vessel, he encouraged and urged on his men, exposed himself as freely as the rest; and whenever a man faltered, there he appeared to urge the faint heart on with words of inspiration and hope.

_Roar! Roar! Roar! Zoom! Zoom! Crash!_

The arquebusses spittled and spat; cannon growled; and iron crashed into solid oak planking.

The orders were not to board until the fly-boats (long, flat-bottomed vessels with high sterns) came up, which were manned by Dutch allies. For three hours the battle raged, but the fly-boats did not arrive. The Earl of Essex--the commander of this expedition--now ordered his flagship to pass through the advance line of vessels, and make the way to the front. Raleigh was chafing with rage because the fly-boats did not come, yet, in spite of the danger of being shot, he jumped into a light skiff, and was rowed over to the galleon of Essex.

"I'll board the _Saint Philip_," cried he, "if the fly-boats do not soon arrive. Even though it be against the orders of the Admiral. For it is the same loss to burn, or to sink, and I must soon endure one or the other."

"Go ahead!" yelled Essex, over the bow. "I'll second you, upon my honor!"

Raleigh hastened with all speed to the deck of the _Water Sprite_, where his men were pounding away at the Spanish galleons with all their might and main. No sooner had he mounted the poop, than he saw, with anger, that two vessels of his own squadron had forced themselves into a position in front of his own; for their commanders wanted to win first honors in this battle at sea.

Raleigh, himself, wished to have the honor, just like other sea captains in later battles. But,--that's another story.

So, the gallant seaman ran the _Water Sprite_ between the two other ships and took up his position as leader. Sir Francis Vere of the _Rainbow_ was resolved to keep in front as well as Raleigh.

As the _Water Sprite_ passed him he slyly cast a rope to a sailor, who tied it to her stern, and his own vessel thus kept abreast of the lumbering galley of his chief. "But," writes Sir Walter, "some of my company advising me thereof, I caused the rope to be cast off, and so Vere fell back in his place, where I guarded him--all but his very prow--from the sight of the enemy. I was very sure that none would outstart me again for that day."

The guns of the fort appeared to be silent and the big galleons lay apparently helpless in the face of the valiant enemy. Raleigh moved on, but, as he was about to clutch his splendid prize, it escaped him, for the Spaniards--finding that they would be captured--made haste to run the _Saint Philip_, and several of her sister ships, aground on the sand.

"Blow them up!" came the order.

The Spanish sailors and soldiers came tumbling out of the ships into the sea in heaps--"as thick as if coals had been poured out of a sack into many pots at once." Then a terrific roar boomed forth. The air was filled with flying splinters, canvas, iron, and lead. The portions of the galleons were now floating upon the waves and the water was alive with the struggling bodies of the Spaniards as they desperately endeavored to save themselves.

The spectacle was lamentable. Many drowned themselves. Many, half burned, leaped into the water; while others hung by the ropes' ends; by the ships' sides; under the sea, even to their lips. "If any man had a desire to see Hell, itself," wrote Sir Walter, "it was there most lively figured!"

Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!

The English sailors were cheering, for victory was theirs, and of all the gallant warriors of that day, Raleigh had been the most persistently daring and heroic.

"The _Saint Andrew_'s still afloat, good Sire!" cried one of his sailors at this moment.

"Then we'll take her!" cried Raleigh.

She was boarded and captured with little difficulty, while yet another galleon--the _Saint Matthew_--fell into his hands. These were the only vessels of all that proud Spanish fleet which had escaped the flames.

Raleigh, himself, had been severely wounded in the leg, but he refused to release the command of his ship. He gave orders that all lives should be spared, and although these mandates were rigidly obeyed by the English soldiers, the Dutch cruelly slaughtered many of their hapless prisoners, for their hatred of the Spaniards was bitter and savage.

Cadiz had not yet fallen and Raleigh was determined to go on shore with the troops and witness the taking of the town, in spite of his wound. A litter was prepared for him--he was lowered into one of the boats--rowed ashore, carried upon the shoulders of some of his faithful soldiers, and witnessed the furious struggle which now ensued. Cadiz fell. Although the lives of the people were spared; the castle, fortifications and the greater part of the town itself, were burned and demolished. If you go there, to-day, you will still find the marks of this great and stirring strife.

There was nothing left but to put the Spanish prisoners aboard the galleons, collect the plunder, and set sail for England. When the fleet again swung into the little harbor of Plymouth it was received by the people with wildest enthusiasm and delight. All England rang with the praise of the valor and courage of her heroes, for Spain had been stripped of her ability to injure her English rival and England's power was supreme upon the sea. Raleigh and his comrades had done this,--and the descendants of Raleigh and his comrades have continued to uphold the supremacy. Hurrah for Raleigh!

But how about those jealous courtiers? They were still around--Oh, yes!--And Raleigh was greeted at court as coldly as when he had departed with the fleet. He had been deprived of his office of Captain of the Queen's Guard, and even his bravery at Cadiz did not win this back for him. Nor did he receive any of the spoil which had been won by himself and his comrades. Even Queen Bess was angry because her share of the booty taken from Cadiz was not as great as she had hoped for.

"What the Generals have got," wrote Sir Walter, "I know least. For my own part, I have got a game leg, and am deformed. I have received many good words and exceedingly kind and regardful usage; but I have possession of naught but poverty and pain."

Not long afterwards the old Queen was persuaded to write Sir Walter to come to court, and thus he and his wife, whom Elizabeth had also forgiven, appeared daily in the brilliant throng which clustered in the halls and corridors of the Royal Palace. He was restored to his old office of Captain of the Queen's Guard and rode forth again in all the splendor of his uniform, at the side of the sovereign.

The rest of Sir Walter's life can be briefly narrated. With Essex he took part in a successful expedition to the Azores, where they captured many ships, and with him divided much booty and fame. But Essex became too ambitious and started a conspiracy to place himself upon the throne of England. It was a failure. He was captured by the Queen's soldiers--a part under Sir Walter himself--was tried, and executed for High Treason.

Queen Bess soon died and was succeeded by a man who disliked Sir Walter from the start. This was James the First of Scotland--a "dour" fellow--who charged the valorous knight with treason, for it was alleged that he had conspired, with Lord Cobham, to place the youthful Arabella Stuart upon the throne. He was tried, convicted, and thrown into the Tower, where he lived for twelve long, tedious years. Think of it! A fellow of his venturesome and restless spirit forced to remain in a dungeon-keep for such a time! Weep for brave Sir Walter! This was fine treatment for a patriot!

But the jealous courtiers did not weep. Oh no! _They_ laughed.

When gallant Sir Walter was thrown into the Tower (for he had not plotted against the King) he was a hale and stalwart cavalier of fifty-two. He was released--after twelve years--when his hair and beard were grizzled, his face worn and wrinkled, his body somewhat bent, and his features grave and sorrowful. With what tearful joy he clasped to his breast his ever faithful wife and his two sons! At sixty-four his brave spirit was still unshaken; his ardent and restless ambition was as keen as ever.

He went forth with the sentence of death still hanging over his head; for King James, although giving a grudging consent to his release, had refused to pardon him. And he went forth with the understanding that he should lead an expedition to the coast of Guiana in South America; there to attack the Spaniards and gain plunder, gold, and jewels. If successful he was to go free. If non-successful, he was to suffer punishment--perhaps death!

The expedition was a failure. The Spaniards and natives were well aware of his coming, for 'tis said that King James, himself, sent them news of the expedition.

"If I go home it's off with my head," said Sir Walter. "But I'll risk it."

Don't you think if you had been Sir Walter, instead of sailing to England where you knew that a headsman's axe awaited you, you would have coasted by the shores of the Chesapeake Bay and dropped off quietly where is the home of the canvas-back and the terrapin! Just stepped into one of the jolly-boats and peacefully drifted ashore on a dark night?

I think that you would have been strongly inclined to do so,--but _you_ are not Sir Walter Raleigh. _He_ was a lion-hearted adventurer.

Opportunity after opportunity came to him to escape to the shores of France. He let them go by, but, when he found that his enemies demanded his trial for treason, he thought it high time to get away. He learned that a French envoy had arranged to get him to France and had a barque for this purpose. A certain Captain King had found a small boat commanded by one of Sir Walter's old boatmen, which lay at Tilbury awaiting his orders. It was arranged by Raleigh's guard--one Stukeley--that he should be rowed to the little lugger on the evening of Sunday, August the 9th, 1618. The latter was sent up the Thames river to Gravesend.

At the hour designated, Raleigh, Captain King, Stukeley and his son Hart, with a page, jumped into two small wherries in order to row to the lugger. They had just shoved off, when keen Sir Walter saw another boat push out from the bank and follow them.

"How's this?" said he to Stukeley.

But silent Stukeley did not answer.

The boat rowed fast, but the pursuing craft moved with equal speed. The tide was singing and gurgling in a mad flow, and it became doubtful whether the wherries could reach Gravesend under the protection of darkness, for day was breaking, and the whirling water made progress very slow.

At last--seeing that they could not get away--the shallops were forced to turn about and retrace their passage. The pursuing boat swung, also--like a shadow of the first. Sir Walter's heart beat tumultuously.

When the fugitives reached Greenwich--Stukeley stood up and appeared in his true colors. Laying a hand upon the shoulder of faithful Captain King, he cried--

"I arrest you in the name of our Monarch, James First!"

Raleigh looked around in anger and dismay.

"Stukeley," he said with heat, "you are a trait'rous cur. These actions will not turn out to your credit!"

But the knave laughed derisively,--so derisively that the common people dubbed him "Sir Judas Stukeley." And it well suited him. Didn't it?

The boatmen rowed directly to the Tower and the boat which had pursued the wherries--which contained a courtier named Herbert (to whom Stukeley had betrayed the projected escape)--followed them close. The soldiers in her (for they had been well hidden) escorted the dejected Sir Walter to the grim walls of the dungeon.

There was now no hope for that gallant adventurer: the man had brought honor and renown to England. He was tried for Treason: condemned: executed.

As he stood waiting for the axe to fall, he said:

"I have many sins for which to beseech God's pardon. For a long time my course was a course of vanity. I have been a seafaring man, a soldier, and a courtier; and, in the temptations of the least of these there is enough to overthrow a good mind and a good man. I die in the faith professed by the Church of England. I hope to be saved, and to have my sins washed away by the precious blood and merits of our Saviour, Jesus Christ."

A quick shudder ran through the multitude when Sir Walter had ceased to live, and many groaned aloud at the horrible sight. One stout yeoman cried out angrily, "We have not had such another head to be cut off."

The crowd separated slowly, muttering and crying out against the enemies of the valiant man; while his friends, who were present, parted with tears coursing down their cheeks.

And the jealous courtiers said: "Magnificent!" It was now their turn to shout. And they did it, too.

* * * * *

So, you see, Sir Walter Raleigh's patriotism was paid for by death. The trouble with him was, he was too much of a man.

_Nowadays_--when a soldier or sailor does something for England--they give him a Hip! Hip! Hurray!

He is appreciated. He is presented with titles, honors, and a warm reception.

_Then_, when a man did something for England, those in power gave him the cold shoulder; the icy stare.

That's the reason why England's sons will do something for her now. If she had kept treating them as she did Sir Walter Raleigh she wouldn't have many of them around when it came to a fight. _And, some day, she'll need them all!_

So when a fellow does something really great, don't greet him with frozen silence. _Cheer! He needs it! Besides,--it won't hurt you!_

_Give a tiger and three times three!_

THE VANISHED SAILORS

Say, sailors, what's happened to young Bill Jones? Jones of Yarmouth; the bright-cheeked boy? Jones who could handle a boat like a man, Jones, who would grapple a smack like a toy?

"_Fell o'er the sea-end with Raleigh. Ahoy!_"

Well, sea-dogs, where's Thompson of Yarmouthport dock? The chap who could outwit old Hawkins, they say, The man with th' knowledge of charts and of reefs, There wasn't his equal from Prawle to Torquay.

"_Fell o'er the sea-end with Raleigh, to-day!_"

Where's Rixey of Hampton; Smith of Rexhill? Who'd coasted and traded from London to Ryde, Huggins and Muggins, all seamen of worth, Who could jibe and could sail, sir, when combers were wide?

"_Fell o'er the sea-end with Raleigh. Last tide!_"

Well, seamen, when that day shall come near, When the salt sea is moved from its bed, Some will there be, who can give us the news, Of all that brave band, whom Adventure has led To

"_Fall o'er the sea-end with Raleigh, 'tis said!_"

"Such is the man, Whom neither shape nor danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray; Who, not content that worth stands fast, Looks forward, persevering to the last, From good to better, daily self-surpassed."

--_Ballads of the Day._

JEAN BART

THE SCOURGE OF THE DUTCH

(1650-1702)

As long as selfishness remains a Human Passion,--Warfare will continue.

JEAN BART

THE SCOURGE OF THE DUTCH

(1650-1702)

"'What means that canvas, Skipper? It's bearing down to port, And it drives a blackish barquentine, with every topsail taut, There're guns upon her poop deck. There're cannon near her bow, And the bugler's bloomin' clarion, it shrills a how-de-row?' The skipper took a peep at her, his face turned ashen pale, His jaw began to tremble, and his knees began to fail, As the flag of France swung to the breeze and fluttered without check, 'Jean Bart!' he gurgled weakly, and fainted on the deck."

--_Rhymes of The Dutch Channel Fleet._--1676.

The good ship _Cochon Gras_ boiled along off the coast of Normandy under a full spread of canvas, for the breeze was light, and was from the southward. A boy of sixteen stood at the helm. He was well bronzed by exposure to the elements; was sturdy and strong. His dark hair waved luxuriantly about a face in which keenness and shrewdness were easily to be seen. His name was Jean Bart and he had been born at Dunkirk in France.

The Captain of the _Cochon Gras_ strode about upon the deck below. He was in an evil mood and his voice showed his ill feeling.

"Put the helm over!" he shouted to the steersman. "Don't you see that your sails aren't half full! Boy, will you never learn!"

Jean Bart obeyed.

"Very good, my Captain!" said he. "Very good, my Monsieur Valbue."

And, at this, the captain scowled, for he was in a beastly temper.

"I am glad that you act quickly," said he. "You know nothing. By acting quickly you will learn a thing or two. _Tiens!_ Be speedy! Be very quick! Be like the Bishop of Oleron!"

He smiled and lurched against the rail.

"Ah, this good prelate was a true seaman," said he. "He knew the tides like a mackerel. He knew as much as I do, myself, and that is saying a good deal."

Jean Bart chuckled at the vanity of Monsieur Valbue.

"The good Bishop was standing on the rocks upon a stormy evening," continued the captain, "when he saw some fisher boats making for the harbor. One of them was bearing too close to the shore. One of them was going to go upon the rocks. One of them was steered by a poor fellow who knew neither the reefs nor the shoals. 'Voila!' cried the good bishop. 'Voila! I will save this dull-witted sailor.' And, forthwith, what do you think that he did,--?"

A small knot of seamen had, by this time, collected around the talkative captain. They all shook their heads.

"Fools," cried Captain Valbue. "Fools! Why, he strode into the sea, of course. Being a pure man of God and a member of the true church, he walked upon the surface of the water. The boat coming in was manned by Huguenots, by unbelievers, mark you! By fellows who had neither the sense nor the grace to be members of the true church. _They_ could not walk upon the water. Oh! No! But the good Bishop _he_ walked as easily as a stormy petrel, for he was a man of God. And, as he reached the boat he made the sign of the cross, saying, 'Beware of the rocks which you sail down upon! Bear off to the left! When you see the red buoy, bear to the right, and then come home by keeping your bow pointed for the spire of the big church!' And they did so. They were saved by the good Bishop, whom I know well. As for me. I would have let the foolish Huguenots get their just deserts. It would have been one heretic less and good riddance."

At this one of the seamen was plainly angered.

"Piff!" said he. "Piff!" That was all. But Monsieur Valbue had noticed it and Monsieur Valbue grew angry in a moment. Seizing a half-empty cider mug, from which he had been drinking, he hurled it at the head of the fellow who had made the remark.

"You dog of a Huguenot!" he roared.

The seaman dodged, and the cider mug spun into the planks of a jolly boat. Then he stepped forward and said,

"Captain Valbue, the Laws of Oleron, under which we sail, say that you cannot and must not strike a seaman with any missile. I, Lanoix, will strike back if you hit me."