Chapter IV: Act III: Scene I.—plymouth

_The Hoe_—_a high ground commanding a view of the Town_, _Harbour and Sound seaward_. _Ships sailing in and out_. _Privateers cruising by the Offing_—_a number of the same sort in the Harbour ready to make sail at a moment’s notice_. WILLIAM HAWKINS, _with a Telescope having taken a view_.

HAWKINS (_melancholy and brooding_). Not a speck! No hope! All gone! or worse, captured, and then the Inquisition, fire and faggot! Nothing too cruel for Spaniards to Englishmen. My poor Brother!

_Enter_ SIR HENRY KILLIGREW, _who comes up to him unseen_, _one of the many nobles and gentry driven to the sea as daring Buccaniers_, _by the Marian persecution_, _now a most confidential agent of the_ QUEEN.

SIR HENRY KILLIGREW (_clapping him on the shoulder_). Well! old friend, what does the Telescope say? For I can guess what you are on the look out for. I came down from London, to have a look myself, and to have a talk with you about these Spanish ships in port, with specie. I shall detain them until the result of this affair is ascertained. The Queen is in a towering rage. You know her temper when she feels not only that she is injured, but that her honour and power are slighted. She says this is a foul business; worse than open war.

HAWKINS. My poor Brother, with all his gallant spirit and seamanship, when dealing with the enemy, was so confident in his crotchets of Law and Treaty!

KILLIGREW. Law and Treaty with the Spaniard; that means let him tie your hands until he cuts your throat and robs you! There is hardly a day without some demand of redress from Philip, whilst even an answer is refused to us for the gravest breaches of Law, human and divine. The state of affairs is ominous. The Council is divided. Men say the Nation is divided; a foul falsehood. This affair of the Queen of Scots with the Duke of Norfolk, the poor fool! an idle threat of rebellion aided by Spain and the Pope. The Queen hardly knows whom to trust. Her reliance is on the Privateers, but we had better retire to talk of these matters. Here comes a suspicious looking rascal (_he looks at him_) he walks lame! Yet, observe, it is only a limp now and then; and that patch over his eye—it is only put on for a blind; the fellow does not look before him, like a man with one eye; yet he has a bold bearing, and tall. But for the patch and the awkward limp, I should think I knew the rake of his top-mast.

HAWKINS (_after a view of the new-comer through his telescope_—_laughing_) You know him well. It is bold Tom Cobham, that fought his way with Wyatt, to the very gates of the Tower. He is after some devil’s play, I’ll warrant—and I think I know his game; he wears a disguise in Plymouth; there are so many spies here; he is supposed to be dead, you know.

KILLIGREW. Of course; it was given out that he was sentenced to an extravagant death—unknown to our laws. It was a trick of the Queen’s. She laughs when she tells how she humbugged the Ambassador, who took it all in, and actually wrote it to his master. Elizabeth knew better than to execute one of Lord Cobham’s sons, who so nearly forfeited their lives in her cause. You know his offence?

HAWKINS. Yes, Yes! the Spanish ship he captured, with eighty thousand ducats, in the Bay of Biscay, and which, after sewing up the Captain and all hands in their sails for winding sheets, he sent to the bottom! It was cleverly done, that affair; just like Cobham, who is not the man to do things by halves where Spaniards are concerned. I marvel how the thing got wind. When we scuttle a ship, we expect to hear no more of her: dead men usually tell no tales!

KILLIGREW. In this case the adage turned out to be untrue; the westerly swell in Biscay’s shallow waters washed eighteen bodies ashore, sewed up in the mainsail; they of course were recognized, and the chase through the chops of the channel was seen by another Spaniard, who knew Cobham’s Sea Eagle before, only too well! Here he comes; let us affect not to know him!

COBHAM _passes_—_Then walks round surveying them comically_, _using his hand as a telescope_, _held to his covered eye_.

COBHAM. I am just taking an observation before hailing—you are a pretty pair of land-lubbers, you are, not to recognize a brother tar and messmate, who has only to open his mouth to hang you both for piracy and murder on the high seas; and levying war on Her Majesty’s faithful ally the King of Spain, a hundred times.

_They all burst into laughter_, _with a hearty recognition_.

KILLIGREW. My dear Tom, I am heartily glad to see you; but we were carrying out your own joke, man; when you take your next observation, just remember not to put the glass to the blind eye.

COBHAM (_laughing_). Good, good, I only show a little false bunting for the occasion, to pass unnoticed through the crowd. We have a little business on here, and don’t want to draw attention till it is over. (_He takes off the patch_). But I find O cannot do this trick well; Tom Cobham fits better his part in the rough work of battle.

HAWKINS. Aye, aye, Tom; you may as well open the other port. We could recognize your bold sailing, whatever canvass you should hoist. What’s the game now? I have an idea, these Antwerp-bound Spaniards, eh! They are here, you know under the protection of the law. If they are attacked, Philip will demand redress, and what will the Queen say?

COBHAM (_indignantly_). Say, Say! Let her say what she ought to say. That the banner of England has been trailed through the dirt, in the streets of Madrid, by Public officers in obedience to his own order, as if he had taken it in battle from the Turk. Her Majesty’s subjects, without having committed other offence than that of being free born Englishmen, have been tortured, burned, or famished in inquisition dungeons, and buried like dogs in dunghills; and all this by royal authority, and during peace. Peace! There can be no peace between Spain and England. Talk of protection, does he expect Her Majesty to became his water bailiff, or to erect an ocean police for him? As to our Acts, under what responsibility is she for them? They are our own private Acts. Our ship’s are private property, our crews are volunteers; we sail under our own flag, and are alone responsible for what we do. Let him take care of his own by his means, and seize us if he can. Then it will be scant mercy or justice we shall receive. As for me, I have never sought to cover myself with my country’s flag; I go forth from my Irish cove under my own free bunting, I have a mission of blood and vengeance against Spain and her inquisition, and with the help of God I will never cease a war of extermination until they are destroyed; and, Killigrew, there is a continual voice within me which whispers, “The end it near.”

KILLIGREW. The government thinks it belongs to them, to demand retribution for the nation, and I can speak for the Queen; she is resolved.

COBHAM. Tush! tush! government will never do anything. No! the merchants and sailors must take care of themselves, by self-defence and just retaliation. It is a private war against robbers and murderers. Look at this late affair of the five Bristol briggs at the Azores. The English were getting under weigh as the Spanish Admiral entered the harbour. It was enough that they carried St. George’s Cross at their main. He fires upon them, carries their crews to Cadiz in irons, makes over their property to the Inquisition, confiscates the ships, and throws the men into prison to rot like thousands of their fellows, in hopeless dungeons! (_He walks aside indignant_).

KILLIGREW. Well, but it is under negociation.

COBHAM (_sarcastically_). Negociation with the Inquisition, over whose holy house Philip says he has no control, (_a bitter laugh_.) No, no! the murderers must be put down as the people of St. Malo put them down. The Spanish Inquisition burned at the stake, sixty French sailors from St. Malo, notwithstanding Philip’s entreaty to the contrary. The French manned their pinnaces, looked out for Spaniards, captured one hundred and sent their heads into Spain, leaving one man in every vessel to steer her into port, and show inquisitors the fell retribution of their bloody work! (_He walks exultingly_). The Spanish Inquisition has meddled no more with French sailors.

HAWKINS. All true, about our affair at the Azores. I know merchants in Plymouth, who were owners in the ships. Now about these Spanish ships in port, what? You see they have taken refuge from those sea-hawks outside and from some that are inside, or I’m mistaken. What is that low black, snake-like lugger, with her anchor just atrip, like a greyhound in the leash?

COBHAM (_with a malicious smile_). She is a fishing-boat of mine, with fifty hands in her, ready to make sail the moment the Spaniards move. And those Clippers outside are the sea-hawks of the best blood in England, driven by persecution and tyranny, to the liberty of the ocean. There is ruffling Ned Horsey, Strangway, well known as the Red Rover of the Channel, Carew’s, Tremaine’s, Throgmorton’s—enow—and I think, gentlemen, you know something of two of those clippers yourselves (_with a knowing look_). Well, you see we have law for what we do. These Spaniards are carrying specie from Spain to support their bloody war against our friends in the low countries, who are gallantly fighting for civil and religious liberty. We have resolved the gold shall never reach its destination—we shall baulk Philip in that at least, and so far, help our brethren in the faith.

KILLIGREW (_laughing as if at a good joke_). Hold on! Hold on! every inch there, Tom; is that your only object? Suppose it were to be employed in some work of charity would the Rovers take the same interest in it.

COBHAM. Well, Harry, you who have spent such a peaceful life—you who never sunk a Spaniard or overhauled a wine brig, and ran the contents on the sands of Lowestoft, you can do what you like with your share (_They laugh at the sarcasm_).

HAWKINS. I say, Killigrew, that’s a broadside! Tom carries too many guns for you! Ha! ha! ha! (_laughter in which all join_).

COBHAM. But you see I have spent my life fighting for religion and vengeance, and, with the help of God, will so continue to the end (_with firm resolution_) I can’t forgot the times of Wyatt!

KILLIGREW. Well, it helps the work, Tom, when there is good plunder as well as vengeance.—Somehow, I cannot help thinking that if they carried corn instead of gold and silver, they might have continued their voyage.

COBHAM. That is as it may be. If they hailed from a Protestant country—England or Holland—or carried a neutral flag, Moor, Greek, or Turk.—But Spain and her Inquisition sets my blood a boiling, I would sink one of her ships with all hands; even if freighted with manure or sand. Do you think our blood is to cry to Heaven in vain for vengeance? Not while Thomas Cobham has one shot in the locker—a Rover’s deck, manned with fifty free, daring boys, that can fight five hundred or a thousand Spaniards wherever we meet them on the ocean. But with respect to these Spaniards I cannot see any good reason, why we should not spoil, as well as slay, the Philistines.

_Enter_ SIR EDWARD HORSEY _from behind_.

HORSEY. Praise the Lord! England has still one of her saints left—spoken like a true son of a Puritan! You have chapter and verse for that—go-a-head, Tom,—slay and take possession, and when your hand is in the throat of the common foe, Edward Horsey is not the man to baulk you in your purpose.

_They all shake hands with the new-comer_, _laughing_.

COBHAM. Ned! I am glad to see you. I beg your pardon! (_bowing low_). Sir Edward Horsey! Why man, I understand the Queen has knighted you and made you Governor of the Isle of Wight. She is coming to her senses, and recognizing her true friends at last—a Rover of the genuine stamp (_laughing exultingly_) Governor of the Isle of Wight! No Frenchman or Spaniard will land there I trow. She sees that the real defence of the coast, as well as the ultimate overthrow of Spain and the possession of the Trident, lies with the free flag, and must pass to England through her Freebooters.

KILLIGREW. Well she is beginning to see, that we are the men that she must rely on at last, and even Cecil is opening his eyes. This last affair of Sir John Hawkins, so base, cowardly, and cruel. Such an outrage upon truth and honour. Her pride has been seriously hurt, and you see she was a large partner in the venture, and the profits of enormous value, entirely lost. This has wounded our Queen in the tenderest part—her pocket. She has sent me down to ascertain if any direct tidings have come to hand—and to consult with William Hawkins and the rest of you, what can be done. She does not like open war, and fears Philip will declare it.

COBHAM. How can he further declare it than by his acts? Has he not, as far as Edicts can, closed his Ports against us, and attempted to destroy our trade with the Flemings, who cannot do without us. Bah! has not Hawkins boldly and seamanly answered the challenge just before he sailed, by firing upon a Spanish Man of War, with prisoners, in Plymouth Harbour? What is peace and what war. Well! I fear Spanish justice has overtaken him at last with all his tricks and finesse, and all his gallantry and skill, what is the truth? Is there any intelligence at all, William? That is what I followed you up to hear.

HAWKINS. Nothing direct, I fear the worst. That they are all gone down after the battle, or worse perhaps, taken, and handed over to the Inquisition. The dreaded name of Hawkins, would bring down on them, the full vials of Philip’s wrath. Whatever we know, is from Spanish sources—Killigrew can give it authentic, through the Government.

KILLIGREW. Alas! We expect information here. A terrible battle has been fought. The Queen’s ship the Jesus, with immense value has been captured by the Spaniards, and a vast number of English killed, or made prisoners. Some of the smaller vessels however got away. The Ambassador observes strict silence of Sir John, or Drake, we can learn nothing, the disaster has been terrific, we fear they are all gone. The Queen is in a rage, and says we may go at the treasure ships, that have taken refuge in our ports. I have taken measures to secure those at Southampton, before coming to give you the hint, and to seize these here. She is determined on redress.

COBHAM. You see by what I have said, I did not wait for any hints. Don Francisco Diaz, lying there beside my lugger, carries as freight about half a million a Genoese loan to Philip, for which the Duke of Alva hangs fire, his army being in mutiny for their arrears of pay. The Duke promised Philip, that he could make the war self-supporting. He has failed entirely. The Flemings are too much for him in that, they carry off their valuables. He gains battles but there is no plunder! (_He turns his eye to the Spanish ship and raising his finger addresses her_). Don Francisco Diaz! Thou shalt not deliver thy precious freight at Antwerp! (_Cheers in the offing_).

KILLIGREW, (_laying his hand on_ COBHAM’S _shoulder_,) Hush! What’s all that? Something of importance. (_They all look_.)

HAWKINS. What can be up? They are crowding to the beach, and the piers. The cruisers too, they are firing salutes in the offing and showing their bunting. What can it mean? Surely that was a cheer, rolling down upon the wind. Let us go and see, besides, there are queer rumours I should like you to hear whispered about the disaster of our friends, said to come from the Spaniards in the harbour. (_A cheer in the offing_).

COBHAM. That is an undoubled cheer in the offing. There is something ill the wind, go a-head. (_Exeunt_).

SCENE II.

_The pier_, _crowd of sailors_, _and citizens running as if for some strange news_, _or standing in groups conjecturing_.

_Enter_ W. HAWKINS, SIR H. KILLIGREW, _and_ SIR E. HORSEY.

HAWKINS. Let us get among the sailors and hear what they think, their instinct for the real is marvellous, as their far-sightedness at sea. Here’s a group of the right sort for us! _Pointing to some powerful men of haughty bearing and daring expression_, _dressed in a superior style_, _flaunting gold chains and massive jewellery_, _with Indian silk handkerchiefs carelessly worn_, _and other marks of wealth obstentiously displayed_. _They seem not only to stand aloof by themselves but to shoulder their way without considering much whether or not_, _they give offence_. _As_ HAWKINS _and his companions make their way into the group one of them salutes with an air of recognition_.

SAILOR. Good day, Captain! If there were Spaniards here, I would say to them “War hawks, make all sail!” (_Looking with a knowing wink at his companions_).

HAWKINS. Why, Bill Carvell! Is it you? What’s all this stir and curiosity about? They are firing salutes, and cheering, in the offing. (_Rounds of cheers_, _firing of salutes_, _and hoisting of flags by the cruizers echoes along the shore by the people_.)

CARVELL. It is only that poor cripple limping into the harbour, with broken legs. She is tattered, and torn, wounded and weak; and no mistake whether by storm or battle.

2nd SAILOR. Not so overweak, that she cloud not take her own part, in case of need. She has a dammed rakish look about her, like some broken down gentle-woman, whose rank no poverty can conceal! I can see her pride and high spirit, though all her rags. See how she answers the helm, and takes the windward of that great Flemish bark!

3rd SAILOR, (_with a knowing emphasis and nod_). She’s off a long voyage, and carries no freight; unless perhaps, it may be a dust or so of the precious metals. I’m mistaken if she’s not in fighting gear, as well as sailing trim.

4th SAILOR. She has passed through a heavy gale, her rigging is sadly mawled.

3rd SAILOR. Gale be damned! It has been a thunder storm with iron for hail! No wind or waves ever did that damage. Those bulwarks have shot holes in them, man. Some Spaniard has got the worst of it, with that Falcon.

HAWKINS. What think you of her, Bill Carvell? Have you any guess?

CARVELL. I am quite out of my reckoning, and yet I think she is no stranger. But you see her spars are so handled, and the main is only a jury mast.

HAWKINS. I imagine somehow, I know the sheer of her gunwale, and the manner in which the foremost is stepped, (_Aside to himself_), can it be? (_Shouts of_ “_The Judith_, _The Judith_.” _Tremendous cheering_). Yes it is! It is the Judith and Francis Drake, if he is alive.

_The cheering and rushing about increases_. _Shouts of hurrah for the Judith_. _Hurrah for_ DRAKE. _Hurrah for_ HAWKINS! _Down with the Spaniards_.

CARVELL (_to_ HAWKINS). Right, Captain, I thank God for one of them. See how the privateers gather round her. Hurrah my boys. Stand by to lend her a hand. (_He runs about_). Get a hausser to the shore and help her round the pier. (_The hausser is handed up_. _He and others lay hold of it and run pulling_). Hurrah, men, with a run.

_The vessel is hauled alongside_, DRAKE _is handed up and presented to the people amidst tremendous cheers_, _congratulations and confusion_. _Shouts of Hurrah for_ DRAKE.

CROWD. Hurrah for Drake. (DRAKE _after grasping a hand or two shakes them off_).

DRAKE (_with excitement_). Bear with me, friends! Bear with me! (_He prostrates himself on the earth_, _kisses it with devoted fondness_, _then rising on one knee addresses it with gesticulations of emotion_). Land of my birth! Land of my love! Land of my duty! Blessed England. Once more I press thee. Sacred be thy soil, I love thy very dust. Thus, (_kissing the ground_), thus (_again kissing it_), I greet thee. Land of the brave, land of the free! Tyrants may have trampled thy fields. Fierce passions and civic strife, like the rage of fire, have scorched thy loveliness, devoured thy people. Red hast thou been with brothers’ blood, the blood of Patriots and Martyrs. Still thou wert ever glorious. Sanctuary of Liberty and Law, who would not die for thee? Sacred be thy soil, may I perish ere the foot of the invader shall degrade thee. (_He is interrupted with excitement_, _friends press round him_, _raise him up and embrace him_. _He is much excited_).

CROWD (_with violence_), Invade us? Never! Never shall that be.

TOM COBHAM (_fiercely_). Accursed be the slave who could outlive the insult. Never shall they touch dry land. We’ll show them the road to the bottom of the channel. Let them invade that. (_Shouts of indignation_, _and_ A Cobham! A Cobham.)

SAILOR. Hurrah for Cobham! He knows how to bury a Spaniard.

CROWD, Hurrah! A Cobham! A Cobham.

DRAKE (_turning to_ WILLIAM HAWKINS _with emotion_). Ah! Kinsman, all lost but honour. Foul play! Treachery! Robbery! Murder! Spain has outdone herself in perfidy and baseness. Poor Sir John!

HAWKINS. What of him, and the rest?

DRAKE. Alas, I know not. I saw the Jesus and the Spanish Admiral both in flames. I fear they are all dead, or worse—prisoners. We fought our way through fire and slaughter, and we alone remain to tell of their glory and their fate.

HAWKINS. Alas! Alas, (_wringing his hands with great emotion and grief_). This is a dreadful business; the fellest swoop Spain has yet made on us. What is to be done? Alas! Alas! (_he walks about in distraction_.)

COBHAM (_fiercely_). Cover the ocean with our cruizers! Burn their towns! Sink their ships! Seize their treasure! War! War to the death.

CROWD. War! War to the death! A Cobham! A Cobham.

SAILOR (_stepping out and brandishing his axe_). I’ll swear eternal war (_walks about brandishing his axe_). Death to every Spaniard I fall in with on sea or land.

DRAKE (_much agitated_). Come along, kinsman, I must be off at once to London and see the Queen, I must tell her all personally; her treaties broken, commerce invaded, her own ship burned, her seamen slaughtered, above a million gone; let me be off.

(_Exeunt_ DRAKE, HAWKINS, COBHAM, _and others_, _excited and followed by a raging crowd_, _gesticulating violently and shouting_).

CROWD. We’ll pay them. War! Plunder! That’s the game! War! Revenge! Hurrah for Drake, and war! Plunder! Plunder! (_Exeunt Omnes_).

(_Scene changes_).

SCENE III.—THE TERRACE OF GREENWICH PALACE.

(_Enter_ QUEEN ELIZABETH _and the_ SPANISH AMBASSADOR).

AMBASSADOR. Three large and richly laden merchant ships for Flanders, after a brave defence, taken off the Goodwins, and their crews massacred, drowned or captive! A Spanish vessel saw the fight, and barely escaped to tell of the event. There is scarce a day that some prize is not brought into Plymouth, Dover, or Southampton; the cargoes, and often the passengers, openly sold, and the ships confiscated, or armed and added to their fleet if suitable. These sail in and out under English colours.

QUEEN ELIZABETH (_laughing_). English Colours. Ha! Ha! Ha! Every one knows that Pirates show as many colours as the dying Dolphin—no doubt Spanish when it suits them. Well, I suppose the crews taken were Spaniards, and the Corsairs Flemish, driven to the sea by the persecutions of Alva, and who have dealt to their enemies the measure of mercy, that he has shown their murdered families. You see your faithless mode of warfare makes war to the knife! Look what happened at Rotterdam. The town in terror, shut its gates against Alva’s Stadtholder. Bossu entreated them to allow his men only to pass through, and solemnly swore that no hurt should be done to any one. The Burghers consented. What better disposition could be shown by loyal subjects? Well, how were they treated? Humanity recoils from the thought. Men, women and children were put to the sword with the practice of the most brutal atrocities, (_with great emotion_). Defenceless women! Innocent children. What robbers? What Corsairs ever disgraced their manhood like this? (_She walks about indignant_). Talk no more of Tom Cobham making a winding sheet of a mainsail, or of flinging men into the sea in just vengeance against your tyranny. Their acts are mercy when compared with the civilised warfare of Spanish Generals.

AMBASSADOR. Promises made to rebels are not binding after they have answered their purpose.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. Oh! Oh! You throw the responsibility on your master. Just so! Just so! (_with a sarcastic laugh_), just what I expected. Perjury! Treachery! Open premeditated lying are legitimate strategy in Spanish warfare. We read in history of Punie faith. Now we know the faith of Spain. Carthage is outdone in Perfidy (_she walks aside with a sarcastic laugh_). How often have I said, and said justly, that I decline to interfere with Corsairs that keep the peace in my own realm. Your master must take care of his own. (_With emphasis_). My merchantmen don’t ask either him or me for protection, though they have been attacked in the Mediterranean by the Royal Navy of Spain. They repelled the attacks in defiance of all odds against them. English sailors know how to take their own part, and scorn to lower their flag to any numbers. Your master’s complaints are a sham to cover his own delinquencies. ’Tis I that have a right to complain. Twenty six of my subjects burned at the stake in one year by the Inquisition in your Master’s dominions, hundreds rotting in their dungeons. My ears are wounded! My heart bleeds to hear the cries of their widows and orphans. (_She storms about_).

AMBASSADOR (_hurriedly_. _Anxious to get away_). Your Majesty will pardon me for declining to go into this subject. I have no instructions, I will now take leave. (_Aside going out_). It is useless remonstrating with this Tigress. I must try what I can do with her secretary. Perhaps I can bully Cecil.

(_Exit_.)

(_Enter_ SIR HENRY KILLIGREW _and the_ EARL OF LEICESTER)

QUEEN (_eagerly_). Well, Sir Henry, what has been done? How does our account stand now with Spain? This affair of Hawkins. We must re-imburse ourselves without stint or hesitation. I’m resolved.

KILLIGREW. We are pretty safe now; I have seized all the speice of Spain in our harbours—a good round sum. And there is a capital joke in it, beside the value. It turns out to be a Genoese loan to Philip, to be delivered at Antwerp. It cannot be his till delivered. But if he does not agree to pay it, he will certainly get no more money from the Jews, and Alva will be in a fix.

QUEEN (_laughing_). Oh! Capital indeed, I shall take the loan; Ha! Ha! Ha!

LEICESTER (_laughing_.) Loan! it will be along one, I fancy, but Hatton says it is no one’s property.

QUEEN. Hatton says! Hatton’s opinion! You know he’s my sheep, I’ll show you the value of his bleating, for I’ll take care to prove that it is my property, and mine it shall remain. I sent Captain Holstook out with a squadron immediately, before they should have time for precautions, and he was not long in finding quarry. He has already, in addition to odd Spanish prizes of considerable value, secured two fleets of Flemish merchantmen, one now in Harwich and the other in the Thames.

KILLIGREW. And there is not a day that the privateers don’t bring a rich prize or two into Dover, Plymouth, or Southampton. Not to speak of the wine brigs, on the sly, discharged along the coast. When all is counted up, Philip will find his murderous attack on Hawkins and the illegal seizure of our traders’ capital, guaranteed by treaty, a losing game.

QUEEN. I have just arranged for my morning ride, and the French Ambassador is to accompany me. I am curious to ascertain the effect of these measures of retaliation in that quarter. I have my reasons for it. Besides, I wish them to see what they are to expect should they dare to trespass on my realm. (_Exeunt_.)

SCENE IV.—A ROOM IN THE PALACE.

_Enter_ QUEEN _and_ CECIL.

QUEEN (_proudly_). It is their born faith—the creed they’ll fight for—that the ocean, all that floats upon its waves or lives in its waters, of right belongs to England. This is the creed of every Englishman, born within the inspiring influence of the four seas. With this spirit-stirring notion they must conquer Cecil. It will be all up with England’s power when shallow pated politicians and place-hunting doctrine-mongers teach them other ways, and curb with their enactments and official rules the daring spirit of our seamen.

CECIL. A notion involving war. To foster it is to play a part I dare not.

QUEEN. Play a part. I have been a player all my life. The world my theatre. The poor hireling acts upon the stage for pay, perhaps for fame. My wages were my life, and England’s power and glory. I’ll play my part until the end.

CECIL. Howere that be, your Majesty must see, we have traced these plots of assassination home to Philip himself.

QUEEN. Then why be nice with him? (_with abrupt energy_) Unslip the leash and let my sea-dogs loose upon their own responsibility.—They ask no more—nor aid—nor sanction—the genuine blood of England—bold and free—true to their country—as needle to the pole. I have sent an expedition out that will astonish Philip; young Drake commands it—gifted by heaven for undertaking great and high exploit. Original, cool, confident, and daring—truth written on his face. My life on his success. This is the way to meet conspiracy (_she walks aside excitingly_).

CECIL. It is the way to war, my Royal Mistress. Without a Royal Navy, I tremble for the consequence.

QUEEN. Navy! Without a navy! Our western counties have just sent forth a fleet (_with emphasis_) thirty cruizers at their own expense, which can, and will, command the Channel. They swear they’ll have the ocean and the Indies for this country. Philip will have enough to do, guarding his coast and gold-ships, without assailing us. War, you say, call you this peace?—to aim assassins’ daggers at my life—to violate our solemn treaties—stop our commerce, seize our ships and cargoes, consign our noble seamen to flames, or to rot by hundreds in his dungeons.—I call this the worst of wars. Open war he dare not wage. France could not allow him. She would fall next. Between them we are safe. (_With disdain_) Not that I fear either—England can defend herself. In this my people are agreed. No foreign despot shall ever rule them. You see my mind’s made up, so to the Council and tell them so (_she walks aside decided_. _Exit_ CECIL) No Royal Navy? What of our twenty great ships reviewed so lately, whose crews and power were held so high that foreign nations have already named me “Queen of the Seas—Restorer of Naval Glory?” What of our great ships of commerce, which our merchants have armed for war—able to fight their way upon the waves and ready at a moment’s notice to join our fleet? Where is Philip’s navy? Engaged as convoys of his Indian trade. Concentrate that for an attack on us, what would become of his gold-ships? Our privateers would have them before a month anchored in the Thames. So think Hawkins, Drake, Lord William Howard, and all that band of men who know something about the business. Lastly, I have Drake’s gigantic scheme, locked safe and secret in my Cabinet, to seize the Newfoundland fishing-fleet, twenty-five thousand fisherman! and thus leave Spain without a sailor to man her navy—then to take possession of her gold-ships and the Indies. I confess that startled, almost frightened me. Conception vast! Genius! Greatness! Inspiration! Invasion is impossible! With Drake alone, England, thou art safe! (_exit_)

_Curtain falls_.