Clare Avery Part 15

Sir Edward Hoby, brother-in-law of the Admiral, was sent off to the Queen with urgent letters, begging that she would send more aid to the fleet, and put her land forces in immediate readiness, for "the Spaniard" was coming at last, and as fast as the wind could bring him.

Sir Edward reached Tilbury on the very day chosen by Elizabeth to review her land forces. He left the fleet making signals of distress; he found the army in triumphant excitement.

The Queen rode in from Havering on a stately charger--tradition says a white one--bearing a marshal's staff in her hand, and attired in a costume which was a singular mixture of warrior and woman,--a corslet of polished steel over an enormous farthingale. As she came near the outskirts of her army, she commanded all her retinue to fall back, only excepting Lord Ormonde, who bore the sword of state before her, and the solitary page who carried her white-plumed helmet. Coming forward to the front of Leicester's tent--the Earl himself leading her horse, bare-headed--the Queen took up her position, and, with a wave of her white-gloved hand for silence, she harangued her army.

"My loving people,"--thus spoke England's Elizabeth,--"we have been persuaded, by some that are careful of our safety, to take heed how we commit ourself to armed mult.i.tudes, for fear of treachery. But I do a.s.sure you, I do not desire to live to distrust my faithful and loving people. Let tyrants fear. I have alway so behaved myself, that under G.o.d I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and good-will of my subjects: and therefore I am come amongst you, as you see, at this time, not for my recreation and disport, but being resolved in the midst and heat of the battle to live or die amongst you all,--to lay down, for my G.o.d, and for my kingdoms, and for my people, mine honour and my blood even in the dust. I know I have the body of a weak, feeble woman; but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a King of England too; and think foul scorn that Parma, or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realm: to which, rather than any dishonour should grow by me, I myself will take up arms,--I myself will be your general, judge, and rewarder of every one of your virtues in the field. I know already for your forwardness ye have deserved rewards and crowns: and we do a.s.sure you, on the word of a prince, they shall, be duly paid you. For the meantime, my Lieutenant General [Leicester] shall be in my stead, than whom never prince commanded a more n.o.ble nor worthy subject. Not doubting but, by your obedience to my General, by your concord in the camp, and your valour in the field, we shall shortly have a famous victory over these enemies of my G.o.d, and of my kingdoms, and of my people."

We are told that the soldiers responded unanimously--

"Is it possible that any Englishman can abandon such a glorious cause, or refuse to lay down his life in defence of this heroic Princess?"

The sentiment may be authentic, but the expression of it is modern.

The speech over, Leicester reverently held the gilt stirrup, and Elizabeth alighted from her white charger, and went into his pavilion to dinner.

Before the repast was over, Sir Edward Hoby arrived from Lord Howard.

He was taken at once to the tent, that the first freshness of his news might be for the Queen's own ears. It had taken him three weeks to reach Tilbury from Plymouth. Kneeling before the Queen, he reported that he had been sent in all haste to entreat for "more aid sent to the sea," for Medina was known to be coming, and that quickly.

"Let him come!" was the general cry of the troops outside.

"_Buenas horas, Senor_!" said the royal lady within, wis.h.i.+ng good speed to her adversary in his own tongue.

And both meant the same thing,--"We are ready."

It was England against the world. She had no ally, except the sixty Dutch s.h.i.+ps. And except, too, One who was invisible, but whom the winds and the sea obeyed.

The aid required by Lord Howard came: not from Elizabeth, but from England. Volunteers poured in from every s.h.i.+re,--men in velvet gowns and gold chains, men in frieze jackets and leather jerkins. The "delicate-handed, dilettante" Earl of Oxford; the "Wizard" Earl of Northumberland, just come to his t.i.tle; the eccentric Earl George of c.u.mberland; Sir Thomas Cecil, elder son of the Lord High Treasurer Burleigh,--weak-headed, but true-hearted; Sir Robert Cecil, his younger brother,--strong-headed and false-hearted; and lastly, a host in himself, Sir Walter Raleigh, whose fine head and, great heart few of his contemporaries appreciated at their true value,--and perhaps least of all the royal lady whom he served. These men came in one by one.

But the leather jerkins flocked in by hundreds; the men who were of no account, whose names n.o.body cared to preserve, whose deeds n.o.body thought of recording; yet who, after all, were England, and without whom their betters would have made very poor head against the Armada. They came, leaving their farms untilled, their forges cold, their axes and hammers still. All that could wait till afterwards. Just now, England must be saved.

From all the coast around, provisions were sent in, both of food and munition: here a stand of arms from the squire's armoury, there a batch of new bread from the yeoman's farm: those who could send but a chicken or a cabbage did not hold them back; there were some who had nothing to give but themselves--and that they gave. Every atom was accepted: they all counted for something in the little isle's struggle to keep free.

It is the little things, after all, of which great things are made. Not only the men who lined the decks of the "Ark Royal," but the women ash.o.r.e who baked their bread, and the children who gathered wood in the forest for the ovens, were helping to save England.

Even some Recusants--which meant Romanists--came in with offerings of food, arms, and service: men who, in being Romanists, had not forgotten that they were Englishmen.

About noon on the twentieth of July, the Armada was first sighted from Plymouth. She was supposed at first to be making direct, for that town.

But she pa.s.sed it, and bore on eastward. It was evident now that she meant to make for the Channel,--probably meant to use as a basis of operations, Calais--England's own Calais, for the loss of which her heart was sore yet.

Lord Howard followed as closely as was consistent with policy. And now appeared the disadvantage of the immense vessels which formed the bulk of the Armada. The English s.h.i.+ps, being smaller, were quicker; they could glide in and out with ease, where the "great wooden castles" found bare standing-room. Before the Armada could reach Calais Roads, early on the 21st of July, Lord Howard was upon her.

When she saw her pursuers, she spread forth in a crescent form, in which she was seven miles in length. Trumpets were sounded, drums beaten-- everything was done to strike terror into the little English fleet.

"_Santiago de Compostella_!" was the cry from the Armada.

"G.o.d and Saint George for merry England!" came back from the "Ark Royal."

Both navies struggled hard to get to windward. But the Spanish s.h.i.+ps were too slow and heavy. The English won the coveted position. The "Revenge" was posted as light-bearer, for night was coming on, and the "Ark Royal," followed by the rest of the fleet, dashed into the midst of the Armada.

Sir Francis Drake made a terrible blunder. Instead of keeping to the simple duty allotted to him, he went off after five large vessels, which he saw standing apart, and gave them chase for some distance. Finding them innocent Easterlings, or merchantmen of the Hanse Towns, he ran hastily back, to discover that in his absence Lord Howard had most narrowly escaped capture, having mistaken the Spanish light for the English.

"'Tis beyond any living patience!" cried Robert Ba.s.set fierily to Arthur Tremayne. "Here all we might have hit some good hard blows at the Spaniard, and to be set to chase a covey of miserable Easterlings!"

"'Twas a misfortunate blunder," responded Arthur more quietly.

After two hours' hard fighting, the Admiral, finding his vessels too much scattered, called them together, tacked, and lay at anchor until morning. It certainly was enough to disappoint men who were longing for "good hard blows," when the "Revenge" rejoined the fleet only just in time to hear the order for retreat. Fresh reinforcements came in during the night. When day broke on the 22nd, Lord Howard divided his fleet into four squadrons. He himself commanded the first, Drake the second, Hawkins the third, and Frobisher the fourth. The wind was now north.

The Armada went slowly forward; and except for the capture of one large Venetian s.h.i.+p, nothing was done until the 25th. Then came a calm, favourable to the Spaniards, who were rowing, while the English trusted to their sails. When the Armada came opposite the Isle of Wight, Lord Howard again gave battle.

This time the "Revenge" was engaged, and in the van. While the battle went on, none knew who might be falling: but when the fleet was at last called to anchor--after a terrible encounter--Ba.s.set and Tremayne met and clasped hands in congratulation.

"Where is Enville?" asked the former.

Arthur had seen nothing of him. Had he fallen?

The day pa.s.sed on--account was taken of the officers and crew--but nothing was to be heard of Jack Enville.

About half an hour later, Arthur, who had considerably distinguished himself in the engagement, was resting on deck, looking rather sadly out to sea, and thinking of Jack, when Ba.s.set came up to him, evidently struggling to suppress laughter.

"Prithee, Tremayne, come below with me one minute."

Arthur complied, and Ba.s.set led him to the little cabin which the three young officers occupied together.

"Behold!" said Ba.s.set grandiloquently, with a flourish of his hand towards the berths. "Behold, I beseech you, him that hath alone routed the Spaniard, swept the seas, saved England, and covered him with glory!

He it is whose name shall live in the chronicles of the time! He shall have a statue--of gingerbread--in the court of Her Majesty's Palace of Westminster, and his name shall be set up--wrought in white goose feathers--on the forefront of Paul's! Hail to the valiant and unconquerable Jack Enville, the deliverer of England from Pope and Spaniard!"

To the great astonishment of Arthur, there lay the valiant Jack, rolled in a blanket, apparently very much at his ease: but when Ba.s.set's peroration was drawing to a close, he unrolled himself, looking rather red in the face, and returned to ordinary life by standing on the floor in full uniform.

"Hold thy blatant tongue for an a.s.s as thou art!" was his civil reply to Ba.s.set's lyric on his valour. "If I did meet a wound in the first flush of the fray, and came down hither to tend the same, what blame lieth therein?"

"Wert thou wounded, Jack?" asked Arthur.

"Too modest belike to show it," observed Ba.s.set. "Where is it, trow?

Is thy boot-toe abrased, or hast had five hairs o' thine head carried away?"

"'Tis in my left wrist," said Jack, replying to Arthur, not Ba.s.set.

"Prithee, allow us to feast our eyes on so glorious a sign of thy valiantness!" said Ba.s.set.

Jack was extremely reluctant to show his boasted wound; but being pressed to do so by both his friends (from different motives) he exhibited something which looked like a severe scratch from a cat.

"Why, 'tis not much!" said Arthur, who could have shown several worse indications of battle on himself, which he had not thought worth notice.

"Oh, is it not?" muttered Jack morosely. "I can tell thee, 'tis as sore--"

"Nay, now, wound not yet again the great soul of the hero!" put in Ba.s.set with grim irony. "If he lie abed i' th' day for a wound to his wrist, what shall he do for a stab to his feelings? You shall drive him to drown him in salt water; and that were cruelty unheard-of, for it should make his eyes smart. I tell thee what, Jack Enville--there is _one_ a.s.s aboard the fleet, and his name is neither Arthur Tremayne nor--saving your presence--Robin Ba.s.set. Farewell! I go to win a laurel crown from Sir Francis by bearing news unto him of thy heroical deeds."

And away marched Ba.s.set, much to the relief of Jack.