New World, Inc.

by John Butman

  GILBERT WAS WISE to acknowledge concerns about the potential loss of Anglo-Spanish trade. Even as he was devising his plan to annoy Philip and do harm to Spain’s commercial activities, many of England’s leading merchants were preparing to take quite a different approach. They wanted to get along better with their Spanish trading partners and take advantage of Spain’s wealth by building stronger business ties. They had no desire to annoy. This was because the Spanish trade was vital to England. The Spanish bought English cloth and the English acquired Andalusian wines, oils for dying cloth, citrus and other fruits—and, of course, American silver.22

  In the past, there had been ruptures in relations, which damaged trade. Back in 1568, Spanish ships bound for Antwerp and loaded with treasure for paying the occupation force in the Netherlands were beset by bad weather and attacked by French-Huguenot privateers.23 The ships took refuge in English harbors, where some of the treasure was taken ashore and transferred to the Tower of London. The Spanish protested, but in an uncharacteristically confrontational move, William Cecil, supported by Elizabeth, did not return the treasure. Retaliating, the Spanish seized English goods. For the next five years, trade came to a standstill between the two countries. So for the English merchants who did regular business with Spain and who, in some cases, lived there for long periods, those years were lean times.

  Then, in 1574, Elizabeth and Philip II signed the Treaty of Bristol, the embargo on English goods in Spain came to an end, trade relations were restored, political amends were made, and it was back to business as usual. English merchants had a long-standing, direct commercial relationship with Spain. In 1517, when Katherine of Aragon, a Spanish princess, sat on the English throne as wife of Henry VIII, a lively community of English merchants could be found living in San Lucar, the Atlantic seaport of Seville, which lies upstream on the Guadalquivir river. That year, these merchants were granted corporate privileges entitling them to “a piece of ground in the street down below the waterside” where they could build a chapel dedicated to the patron saint of England, St. George.24

  The day-to-day livelihoods of the English merchants trading with Spain depended to an overwhelming degree on the routine, stable trade between England and the continent. Although the Bristol Treaty was in place, they wanted a more certain way to maintain, regulate, and safeguard their Anglo-Spanish business. So even as they supported Frobisher’s efforts to find a fast route to Cathay and loosen Spain’s grip on the New World, many of the same merchants came together with leading courtiers to found a new company. Its purpose was to promote and protect English merchants trading directly into Spanish markets, including Seville. They petitioned Elizabeth for incorporation as the Spanish Company, akin to the Muscovy Company. They were successful, and in June 1577 they were granted extensive rights and privileges and permitted to appoint governing bodies in London and Spain.25

  Some 389 merchants were listed in the Spanish Company’s letters patent. More than two-fifths came from England’s outports—notably Exeter, Bristol, and Southampton. But the list was dominated by the powerful merchants of London, men who were experienced investors in international trade. These included Thomas Gresham, Thomas Smythe, Anthony Jenkinson, the pioneer of the overland route toward Cathay, and the two leaders of the Muscovy Company who had taken opposing views of Frobisher’s venture: George Barne and Lionel Duckett. Strikingly, the new company included two honorary members who were renowned for their anti-Spanish views: Francis Walsingham and Robert Dudley. Both men were close to the great City merchants and depended on the income they derived from investments in overseas enterprises.

  Spain kept a close eye on the state of English trade with her country. The Spanish ambassador, Bernardino de Mendoza, calculated that “the trade with Spain is of the greatest importance to the English.” Indeed, he considered it “the principal source of their wealth and strength,” not least because of the “vast sums of specie”—gold and silver coins—that the merchants brought from Spain. Also, it helped sustain England’s merchant fleet. The English were “daily building more” ships, reported Mendoza, and becoming “almost the masters of commerce.”26

  It is hard to believe that the English shared Mendoza’s view that they were masters of commerce. The country had lost Calais, retreated from Antwerp, and did not have direct access to the most prized markets of the Far East—China, India, the Spice Islands—or the New World. This is why some courtiers, including William Cecil, concluded that the conciliatory approach to Spain was best.

  ELIZABETH WAS QUICK to bless the Spanish Company initiative, but despite Gilbert’s plea for speed, she took her time to reach a decision on his proposal. It seems likely that she was waiting for the report that John Dee had been commissioned to write, on the legal case for territorial acquisition. Until then, England’s efforts to expand overseas had been about commerce. But Gilbert was proposing something different, something altogether bolder: conquest, colonization, and the potential disruption of the international balance of power. Could it be justified?

  Dee’s view, though he did not directly refer to Gilbert’s proposal, was yes. In his report, “Unto Your Majesty’s Title Royal to the Foreign Regions and Islands,” which he finished writing at the beginning of May 1578 and presented to Elizabeth soon after, he showed how she could claim title “to all the coasts and islands beginning at or about Terra Florida, and so along or near unto Atlantis, going northerly, and then to all the most northern islands great and small, and so compassing about Greenland, eastwards.”27

  He justified his conclusion on historical grounds. He reported, albeit erroneously, that one of Elizabeth’s royal ancestors, King Arthur, had conquered the lands of the North Atlantic in 530. Next, some 640 years later, another of Elizabeth’s direct ancestors, Lord Madoc, a Welsh prince, had “furnished himself with ships, victuals, armour, men and women sufficient” to establish a colony. Madoc had “speedily” led his people into a land then named Iaquaza, now Florida, or possibly into “some of the provinces and territories near thereabouts” such as Apalchen, Mocosa, or Norumbega. All of these places were considered “notable portions of the ancient Atlantis,” which was now known, Dee wrote, as America.28

  Dee incorporated his report in a grander work called the “Limits of the British Empire,” which was never published. Elizabeth had named the land discovered by Frobisher as Meta Incognita, unknown limit, but, as Dee wrote in his treatise, the limits to empire were known and they put few, if any, restrictions on what England could claim.

  Seven months passed before Elizabeth finally responded to Gilbert’s proposal. At last, on June 11, 1578, she said yes. She granted letters patent to Gilbert, calling him her “trusty and well-beloved servant,” and providing him with license to “discover… such remote… lands, countries and territories not actually possessed of any Christian prince” and to “inhabit or remain there to build and fortify.”29 Gilbert was given sweeping powers, grand and unspecific, which licensed him, in effect, to establish a new Elizabethan realm, a new England in any faraway place he might discover. He could use his discretion in selecting the “lands” and “territories” to be inhabited, choosing wherever and whichever place might “seem good.” Gilbert, along with his “heirs and assigns,” was empowered to “hold, occupy and enjoy” these places, with “all commodities, jurisdictions and royalties, both by sea and land.” The patent allowed other subjects to travel to the new place, and Gilbert could “dispose” of all lands—as well as any cities, towns, or villages—to these people or others however he chose, so long as the methods conformed with the laws of England.30 Also, Gilbert would have the power to establish new laws that would cover capital and criminal offenses, in both civil and marine cases. And if babies were eventually born in this remote realm, they, too, would “have and enjoy all the privileges of free denizens and persons native of England,” just as if they had been born at home.31 In return for all this, Elizabeth was to receive a fifth of all revenues from the gold and silver that might be
found within the new lands.

  It was a remarkable document. Who was responsible for making it happen? While Dee was influential, presenting historical arguments for Elizabeth’s territorial claims, it was Walsingham who seems to have played the most influential role in the decision to grant the patent. According to Gilbert, Walsingham was his “principal patron” in the petition and was responsible for procuring Her Majesty’s “favor and license” for the voyage.32 Given Walsingham’s inclination for confrontation with Spain, it is likely that Elizabeth well understood the essentially aggressive character of the enterprise, even with the various face-saving alternatives Gilbert had outlined for her. She therefore calibrated her support carefully. She chose not to contribute cash, but she did lend Gilbert one of her royal ships, although not a very large one. He would have use of the rather diminutive, one-hundred-ton, Falcon.

  Despite the secrecy surrounding the voyage, news of it inevitably leaked out. Eight days before Gilbert received his patent, the Spanish ambassador correctly reported to Philip that the “ships which had been fitted out by Humphrey Gilbert” were going “towards the Indies.” Furthermore, he noted, Elizabeth had agreed “that the way to be safe from your Majesty and to injure your prosperity” was to “rob the flotillas.”33 The French ambassador also got wind of the expedition and noted that “Sir Gilbert, a very shrewd man,” was “to go on a voyage of discovery, with seven or eight ships very well armed,” and that they would travel “by the southern region where there are vast lands inhabited only by savages”—just the kind of place “where empires and monarchies may be built up.”34

  WITH ELIZABETH’S BLESSING secured, Gilbert set about putting together the funding, starting with an investment of his own. As the Spanish ambassador observed, Gilbert purchased and “fully armed” four ships “with his own money.”35 Actually, some of the funds came from his wealthy and well-connected friend Henry Knollys. In return for his badly needed investment, Gilbert named Knollys as second-in-command of the venture, despite his friend’s complete lack of experience in such matters.

  Eventually, Gilbert assembled a syndicate of some fifty investors that included family members, close friends, and leading merchants.36 John Gilbert, Humphrey’s older brother and overseer of the Gilbert family estate, provided funds and took charge of victualling the venture.37 Also, Adrian Gilbert, the youngest of the Gilbert brothers, invested, as did their half-brothers: Carew Ralegh and his younger brother, Walter. Another notable investor was Thomas “Customer” Smythe, who was vastly experienced as a supporter of overseas enterprises. Like many merchants, he had built a diversified portfolio, investing in the Muscovy Company, the new Spanish Company, and now Gilbert’s colonizing enterprise.

  As Gilbert went about raising money, organizing a fleet, and recruiting personnel, those outside his inner circle could only guess at his true intentions for the voyage. He assembled an impressive fleet of eleven ships that he “furnished with 500 choice soldiers and sailors” and victualled for a year.38 With such a large contingent of vessels and men, he could confront a Spanish convoy of silver ships or war vessels. On the other hand, he could also travel a great distance to a far-off land and found a colony. Perhaps Gilbert wanted, as he had outlined in his Discourse, to do a bit of both. Quid non?

  Even so, the venture was more military in character than colonial. Gilbert had recruited not only skilled mariners—such as the talented Portuguese pilot Simão Fernandes who was in Walsingham’s employ—but also some former pirates to serve as crew. He rigged his ships in a “warlike manner,” carrying a total of 120 cannons. Anne Aucher, the flagship captained by Gilbert and named after his wife, was the most heavily armed, with twenty-nine cannons. The Hope of Greenway, captained by Carew Ralegh and named after the Gilbert family seat in Devon, was fitted with twenty-two cannons.

  Gilbert’s fleet set sail from Dartmouth on September 25, 1578, with great fanfare. Almost immediately, it ran into trouble. Gilbert’s ship was blown completely off course, and traveled eastward—in effect, backward—to the Isle of Wight rather than westward toward Newfoundland, and all the ships had to return to port, reassemble, and wait for a favorable wind. With this setback, tensions rose. Gilbert and Knollys feuded and the bad blood between them boiled over as they waited restlessly in port. Knollys quitted himself of Gilbert’s command and took charge of three of the ships. Gilbert wrote to Walsingham that Knollys had “forsaken” his company.39

  It was not until mid-November that Gilbert, now commanding a fleet reduced in size, departed a second time, and it was, once again, a disaster. Little is known of what Gilbert’s ships actually did, but one thing is certain: they did not get close to Newfoundland, let alone the West Indies. One ship sprang a leak and returned to England. Others put in at Irish ports for revictualling and sailed no farther. Young Walter Ralegh, who captained the queen’s ship Falcon, seems to have sailed off to do some privateering in the West Indies, becoming entangled in a sea fight with a Spanish vessel.40

  Three months later, the grand venture was over. Gilbert, hardly chastened or discouraged, started to make preparations for another expedition. But he was not going anywhere. The Privy Council warned that they would revoke his license for another voyage unless he gave “sureties for good behavior.” They sent instructions to sheriffs, vice-admirals, and justices of the peace in Devonshire ordering them to prevent Gilbert and his company, including Walter Ralegh, from leaving port. What is more, they enjoined Gilbert “to meddle no further” in overseas enterprises “without express order from their Lordships.”41

  Clearly, Sir Humphrey had annoyed many people, but most of them were English, not Spanish. Now his practical abilities, along with his character, came into question. And the inexplicable collapse of Gilbert’s venture came just as the disappointing results of the latest Frobisher assays were coming to light. Gilbert went silent, just as Frobisher had.

  Perhaps, after all, England was not capable of creating its own “Ilandish” empire.

  10

  NOVA ALBION

  IN SEPTEMBER 1580, a three-masted galleon, riding exceptionally low in the water, sailed into the English Channel. As the ship, the Golden Hind, neared land, her captain—a short, stout man—barked out a question to some fishermen as they scudded by.

  “Is the queen alive?”

  The captain, Francis Drake, had not set eyes on his home coastline for nearly three years. During that time, he had sailed around the world, completing the first circumnavigation by an English captain and the first since the sole surviving ship of Magellan’s fleet returned to Spain in 1522. After such a long time away, Drake knew it was entirely possible that Elizabeth had died or lost the throne.

  It would not have been the first time an English mariner had come home from a voyage to find a new monarch on the throne. In 1509, when Sebastian Cabot returned to England, Henry VII had died and, with him, royal interest in voyages of discovery. Likewise, in 1554, Richard Chancellor returned from Muscovy to find Edward dead and Mary wearing the crown—and preparing to marry Philip of Spain.

  By now, Elizabeth might well have died of illness, or been assassinated or overthrown, and replaced by Mary, Queen of Scots, her closest rival. If she had lost power, then Drake could assume that her principal courtiers had lost power, too. It was her most vehemently anti-Spanish courtiers—Francis Walsingham, Robert Dudley, Christopher Hatton, and William Winter—who had sponsored his voyage.1

  Drake was not only concerned about the queen’s fate, however. He was also concerned about the fate of the immense cargo that weighed down his ship and made it sit so low in the water: an astonishing haul of treasure that he had looted from Spanish ships and ports in the New World—gold ingots, bars of silver, pearls, emeralds, and other precious stones. The plundered cargo was worth a fortune, but if someone other than Elizabeth occupied the English throne, then Drake could be in trouble.

  The fishermen allayed the first of Drake’s fears. Elizabeth, they replied, was indeed alive.

&n
bsp; But although the Golden Hind proceeded toward Plymouth harbor, Drake did not dare unload the cargo. He knew too well the reaction that it would provoke from Spain—one far more vehement than the protest at Elizabeth’s seizure of the Spanish treasure ships a decade earlier that had led to a five-year cessation of Anglo-Spanish trade. There was no telling what this disgorging of Spain’s stolen wealth onto an English quayside might provoke. Seeking advice, Drake quickly dispatched a messenger to court, where he was to get instructions from Sir Christopher Hatton—one of his patrons and the man after whom he had named his flagship: Hatton’s coat of arms was a hind trippant—a trotting deer.

  ABOUT FORTY YEARS old, Francis Drake, a daring and accomplished seaman, had been waging a personal battle against Spain for more than a decade. Born in Tavistock in Devon around 1540, he was windblown and ruddy-cheeked, with scars from battle wounds on his face (an arrow) and his leg (a bullet). Although a West Country man through and through, Drake had learned seamanship nearer to London. In 1549 his father, Edmund, a clothworker and recent convert to Protestantism, fled Devon to escape a Catholic uprising against King Edward VI and his reforms.2

  The family settled in Gillingham on the Medway, a tributary of the Thames, and there the young Drake was apprenticed to a local shipmaster. For the next few years he learned the ways of the sea, working aboard vessels that transported goods along the Thames and across the Channel to France and the Low Countries. As a teenager he may have heard about, perhaps even witnessed, Richard Chancellor’s celebrated return from Muscovy in 1554. He may well have been in contact with ships or crewmen carrying exotic cargoes from Antwerp, the Canary Islands, or Africa—the Gold Coast and the Barbary Coast.

  In his twenties, Drake returned to Devon and introduced himself to his distant kinsmen, John and William Hawkins, merchants who were well-known as pioneers of England’s slave trade. In 1567, they hired Drake for their third slaving venture, a particularly risky voyage because the Hawkins brothers intended to sail “beyond the line”—which meant they would not only cross the equator but also the invisible Tordesillas line that would bring them into Spanish-controlled waters.