The Pope had put himself beside Philip. His aim was to destroy me and he was trying to raise the whole of Papal Europe against me. There was a suggestion from some members of the Council that we should massacre all the leading Catholics in the country to avoid an uprising—a kind of repeat performance of the Massacre of Saint Bartholomew's Eve in Paris.
I rejected that immediately. I hoped I had brought a certain tolerance to the country. I know that open Catholic worship was forbidden, but in all other ways those Catholics were good subjects. I was right in this, for many of them proved of considerable value in our stand against the invader.
Rumors were rife and there was a mood of tension throughout the country. I believed that the sooner the battle began, the more relieved we should all feel, but I was horrified when I heard whispers that I had sent an agent to Rome to come to terms with the Pope, for that I would never do. I was head of the Church of England and I would have no foreigner take my place. I ordered the Bishop of London to anathematize the Pope from the pulpit at St Paul's.
Ships! That was what we needed. Thanks to our foresight over the years we had a considerable navy, but Drake had said that we needed more ships and he was right.
I asked my people for ships and how heartening it was when the City of London, being asked for five thousand men and fifteen ships, immediately offered ten thousand men and thirty ships. That was the spirit of the people when we went out to face the armada.
The Spaniards were boastful. They said there would be one battle at sea and one on land and England would be theirs. I did not boast. I had a feeling that it was dangerous to do so, tempting the fates; but I was supremely confident. Walsingham's men were indefatigable in secret places and I was elated when I heard of the death of the Marquis de Santa Cruz, the Spanish admiral in charge of operations against England, for he was also one of the ablest seamen living. But for him the attack would have been launched earlier, but he, having been greatly impressed by the daring and reputation of El Draque, advised caution. He wanted his armada to be invincible and he needed time to assure himself that it was so.
Philip had upbraided him for sloth, which deeply wounded Santa Cruz, for his zeal was as keen as that of his master, but he was a wiser man. Then suddenly he became ill—no doubt through acute anxiety—and died. It was a great loss to Spain but a benefit to us.
I wanted to say: God is on our side. But I did not. I would not be boastful before victory was won and, whatever good fortune came our way in the end, no one was more conscious than I of the bitter battle which lay ahead.
Philip showed then that he was out of touch with reality when he appointed the Duke of Medina Sidonia as commander of his armada, not because of his skill and experience—he had little of either—but because he belonged to one of the noblest houses in Spain.
It was true that I had chosen Howard of Effingham, scion of one of our noblest families, but he was an able man who had been brought up in a naval tradition. His father, Lord William, and his grandfather Thomas, Duke of Norfolk, had held the post of Lord High Admiral with distinction; and my Vice Admiral was the bold Sir Francis, whose very name struck terror into the Spaniards.
I believed I was better served than Philip, and my men were defending their country which always gives an added zeal and often triumphs over the lust for conquest.
Not only were we preparing our navy but our land defenses also. Vulnerable places like Gravesend were fortified, and we put out barges to block the mouths of rivers to prevent a hostile fleet getting through. All over the country we were preparing for invasion should the gallant sailors fail to hold back the enemy at sea. It was a great joy to me to see the spirit of the people and to know that they were with me.
I was Commander-in-Chief of my army and under me was Robert as Lieutenant-General of the two armies—Lord Hunsdon in command of the second. Robert wrote to me from Tilbury—a letter which I have always preserved for it seemed to me to have been written not only by a soldier but by a lover. In it he set down his views as to how we should proceed if the Spaniards succeeded in setting foot on English soil, but through it all came his great concern for me. After setting out details of how we should march if we had to without much warning, he wrote of me.
“Now for your person, being the most dainty and sacred thing we have in this world to care for, much more for advice to be given in the direction of it, a man must tremble when he thinks of it, specially finding Your Majesty to have that princely courage to transport yourself to your utmost confines of your realm to meet your enemies and to defend your subjects. I cannot, most dear Queen, consent to that, for upon your well doing consists all and some, for your whole kingdom; and, therefore, preserve that above all. Yet will I not that so princely and so rare a magnanimity should not appear to your people and the world as it is. And thus far, if it may please Your Majesty, you may do; withdraw yourself to your home at Havering and your army, being about London, as at Stratford, East Ham, Hackney and those villages thereabout, shall be not only a defense but a ready supply to those counties in Essex and Kent if need be. In the meantime, Your Majesty, to comfort this army and people of both these counties, may, if it please you, spend two or three days to see both the camps and the forts. Tilbury is not fourteen miles at the most from Havering Bower…
“Lastly for myself, most gracious lady, you know what will most comfort a faithful servant; for there is nothing in the world I take that joy in, that I do in your good favor…”
I read and reread that letter. I kissed it; I folded it and put it away.
And I prepared to leave for Tilbury.
* * *
SO I INSPECTED MY troops at Tilbury. Beside me rode Robert, as fine and handsome a figure as ever was, and before me the Earl of Ormond, carrying the sword of state, while a page followed holding my plumed helmet. I was bare-headed and wore a polished steel corselet and a voluminous farthingale. When they saw me my troops broke into prolonged cheering and I was so moved that I was near to tears. I knew that since my accession I had enjoyed a love from my people rarely experienced by a monarch. I had worked hard to preserve it and to appear well in their eyes. They forgave me my faults and remembered my virtues—and that, of course, is the meaning of true love.
They waited for me to address them, which I did in loud ringing tones.
“My loving people, we have been persuaded by some that are careful of our safety to take heed how we commit ourselves to armed multitudes for fear of treachery; but I do assure you, I do not desire to live to distrust my faithful and loving people. Let tyrants fear; I have always so behaved myself that under God I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and good will of my subjects; and therefore I have 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 God and for my kingdoms, and for my people, my honor 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 of Spain or any Prince of Europe should dare invade the borders of my realm; to which rather than any dishonor should grow by me, I will myself 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, you have deserved rewards and crowns, and we do assure you on the word of a prince, that they shall be duly paid to you. For the meantime my Lieutenant-General shall be in my stead, than whom never prince commanded a more noble and worthy subject; not doubting by your obedience to my General, by your concord in the camp, and your valor in the field, we shall shortly have a famous victory over the enemies of my God, of my kingdoms, and of my people.”
The cheers rang out. I had never felt so proud, so determined to do well by them. My love for them was as great as theirs for me.
One man shouted: “Is it possible that any Englishman can abandon such a glorious cause or refuse to
lay down his life in defense of this heroic Princess?”
That was the mood of the people. And it was the mood to bring about victory.
The events of that time are engraved on my heart forever so that I shall never forget them; nor, I venture to think, will the world. They will be talked of whenever men talk of England and will stand forever as a monument to us and an example to all other nations forevermore. Freedom is worth fighting for; it is worth paying a high price for, because to die for freedom is to leave this life in a blaze of glory which destroys our weaknesses of the past and makes us at one with the heroes.
It was a fine Friday afternoon of the nineteenth of July of that year 1588 when Captain Fleming's pinnacle arrived in haste in Plymouth Harbour with the news that the Spanish armada had been sighted off the Lizard. The whole town was agog—except its Admiral, Sir Francis Drake, who was playing a game of bowls on the Hoe.
Perhaps I was a little impatient when I first heard the story of how he had refused to abandon the game, declaring in his nonchalant way that there was plenty of time to finish the game and beat the Spaniards.
But I knew that was Drake's way. It was that in him which inspired his men with respect and the enemy with terror. Whatever his feelings, he was going to behave as though it were impossible that there could be anything but victory over the enemy.
On Saturday, the churches all over the land were full of people praying for victory. It was a solemn country on that morning, for there was not a man or a woman in England who did not know what it would mean to them if the Spaniards were victorious. Their prayers were earnest; their thoughts were with our sailors. Oh God, we prayed, never, never let the invader touch our shores.
And if they came we must be ready. But they would first have to win the battle at sea.
I had always felt that the savage sea was our ally. It had stood between us and danger many times. It was the reason why no foreign army had ever trodden our shores—except the Norman conquerors, some might say; but we were the Normans partly; we were a mixed race of Angles, Saxons, Jutes, Romans, Normans…It was the blood of all these people who made up an Englishman, so I could say with truth that no invading army had ever conquered us. And never should!
I prayed for the men in my ships. I said all the names over and over again: Achates, Aid, Antelope, Ark … all through the alphabet to Vanguard, White Bear and White Lion.
“Pray God preserve my men. Give my ships the victory they need so desperately. Take care of my great men. My Howard, my Hawkins, my Frobisher and my incomparable Drake. Give them the wit they need to make good judgment and the strength to carry it out.”
I smiled at myself. Here am I giving instructions to God, treating him as a favored subject.
“Please God,” I prayed. “Thy will be done, but let it be shown in favor of my great men.”
There were the skirmishes, the days when I arose from nights of little sleep and asked for the news. Nothing decided. We had inflicted damage on their ships. They were finding it not so easy as they had thought to. They were failing in their task to defeat the English fleet so utterly that an easy way might be cleared for Parma to sail in, bringing his troops which would take the country.
The Spaniards suffered more acutely from the weather than our sailors. They were finding their splendid galleons unwieldy. Those who were captured said that the Spanish sailors were in terror of El Draque and only slightly less so of Juan Achines, by whom they meant John Hawkins, who like Drake had in his role of pirate of the high seas struck terror into the hearts of so many.
The battle was a hard one. My men had captured several of the Spanish ships and not one of ours was lost. We had the advantage in spite of our inferior armada. We were in home waters fighting for our own country. We could endure the adverse conditions as the Spaniards could not. My admirals were at liberty to act as they thought best suited to the occasion and to take full advantage of every opportunity which offered itself, Medina Sidonia was acting all the time on instructions from Philip. It was true my admirals did not always agree. It was hardly likely that adventurers like Drake and Hawkins would abide by certain formalities natural to a gentleman of Howard's upbringing. They clashed, and my bold Drake on one occasion disobeyed Howard's orders because he believed it would have been disastrous to have obeyed them.
Drake was proved to be right. He was my finest sailor. I can never think of those most fearful yet most glorious days without seeing Drake.
The greatest advantage throughout was fighting in our own waters while the Spaniards were far from home. When they ran out of supplies they had little hope of replacing them; it was different for us. I supposed this was why they planned to take first the Isle of Wight and thus establish a base from which they could supply their ships.
The Spaniards must have been in a sorry state. Parma had been unable to reach them for he had been blockaded by the Dutch. The Spanish sailors had lost their early euphoria. Where were the angels with the protective wings now?
It was decided to send fireships into the armada. It was not the first time this method had been used with success.
I heard of my captains' hurried council later. There was not time to send to Dover for the little ships they needed; the advantage would be lost by delay, so all the captains offered their ships for the purpose. Drake gave the Thomas; Hawkins offered one of his and others were soon provided for the purpose.
There was no moon that night, and there was a breeze blowing in the direction of the assembled armada while the tide was running toward them. Conditions were ideal. Soon eight blazing ships were making their way straight for the Spaniards, sending out fire and setting them ablaze. The air was full of the sound of exploding ordnance as the fire reached the ships.
Complete demoralization throughout the Spanish armada ensued; they cut their cables and blundered about wildly; their riggings become entangled and they were blocking the way of escape for each other in the desperate attempt to escape from the fire ships. Sidonia fired off his gun trying to get the ships to assemble in some sort of order, but the call was ignored; every Spanish captain was intent on getting his ship out of reach of the fires. Thus the fireships had achieved in a few hours that certain victory for which my brave seamen had been fighting for days.
My men were ready to go in for the final attack when Howard, seeing one of the galleasses was in difficulties and realizing that it would be a rich prize, stopped to take it. It was an error because there were fighting men on the galleass who could give a good account of themselves. By pausing Howard had given Drake the opportunity to be the one who led my ships to victory. Howard's error was such as to rob him of a certain amount of the glory, for having captured the rich prize he left one of the small ships to guard it, but as it was nearer to Calais than England, the French boats came out to take it and although the English put up a good fight, artillery from the shore took part and forced my men to retire. So the entire enterprise had been a waste of time on Howard's part. I do not believe that Drake would have made such a mistake. He must have been laughing to himself as he swept down with all the squadrons on the limping Spanish armada.
The battle was not over immediately as it might have been if Howard had kept with the fleet instead of pausing; but the outcome was now sure.
It had seemed at one time that we should snatch not only victory but great prizes—enough to cover the cost of the campaign. But this was denied us. A squall arose. The weather had been our ally so far—and perhaps some would say still was, but it certainly robbed us of our prizes. Our seamen had to look to their own safety in such weather, and when the wind abated it was seen that many of the ships of the once proud Spanish armada were sinking or drifting along to the Flemish coast.
The wind ended the battle; and if we had lost the prizes we had hoped for, we had gained a glorious victory.
I HAD NOW COME to the saddest part of my life. Nothing could ever be the same for me again.
Naturally I wanted to reward the saviors of my c
ountry. I gave a pension to Howard and I made Essex a Knight of the Garter for he had played a part in the victory; but the one I wanted to reward most of all was Robert. He had not been at sea but he had been in charge of land defenses and he had worked indefatigably for our safety.
I wanted to make him Lord Lieutenant of England and Ireland, which would have given him more power than anyone in England under me. When I told him, it did me good to see his pleasure, although I was a little anxious about him for he did not look as well as usual. There was a certain pallor of his face, which was the more startling because of his natural high color.
I said: “You are not well.”
He replied that he believed he had caught a fever when he was with the army near the salt marshes in Essex.
I gave him a very special remedy which had been given to me and I told him I had had painful headaches myself of late.
I said: “You must take care of yourself. That's a command, Robert.”
He smiled at me with infinite love, and although I glowed with pleasure I kept that twinge of uneasiness which always assailed me when I thought he was not in good health. I scolded him lightly for neglecting himself and reminded him that that was the easiest way to earn my displeasure.
We were very close at that time. We always had been, but the defeat of the Spanish armada had brought home to us the intensity of our feelings and what we meant to each other.
I might have guessed there would be an outcry concerning the proposed new appointment for Robert.
Burghley was strongly against it and was supported by both Hatton and Walsingham. It was placing too much power in the hands of one man, said Burghley.
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