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[Illustration: Murder of the favorite, Rizzio, at the feet of Mary
Stuart, by her husband and associate conspirators

Painting by Eug. Siberdt.]




                           THE GREAT EVENTS

                                  BY

                          FAMOUS HISTORIANS


A COMPREHENSIVE AND READABLE ACCOUNT OF THE WORLD'S HISTORY, EMPHASIZING
THE MORE IMPORTANT EVENTS, AND PRESENTING THESE AS COMPLETE NARRATIVES
IN THE MASTER-WORDS OF THE MOST EMINENT HISTORIANS


NON-SECTARIAN                NON-PARTISAN                NON-SECTIONAL


    ON THE PLAN EVOLVED FROM A CONSENSUS OF OPINIONS GATHERED FROM THE
    MOST DISTINGUISHED SCHOLARS OF AMERICA AND EUROPE, INCLUDING BRIEF
    INTRODUCTIONS BY SPECIALISTS TO CONNECT AND EXPLAIN THE CELEBRATED
    NARRATIVES. ARRANGED CHRONOLOGICALLY, WITH THOROUGH INDICES,
    BIBLIOGRAPHIES, CHRONOLOGIES, AND COURSES OF READING


                           EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

                       ROSSITER JOHNSON, LL.D.


                          ASSOCIATE EDITORS

                       CHARLES F. HORNE, Ph.D.
                           JOHN RUDD, LL.D.

                  _With a staff of specialists_



                             _VOLUME X_

                         The National Alumni


                           COPYRIGHT, 1905,

                        By THE NATIONAL ALUMNI




                             CONTENTS

                             VOLUME X


                                                                 PAGE

_An Outline Narrative of the Great Events_,                      xiii
      CHARLES F. HORNE

_England Loses Her Last French Territory (A.D. 1558)
Battle of St. Quentin_,                                             1
      CHARLES KNIGHT

_Reign of Elizabeth (A.D. 1558-1603)_,                              8
      HENRY R. CLEVELAND

_John Knox Heads the Scottish Reformers (A.D. 1558)_,              21
      P. HUME BROWN
      THOMAS CARLYLE

_Mary Stuart: Her Reign and Execution (A.D. 1561-1587)_,           51
      ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE

_Founding of St. Augustine (A.D. 1565)
Massacre of the Huguenots in America_,                             70
      GEORGE R. FAIRBANKS

_Revolt of the Netherlands against Spain
Rise of the Gueux or Beggars (A.D. 1566)_,                         81
      FRIEDRICH VON SCHILLER

_Lepanto: Destruction of the Turkish Naval Power
(A.D. 1571)_,                                                     100
      SIR WILLIAM STIRLING-MAXWELL

_Massacre of St. Bartholomew (A.D. 1572)_,                        119
      HENRY WHITE
      ISAAC D'ISRAELI
      JNO. RUDD

_Heroic Age of the Netherlands (A.D. 1573)
Siege of Leyden_,                                                 145
      THOMAS HENRY DYER

_Search for the Northwest Passage by Frobisher (A.D. 1576)_,      156
      GEORGE BEST

_Building of the First Theatre in England (A.D. 1576)_            163
      KARL MANTZIUS

_Cossack Conquest of Siberia (A.D. 1581)_,                        181
      NIKOLAI M. KARAMZIN

_First Colony of England Beyond Seas (A.D. 1583)_,                198
      MOSES HARVEY

_Assassination of William of Orange (A.D. 1584)
Division of the Netherlands_,                                     202
      JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY

_Naming of Virginia: First Description of the Indians
The Lost Colony (A.D. 1584)_,                                     211
      ARTHUR BARLOW
      R. R. HOWISON

_Drake Captures Cartagena
He "Singes the King of Spain's Beard" at Cadiz
(A.D. 1586-1587)_,                                                230
      JULIAN CORBETT

_Defeat of the Spanish Armada (A.D. 1588)_,                       251
      SIR EDWARD SHEPHERD CREASY

_Henry of Navarre Accepts Catholicism
He is Acknowledged King of France (A.D. 1593)_,                   276
      MAXIMILIEN DE BÉTHUNE, DUC DE SULLY

_Culmination of Dramatic Literature in Hamlet (A.D. 1601)_,       287
      JAMES O. HALLIWELL-PHILLIPPS

_Downfall of Irish Liberty
"Flight of the Earls" (A.D. 1603)_,                               299
      JUSTIN M'CARTHY

_The Gunpowder Plot (A.D. 1605)_,                                 310
      SAMUEL R. GARDINER

_Cervantes' Don Quixote Reforms Literature (A.D. 1605)_,          325
      HENRY EDWARD WATTS

_Earliest Positive Discovery of Australia (A.D. 1606)_,           340
      LOUIS BECKE
      WALTER JEFFERY

_Settlement of Virginia (A.D. 1607)
Charter under which America was Colonized_,                       350
      R. R. HOWISON

_Founding of Quebec (A.D. 1608)
Champlain Establishes French Power in Canada_,                    366
      H. H. MILES

_Universal Chronology (A.D. 1558-1608)_,                          387
      JOHN RUDD




                        LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

                              VOLUME X


                                                                 PAGE

_Murder of the favorite, Rizzio, at the feet of Mary
Stuart, by her husband and associate conspirators
(page 56)_,                                              Frontispiece
      Painting by Eug. Siberdt.

_Catharine de' Medici, accompanied by her suite, issues
from the gate of the Louvre the morning after the Massacre
of St. Bartholomew_,                                              142
      Painting by Ed. Debat-Ponsan.




                         AN OUTLINE NARRATIVE

      TRACING BRIEFLY THE CAUSES, CONNECTIONS, AND CONSEQUENCES

                         OF THE GREAT EVENTS

                   (AGE OF ELIZABETH AND PHILIP II)


                           CHARLES F. HORNE


Philip II succeeded his father Charles V on the throne of Spain. The
vast extent of his domains, the absoluteness of his authority, and,
above all, the enormous wealth that poured into his coffers from the
Spanish conquests in America, made him the most powerful monarch of his
time, the central figure of the age. It was largely because of Philip's
personal character that the great religious struggle of the Reformation
entered upon a new phase, became far more sinister, more black and
deadly, extended over all Europe, and bathed the civilized world in
blood. England stood forth as the centre of opposition against Philip,
and under the unwilling leadership of Elizabeth entered on its epic
period of heroism, was stimulated to that remarkable outburst of energy
and intellect and power which we call the Elizabethan age.

Philip, with a tenacity of purpose from which no fortune good or bad
could lure him for a moment, pursued two objects throughout his reign
(1555-1598), the reëstablishment of Catholicism over all Europe, and the
extension so far as might be of his own personal authority. If we
consider his personal ambition, we must count his reign a failure; for
at his death his country had already fallen from its foremost rank in
Europe and started on that process of decay which in later centuries has
become so marked. If, however, we look to Philip's religious purpose, it
is undeniable that during his reign Catholicism revived. Philip II, the
Jesuits, the Council of Trent--these three were the powers by means of
which the Roman Church beat back its foes, saved itself from what for a
time had seemed a threatened extinction, and so far reëstablished its
power that for over a century it appeared not improbable that Philip's
purpose of reuniting Europe might be accomplished.

Before the beginning of this reactionary wave, the North had become
wholly Protestant. It has been estimated that nine-tenths of the people
of Germany were of the new faith; half the population of France had
adopted it; even in Italy protest and disbelief were widespread and
active. Only in Spain did the Inquisition with firmest cruelty trample
down each vestige of revolt.


                       SPAIN AND GREAT BRITAIN

The Inquisition was established in Italy, which, as we have seen, was
really a Spanish possession. It was introduced into the Netherlands by
Charles V (1550), but remained feebly merciful there until Philip, to
whom we must at least give the credit of having been a sincere fanatic,
insisted on its rigorous enforcement. Over England also Philip sought to
extend his hand. There the eagerly Protestant Edward VI had died in
1553, and his Catholic sister Mary succeeded to the throne. Philip was
wedded to her in 1554, even before he became King of Spain, and both he
and she did their utmost to restore the kingdom to the Roman faith. So
many Protestants were burned at the stake that England remembers the
queen as "bloody Mary"; and so recklessly did she antagonize the spirit
of her people that even her husband counselled her to a caution which
she despised. He had no love for his cold, pale, embittered English
wife, except as an instrument in his policy; and when he found that it
was impossible for him, as her husband, to become King of England, he
practically abandoned her, and returned to Spain.

When his father's abdication gave him power in 1555, Philip's first
active movement was against France. He sought to avenge his father's
loss of Metz, and persuaded his English wife to join him in war against
young Henry II. With his splendid Spanish troops Philip won a great
victory at St. Quentin.[1] "Has he yet taken Paris?" cried his father
eagerly when the news reached his secluded monastery. But Philip had
not, he had erred from over-caution and given France time to recover.
Two able generals, the great Protestant leader Coligny, and the dashing
Catholic hero of Metz, Francis of Guise, held the Spaniards in check.
Guise even seized Calais, and so snatched from England her last
territory in France (1558). Its loss filled full the measure of poor
Mary's unpopularity with her subjects and also of her own unhappiness.
She had sacrificed everything for love of a husband who had no love for
her. She died the same year. "They will find 'Calais,'" she said,
"engraven on my heart."[2]

      [1] See _Battle of St. Quentin_, page 1.

      [2] See _England Loses Her Last French Territory_, page 1.

Her Protestant sister, Elizabeth, daughter of Anne Boleyn, succeeded to
the throne, and England with a cry of relief threw off the hated Spanish
alliance. She was free again. Free, but in infinite danger. The Catholic
Pope and Catholic Philip, remembering that the divorce under which Henry
VIII married Anne Boleyn had never been admitted by the Church, declared
Elizabeth illegitimate, and pointed to her cousin Mary Stuart of
Scotland as the lawful ruler of England. Mary had been married to the
French prince Francis II, who at this moment succeeded his father Henry
II as king of France. Here was a chance indeed for Spain and France and
Scotland all three to unite against Elizabeth and place a second
Catholic Mary on England's throne. Many Englishmen themselves were still
Catholic, and might easily have been persuaded to approve the change.
That Elizabeth, by her cool and cunning diplomacy, managed to evade the
threatened danger, has ever been held as little short of providential by
the Protestants of the world.[3] In truth, however, each of the powers
which might have assailed Elizabeth, had religious difficulties of its
own to encounter.

      [3] See _Reign of Elizabeth_, page 8.

In Scotland there was civil war. The Protestant faith had been slow of
introduction there, but under the leadership of John Knox it had become
at length supreme.[4] The Regent, mother of the young queen, Mary
Stuart, had French troops to aid her against the reformers, but had been
compelled to yield to their demands. When Queen Mary herself returned to
rule Scotland after the death of her French husband, King Francis, she
found her path anything but easy. A sovereign of one faith and a nation
of another had not yet learned to endure each other, and there were
queer doings in Scotland, wild nobles running off with the Queen, wilder
fanatics lecturing at her in her own court, her French favorite
assassinated, a new husband, a Scotch one, sent the same dark road, more
civil war, imprisonments, romantic escapes. It ended in Mary's secret
flight to England. She who had so nearly marched into the land a
conqueror, entered it a fugitive supplicating Elizabeth's protection.
The remainder of her life she passed in an English prison, and eighteen
years later was executed on an only half-proven charge of conspiring
against the rival who had kept her in such dreary durance.[5]

      [4] See _John Knox Heads the Scottish Reformers_, page 21.

      [5] See _Mary Stuart: Her Reign and Execution_, page 51.

Let us not, however, judge Elizabeth too harshly. In reading only
English history we are apt to do so, to fail in realizing the atmosphere
that surrounded her, the spirit of the age throughout Europe.
Statecraft, which had been grasping under Charles V and false under
Francis I, seemed now to have adopted fully the maxims of Machiavelli,
and pursued its ends by means wholly base, by subtle treacheries, secret
murders and open massacre. The gloomy spirit of Philip II hung like
blackest night over all the world. He hesitated at no crime which should
advance his purposes. Where he might next strike, no man knew, until the
blow had fallen. His dark secrecy and enormous power weighed as a
nightmare upon the imaginations of men. We enter an age of plots.
Elizabeth was unquestionably surrounded by them; and where so many
existed, a thousand more were naturally suspected--leading on all sides
to counterplots. Scotland had seen several assassinations. England
guarded herself desperately against them. France, nearest to Spain's
borders, suffered worst of all. Five times in succession did the chief
leader of the state fall by sudden murder. In some of these crimes
Philip had no part; in others he was plainly implicated.


                      RELIGIOUS WARS OF FRANCE

The early and unexpected death of Henry II of France (1559) had left the
throne to one after another of his young and feeble sons. The first of
these, Francis II, the husband of Mary Stuart, ruled only a year. He was
completely under the control of the great Catholic family, the Guises,
who began a vigorous attempt to suppress the Protestants of France, the
Huguenots as they were called. But these Huguenots included many of the
highest and ablest of the French nobility and did not yield easily to
suppression. Francis II died, and the Queen-mother, Catherine de'
Medici, became regent for her second son, Charles IX. At first Catherine
feared the power of the Guises and encouraged the Huguenots; but Philip
of Spain interfered here as everywhere in the Catholic behalf. A civil
war broke out in 1562; and for over a generation France, divided against
herself, became the theatre of repeated conflicts and savage massacres.
She had no thought to give to other lands.

The first of her chiefs to be assassinated was Francis of Guise, the
great Catholic leader and general, shot by a Huguenot. Next the
Catholics attempted the murder of Coligny. They failed at first, and
Catherine de' Medici, who by this time had embraced fully the Catholic
cause, planned the awful massacre of St. Bartholomew (1572). A marriage
was arranged between the highest Huguenot in rank, the young prince
Henry of Navarre, and a royal princess. This was supposed to mark the
amicable ending of all disputes, and the chief Huguenots gathered gladly
to Paris for the ceremony. Suddenly an army of assassins were let loose
on them. Young Henry was spared, but Coligny and more than twenty
thousand Huguenots were slain.[6]

      [6] See _Massacre of St. Bartholomew_, page 119.

The massacre spread over all France. The Protestants rallied, stern and
desperate, for defence and for revenge. The civil war was resumed again
and again, with false peaces patched in between. Philip might well
triumph at the utter anarchy into which he had helped to throw the
kingdom which had been his father's rival.

The feeble French king, Charles IX, died, in remorse and madness it is
said, for having permitted the great massacre. Henry III, last of the
sons of Catherine, ascended the throne, and was also guided by the dark
genius of his Italian mother. He found the new Duke of Guise, head of
the Catholic party, far more powerful than he, so caused his
assassination. That roused the Catholics to war on the King; the
Huguenots were also in arms under Henry of Navarre; there were now three
parties to the strife. Queen Catherine died, worn out and despairing.
King Henry was murdered in his turn, and with him perished the direct
line of the royal house. Henry of Navarre was the nearest heir to the
throne.

Of course the Catholics would not consent to be ruled by this champion
of the Huguenots; so again the strife went on. Henry proved himself a
dashing and heroic leader, winning splendid battles. Spanish forces
invaded the country, and he beat them, too. Though Protestant, he was
recognized even by his foes as the national hero. At last he took that
much-debated resolve, than which was never act more statesmanly. He
became a Catholic. His opponents gladly laid down their arms; even
fanatic Paris hailed him with extravagant delight. In 1598 he proclaimed
the Edict of Nantes, granting safety and religious freedom to his former
comrades, the Huguenots. The religious wars of France ended; the wisdom
and power of one man had healed what seemed a hopeless confusion.[7]

      [7] See _Henry of Navarre Accepts Catholicism_, page 276.

Under this great monarch, Henry IV, France resumed her former place of
power in Europe. Her chief began planning grim revenge on Spain for all
her injuries. And then he, too, fell by the assassin's knife (1610).


                      REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS

We have traced the French tumults to the end of the present period; let
us go back to see why, with his chief foe so helpless, Philip II
accomplished no more in extending his own power. It is one of the most
amazing tales in history. Where he had thought himself most secure,
there he failed. The foe which had seemed most helpless, proved his
undoing. He had insisted on the enforcement of the Inquisition in the
Netherlands. It is said that thirty thousand people perished there in
its flames. Yet even with thirty thousand of their bravest gone, the
Protestants refused submission. Gradually the temper of the oppressed
people grew more and more bitter, till in 1566 they flared into open
revolt. "The beggars," they were contemptuously called by the Spaniards,
and they adopted the name as a badge of honor. Penniless, helpless they
might be, yet they would fight.[8]

      [8] See _Rise of the Gueux or Beggars_, page 81.

The cruel Alva was sent by Philip to suppress them, and for six years
(1567-1573) his savagery and that of his brutal Spanish soldiers made
the Netherlands a theatre of horror--and of heroism. The revolt in the
southern provinces, now Belgium, was finally put down. The inhabitants
there were mostly Catholics, and their strife was only against the
general despotism and cruelty of Spain. But the North would never yield.
The terrific siege of Leyden, with its accompanying horrors of
starvation and defiance, is world-famed.[9] In 1581 Holland finally
proclaimed its complete independence of Spain.

      [9] See _Siege of Leyden_, page 145.

At enormous expense and waste of his American treasure, Philip II
continued to pour troops and troops into the rebellious provinces. Their
leader throughout had been the highest of their nobles, William of
Orange, called "the silent." Philip openly proclaimed an enormous reward
to the man who could reach and assassinate this obstacle in his path;
and at last after repeated attempts the reward was earned (1584).[10] The
fall of William ended all chance of the union of the northern and
southern provinces; he had been the only man all trusted. But Holland
under his son Maurice continued the strife even more bitterly. No
sacrifice was too great for the heroic Dutch. Spain was exhausted at
last; Philip II died a disappointed man. His son, Philip III, in 1609
consented sullenly to a truce--peace he would not call it--and it was
many years before Spain formally acknowledged the independence of her
defiant provinces.

      [10] See _Assassination of William of Orange_, page 202.


                         SUCCESSES OF PHILIP

Philip II had met also an even heavier defeat from Protestant England.
But before speaking of this, let us look to his few successes. In 1580
he added Portugal to his dominions and so, temporarily at least, united
the entire Spanish peninsula as one state. This gave him control over
the vast Portuguese colonial possessions and over the rich trade with
India and the isles beyond. Australia was probably touched more than
once by his ships, though not definitely discovered until 1606.[11]

      [11] See _Earliest Positive Discovery of Australia_, page 340.

It was under Philip that in 1564 the Spaniards extended their American
settlements northward and founded St. Augustine, the first town within
the present mainland of the United States. The French had attempted to
plant a colony even earlier. At the first outbreak of their civil wars,
some Huguenots had fled from persecution to the coast of Florida (1562).
The Spaniards regarded this as an encroachment on their territories.
Moreover, the intruders were heretics. They were attacked and massacred.
It was partly to keep further Frenchmen off the coast that St. Augustine
was founded.[12]

      [12] See _Founding of St. Augustine_, page 70.

An even more important triumph came to Philip in 1571, when his ships,
united with those of Venice and other states, gained a great naval
victory over the Turks. This battle of Lepanto stands among the
turning-points of history. It marks the checking of the Turkish power
which for over two centuries had been rising steadily against Europe.
Lepanto crushed the naval supremacy which the followers of Mahomet had
more than once asserted over the Mediterranean. For another century and
more they remained formidable on land, but at sea they never recovered
their ascendency.[13]

      [13] See _Lepanto: Destruction of the Turkish Naval Power_,
      page 100.

At Lepanto as a common soldier, fought Miguel de Cervantes, a Spaniard,
who, toward the close of a roving life, settled down to literature in
his native land, and after Philip's death wrote what was in many ways a
satire upon that monarch's rule in Spain. Cervantes' _Don Quixote_
altered the taste of the whole literary world. Its influence spread from
Spain to France and over all Europe. It was the death-song of ancient
chivalry, the first book since the days of Dante to alter markedly the
literary thought of man.[14]

      [14] See _Cervantes'_ Don Quixote _Reforms Literature_, page 325.

Of the world farther eastward during this period we need say little. The
fortunes of Germany, luckily for herself, had been separated from those
of Spain at the abdication of Charles V. The Hapsburg possessions in
Austria had been bequeathed to his brother Ferdinand; and both Ferdinand
and his next successor as emperor of Germany abided by the conditions of
that remarkable religious peace of Augsburg which had allowed every
prince to settle the religion of his own domains. Although themselves
Catholic, the Emperors were not strict in enforcing Catholicism even in
their own Austrian domains. They reserved all their effort for the
struggle against the Turks. Disputes between the leaders of the
differing faiths did of course occur, but none reached an active stage
until a later generation.

Sweden rose greatly in importance. Poland declined. Russia was almost
conquered by one or the other, a prey, like France, to civil wars. Yet
some Cossacks in her service, wandering plunderers really, invaded
Siberia, defeated the few scattered Tartar tribes, and annexed the
entire waste of Northern Asia to the Russian crown. Never again was this
to be a secretly growing, unknown world from which vast hordes might
suddenly burst forth on Europe.[15]

      [15] See _Cossack Conquest of Siberia_, page 181.


                         THE ELIZABETHAN AGE

Turn now to England, emerging at last from the exhaustion of the Wars of
the Roses to assert her place among the great powers of the world.
Philip and Elizabeth, restrained by other anxieties, might maintain a
hollow peace at home: they could not control the rising spirits of the
English nation. English sailors, the most daring in the world,
penetrated all seas. Spanish and Portuguese ships had been almost
everywhere before them. The North was still half a century behind the
South in progress. Yet the difference is worth noting. On the southern
ships a few gallant, aristocratic leaders headed a crowd of trembling
peasants, ever begging to be taken home, sometimes mutinying through
very frenzy of fear. On England's ships each sailor was as stubborn and
dauntless as his chief, differing from him only in the intellect to
command.

Such men as these were little like to accept Spanish claims to all the
wealth of all the new lands of the world. They cruised at will, and
fought the Spaniards successfully wherever found. Frobisher began the
long and dreary search for the "northwest passage," by which the
northern countries of Europe might send ships to round America and reach
Asia as Magellan had done to southward.[16] Gilbert raised his country's
standard over Newfoundland, England's first clearly established
possession beyond seas.[17] The memory of the Cabots' voyages was
revived, and in their name England claimed the North American coast. Sir
Walter Raleigh attempted to plant a colony, and called the new land
Virginia in honor of the Virgin Queen.[18]

      [16] See _Search for the Northwest Passage by Frobisher_, page 156.

      [17] See _First Colony of England beyond Seas_, page 198.

      [18] See _Naming of Virginia: The Lost Colony_, page 211.

To Drake, greatest of all these wild adventurers, was it left to embroil
his country utterly with Spain. He followed Magellan in circumnavigating
the globe, and wherever he went he left a track of plundered Spanish
settlements behind. Elizabeth was in despair; she alternately knighted
him and threatened to hang him as a pirate. The Spaniards, re-reading
his name, called him the Dragon. He was the terror of their seas.

At last the long accumulating quarrel of religious and commercial
motives reached a head. Philip began gathering in all his ports that
vast "Invincible Armada," which was to assert his supremacy on sea as
upon land, to crush England and Protestantism forever. This was the
supreme effort of his life. There was no question as to where the blow
would fall. Elizabeth knew it coming, not to be evaded by any policy or
concessions. Drake knew it coming, and, taking time by the forelock,
sailed boldly into the harbor of Cadiz to "singe the King of Spain's
beard," destroyed all the ships and stores accumulated there.[19] But
Cadiz was only one port among several where preparations were being
hurried forward; there were others the hardy Dragon could not penetrate.
The next year (1588) the "Invincible Armada" sailed for England.

      [19] See _Drake Captures Cartagena: He "Singes the King of Spain's
      Beard" at Cadiz_, page 230.

The story of its destruction is too well known for repetition. This was
England's proudest achievement. Philip accepted the terrific downfall of
all his scheming and ambitions with a gallant calm. He had truly
believed that Heaven wished him to reassert Catholicism. He accepted the
storms which partly destroyed his fleet as the divine refusal of his
aid. "You could not strive against the will of Heaven," he said kindly
to his defeated admiral.[20]

      [20] See _Defeat of the Spanish Armada_, page 251.

In England, the repeated plunderings of Spanish ships, and now this
final victory, flooded the land with wealth and triumph. The internal
improvement, the intellectual advance of the people, were prodigious.
The "Elizabethan Age" is the most famed in English literature. The first
English theatre was built in 1570, a crude and queer affair for cruder,
queerer plays.[21] Yet, in perhaps that very armada year of 1588,
Shakespeare began writing his remarkable plays. In 1601 the drama rose to
its perfection in his _Hamlet_, the flower of English literary genius,
accredited by some as the grandest new creation that ever came from the
hand of man.[22]

      [21] See _Building of First Theatre in England_, page 163.

      [22] See _Culmination of Dramatic Literature in_ Hamlet, page 287.

Elizabeth died in 1603. Her reign had seen also the final suppression of
the Irish Catholics and their subjugation to the English crown. In the
year of her death came the "Flight of the Earls," the mournful
abandonment of Ireland by the last of the great lords who had fought for
and now despaired of her independence.[23]

      [23] See _Downfall of Irish Liberty: "Flight of the Earls_," page
      299.

The age of Elizabeth can scarcely, however, be said to cease at her
death. The English people had grown greater than their sovereign, and
upon them the influences of their Spanish victory continued. Shakespeare
is even more the Elizabethan age than Elizabeth, and his writings
continued until 1611. Drake had died in 1596; Raleigh lived till 1618.

Since Elizabeth was childless, she was succeeded on the throne by the
Scotch king James VI (James I of England), son of the Mary Stuart whose
claims had caused such trouble. James, removed from his mother's care,
had been educated by his subjects as a Protestant, so he was welcome to
England. The first step toward uniting the two halves of the island was
made when they thus came under a common sovereign. The same atmosphere
of plot and treachery which had surrounded Elizabeth reached also to her
successor. In 1605 was unearthed the "Gunpowder Plot," a scheme to blow
up James with all his chief ministers and subjects in the House of
Parliament. The date of its discovery is still kept as a national
holiday in England.[24]

      [24] See _The Gunpowder Plot_, page 310.

Then in 1607 came the fruition of Raleigh's efforts and those of Drake,
the beginning surely of a new era. Spain being no longer able to oppose,
a new colony was sent out from England to Virginia. It settled at
Jamestown, and began the successful colonization of the United
States.[25] The next year, the French, supported by their great king
Henry IV, made a similar beginning. Quebec was founded by them on the
St. Lawrence.[26] The era of American discovery was over, and that of
American settlement was come.

      [25] See _Settlement of Virginia_, page 350.

      [26] See _Founding of Quebec_, page 366.


      [FOR THE NEXT SECTION OF THIS GENERAL SURVEY SEE VOLUME XI]




               ENGLAND LOSES HER LAST FRENCH TERRITORY

                        BATTLE OF ST. QUENTIN

                              A.D. 1558

                           CHARLES KNIGHT


    From 1347, when it was taken by Edward III, Calais remained a
    stronghold of England until it was retaken for France by the Duke
    of Guise (François de Lorraine), in 1558. With the surrender of
    Calais the English lost their last foothold in French territory.

    Weary with the long tumults and wars of his reign, Charles V in
    1555 resigned all his crowns to his son, Philip II of Spain, and
    his brother Ferdinand, King of Bohemia and Hungary. Pope Paul IV,
    wishing to subvert the Spanish power, entered into a league
    with Henry II of France against Philip. Guise, who had warred
    successfully with Charles V, against whom he defended Metz when it
    was won for France (1553), now espoused the papal cause. His main
    object was to recover Naples to his own family. Thus he became a
    leading actor in the events culminating in the capture of Calais.

    Throughout the reign of Philip II his chief aim was to restore the
    Roman Catholic religion in Protestant countries and to establish a
    uniform despotism over his dominions. In 1554 he had married Queen
    Mary of England, and after a short sojourn in that country, whose
    crown he vainly tried to obtain, and to whose people he was
    obnoxious, he returned to the Continent. Soon after "he was called
    to a destiny more suited to his proud and ambitious nature than to
    be the unequal partaker of sovereign power over a jealous insular
    people."


In March, 1557, Philip returned to England. He came, not out of
affection for his wife or of regard for his turbulent insular subjects,
but to stir up the old English hatred of France and to drag the nation
into a war for his personal advantage. The fiery Pope, Paul IV, panted
for the freedom of Italy as it existed in the fifteenth century; he
wanted to accomplish his wishes by an alliance with France; he would
place French princes on the thrones of Milan and Naples. The Spaniards
he pronounced as the spawn of Jews and Moors, the dregs of the earth.

When there was a question of temporal dominion to be fought out, the
Pope did not hesitate to wage war against that faithful son of the
Church, King Philip; nor did King Philip hesitate to send the Duke of
Alva, the exterminator of Protestants, to enter the Roman states and lay
waste the territories of the Pope. Frane and Spain were upon the brank
of open war when Philip arrived in England. He urged a declaration of
war against France. There were grievances in the alleged encouragement
which had been given in Wyat's rebellion, and in the lukewarmness with
which Henry II met Queen Mary's desire that he should afford her the
means of vengeance upon the exiles for religion who took shelter in
France.

The most recent complaint was that France had connived at the equipment
of a force by Thomas Stafford, a refugee, who had invaded England with
thirty-two followers and had surprised Scarborough castle. This
adventurer claimed to be the house and blood of the Duke of Buckingham,
who was beheaded in the times of Henry VIII. The proclamation which he
issued from his castle of Scarborough, which he held only two days, was
addressed to the English hatred of the Spaniards, rather than directed
against the ecclesiastical persecution under which the country was
suffering: "As the duke of Buckingham, our forefathers and predecessors,
have always been defenders of the poor commonalty against the tyranny of
princes, so should you have us at this juncture, most dearly beloved
friends, your protector, governor, and defender against all your
adversaries and enemies; minding earnestly to die rather, presently, and
personally before you in the field, than to suffer you to be overrun so
miserably with strangers, and made most sorrowful slaves and careful
captives to such a naughty nation as Spaniards." Stafford and his band
were soon made prisoners; and he was beheaded on Tower Hill, and three
of his followers hanged, on May 25th. Seizing upon this absurd attempt
as a ground of quarrel, war was declared against France on June 7th; and
Philip quitted the country on July 6th, never to return.

An English force of four thousand infantry, a thousand cavalry, and two
thousand pioneers joined the Spanish army on the Flemish frontier. The
army was partly composed of German mercenaries; the _lanzknechts_ and
_reiters_, the pikemen and cavalry, who, at the command of the best
paymaster, were the most formidable soldiers of the time. But the Spanish
cavaliers were there, leading their native infantry; and there were the
Burgundian lances. The army was commanded by Emanuel Philibert, Duke of
Savoy, who had aspired to the hand of Elizabeth. Philip earnestly
seconded his suit, but Mary, wisely and kindly, would not put a
constraint upon her sister's inclinations. The wary Princess saw that the
crown would probably be hers at no distant day; and she would not risk
the loss of the people's affection by marrying a foreign Catholic. She
had sensible advisers about her, who seconded her own prudence; and thus
she kept safe amid the manifold dangers by which she was surrounded.

The Duke of Savoy, though young, was an experienced soldier, and he
determined to commence the campaign by investing St. Quentin, a frontier
town of Picardy. The defence of this fortress was undertaken by Coligny,
the Admiral of France, afterward so famous for his mournful death.
Montmorency, the Constable, had the command of the French army. The
garrison was almost reduced to extremity--when Montmorency, on August
10th, arrived with his whole force, and halted on the bank of the Somme.
On the opposite bank lay the Spanish, the English, the Flemish, and the
German host. The arrival of the French was a surprise, and the Duke of
Savoy had to take up a new position. He determined on battle. The issue
was the most unfortunate for France since the fatal day of Agincourt.
The French slain amounted, according to some accounts, to six thousand;
and the prisoners were equally numerous. Among them was the veteran
Montmorency.

On August 10th Philip came to the camp. Bold advisers counselled a march
to Paris. The cautious King was satisfied to press on the siege of St.
Quentin. The defence which Coligny made was such as might have been
expected from his firmness and bravery. The place was taken by storm,
amid horrors which belong to such scenes at all times, but which were
doubled by the rapacity of troops who fought even with each other for the
greatest share of the pillage. After a few trifling successes, the army
of Philip was broken up. The German mercenaries; the _lanzknechts_ and
_reiters_, the pikemen and cavalry, who, at the command of the best
paymaster, were the most formidable soldiers of the time. But the Spanish
cavaliers were there, leading their native infantry; and there were the
Burgundian lances. The army was commanded by Emanuel Philibert, Duke of
Savoy, who had aspired to the hand of Elizabeth. Philip earnestly
seconded his suit, but Mary, wisely and kindly, would not put a constraint
upon her sister's inclinations. The wary Princess saw that the crown
would probably be hers at no distant day; and she would not risk the
loss of the people's affection by marrying a foreign Catholic. She had
sensible advisers about her, who seconded her own prudence; and thus she
kept safe amid the manifold dangers by which she was surrounded.

The Duke of Savoy, though young, was an experienced soldier, and he
determined to commence the campaign by investing St. Quentin, a frontier
town of Picardy. The defence of this fortress was undertaken by Coligny,
the Admiral of France, afterward so famous for his mournful death.
Montmorency, the Constable, had the command of the French army. The
garrison was almost reduced to extremity--when Montmorency, on August
10th, arrived with his whole force, and halted on the bank of the Somme.
On the opposite bank lay the Spanish, the English, the Flemish, and the
German host. The arrival of the French was a surprise, and the Duke of
Savoy had to take up a new position. He determined on battle. The issue
was the most unfortunate for France since the fatal day of Agincourt.
The French slain amounted, according to some accounts, to six thousand;
and the prisoners were equally numerous. Among them was the veteran
Montmorency.

On August 10th Philip came to the camp. Bold advisers counselled a march
to Paris. The cautious King was satisfied to press on the siege of St.
Quentin. The defence which Coligny made was such as might have been
expected from his firmness and bravery. The place was taken by storm,
amid horrors which belong to such scenes at all times, but which were
doubled by the rapacity of troops who fought even with each other for
the greatest share of the pillage. After a few trifling successes, the
army of Philip was broken up. The English and Germans were indignant at
the insolence of the Spaniards; and the Germans were more indignant that
their pay was not forthcoming. Philip was glad to permit his English
subjects to take their discontents home. They had found out that they
were not fighting the battle of England.

The war between England and France produced hostilities between England
and Scotland. Mary of Guise, the Queen Dowager and Regent of Scotland,
was incited by the French king to invade England. The disposition to
hostilities was accompanied by a furious outbreak of the Scottish
borderers. They were driven back. But the desire of the Queen Dowager
that England should be invaded was resisted by the chief nobles, who
declared themselves ready to act on the defensive, but who would not
plunge into war during their sovereign's minority. The alliance of
France and Scotland was, however, completed, in the autumn of 1558, by
the marriage between the Dauphin and the young Queen Mary, which was
solemnized at Paris, in the Cathedral of Notre Dame.

The Duke of Guise, the uncle of the Queen of Scots, at the beginning of
1558, was at the head of a powerful army to avenge the misfortune of St.
Quentin. The project committed to his execution was a bold and patriotic
one--to drive the English from their last stronghold in France. Calais,
over whose walls a foreign flag had been waving for two centuries, was
to France an opprobrium and to England a trophy. But it was considered
by the English government as an indispensable key to the Continent--a
possession that it would not only be a disgrace to lose, but a national
calamity. The importance of Calais was thus described by Micheli, the
Venetian ambassador, only one year before it finally passed from the
English power:

"Another frontier, besides that of Scotland, and of no less importance
for the security of the kingdom, though it be separated, is that which
the English occupy on the other side of the sea, by means of two
fortresses, Calais and Guines, guarded by them (and justly) with
jealousy, especially Calais, for this is the key and principal entrance
to their dominions, without which the English would have no outlet from
their own, nor access to other countries, at least none so easy, so
short, and so secure; so much so that if they were deprived of it they
would not only be shut out from the Continent, but also from the
commerce and intercourse of the world. They would consequently lose what
is essentially necessary for the existence of a country, and become
dependent upon the will and pleasure of other sovereigns, in availing
themselves of their ports, besides having to encounter a more distant,
more hazardous, and more expensive passage; whereas, by way of Calais,
which is directly opposite to the harbor of Dover, distant only about
thirty miles, they can, at any time, without hinderance, even in spite
of contrary winds, at their pleasure, enter or leave the harbor--such is
the experience and boldness of their sailors--and carry over either
troops or anything else for warfare, offensive and defensive, without
giving rise to jealousy and suspicion; and thus they are enabled, as
Calais is not more than ten miles from Ardres, the frontier of the
French, nor farther from Gravelines, the frontier of the imperialists,
to join either the one or the other, as they please, and to add their
strength to him with whom they are at amity, in prejudice of an enemy.

"For these reasons, therefore, it is not to be wondered at that, besides
the inhabitants of the place, who are esteemed men of most unshaken
fidelity, being the descendants of an English colony settled there
shortly after the first conquest, it should also be guarded by one of
the most trusty barons which the King has, bearing the title of deputy,
with a force of five hundred of the best soldiers, besides a troop of
fifty horsemen. It is considered by everyone as an impregnable fortress,
on account of the inundation with which it may be surrounded, although
there are persons skilled in the art of fortification who doubt that it
would prove so if put to the test. For the same reason Guines is also
reckoned impregnable, situated about three miles more inland, on the
French frontier, and guarded with the same degree of care, though, being
a smaller place, only by a hundred fifty men, under a chief governor.
The same is done with regard to a third place, called Hammes, situated
between the two former, and thought to be of equal importance, the
waters which inundate the country being collected around."

Ninety years later Calais was regarded in a very different light: "Now
it is gone, let it go. It was but a beggarly town, which cost England
ten times yearly more than it was worth in keeping thereof, as by the
accounts in the exchequer doth plainly appear."

The expedition against Calais was undertaken upon a report of the
dilapidated condition of the works and the smallness of its garrison. It
was not "an impregnable fortress," as Micheli says it was considered.
The Duke of Guise commenced his attack on January 2d, when he stormed
and took the castle of Ruysbank, which commanded the approach by water.
On the 3d he carried the castle of Newenham bridge, which commanded the
approach by land. He then commenced a cannonade of the citadel, which
surrendered on the 6th. On the 7th the town capitulated. Lord Wentworth,
the Governor, and fifty others remained as prisoners. The English
inhabitants, about four thousand, were ejected from the home which they
had so long colonized, but without any exercise of cruelty. "The
Frenchmen," say the chroniclers, "entered and possessed the town; and
forthwith all the men, women, and children were commanded to leave their
houses and to go to certain places appointed for them to remain in, till
order might be taken for their sending away.

"The places thus appointed for them to remain in were chiefly four, the
two churches of Our Lady and St. Nicholas, the deputy's house, and the
stable, where they rested a great part of that day and one whole night
and the next day till three o'clock at afternoon, without either meat or
drink. And while they were thus in the churches and those other places
the Duke of Guise, in the name of the French King, in their hearing made
a proclamation charging all and every person that were inhabitants of
the town of Calais, having about them any money, plate, or jewels to the
value of one groat, to bring the same forthwith, and lay it down upon
the high altars of the said churches, upon pain of death; bearing them
in hand also that they should be searched. By reason of which
proclamation there was made a great and sorrowful offertory.

"While they were at this offertory within the churches, the Frenchmen
entered into their houses and rifled the same, where were found
inestimable riches and treasures; but especially of ordnance, armor, and
other munitions. Thus dealt the French with the English in lieu and
recompense of the like usage to the French when the forces of King
Philip prevailed at St. Quentin; where, not content with the honor of
victory, the English in sacking the town sought nothing more than the
satisfying of their greedy vein of covetousness, with an extreme neglect
of all moderation."

Within the marches of Calais the English held the two small fortresses
of Guines and Hammes. Guines was defended with obstinate courage by Lord
Grey, and did not surrender till January 20th. His loss amounted to
eight hundred men. From Hammes the English garrison made their escape by
night.




                          REIGN OF ELIZABETH

                            A.D. 1558-1603

                          HENRY R. CLEVELAND


    Elizabeth's reign has been regarded by many writers as the most
    glorious period of England's career. There were no great land
    battles fought by English troops; but at sea those famous
    rovers, half pirates, Drake, Raleigh, and their like, definitely
    established that maritime supremacy which has ever since been
    their country's proudest boast. Moreover, the intellectual
    awakening of England which had taken place in the time of Henry
    VII and Henry VIII now bore fruit in a glorious literary outburst,
    which has made the Elizabethan Age the envy and despair of more
    recent literary periods.

    There were clearly marked causes for this brilliant and patriotic
    era. The indiscriminate marriages of Henry VIII had thrown more
    than a shadow of doubt upon the legitimacy of every one of his
    children. On his death he was succeeded, without serious dispute,
    by his only son, Edward VI. Edward did not live to manhood, but
    during his short reign his guardians pushed the land far in the
    direction of Protestantism. Unfortunately they plundered the
    common people cruelly and persecuted, though only in two cases to
    the point of burning, both Catholics and the more extreme
    Protestants.

    The early death of Edward left no male heir to the royal house.
    For the first time in English history there were none but women to
    claim the crown. Moreover, of these at least four had some show of
    right. They were Mary, the Catholic daughter of King Henry's first
    wife, and Elizabeth, his Protestant daughter by Anne Boleyn. Or,
    if both these were to be considered illegitimate, then came their
    cousins, Mary Stuart, descended from one of Henry's sisters, and
    Lady Jane Grey, from another. The friends of Lady Jane tried to
    raise her to the throne, but only succeeded in bringing her to the
    scaffold. The Catholic, Mary, was declared the rightful queen and
    ruled England for five years, during most of which she kept her
    half-sister Elizabeth in prison.

    Queen Mary was devoted to her religion. The fires which had burned
    in Henry's time were kindled again, but now for the torture of
    Protestants, bishops, and men of mark. Mary wedded the Catholic
    king and cruel fanatic Philip II of Spain, the most powerful
    monarch of Europe; so that only to her death and the reign of the
    persecuted Elizabeth could Protestant Englishmen look for relief.
    Thus the accession of the learned and coquettish Elizabeth brought
    far more than a mere promise of youth and pleasure; it was a
    bursting of the fetters of fear.


The age of Elizabeth was preëminently distinguished by the operation of
just principles, of generous sentiments, of elevated objects, and of
profound piety. Elizabeth, it is true, was vindictive, arbitrary, and
cruel. Two prevailing sentiments filled her mind and chiefly influenced
her conduct throughout life. The first of these was the idea of
prerogative. Any assumption of rights, any freedom of debate, any
theological discussion or profession of sentiments which seemed to
infringe on the sacred limits of royalty was sure to be visited with her
severest wrath. She detested the Puritans, from whom she had suffered
nothing, but whose republican spirit appeared to her at war with royalty
in the abstract, far more than the papists, by whom her life had been
made a life of danger and suffering, but who respected forms and
ceremonies, and whose system encouraged reverence for the powers that be
and loyal sentiment toward the person whom they regarded as the lawful
sovereign. Nothing but the earnest entreaties of Cecil and the imminent
danger of a French invasion could induce her to give assistance to the
Scottish Protestants when they were persecuted by the Queen Regent. And
even her hatred of Mary could not prevent her taking sides with that
ill-fated Princess when the "Congregation" claimed the right of trying
their sovereign for alleged crimes, after having deposed and imprisoned
her.

The other sentiment which in no small degree influenced the conduct of
the great Queen was her excessive fondness for admiration as a woman. She
filled her solitary throne with a dignity and a majesty which could not
be surpassed; and it is difficult, if not impossible, to conceive of a
character which should have strength and impetuosity enough, even if
marriage could have given the right, to overawe her lion-like spirit and
assume the reins of government in defiance of her will. Certain it is
that no such prince then lived. But while the _queen_ resolutely excluded
all human participation in the lonely eminence on which she stood, the
_woman_ was constantly claiming the tribute of sympathy and admiration.
Her eager desire was to be a heroine, a beauty, the queen of hearts,
cynosure of gallants' eyes; to reign supreme in the court of love and
chivalry; to be the watchword and war-cry of the knight and the theme of
the troubadour.

Here was the source of the unbounded flattery which was lavished upon
her by courtiers, even to the latest years of her life, and which
appears to have at times actually deceived her, in spite of her
extraordinary penetration. To this sentiment are owing nearly all of the
few instances of disaster and disappointment which occurred during her
splendid reign. She preferred to risk the safety of her allies, and the
cause of Protestantism on the Continent, rather than to refuse the
command of her troops to her favorite, who had entreated it. To gratify
another favorite and insure his glory she forgot her habitual economy,
levied an army larger than she had ever supported, except at the time of
the invasion, and sent it to Ireland under the command of a man who was
utterly unfit for the place. And when, beset by enemies, harassed by
defeat, and overwhelmed with shame, the impetuous and noble-hearted
Essex rushed into the presence of majesty as a lover would have sought
his mistress, her woman's heart forgave him all. Had this frame of mind
continued, had not the resumed majesty of the queen condemned what the
woman forgave, the world would have been spared the consummation of
one of the most mournful tragedies in history, and the last days of
Elizabeth might have been serene and happy, instead of being tortured
with anguish and despair.

The former of these sentiments made her an object of dread, the latter
of ridicule; and both conspired to render her tyrannical. But she was
not a tyrant in the full sense of the word. She never acted upon the
nation with that degrading influence which is always the attendant of
selfish, cold-hearted, and perfidious tyranny; she never had the power,
and we doubt if she ever had the wish, to make slaves of her people. She
understood the English character; she comprehended, appreciated, and
admired its nobleness; and she had sagacity enough to see that this very
character constituted her chief glory. A thorough and hearty affection
subsisted between her and her people; an affection Which was increased
and cemented by many circumstances of a nature not to be forgotten. As a
nation, England had been persecuted, distressed, and trampled upon
during the reign of Mary. The party which triumphed in the ascendency of
the Roman Catholic religion was small; the great majority of the people
were not very zealous in favor of one side or the other; they had been
ready to welcome Protestantism under Edward VI, and they were not
disposed to fight against the Church of Rome under Mary. The number of
zealous papists, they who were in favor of the rack and the stake, was
not more than a thirtieth part of the nation. The other twenty-nine
parts, though perhaps nearly equally divided on the question of
religion, condemned alike the bigotry of their melancholy sovereign and
looked on with sorrowful indignation while the bloody Mary, assisted
by a few narrow-minded bigots, was carrying on the infernal work of
persecution. It was a sorrow and a shame to all true Englishmen, whether
Catholic or Protestant; and the hated Philip felt the effects of their
vengeance till the day of his death.

In these times of tribulation there was one who shared in the common
danger, suffering, and humiliation, and who, from the exalted rank
which she occupied, and the station to which she seemed destined, was
peculiarly an object of distrust and alarm to the bigots, who were
exulting in their day of power. The gloom which overhung the whole
country equally surrounded her; the fires of Smithfield and Oxford were
kindled for her terror as for the terror of the people. She had been
made to pass through that sorrowful passage from which few ever returned
alive, the Traitor's Gate in the Tower of London.

Her course was one and the same with that of the entire English nation;
and the only light which shone upon the darkness, the only hope that
cheered the universal despondency, the dependence of all real patriots,
the trust of all friends of truth, and the pride of all free and
honorable men were centred in the prison of Elizabeth.

There is no bond so strong as the bond of common perils and sufferings;
and, when the young Princess ascended the throne, it was amid the
thankful acclamations of a liberated and happy people, who loved her for
the dangers she had shared with them, and for whom she entertained
the interest and affection due to fellow-sufferers. This feeling was
prolonged in an uncommon manner throughout her reign; for it so happened
that there was no danger which threatened the Queen during her whole
life that was not equally formidable to the people. So difficult was
the question of succession that the prudent Burleigh never ventured to
express his mind upon the subject, and carried down to the grave the
secret of his opinion. Any change would have been for the worse; as it
would either have plunged the nation into a civil war or have placed a
Roman Catholic prince on the throne. The dangers which menaced the crown
of Elizabeth were alike formidable to the cause of freedom in England
and of the Protestant religion in Europe. The invasion of England, which
was attempted by the French under the Queen Regent of Scotland, and
afterward the gigantic preparations of Philip, foreboded more than the
ordinary horrors of an offensive warfare. These enemies came with the
stake and the fagot in their hands; they came not merely to invade,
but to convert; not merely to conquer, but to persecute; they were
stimulated not merely by ambition, but by bigotry; they were prepared
not merely to enslave, but to torture. It was therefore not a matter of
indifference to the English nation whether Elizabeth were to be their
queen or whether some other prince should ascend the throne. In her
reign, and hers alone, they saw the hope of peace, freedom, and
prosperity. Never, therefore, were nation and ruler more closely and
firmly knit together.

The sentiment of loyalty, consequently, was never more sincere and
enthusiastic in the hearts of Englishmen than at that period. To the
nation at large the Queen really appeared what the flattery of her
courtiers and poets represented her. She was to them, in truth, the
Gloriana of Fairyland; the magnificent, the undaunted, the proud
descendant of a thousand years of royalty, and the "Imperial Votress."
She was only a tyrant within the precincts of the court. There she
reigned, it is true, with more than oriental despotism; and she seems to
have delighted occasionally in torturing mean spirits by employing them
upon such thankless offices as their hearts revolted from, though they
had not the courage to refuse them. But beyond the immediate circle of
the palace she was the queen and the mother of her people. To the nation
at large, too, she was equally a heroine, a beautiful idol enshrined in
their hearts. Living on "in maiden meditation fancy-free," rejecting
the proposals of every prince, disregarding the remonstrances of her
subjects, where marriage was spoken of, there was something in the very
unapproachableness of her state which both commanded the respect and
excited the imagination of her people. As a woman, they regarded her
just as she wished them to regard her, as the throned Vestal, the watery
Moon, whose chaste beams could quench the fiery darts of Cupid. She was
to them, in fact, the Belphoebe of Spenser, "with womanly graces,
but not womanly affections--passionless, pure, self-sustained, and
self-dependent"; shining "with a cold lunar light and not the warm glow
of day." This feeling was increased by the spirit of chivalry which
still lingered in English society, and, like the setting sun, poured a
flood of golden light over the court.

The incense, then, that was offered to the Queen by such men as Spenser,
Raleigh, Essex, Shakespeare, and Sidney, the most noble, chivalrous, and
gifted spirits that ever gathered round a throne, is not to be judged of
as the flattery which cringing courtiers pay to a dreaded tyrant; but
rather as the outpouring of a general enthusiasm, the echo of the
stirring voice of chivalry, and the expression of the feelings of a
devoted yet free people.

An age of tyranny is always an age of frivolity, of heartless levity,
of dwarfish objects and pursuits, of dreadful contrasts--laughter amid
mourning, rioting and wantonness amid judgments and executions; dancing
and music at the hour of death. Such was the frivolity of the days of
Nero; such was the mirth of the "death-dance" in the days of Robespierre.
Nothing like this sickly and appalling joy could be seen in the times of
Elizabeth. There were masques and balls and tournaments at the court,
and gay revels as the stately Queen went from castle to castle, and
palace to palace, in her visits to her princely subjects. But such
amusements did not form the chief object or occupation of the court of
Elizabeth. The Queen, and those who had grown up with her, had
passed through too many dangers and witnessed too much suffering to
allow them to become frivolous or very light-hearted. They had lived
among scenes of cruelty, persecution, and death. Their childhood had
witnessed the successive horrors of the reign of Henry VIII, and their
youth had suffered from the bloody fanaticism of Mary. Sorrow and
tribulation had overspread the morning of their life like a cloud.

Miss Aikin, in the beginning of her charming work upon the court of
Queen Elizabeth, has described the gorgeous procession which filed along
the streets of London at the baptism of the infant princess. The same
picture also forms the closing scene of Shakespeare's _Henry VIII_.
As we look upon the gay and splendid train, marching in their robes of
state, beneath silken canopies, and then glance our eye along the map of
history till we trace almost every actor in the pageant to a bloody
grave, we can scarcely believe that it is a scene of joy and festivity
that we are witnessing. The angel of death seems to hover over them;
there is something dreadful in their rejoicing; their gaudy robes, their
mantles, their vases, their fringes of gold, assume the sable hue of the
grave; and, instead of a baptismal train, it seems like a funeral
procession descending to the tomb.

The mournful scenes which the generation which grew up with Elizabeth
had been compelled to witness, and the terror in which most of the
leading characters in her reign had passed their youth, had undoubtedly
tended to sober their minds and induce them to reflect much upon the
great and solemn duties of life. The character of the age was stamped
with the dignity which hallows tribulation, and with the force and nerve
which the habitual contemplation of danger rarely fails to confer. The
same causes undoubtedly promoted the religious spirit which prevailed.
While bigotry and fanaticism appeared in a small portion of the nation,
it is certain that the age of Elizabeth was marked by the general
diffusion of a spirit of deep devotion. There was enough of chivalry
left to keep alive the fervor which prevailed at an earlier period, and
enough of intelligence to temper this fervor into rational religion. The
feeling of shame at professing faith and devoutness was the growth of a
later day; it was unknown in those times. The gayest courtier that
chanted his love-song in the ear of the high-born maiden, and the
gravest statesman who debated at the table of the privy council, were
alike penetrated with devotional sentiment, and alike ready to offer up
prayers and thanksgiving to the Most High. We are perfectly aware that
the outward signs of piety displayed by a few principal characters are
not a faithful index of the state of religion at any period. It is not
fair to infer, because Elizabeth devoutly commended herself to the care
of the Almighty when forsaken, friendless, an orphan, alone, and
helpless, she was landed at the foot of the Traitor's Stairs in the
Tower of London, or because she returned to the same gloomy fortress
when a triumphant queen, to offer up her praise and gratitude to God for
his marvellous mercies, that she lived in a pious age. Neither are we to
regard it as a sure indication of the prevailing spirit, when Burleigh
solemnly commends his son to the Almighty in his letter of advice; when
the chivalrous Sidney is found composing a prayer, which, for solemnity,
grandeur, and devotion, is scarcely surpassed in the English liturgy;
when the adventurous Raleigh displays an amount of knowledge on sacred
subjects that might be the envy of an Oxford professor of theology, or
when the city of London presents to the young Queen, on the day of her
coronation and in the midst of her glittering pageantry, the Bible, as
the most appropriate and acceptable offering.

These are not certain signs of a religious age; but they would pass for
something at any period, even if they were mere hypocrisy. They would
show that religion was held in such respect and by so numerous a class
somewhere, as to make it worth while for the Queen and her court to
assume at least the outward badges of piety. But they have additional
force when we reflect at the same time that, at the period when they
were manifested, the Reformation was making a gradual but sure progress
in England; that the question of religion occupied every intelligent
mind and affected the interests of every family; that the lives and
fortunes of millions, the fate of kingdoms, and the progress of
intellectual freedom throughout the civilized world were inseparably
connected with the cause of Protestantism.

If bigotry and fanaticism had been prevalent in England, and the
opposing party of Romanist and Reformer nearly equal, there would have
been witnessed in that country during the sixteenth century a succession
of atrocities and horrors compared with which the wars of the white and
red roses were bloodless. If; on the other hand, the great mass of the
nation had been indifferent, with regard not merely to forms, but to
religion itself, we should not have seen the outward show of piety in
the highest ranks; we should not have seen a house of commons
legislating in favor of Edward's liturgy, and a nation turning to
worship in their vernacular tongue. Nothing but a widely diffused spirit
of piety can account for the character of those miracles of literature
which made the days of Elizabeth glorious, and which are stamped with
nothing more strongly than their deep and wise religion.

Moreover, in the age of Elizabeth, England was more distinguished for
patriotism than any nation in civilized Europe. On the Continent the
feeling of nationality was absorbed, and the distinction of language,
laws, and country absolutely lost, in the zeal for religious belief.
Nations, which for centuries had been enemies, were found leagued
against their natural allies; inhabitants of the same state were
divided, and at war with each other; the prophecy was literally
fulfilled that "the brother shall betray the brother to death, and the
father the son, and children shall rise up against their parents, and
shall cause them to be put to death." "The Palatine," says Schiller,
"now forsakes his home to go and fight on the side of his
fellow-believer of France, against the common enemy of their religion.
The subject of the King of France draws his sword against his native
land, which had persecuted him, and goes forth to bleed for the freedom
of Holland. Swiss is now seen armed for battle against Swiss, and German
against German, that they may decide the succession of the French throne
on the banks of the Loire or the Seine. The Dane passes the Eider, the
Swede crosses the Baltic, to burst the fetters which are forged for
Germany."

Nothing of this kind was seen in England. The number of Catholics who
preferred the triumph of their party to the welfare of their country was
too small to be of any consideration. A few fanatics in the college at
Rheims, and a few romantic champions of the unhappy Queen of Scots, were
the only domestic enemies whom Elizabeth had to fear. With a great
majority of the Romanists, the love of country prevailed over all
religious distinctions; and, when the invasion was threatened by Philip,
they united cordially with the Protestants in the defence of their
native land; they enlisted as volunteers in the army and navy; they
equipped vessels at their own charge, armed their tenants and vassals,
encouraged their neighbors and prepared, heart and hand, for a desperate
resistance of the common foe.

The energies of the nation were naturally brought into vigorous action
by the great objects, interests, and enterprises which the times
presented. The effects of the Reformation were felt just enough to
produce a bold and free exercise of thought, without kindling the
passions to fierce excitement. The storm which burst with all its fury
on the Continent, wrapping nations in the flames of civil war,
prostrating, withering, and overwhelming civil institutions, and marking
its path with desolation did but exert a salutary influence in England.
The lightning was seen flashing in the distant horizon, the rolling
thunder could be heard afar off, but the fury of the storm fell at a
distance; the atmosphere was purified and the soil refreshed, and the
rainbow was glittering in the heavens.

Never in the history of England had there been a time when energy and
wisdom were more needed than that period. The nation was compelled, by
irresistible force of circumstances, to stand forth as the champion of
Protestantism. The eyes of all civilized countries were fixed upon her;
some, with imploring looks; some, glaring upon her with jealousy,
fierceness, and settled hatred. Enemies were springing up, with whom
peace was hopeless. A popish princess was heir to the throne of
Scotland, with a powerful ally ready to support her pretensions to the
English crown. On the Continent were allies, whom England was compelled
to support at the risk of a war with the mightiest empire that had risen
since the fall of Rome. And an armament was preparing for the invasion
of Britain, of an extent that seemed to render resistance hopeless, by a
monarch whose resources appeared inexhaustible, while Ireland was in
open rebellion and ready to receive the Spanish fleets into her ports.

From all these difficulties and impending calamities, the nation
gathered a harvest of glory that alone would make her name famous
forever. It is with a feeling of joy and exultation that we trace the
history of England during these years of terror and of triumph. We
behold her extricating herself from embarrassments that seemed endless,
and turning them into the means of safety; encouraging and supporting
her allies without exhausting her own resources, and finally crushing
the vast engines which were put into operation for her destruction.

The blood quickens in our veins, as we read of the wisdom and the
sublime moral courage, of the daring adventure, the romantic enterprise,
the chivalrous bravery, and the brilliant triumphs of that age of great
men. We see Cecil and Wotton negotiating with Scotland so wisely as to
win the confidence and affection of that nation, and to destroy the
influence of France in that country forever; Walsingham, fathoming the
secrets of the French court, or watching in silence, but certainty, the
progress of conspiracies at home, and crushing them on the eve of
maturity; the Queen, with a prudence which seems almost sublime,
rejecting a second time the proffer of the sovereignty of Holland;
Drake, circumnavigating the earth, and returning laden with the spoils
of conquered fleets and provinces; Cavendish, coming up the Thames to
London, with sails of damask and cloth of gold, and his men arrayed in
costly silks; Lancaster, dashing his boats to pieces on the strand of
Pernambuco, that he might leave his men no alternative but death or
victory; Raleigh, plunging into the fire of the Spanish galleots, and
fighting his way through overwhelming numbers, with a courage that
rivalled the incredible tales of chivalry, planting colonies in the
pleasantest vales of the New World, or ascending the Orinoco in search
of the fabled Dorado; Sidney, gallantly returning from battle on his
war-horse, though struggling with the agony of his death-wound, and
giving the cup of cold water to the wounded soldier, with those noble
words which would alone be enough to preserve his memory forever; Essex,
tossing his cap into the sea for very joy when the command is given, in
compliance with his earliest entreaties, for the assault on Cadiz, and
with that failing of memory so becoming to a brave man, forgetting the
cautions of his sovereign, and rushing into the thickest of the fight;
the naval supremacy of England completely established by the defeat of
the Armada, and the great deep itself made a monument of the nation's
glory.

The boast of the age of Elizabeth was the splendid specimens of humanity
which it produced. "There were giants in those days." Individuals seemed
to condense in themselves the attainments of hosts. The accomplishments
and prowess of the men of those times inspire us with something like the
feeling of wonder with which the soldier of the present day handles the
sword of Robert Bruce, or the gigantic armor of Guy of Warwick. When
we read the beautiful verses "addressed to the author of the _Faerie
Queene_," by Raleigh, it is difficult to believe that they were penned by
the same person whose system of tactics was adopted so triumphantly at
the Spanish invasion; who was equally eminent as a general, a seaman, an
explorer, and a historian; and who shone unsurpassed for knightly graces
and accomplishments amid the stars of the court. Such instances were
not rare and prodigious. Raleigh was not the Crichton of his age; if
the compliment belongs to anyone peculiarly, it is Sidney; but as we
read over the list of distinguished persons to whom Spenser addressed
dedicatory stanzas to be "sent with the _Faerie Queene_," we become more
and more at a loss to distinguish the greatest among them; and we could
believe that many ages had been searched for so noble a catalogue.

The principles which formed society were precisely such as were best
calculated for the finest developments of character. The old high,
fervid spirit of chivalry was not lost; there were the same sense of
honor, the same knightly bearing, the same passion for glory, and the
same admiration for courage and prowess that had prevailed in the
earlier days of its sway. But these were tempered by milder and more
attractive virtues and accomplishments; the clerkly learning, which had
held so humble a rank in the days when nobles could scarcely sign their
names, had now risen into far higher estimation. Great warriors were now
no longer ashamed to know how to read and write; on the contrary, the
possession of learning and literature, the delicate arts of poetry and
music, the graces of conversation and manners, were now as requisite to
the full accomplishment of the knight, as his horsemanship, or his skill
in the management of his lance. In a word, the sterner characteristics
of the ancient knight were softened down, in the age of Elizabeth, into
the more perfect and graceful attributes of the gentleman. The perfect
gentleman was more completely exhibited in the days of Elizabeth than at
any time before; for the chivalry and the accomplishments which were
then united in the same individual, had been formerly divided between
the noble and the churchman or the clerk.

Were we called upon to characterize the age in which Spenser lived, by a
single word, we could find none that would better express its combined
attributes, than the word which the poet uses in describing his principal
hero: "In the person of Prince Arthure," says he in his letter to Raleigh,
"I set forth magnificence." The age of Elizabeth was distinguished by
magnificence, in the highest sense of the word, by the most brilliant
display of great qualities of all kinds; and the hero of the _Faerie
Queene_ seems to be the personification of the splendid attributes of the
age. A prevailing sentiment, in the mind of Spenser, was the perfectness
of character to which the gentlemen of his time aspired, and on this
model he fashioned his hero. He observes that "the general end, therefore,
of all the books is to fashion a gentleman or noble person in gentle and
virtuous discipline." And again, "I labor to pourtraict in Arthure,
before he was King, the image of a brave knight, perfected in the twelve
moral virtues." And as we read the gorgeous description of the prince,
when he first meets the forsaken Una, we could fancy that the magnificent
characteristics of the golden age of England had blended together, and
blazed forth in one dazzling form before us.




                JOHN KNOX HEADS THE SCOTTISH REFORMERS

                              A.D. 1559

           P. HUME BROWN                    THOMAS CARLYLE


    In the year of Martin Luther's death (1546) Protestant doctrines
    were preached in Scotland by George Wishart. This reformer was
    burned at St. Andrew's, in the same year (March 12th), at the
    instigation of Cardinal Beaton. Two months later the Cardinal
    himself, who practically controlled the Scottish government, was
    murdered in the castle of St. Andrew's. Beaton's death was "fatal
    to the Catholic religion and to the French interest in Scotland."
    The interest of France was represented by the Queen Regent, Mary
    of Lorraine, also called Mary of Guise, daughter of Claude, Duke
    of Guise. She was the widow of James V of Scotland, and mother of
    Mary Stuart, now four years old and living in France.

    During his brief season of Protestant preaching, Wishart had
    deeply impressed a scholar, then forty years of age, who gave up
    his calling as teacher, and in 1547 began to preach the reformed
    religion at St. Andrew's. This was John Knox.

    From this moment dates the birth of the Protestant Reformation in
    Scotland. Knox was imprisoned by the French (1547-1549), was
    released, and for two years preached at Berwick. For several years
    now he lived a life of many vicissitudes, partly in Great Britain and
    partly on the Continent, and by his sermons and writings powerfully
    influenced the growth of the Protestant faith. While at Geneva, where
    he was much influenced by Calvin, in 1558, he published his _First
    Blast of the Trumpet against the Monstrous Regiment of Women_, a
    denouncement which brought him into bitter antagonism with the Queen
    Regent and with other Catholic authorities in England and France.

    In 1559 the Queen Regent took active steps for repressing the
    Congregation, as the whole body of Scotch Protestants were called,
    and in the same year Knox returned once more to Scotland, there to
    perform a work which made his name perhaps second only to that of
    Luther among the personal forces of the Reformation.

    The first of the following accounts shows Knox and his followers
    in the midst of their warfare against the Regent's repressive
    policy. In the second we have one of Carlyle's most fervent
    eulogies, for to him Knox is the priestly hero enacting a glorious
    part.


                            P. HUME BROWN

The year 1559 began ominously for the success of the Queen Regent's
policy of suppression. To this point national feeling and religious
conviction had been the driving-forces of the coming revolution. But, as
is the case in all national upheavals, there were likewise economic
forces at work which were none the less potent because they were obscured
behind the dramatic development of sensational events. A remarkable
document, the author of which is unknown, gave striking expression to
this aspect of the Scottish Reformation. It was entitled the _Beggars'
Summons_, and purported to come from "all cities, towns, and villages of
Scotland."

On January 1, 1559, this terrible manifesto, breathing the very spirit of
revolution, was found placarded on the gates of every religious
establishment in Scotland. The _Summons_ begins as follows: "The blind,
crooked, lame, widows, orphans, and all other poor visited by the hand of
God as may not work, to the flocks of all friars within this realm, we
wish restitution of wrongs past, and reformation in times coming, for
salutation." It may be sufficient to quote the concluding passage of this
extraordinary effusion, and it is a passage which should never be out of
mind in any estimate of the forces that were about to effect the great
cataclysm in the national life: "Wherefore, seeing our number is so
great, so indigent, and so heavily oppressed by your false means that
none taketh care of our misery, and that it is better to provide for
these our impotent members which God hath given us, to oppose to you in
plain controversy, than to see you hereafter, as ye have done before,
steal from us our lodging, and ourselves in the mean time to perish and
die for want of the same; we have thought good, therefore, ere we enter
in conflict with you, to warn you in the name of the great God by this
public writing, affixed on your gates where ye now dwell, that ye remove
forth of our said hospitals betwixt this and the feast of Whitsunday
next, so that we, the only lawful proprietors thereof, may enter thereto,
and afterward enjoy the commodities of the Church which ye have heretofore
wrongfully holden from us; certifying that if ye fail, we will at the
said term, in whole number and with the help of God and assistance of his
saints on earth, of whose ready support we doubt not, enter and take
possession of our said patrimony, and eject you utterly forth of the
same. Let him, therefore, that before hath stolen, steal no more; but
rather let him work with his hands, that he may be helpful to the poor."

The inflammatory statements of revolutionaries must be taken for what
they are worth; but there is abundant evidence to prove that the above
indictment of the national Church was not without foundation in fact. It
has been computed that one-half of the wealth of the country was in
possession of the clergy; and we have the testimony of unimpeachable
witnesses to the unworthy uses to which it was put. Hector Boece, John
Major, and Ninian Winzet were all three faithful sons of the Church, and
all three cried aloud at the venality, avarice, and luxurious living of
the higher clergy. "But now, for many years," wrote Major, "we have been
shepherds whose only care it is to find pasture for themselves, men
neglectful of the duties of religion. By open flattery do the worthless
sons of our nobility get the governance of convents _in commendam_, and
they covet these ample revenues, not for the good help that they thence
might render to their brethren, but solely for the high position that
these places offer." To the same effect Ninian Winzet wrote after the
judgment had come. "The special roots of all mischief," he says, "be the
two infernal monsters, pride and avarice, of the which unhappily has
up-sprung the election of unqualified bishops and other pastors in
Scotland."

This spectacle of the national Church, with its disproportionate wealth
and its selfish, incompetent, and often degraded officials, could not
but be a growing offence to the developing intelligence of the nation;
and to quicken this feeling there were minor grievances which were an
ancient ground of complaint on the part of the laity against their
spiritual advisers. On every important event of his life the poor man
was harassed by exactions which Sir David Lyndsay has so keenly touched
in his _Satire of the Three Estates_. Says the Pauper in the interlude:

    "Quhair will ye find that law, tell gif ye can,
    To tak thine ky, fra ane pure husbandman?
    Ane for my father, and for my wyfe ane uther,
    And the third cow, he tuke fra Mald my mother."

And Diligence replies:

    "It is thair law, all that they have in use,
    Tocht it be cow, sow, ganer, gryse, or guse."

If the poor had these grounds of discontent, the rich likewise had
theirs; and they made bitter complaint against the protracted processes
in the consistorial courts, and the frequent appeals to the Roman Curia,
by which both their means and their patience were exhausted.

It was in the face of feelings such as these that, in the spring of
1559, the Queen Regent entered on her new line of policy toward her
refractory subjects. Her first steps were taken with her usual prudence.
A provincial council of the clergy was summoned to meet on March 1st for
the express purpose of dealing with the religious difficulty. It was the
last provincial council of the ancient Church that was to meet in
Scotland; and, if the expression of its good intentions could have
availed, the Church might yet have been saved. All that its worst
enemies had said of its shortcomings was frankly admitted, and admirable
decrees were passed with a view to a speedy and effective reform. But
the hour had passed when the mere reform of life and doctrine would have
sufficed to meet the desires of the new spiritual teachers. As was
speedily to be seen, it was revolution and not reform on which these new
teachers were now bent with an ever-growing confidence that their
triumph was not far off. A double order issued by the Regent toward the
end of March brought her face to face with the consequences of her
changed policy. Unauthorized persons were forbidden to preach, and the
lieges were commanded to observe the festival of Easter after the manner
ordained by the Church. The preachers disregarded both edicts and were
summoned to answer for their disobedience.

It was now seen that the Regent was no longer in the mood for
temporizing; and the Congregation despatched two of their number, the
Earl of Glencairn and Sir Hew Campbell, sheriff of Ayr, to deprecate her
wrath. Their reception must have taught them that times were now changed
since the days when the Regent deemed it necessary to conciliate their
party. "In despite of you and your ministers both," she told the two
deputies, "they shall be banished out of Scotland, albeit they preached
as truly as ever did St. Paul." When they reminded her of her previous
promises, she replied in words that were never forgotten, and which her
grandson, James VI, recalled and laid to heart in his own dealings with
his subjects. "It became not subjects," she said, "to burden their
princes further than it pleaseth them to keep the same." For a time,
however, she consented to stay further action against the preachers.
But, if she were to carry out the task she had undertaken, she must
sooner or later make trial of her strength against what had now become
actual rebellion. In Perth, Dundee, and Montrose the Protestant
preachers, with the approval and countenance of the constituted
authorities, openly proceeded with their work of spreading their new
opinions. At length the Regent took the step which was to be the
beginning of the end of the Catholic Church in Scotland. She summoned
the preachers to appear before her at Stirling on May 10th, and on this
occasion it was recognized by both parties that the moment for decisive
action had come. To be ready for all contingencies, a numerous body of
Protestant gentlemen from Angus and the Mearns, all, it is specially
noted, "without armor," took up their quarters at Perth, where they were
immediately joined by another contingent from Dundee. With this last
body came John Knox, who on May 20th had finally returned to his native
country.

All through their contest with the Regent, the Protestant leaders took
up the position that they were acting in strict accordance with the law
of the land. With the formidable following now at their back, they might
have marched on Stirling and gained a temporary advantage by their show
of strength. What they actually did was to send Erskine of Dun to the
Regent to lay their demands once more before her. As she was not yet in
a position to enforce her will, she again agreed to postpone action
against the preachers. It was the misfortune of her position from the
beginning of the struggle that Mary of Lorraine was driven to
subterfuges which made impossible any permanent understanding with her
discontented subjects; and it was of evil omen for the success of her
policy that she now allowed herself to commit a serious breach of faith.
In the teeth of her promise to Erskine, she proclaimed the preachers as
outlaws when they failed to appear at Stirling on the day appointed for
their trial. The news of the Regent's breach of faith was the immediate
occasion of the first stroke in the Scottish Reformation. The day after
the outlawry John Knox preached a sermon in the parish church of Perth,
his theme being the idolatries of Rome, and the duty of Christian men to
put an end to them. At the close of the sermon, when the majority of the
audience had left the church, a priest proceeded to celebrate mass. A
forward boy made a protesting remark; the priest struck him; the boy
retaliated by throwing a stone which broke an image, and immediately the
church was in an uproar. In a few moments not "a monument of idolatry"
was left in the building. The news of these doings spread through the
town, and the "rascal multitude" took up the work. There had been old
quarrels between the town and the religious orders; and so early as 1543
a violent assault had been made on the Blackfriars' monastery. But on
the present occasion the work done was at once more extensive and more
thorough. The main onslaught was directed toward the monasteries of the
Dominicans and the Franciscans and the Charterhouse Abbey; and within
two days, says Knox, "the walls only did remain of these great
edifications."

There was now no alternative but the sword, and both parties at once
took action accordingly. In support of the French troops which were at
her disposal, the Regent ordered levies from Clydesdale, Stirlingshire,
and the Lothians to meet her at Stirling on May 24th. On their part the
insurgents strengthened the defences of Perth--according to Buchanan,
the only walled town in Scotland--and addressed themselves to their
brethren in Ayrshire for instant succor. As they were now engaged in
what might be construed as rebellion, they took steps to justify
themselves in the eyes of the world. In three manifestoes, probably the
work of Knox, they addressed respectively the Regent, D'Oysel, the
French ambassador, and the whole Scottish nobility. In view of the past
history of Scotland the insurgents could present a case which possessed
sufficient plausibility. It had been the exception for the reign of a
Scottish king to pass without some more or less serious revolt on the
ground of his alleged misgovernment. Even during the reign with which we
are dealing, there had been a fair precedent for the late proceedings of
the Congregation. At the outset of the reign, the Earl of Arran was
giving away the country to England and to heresy; Beaton and the French
party had taken up arms against him, and undone all his actions to which
they objected. But as Mary of Lorraine was now governing the country,
the danger of a French conquest was much more serious than had been the
danger of conquest by England. On the ground that the state was in
peril, therefore, there was ample justification for the action of the
Protestant leaders. With regard to religion, the good of the
commonwealth might easily be urged as a plea for the most drastic
dealing with the national Church. By the admission of its own officials
the Church had become a scandal, alike from the character of the clergy
and its general neglect of its duties as a spiritual body. For at least
a century the scandal had been growing; and good citizens had been
forced to the conclusion that their accredited spiritual guides were
either unable or unwilling to set their house in order.

But the time demanded deeds more than words. With a force of about eight
thousand French and Scots, D'Oysel, the Regent's chief adviser, advanced
to Auchterarder, some twelve miles from Perth. With this formidable
force behind her, the Regent naturally expected that her rebellious
subjects would be disposed to abate their demands. To learn what terms
they would now be willing to accept, she sent to Perth the lord James
Stewart, Lord Sempill, and the Earl of Argyle. They were told that the
town would be surrendered if assurance were given of freedom of worship
and security to the worshippers. As a reply to these demands, the Regent
despatched the lyon king-of-arms to make proclamation that all should
"avoid the toune under pane of treasone." At this moment, however, the
Earl of Glencairn, at the head of a body of two thousand five hundred
Ayrshire Protestants, made his way to within six miles of Perth. Thus
checkmated, the Regent was again driven to a compromise; and on the
conditions that she should quarter no French troops in the town, and
grant perfect freedom of worship, the gates were at length thrown open
to her. Thus closed the first act of the drama of the Scottish
Reformation.

This good understanding was of short duration. Again the action of the
Regent gave rise to an accusation of broken pledges. She kept to the
letter of the late compact, but she evaded its spirit. She did not
quarter French troops in the town, but she occupied it with Scottish
soldiers in French pay, and, in further disregard of her pledges,
treated the Protestants with a harshness which gave rise to bitter
complaint on the part of their leaders. Argyle and the lord James, the
two most prominent of these leaders, had accompanied her into Perth (May
29th), but, indignant at these proceedings, they secretly quitted the
town and at once took action to make good their protests. Summoning the
Protestant gentlemen of Angus and the Mearns to meet them in St.
Andrew's on June 3d, they proceeded to that town, as the best centre of
action after Perth. In St. Andrew's as in Perth it is John Knox who is
again the outstanding figure. Here his preaching was attended by the
same notable results. The monasteries of the Dominicans and the
Franciscans were practically demolished by the mob, and with the
approval of the magistrates every church in the town was stripped of its
ornaments. Meanwhile the Regent had not been idle, and was now at
Falkland with a force led by D'Oysel and Châtelherault. Confident in
their strength, those two leaders marched toward Cupar, with the
intention of dealing with St. Andrew's. But again they discovered that
they had miscalculated the resources of the insurgents. Issuing from St.
Andrew's, with little over a hundred horse, Argyle and the lord James
were speedily reënforced by contingents from Lothian and Fife, which
raised their numbers to above three thousand men. Thus strengthened,
they took up their position on Cupar Muir, and awaited the approach of
the Regent's forces. But in number these forces were now inferior to
those of the enemy; and, as many of the French soldiers were Huguenots
and secretly sympathized with their fellow-believers, the issue of the
battle could not but be doubtful. Again, therefore, there was no
alternative for the Regent but to temporize. It was agreed that there
should be a truce of eight days, that the Regent's forces now in Fife
should be removed from that county, and that, during the armistice, an
attempt should be made to effect some permanent understanding.

The new arrangement proved as hollow as the first. In point of fact, it
was borne in on both parties that the struggle had but begun, and that
the sword only could end it. Already, therefore, both were looking for
external support wherewith to crush their opponents. The very day after
the compact at Cupar, D'Oysel wrote to the French ambassador in London
that only a body of French troops could maintain the Regent's authority.
On their part the Protestant leaders now entered on those negotiations
with England which eventually led to results that gave Scotland
definitely to Protestantism and united the destinies of the two nations.
Meanwhile, however, the Regent and her revolted subjects had to fight
their own battles. The truce effected nothing, and it had no sooner
expired than hostilities recommenced. The first object of the leaders of
the Congregation was to relieve their brethren in Perth, and on June
24th they sat down before that place in such numbers that it immediately
and unconditionally surrendered. Perth, Dundee, and St. Andrew's were
now in their hands; but, having gone thus far, their only hope lay in
giving still further proof of the strength of their cause. It was
reported that the Regent meant to stop their progress southward of
Stirling bridge; but, before she could effect her object, they entered
that town with the consent of the majority of the citizens. By June 29th
they were in possession of the capital, whence Mary of Lorraine had fled
to the castle of Dunbar.

The cause of the Congregation now appeared to be triumphant, but it
contained elements of weakness of which everyone was aware and which
speedily became manifest. The acts of violence which had attended the
revolt were filling the law-abiding citizens with dismay. The
destruction of church property in Perth and St. Andrew's had been
followed by similar excesses elsewhere. Especially disquieting had been
what had occurred at Scone immediately after the surrender of Perth. In
defiance of the protests of Knox, the lord James, and Argyle, the
reformers of Dundee had sacked and burned to the ground the abbey and
palace of that village--an outrage which Knox himself regretted in the
interest of his own cause. It was a further source of weakness to the
Congregation that their actions easily lent themselves to
misconstruction and misrepresentation. The Regent industriously spread
the plausible report both at home and abroad that their religious
professions were a mere pretext, and that their real object was to
overthrow herself and to make the lord James their king. But, above all,
the nature of the host that supported them was such that it invariably
failed them when their need was the greatest. The men who composed it
had to leave their daily business in town and country; and, as they
received no pay and their own affairs demanded their attention, their
military service did not extend beyond a few weeks. The Protestant
leaders had no sooner taken possession of Edinburgh than their following
began to dwindle. During the first week their numbers amounted to over
seven thousand men; by the third week they had diminished to one
thousand five hundred. In these circumstances the Regent had only to
bide her time, and her opportunity must come. On July 23d her troops,
led by D'Oysel and Châtelherault, marched on Leith, which they reached
on the morning of the 24th. As had been anticipated, neither that town
nor the capital itself was in a position to offer any effectual
resistance; and the leaders of the Congregation at once proposed a
conference for the discussion of terms. Accordingly, the Duke and the
Earl of Huntly on the one side, and Argyle, the lord James, and
Glencairn on the other, met on the east slope of the Calton hill and
agreed to the following adjustment: The Congregation were to give up the
coining-irons, of which they had taken possession, and they were to
evacuate Edinburgh within twenty-four hours. The town was to be left
free to choose its own religion; no French troops were to be introduced.
The Protestants were to be allowed complete liberty of worship, but were
to abstain from violence against the old religion, and these
arrangements were to hold till the 10th of the following January. By
this concession of liberty to worship according to their own consciences
the Protestants had apparently attained the main object for which they
had risen, but they well knew that they would enjoy this liberty only so
long as they were strong enough to enforce it. On leaving Edinburgh,
therefore, they proceeded to Stirling, where they came to an agreement
as to their future plan of action. As a necessary precaution for their
immediate security, they entered into a bond of mutual defence and
concerted counsels. Above all, they determined to spare no pains to win
support from England, which, as itself now a Protestant country, could
not look on with indifference while they were engaged in a
life-and-death struggle with France and Rome.

An event that had lately happened gave a new impulse to French action in
Scotland. On July 10th Henry II had been accidentally killed in a
tournament; and Mary Stuart, the niece of the Guises, was now Queen of
France. It was with greater zeal than ever, therefore, that the Guises
sought to direct Scottish affairs according to their own interests. In
the beginning of August the Protestant lords took a decided step: they
sent John Knox to England with instructions that might serve as a basis
of a treaty between England and the Congregation. The instructions were
that if England would assist them against France, the Congregation would
agree to a common league against that country. Knox only went as far as
Berwick; but he brought home a letter containing a reply to the
Protestant overtures from Elizabeth's secretary, Sir William Cecil. The
reply was discouraging; but it contained a practical suggestion, by
which, however, the Protestant leaders were either unwilling or unable
to profit. If it was money they were in need of, Cecil told them, that
need present no difficulty; if they would but do as Henry VIII did with
the monasteries, they would have enough money and to spare. The English
Queen was, in truth, in a position that demanded the wariest going.
Two-thirds of her own subjects were Catholics, and it would be an evil
example to set them if she were to assist rebels in another country.
Moreover, the treaty of Cateau-Cambrésis, concluded in the previous
April, debarred her from hostile demonstration against France. But the
peril from French ascendency in Scotland could not be ignored, and by
the gradual pressure of events Elizabeth was driven to support a course
which in her heart she abhorred. Shortly after Cecil's communication,
the veteran diplomatist, Sir Ralph Sadler, came down to Scotland with a
commission to effect a secret arrangement with the Protestant leaders,
and brought with him three thousand pounds to distribute to the best of
his wisdom.

What the Guises meant speedily became apparent. About the middle of
August a thousand French soldiers landed at Leith; and, as they were
accompanied by their wives and children, the object of their coming
could not be misunderstood. If the leaders of the Congregation,
therefore, were not to lose all the ground they had lately gained, a
time for vigorous action had again come. As had been previously
concerted, they met at Stirling on September 10th and took counsel as to
their further action. Here they were joined by an ally who, by his rank
and his claims, was of the first importance to their cause. This was the
Earl of Arran, the eldest son of the Duke of Châtelherault, who, a few
months previously, had been forced to flee from France by reason of his
Protestant sympathies. The value of the new confederate was soon
realized. Passing to Hamilton palace, the insurgent leaders there met
the Duke himself, to whom they held out such alluring prospects that he
openly identified himself with their cause. During these transactions at
Hamilton, alarming news came of the doings of the Regent. It was
reported that she was busily engaged in fortifying Leith--a proceeding,
the Congregation maintained, in direct violation of the late treaty.
Disregarding their protest, she steadily proceeded with the work; and,
as she was strengthened by a new contingent of eight hundred French
men-at-arms, her position by the middle of autumn was such as to excite
alarm alike in Scotland and England. Again there was no arbitrament but
by the sword.

On October 16th the insurgent leaders entered Edinburgh with the
intention of laying siege to Leith, where the Regent had taken refuge as
the safest place in the kingdom. One of their earliest steps was the
most audacious they had yet taken. They formally deposed Mary of
Lorraine from the regency, on the ground that she had ruled as a tyrant
and was betraying the country to a foreign enemy. But they soon found
that they had taken a task beyond their strength. Their force amounted
to but eight thousand men, most of whom were "cuntrie fellows" with no
experience in war, and whose service could not extend beyond a few
weeks. To this undisciplined host was opposed a garrison of three
thousand trained soldiers, with the command of the sea and intrenched in
a town fortified after the best military art of the time. Fortune,
moreover, was against the Congregation from the first. A new instalment
of one thousand pounds, secretly sent by Elizabeth, was cleverly seized
by James, Earl of Bothwell, afterward the notorious helpmate of Mary
Stuart. Their arms, also, met with no success. While a detachment of
their troops was in pursuit of Bothwell, the enemy found their
opportunity and made their way even into the streets of Edinburgh; and
on November 25th the reformers sustained so severe a reverse that the
capital was no longer a safe place for them. They had no money to pay
the few mercenaries whom they had hired; the town was tired of them; and
the earl Marischal, who had charge of the castle, held resolutely aloof.

As at the close of their previous rising, the leaders held a council at
Stirling to determine their future policy; before they entered on their
deliberations, Knox was called upon to preach a sermon--Knox, of whom it
was said that he "put more life" into those who heard him "than five
hundred trumpets continually blustering" in their ears. The
deliberations that succeeded took a sufficiently practical shape. Young
Maitland of Lethington, who had lately deserted the Regent for the
Congregation, was despatched to England with offers that might induce
Elizabeth to give direct support to the cause of Protestantism in
Scotland. As to their own future action, the lords made the following
arrangement: Châtelherault, Argyle, Glencairn, and the lords Boyd and
Ochiltry were to make their head-quarters in Glasgow; while Arran, the
lord James, the lords Rothes and Ruthven, and John Knox were to act from
St. Andrew's as their centre. Their counsels at an end, they separated
with the intention of reassembling at Stirling on December 16th. They
had thus tried two falls with the Regent, and in both they had been
worsted: the third trial of strength was to have a different ending.

The Regent was not slow to follow up her advantage. She took possession
of the capital two days after the Congregation had quitted it, and she
tried hard, but in vain, to persuade the earl Marischal to surrender the
castle. The arrival of fresh reënforcements from France at the beginning
of December enabled her to abandon her defensive policy and to take
decisive measures for the suppression of revolt. On Christmas Day, while
the Protestant lords were in council at Stirling, two detachments of her
troops, commanded by D'Oysel, drove them precipitately from the town.
Pursuing his advantage, D'Oysel despatched his troops across Stirling
bridge into Fife, and he himself with another detachment crossed from
Leith, apparently with the object of gaining possession of St. Andrew's.
The task proved a hard one. At every step he was beset by the Scots
under Argyle and the lord James. "The said Earl and Lord James," says
Knox, "for twenty-one days they lay in their clothes; their boots never
came off; they had skirmishing almost every day; yea, some days, from
morn to even." Yet, in the teeth of all obstacles, D'Oysel steadily
forced his way to within six miles of St. Andrew's, where Knox and his
friends had all but abandoned hope. But unexpected deliverance was at
hand. On January 23, 1560, a fleet of strange vessels appeared at the
mouth of the Frith of Forth. As a French fleet had been expected for
some weeks, D'Oysel concluded that his armament had come at last. He was
soon undeceived. Under his eyes the strangers seized two ships bearing
provisions from Leith to his own camp. The strange vessels were an
advanced squadron of a fleet sent by Elizabeth to block the Frith of
Forth against further succors from France. It was now D'Oysel who was in
extremities; and before he found himself safe in Linlithgow he had vivid
experience at once of the rigors of a Scotch winter and of the savage
hate which his countrymen had come to inspire in the nation which for
three centuries had called them friends and allies.

Meanwhile, the mission of Maitland to the English court was about to
lead to one of the most notable compacts in the national history. At
Berwick-on-Tweed, the lord James Stewart, Lord Ruthven, and three other
Scottish commissioners met the Duke of Norfolk and concluded a treaty
(February 27th) which was to insure the eventual triumph of the
Congregation, to make Scotland a Protestant country, and at a later day
a constituent part of a Greater Britain. The treaty was in effect a bond
of mutual defence against France--Elizabeth having reluctantly consented
that an English army should at once enter Scotland and assist the
Congregation in driving the French soldiery out of the country. While
her revolted subjects were thus making strong their hands against her,
fortune was otherwise deserting the cause of the Regent. A great French
armament, which was to have brought over a force sufficient to crush all
opposition, had been driven back by a succession of storms; and she
herself was already stricken with the disease which was soon to carry
her off. In these circumstances there was but one course open to her--to
fall back on the policy of self-defence and patient waiting on events.
After one somewhat wanton expedition against Glasgow and the Hamiltons,
her troops finally (March 29th) retired within the fortifications of
Leith, and she herself at her special request was received into the
castle of Edinburgh.

On April 4th the English and Scottish hosts joined forces at
Prestonpans, and on the 6th they sat down before Leith. The spectacle
was one suggestive of many reflections; English and Scots, immemorial
foes, were fighting side by side against the ancient friend of the one,
the ancient enemy of the other. There could not be a more memorable
illustration of the saying that "events sometimes mount the saddle and
ride men." Even with their united strength the allies had a formidable
task before them. At the outset of the siege the English amounted to
about nine thousand men, the Scots to ten thousand; but before many
weeks had gone, these numbers had dwindled to a half. With this force
the English commander, Lord Gray, had to besiege a town defended by four
thousand trained soldiers and fortified by the most skilful engineers of
the time. Two severe reverses sustained by the allies prove that in
discipline and skill they were no match for the enemy. On April 14th the
French sallied from the town, and, breaking through the English
trenches, slew two hundred men. A combined assault on the town (May 7th)
was brilliantly repulsed--the English and Scots leaving eight hundred
dead and wounded in the trenches. It was not long before all three
parties were sick of the contest. The Guises had their hands full at
home and needed every soldier they had; Elizabeth heartily disliked the
task of assisting rebel subjects and grudged every penny that was spent
in it; and the Congregation had never been in a position to support a
protracted war.

The death of the Regent on June 10th must have quickened the desire of
the Guises for peace; for where she had failed to effect their purposes
no one else was likely to succeed. Alike by her own character and gifts
and by the momentous policy of which she was the agent, Mary of Lorraine
is one of the remarkable figures in Scottish history. It was her
misfortune--a misfortune due to her birth and connections--that she
found herself from the first in direct antagonism to the natural
development of the country of her adoption, and that the circumstances
in which she ruled were such as to bring into prominence the least
worthy traits of the proud race from which she sprang. Yet in personal
appearance, as in courage and magnificence, she was the true sister of
Henry of Guise and the Cardinal of Lorraine, "the Pope and King of
France." Construed to a larger and more charitable sense than that in
which they were written, the words of Knox fitly enough sum up her
career. She was "unhappy--to Scotland--from the first day she entered
into it unto the day she finished her unhappy life."

On June 16th commissioners arrived from England and France with powers
to effect an arrangement between the contending parties. From England
came Cecil and Dr. Wotton, Dean of Canterbury and York; and from France,
Monluc, Bishop of Valence, and Charles de Rochefoucauld, Sieur de
Randan. From the beginning, the French representatives gave it to be
understood that any treaty that might be made was exclusively between
England and France; the Congregation were rebel subjects with whom their
prince could in no wise treat. After many difficulties that more than
once threatened to put an end to further negotiations, a settlement was
at length reached (July 6th). The final arrangement signally proved how
hopeless the Guises were of their immediate prospects in Scotland. Mary
and Francis were to desist from using the arms of England; no Frenchman
was henceforth to hold any important office in Scotland; the
fortifications of Leith were to be demolished; and the French soldiers,
with the exception of one hundred twenty, were at once to be sent home
in their own country. Till the return of Mary the government was to be
intrusted to twelve persons, of whom she was to appoint seven and the
estates five. In the treaty no arrangement was made regarding religion;
but, with the powers now placed at their disposal, there could be little
doubt how the Protestant leaders would interpret the omission. Thus had
Elizabeth and the Congregation gained every point for which they had
striven; and their victory may be said to have determined the future,
not only of Britain, but of Protestantism. So far as Scotland is
concerned, the treaty of Edinburgh marks the central point of her
history.

It now remained to be seen to what uses the Protestant party would put
their victory. The simultaneous departure of the French and English
troops relieved them from all restraint; and four days later the great
deliverance was signalized by a solemn thanksgiving in the Church of St.
Giles. For the effectual spreading of the Protestant doctrine, preachers
were planted in various parts of the country--Knox being appointed to
the principal charge in Edinburgh. But it was the approaching assembly
of the estates to which all men were looking with hopes or fears,
according to their desires and interests. The estates met on August 3d,
but it was not till the 8th that the attendance was complete. It was to
be the most important national assembly in the history of the Scottish
people; and the numbers of the different classes who flocked to it
showed that the momentous nature of the crisis was fully realized.
Specially noteworthy was the crowd of smaller barons from all parts of
the country. So unusual was the appearance of these persons that it had
almost been forgotten that their right to sit as representatives dated
from as far back as the reign of James I. A question raised, as to the
legality of an assembly which met independently of the summons or the
presence of the sovereign, was decisively set aside; and the House
addressed itself to the great issues involved in the late revolution.
The question of religion, as at the root of the whole controversy, took
precedence of every other. The first proceeding showed the national
instinct for the logical conduct of human affairs. The estates
instructed the ministers to draw up a statement of Protestant doctrine,
which might serve at once as a chart for their future guidance and a
justification for their present and their future action. In four days
the task (an easy one for Knox and his brother-ministers) was
accomplished; and under twenty-five heads the estates had before them
what was henceforth to be the creed of the majority of the Scottish
people. Article by article the Confession was read and considered, and,
after a feeble protest by the bishops of St. Andrew's, Dunkeld, and
Dunblane, approved and ratified by an overwhelming majority of the
estates.

The way being thus cleared, the next step was the logical conclusion of
all the past action of the Protestant leaders. In three successive acts,
all passed in one day, it was decreed that the national Church should
cease to exist. The first act abolished the jurisdiction of the Pope;
the second condemned all practices and doctrines contrary to the new
creed; and the third forbade the celebration of mass within the bounds
of Scotland. The penalties attached to the breach of these enactments
were those approved and sanctioned by the example of every country in
Christendom. Confiscation for the first offence, exile for the second,
and death for the third--such were to be the successive punishments for
the saying or hearing of mass.

Thus apparently had Knox and his fellow-workers attained the end of all
their labors; and it is instructive to compare the history of their
struggle with the experiences of other countries where the same
religious conflicts had successively arisen. In Germany the terrible
Peasants' War had been the direct result of Luther's revolt from Rome;
and in England the ecclesiastical revolution had been followed by the
religious atrocities of Henry VIII, by the anarchy under Edward VI, and
by the remorseless fanaticism of Mary Tudor. While the Congregation was
in the midst of its struggles with Mary of Lorraine, Philip II was
dealing with heresy in Spain. How effectually he dealt with it is one of
the notable chapters in the histories of nations. Here it is sufficient
to recall a single fact in illustration of the relative experiences of
Scotland and Spain. In 1559 Philip and his court, amid the applause of a
crowd of above two hundred thousand from all parts of Castile,
sanctioned with their presence the burning at Valladolid of a band of
persons, mostly women, accused of the crime of heresy. In France the
appearance of a new religion had evoked passions, alike among the people
and their rulers, which were to give that country an evil preeminence in
the ferocity of national and individual action. The _chambre ardente_,
the Edict of Châteaubriand (1551), the massacre of Amboise (1560), the
thirty years of intermittent civil war (1562-1592)--these were the events
of frightful significance that mark the development of religious conflict
in France. Compared with the tale of blood and confusion that has to be
told of Germany, France, England, and Spain, the history of the
Reformation in Scotland is a record of order and tranquillity.

What is thrust upon us by the narrative of events in Scotland is the
singular moderation alike of the representatives of the old and the new
religion. Heretics had been burned indeed, but the number was
inconsiderable compared with that of similar victims in other countries;
and, even in the day of their triumph, the Scottish Protestants, in
spite of the stern threat of their legislation, were guiltless of a
single execution on the ground of religion. What is still more striking
is, that difference of faith begot no fanatical hate among the mass of
the people. In France and Spain men forgot the ties of blood and country
in the blind fury of religious zeal, but in Scotland we do not find town
arrayed against town and neighbor denouncing neighbor on the ground of a
different faith. That this tolerance was not due to indifference the
religious history of Scotland abundantly proves. It was in the
convulsions attending the change of the national faith that the Scottish
nation first attained to a consciousness of itself, and the
characteristics it then displayed have remained its distinctive
characteristics ever since. It is precisely the combination of a fervid
temper with logical thinking and temperate action that have
distinguished the Scottish people in all the great crises of their
history.

It soon appeared that the Protestant triumph was not so complete as it
might have seemed. Those who saw furthest--and none was more keenly
alive to the fact than Knox--were well aware that many a battle must yet
be fought before the new temple they had built should stand secure
against the assault of open enemies and equivocal friends. The inherent
difficulties of the situation became speedily manifest. Mary and Francis
refused to ratify the late measures--a fact, says Knox, "we little
regarded or do regard." What he did regard, however, was the continued
alliance and support of England; and he was now to learn that, having
attained her own objects, Elizabeth was not disposed to be specially
cordial in her future relations to the Protestants in Scotland. It had
been for some time in the minds of the Protestant leaders that a
marriage between Elizabeth and the Earl of Arran would be an excellent
arrangement for both countries; and in October a commission was actually
sent to make the proposal. The reply of Elizabeth was that "presently
she was not disposed to marry." An important event made this rebuff
additionally unwelcome: on December 5th, Francis II, the husband of Mary
Stuart, unexpectedly died. Had her husband lived, Mary might have
continued to live in France, which had been so long her home, and
Scotland might have been left in large degree to settle its own affairs.
Now the probability was that Mary would return to her own country, and
with all the authority and prestige of a legitimate sovereign renew the
battle that had been lost by her mother. It was, therefore, with gloomy
forebodings that all sincere well-wishers to the Reformed Church in
Scotland saw the close of this year of their apparent triumph.

If there were these apprehensions from enemies, there was likewise a
growing alarm from the attitude of lukewarm and dubious friends. The
sincerity and good faith of all who had taken part in the late
revolution were about to be subjected to the most stringent of tests. By
the enactments of the preceding year the ancient Church had been swept
away; but the work of rearing a new edifice in its place still remained
to be accomplished. With this object the Protestant ministers had been
intrusted with the task of drafting a constitution for a new church
which should take the place of the old. The ministers had discharged
their trust, and the result of their labors was laid before the estates
which met in Edinburgh on January 15, 1561.

The document presented to the estates was the famous _Book of
Discipline_--the most interesting and in many respects the most
important document in the history of Scotland. If any proof were needed
that the revolt against the ancient Church was no ill-considered act of
irresponsible men, we assuredly possess that proof in this extraordinary
book. Though in its primary intention the scheme of its ecclesiastical
polity, it is in fact the draft of a "republic," under which a nation
should live its life on earth and prepare itself for heaven. It not
only prescribes a creed, and supplies a complete system of church
government: it suggests a scheme of national education, it defines the
relation of church and state, it provides for the poor and unable, it
regulates the life of households, it even determines the career of such
as by their natural gifts were especially fitted to be of service to
church or state. As we shall see, the suggestions of the _Book of
Discipline_ were to be but imperfectly realized; yet, by defining the
ideals and moulding the temper and culture of the prevailing majority
of the Scottish people, it has been one of the great formative
influences in the national development.

It was on this memorable document that the estates were now to sit
in judgment. In the case of the Confession of Faith they had been
practically unanimous; but that had been a mere statement of abstract
doctrines which involved no question of worldly interests, and might
be subscribed with a light heart and with any degree of spiritual
conviction. With the _Book of Discipline_ it was very different. The
fundamental question that had to be answered in that book was the
question of the "sustentation" of the new Church. The answer given was
the most natural in the world: the reformed Church had an indisputable
right to the entire inheritance of the Church it had displaced. There
were, however, two formidable difficulties in the way of this claim.
Without manifest injustice the ancient clergy could not be deprived
wholesale of their means of subsistence. The second difficulty was also
formidable. Of late years a considerable amount of Church property had
passed into the hands of the nobles, barons, and gentry. Would these
persons now be willing to lay their possessions at the feet of the
ministers from whom they professed to have received the true Gospel?
The proceedings of the convention left no doubt as to the answer.
As in the preceding August, the assembly was a crowded one, but on
this occasion there was no such unanimous action. "Some approved it,"
says Knox, "and willed the same have been set forth by law. Others,
perceiving their carnal liberty and worldly commodity somewhat to
be impaired thereby, grudged, insomuch that the name of _Book of
Discipline_ became odious unto them. Everything that repugned to their
corrupt affections was termed in their mocking 'devout imaginations.'"

After long and heated debates, no definite conclusion was reached. A
large number of the nobles and barons, however, signed the _Book_ as
being "good and conformable to God's Word in all points"; but they
signed it with a qualification that did them credit. The old clergy
should be allowed to retain their livings on condition of their
maintaining Protestant ministers in their respective districts. The
denunciations of Knox have given an evil name to this convention of the
estates, yet the act of spoliation to which he would have had them put
their hands would have done little credit to a religion whose special
claim was to have reproduced the purity and simplicity of the primitive
gospel.

While the supporters of the Reformation were thus divided among
themselves, the prospect of the Queen's approaching return was further
confounding their counsels. That she must be their open or their secret
foe, they could have no manner of doubt. Her character and opinions had
been formed under the immediate supervision of her uncle, the Cardinal
of Lorraine; and to the French Protestants the Cardinal was already
known as "_le tigre de France_." As a Catholic and as a Queen, her
natural desire must be to undo the work of the late revolution, which
she could only regard as the work of rebels and heretics. "Whenever she
comes," wrote Randolph, the English resident, "I believe there will be
a mad world." Mary might prove to be as able as her mother, and she
would possess many advantages over Mary of Lorraine in any contest with
her subjects. She was the legitimate sovereign of the country; and, now
that the immediate danger from France was removed by the death of her
husband, there was no reason why the national party, as distinguished
alike from Catholic and Protestant, should not return to its natural
allegiance. Moreover, though, with the help of England, Protestantism
had triumphed in the late trial of strength, the great majority in the
country--nobles, barons, and commons--were still on the side of the old
religion.

Even before her return Mary had clearly indicated the policy she
intended to follow. In February she had sent deputies to the estates to
urge the renewal of the ancient league with France--a step which, at
their meeting in May, the estates decisively refused to take, as being
the virtual abandonment of their cause. In view of her imminent return,
Mary's supporters began to bestir themselves in a fashion that boded ill
for the future peace of the country. At Stirling the bishops met in
council to consider their best policy; and we have it from one of their
own number that they were acting in concert with the earls Huntly,
Athol, Crawford, Marischal, Sutherland, Caithness, and Bothwell. As the
result of their counsels, a proposal was sent to Mary which she had the
prudence to reject in her own interest as well as in the interest of her
kingdom. The proposal was that she should land at some point on the
northern coast where the earls would be ready to support her with twenty
thousand men. As a safer course for the immediate future, Mary chose the
advice proffered to her by the party for the present in the ascendant.
Through the lord James Stewart as their deputy, the Protestant leaders
urged upon her the necessity of leaving religion as she would find it,
and of adopting as her advisers the persons now at the head of affairs.
When at length, on August 19, 1561, Mary landed at Leith, it appeared
that at least for the time she was content to take things as she found
them. That she would accept them as definitive, no one, and least of all
John Knox, could so far delude himself as to believe.


                            THOMAS CARLYLE

In the history of Scotland I can find properly but one epoch: we may
say, it contains nothing of world-interest at all but this Reformation
by Knox. A poor, barren country, full of continual broils, dissensions,
massacrings; a people in the last state of rudeness and destitution,
little better perhaps than Ireland at this day. Hungry, fierce barons,
not so much as able to form any arrangement with each other _how to
divide_ what they fleeced from these poor drudges; but obliged, as the
Colombian Republics are at this day, to make of every alteration a
revolution; no way of changing a ministry but by hanging the old
ministers on gibbets: this is a historical spectacle of no very
singular significance! "Bravery" enough, I doubt not; fierce fighting
in abundance, but not braver or fiercer than that of their old
Scandinavian Sea-king ancestors, whose exploits we have not found worth
dwelling on! It is a country as yet without a soul: nothing developed
in it but what is rude, external, semi-animal. And now, at the
Reformation, the internal life is kindled, as it were, under the ribs
of this outward material death. A cause, the noblest of causes, kindles
itself, like a beacon set on high; high as Heaven, yet attainable from
Earth, whereby the meanest man becomes not a Citizen only, but a Member
of Christ's visible Church; a veritable hero, if he prove a true man!

But to return: This that Knox did for his Nation, I say, we may really
call a resurrection as from death. It was not a smooth business; but it
was welcome surely, and cheap at that price, had it been far rougher.
On the whole, cheap at any price--as life is. The people began to
_live_: they needed first of all to do that, at what cost and costs
soever. Scotch Literature and Thought, Scotch Industry; James Watt,
David Hume, Walter Scott, Robert Burns: I find Knox and the Reformation
acting in the heart's core of every one of these persons and phenomena;
I find that without the Reformation they would not have been. Or what
of Scotland? The Puritanism of Scotland became that of England, of New
England. A tumult in the High Church of Edinburgh spread into a
universal battle and struggle over all these realms; there came out,
after fifty years' struggling, what we all call the "_Glorious_
Revolution," a _Habeas Corpus_ Act, Free Parliaments, and much else!
Alas, is it not too true, that many men in the van do always like
Russian soldiers, march into the ditch of Schweidnitz, and fill it up
with their dead bodies, that the rear may pass over them dry-shod, and
gain the honor? How many earnest, rugged Cromwells, Knoxes, poor
Peasant Covenanters, wrestling, battling for very life, in rough miry
places, have to struggle, and suffer, and fall, greatly censured,
_bemired_--before a beautiful Revolution of Eighty-eight can step over
them in official pumps and silk stockings, with universal
three-times-three!

It seems to me hard measure that this Scottish man, now after three
hundred years, should have to plead like a culprit before the world;
intrinsically for having been, in such a way as it was then possible to
be, the bravest of all Scotchmen! Had he been a poor Half-and-half, he
could have crouched into the corner, like so many others; Scotland had
not been delivered; and Knox had been without blame. He is the one
Scotchman to whom, of all others, his country and the world owe a debt.
He has to plead that Scotland would forgive him for having been worth to
it any million "unblamable" Scotchmen that need no forgiveness! He bared
his breast to the battle; had to row in French galleys, wander forlorn
in exile, in clouds and storms; was censured, shot at through his
windows; had a right sore fighting life: if this world were his place of
recompense, he had made but a bad venture of it. I cannot apologize for
Knox. To him it is very indifferent, these two hundred and fifty years
or more, what men say of him. But we, having got above all those details
of his battle, and living now in clearness on the fruits of his victory,
we, for our own sake, ought to look through the rumors and controversies
enveloping the man, into the man himself.

For one thing, I will remark that this post of Prophet to his Nation
was not of his seeking; Knox had lived forty years quietly obscure,
before he became conspicuous. He was the son of poor parents; had got a
college education; become a priest; adopted the Reformation, and seemed
well content to guide his own steps by the light of it, nowise unduly
intruding it on others. He had lived as Tutor in gentlemen's families;
preaching when any body of persons wished to hear his doctrine:
resolute he to walk by the truth, and speak the truth when called to do
it; not ambitious of more; not fancying himself capable of more. In
this entirely obscure way he had reached the age of forty; was with the
small body of Reformers who were standing siege in St. Andrew's
Castle--when one day in their chapel, the preacher, after finishing his
exhortation to these fighters in the forlorn hope, said suddenly, That
there ought to be other speakers, that all men who had a priest's heart
and gift in them ought now to speak; which gifts and heart one of their
own number, John Knox the name of him, had: had he not? said the
preacher, appealing to all the audience: what then is _his_ duty? The
people answered affirmatively; it was a criminal forsaking of his post,
if such a man held the word that was in him silent. Poor Knox was
obliged to stand up; he attempted to reply; he could say no word; burst
into a flood of tears, and ran out. It is worth remembering, that
scene. He was in grievous trouble for some days. He felt what a small
faculty was his for this great work. He felt what a baptism he was
called to be baptized withal. He "burst into tears."

Our primary characteristic of a hero, that he is sincere, applies
emphatically to Knox. It is not denied anywhere that this, whatever
might be his other qualities or faults, is among the truest of men.
With a singular instinct he holds to the truth and fact; the truth
alone is there for him, the rest a mere shadow and deceptive nonentity.
However feeble, forlorn the reality may seem, on that and that only
_can_ he take his stand. In the Galleys of the River Loire, whither
Knox and the others, after their Castle of St. Andrew's was taken, had
been sent as Galley-slaves--some officer or priest, one day, presented
them an image of the Virgin Mother, requiring that they, the blasphemous
heretics, should do it reverence. Mother? Mother of God? said Knox,
when the turn came to him: This is no Mother of God: this is "a _pented
bredd_"--a piece of wood, I tell you, with paint on it! She is fitter
for swimming, I think, than for being worshipped, added Knox; and flung
the thing into the river. It was not very cheap jesting there: but come
of it what might, this thing to Knox was and must continue nothing
other than the real truth; it was a _pented bredd_: worship it he would
not.

He told his fellow-prisoners, in this darkest time, to be of courage;
the Cause they had was the true one, and must and would prosper; the
whole world could not put it down. Reality is of God's making; it is
alone strong. How many _pented bredds_, pretending to be real, are
fitter to swim than to be worshipped! This Knox cannot live but by
facts: he clings to reality as the shipwrecked sailor to the cliff. He
is an instance to us how a man, by sincerity itself, becomes heroic; it
is the grand gift he has. We find in Knox a good, honest, intellectual
talent, no transcendent one; a narrow, inconsiderable man, as compared
with Luther: but in heartfelt, instinctive adherence to truth, in
_sincerity_, as we say, he has no superior; nay, one might ask, what
equal he has? The heart of him is of the true Prophet cast. "He lies
there," said the Earl of Morton at his grave, "who never feared the
face of man." He resembles, more than any of the moderns, an old Hebrew
Prophet. The same inflexibility, intolerance, rigid, narrow-looking
adherence to God's truth, stern rebuke in the name of God to all that
forsake truth: an old Hebrew prophet in the guise of an Edinburgh
minister of the sixteenth century. We are to take him for that; not
require him to be other.

Knox's conduct to Queen Mary, the harsh visits he used to make in her
own palace, to reprove her there, have been much commented upon. Such
cruelty, such coarseness, fills us with indignation. On reading the
actual narrative of the business, what Knox said, and what Knox meant,
I must say one's tragic feeling is rather disappointed. They are not
so coarse, these speeches, they seem to me about as fine as the
circumstances would permit! Knox was not there to do the courtier; he
came on another errand. Whoever, reading these colloquies of his with
the Queen, thinks they are vulgar insolences of a plebeian priest to a
delicate high lady, mistakes the purport and essence of them altogether.
It was unfortunately not possible to be polite with the Queen of
Scotland, unless one proved untrue to the Nation and Cause of Scotland.
A man who did not wish to see the land of his birth made a hunting-field
for intriguing, ambitious Guises, and the Cause of God trampled
underfoot of falsehoods, formulas, and the Devil's Cause, had no method
of making himself agreeable! "Better that women weep," said Morton,
"than that bearded men be forced to weep." Knox was the constitutional
opposition party in Scotland: the Nobles of the country, called by their
station to take that post, were not found in it; Knox had to go, or no
one. The hapless Queen; but the still more hapless Country, if _she_
were made happy! Mary herself was not without sharpness enough, among
her other qualities: "Who are you," said she once, "that presume to
school the nobles and sovereign of this realm?" "Madam, a subject born
within the same," answered he. Reasonably answered! If the "subject"
have truth to speak, it is not the "subject's" footing that will fail
him here.

We blame Knox for his intolerance. Well, surely it is good that each of
us be as tolerant as possible. Yet, at bottom, after all the talk there
is and has been about it, what is tolerance? Tolerance has to tolerate
the _un_essential; and to see well what that is. Tolerance has to
be noble, measured, just in its very wrath, when it can tolerate no
longer. But, on the whole, we are not altogether here to tolerate!
We are here to resist, to control, and vanquish withal. We do not
"tolerate" Falsehoods, Thieveries, Iniquities, when they fasten on us;
we say to them, Thou art false, thou art not tolerable! We are here to
extinguish Falsehoods, and put an end to them, in some wise way! I will
not quarrel so much with the way; the doing of the thing is our great
concern. In this sense Knox was, full surely, intolerant.

A man sent to row in French Galleys, and suchlike, for teaching the
Truth in his own land, cannot always be in the mildest humor! I am not
prepared to say that Knox had a soft temper; nor do I know that he had
what we call an ill temper. An ill nature he decidedly had not. Kind,
honest affections dwelt in the much-enduring, hard-worn, ever-battling
man. That he _could_ rebuke Queens, and had such weight among those
proud, turbulent Nobles, proud enough whatever else they were; and could
maintain to the end a kind of virtual Presidency and Sovereignty in that
wild realm, he who was only "a subject born within the same": this of
itself will prove to us that he was found, close at hand, to be no mean,
acrid man; but at heart a healthful, strong, sagacious man. Such alone
can bear rule in that kind. They blame him for pulling down cathedrals,
and so forth, as if he were a seditious, rioting demagogue: precisely
the reverse is seen to be the fact, in regard to cathedrals and the rest
of it, if we examine! Knox wanted no pulling-down of stone edifices; he
wanted leprosy and darkness to be thrown out of the lives of men. Tumult
was not his element; it was the tragic feature of his life that he
was forced to dwell so much in that. Every such man is the born enemy
of Disorder; hates to be in it: but what then? Smooth Falsehood is
not Order; it is the general sum total of _Dis_order. Order is
_Truth_--each thing standing on the basis that belongs to it: Order
and Falsehood cannot subsist together.

Withal, unexpectedly enough, this Knox has a vein of drollery in him;
which I like much, in combination with his other qualities. He has a
true eye for the ridiculous. His _History_, with its rough earnestness,
is curiously enlivened with this. When the two Prelates, entering
Glasgow Cathedral, quarrel about precedence; march rapidly up, take to
hustling one another, twitching one another's rochets, and at last
flourishing their crosiers like quarter-staves, it is a great sight for
him everywhere! Not mockery, scorn, bitterness alone; though there is
enough of that too. But a true, loving, illuminating laugh mounts up
over the earnest visage; not a loud laugh; you would say, a laugh in
the _eyes_ most of all. An honest-hearted, brotherly man; brother to
the high, brother also to the low; sincere in his sympathy with both.
He had his pipe of Bourdeaux too, we find, in that old Edinburgh house
of his; a cheery social man, with faces that loved him! They go far
wrong who think that this Knox was a gloomy, spasmodic, shrieking
fanatic. Not at all: he is one of the solidest of men. Practical,
cautious-hopeful, patient; a most shrewd, observing, quietly discerning
man. In fact, he has very much the type of character we assign to the
Scotch at present: a certain sardonic taciturnity is in him; insight
enough; and a stouter heart than he himself knows of. He has the power
of holding his peace over many things which do not vitally concern
him--"They? what are they?" But the thing which does vitally concern
him, that thing he will speak of; and in a tone the whole world shall
be made to hear: all the more emphatic for his long silence.

This Prophet of the Scotch is to me no hateful man! He had a sore fight
of an existence; wrestling with Popes and Principalities; in defeat,
contention, life-long struggle; rowing as a galley-slave, wandering as
an exile. A sore fight: but he won it. "Have you hope?" they asked him
in his last moment, when he could no longer speak. He lifted his finger,
"pointed upward with his finger," and so died. Honor to him! His works
have not died. The letter of his work dies, as of all men's; but the
spirit of it never.

One word more as to the letter of Knox's work. The unforgivable offence
in him is, that he wished to set-up Priests over the head of Kings. In
other words, he strove to make the Government of Scotland a
_Theocracy_. This indeed is properly the sum of his offences, the
essential sin; for which what pardon can there be? It is most true, he
did, at bottom, consciously or unconsciously, mean a Theocracy, or
Government of God. He did mean that Kings and Prime Ministers, and all
manner of persons, in public or private, diplomatizing or whatever else
they might be doing, should walk according to the Gospel of Christ, and
understand that this was their Law, supreme over all laws. He hoped
once to see such a thing realized; and the Petition, _Thy Kingdom
come_, no longer an empty word. He was sore grieved when he saw greedy,
worldly Barons clutch hold of the Church's property; when he
expostulated that it was not secular property, that it was spiritual
property, and should be turned to _true_ churchly uses, education,
schools, worship; and the Regent Murray had to answer, with a shrug of
the shoulders, "It is a devout imagination!" This was Knox's scheme of
right and truth; this he zealously endeavored after, to realize it. If
we think his scheme of truth was too narrow, was not true, we may
rejoice that he could not realize it; that it remained, after two
centuries of effort, unrealizable, and is a "devout imagination" still.
But how shall we blame him for struggling to realize it? Theocracy,
Government of God, is precisely the thing to be struggled for! All
Prophets, zealous Priests, are there for that purpose. Hildebrand
wished a Theocracy; Cromwell wished it, fought for it; Mahomet attained
it. Nay, is it not what all zealous men, whether called Priests,
Prophets, or whatsoever else called, do essentially wish, and must
wish? That right and truth, or God's law, reign supreme among men, this
is the Heavenly Ideal (well named in Knox's time, and namable in all
times, a revealed "Will of God") toward which the Reformer will insist
that all be more and more approximated. All true Reformers are by
nature of them Priests, and strive for a Theocracy.




                 MARY STUART: HER REIGN AND EXECUTION

                            A.D. 1561-1587

                      ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE


    Apart from the peculiar interest of her own life and reign, Mary
    Stuart is an important personage as having been the mother of the
    first sovereign of the Stuart line in England (James I).

    Historical critics take widely differing views of the conduct and
    character of the Queen of Scots, both in her individual life and her
    relation to public affairs. In the complications then involving the
    political and religious organizations of Europe, the play and
    counter-play of motives are difficult to follow, and just
    discrimination becomes at times almost impossible.

    In like manner, the troublous times in which Mary Stuart was called
    to act her part rendered her own way intricate and uncertain. A
    devotee of the Catholic faith, she was placed upon the throne of
    Scotland at the very hour when that country, under the powerful
    leadership of John Knox, was fast becoming Protestant. This state of
    affairs made her task as ruler in her own realm sufficiently trying.
    But her difficulties were increased by the inevitable antagonisms
    with her great Protestant rival, Elizabeth of England, and through
    the involved relations of Great Britain with Spain and Catholic
    Europe generally. These historical puzzles seem always to call for
    fresh explanation. No less perplexing are the circumstances into
    which this Queen was drawn by her marital relations and other
    personal entanglements.

    Upon all these matters Swinburne sheds light through the medium of
    a sound critical judgment, in a style no less conspicuous for its
    fascination than by reason of its illuminative power.


Mary (1542-1587), Queen of Scots, daughter of King James V and his wife
Mary of Lorraine, was born in December, 1542, a few days before the
death of her father, heart-broken by the disgrace of his arms at Solway
Moss, where the disaffected nobles had declined to encounter an enemy of
inferior force in the cause of a king whose systematic policy had been
directed against the privileges of their order, and whose representative
on the occasion was an unpopular favorite appointed general in defiance
of their ill-will. On the 9th of September following, the ceremony of
coronation was duly performed on the infant. A scheme for her betrothal
to Edward, Prince of Wales, was defeated by the grasping greed of his
father, whose obvious ambition to annex the crown of Scotland at once to
that of England aroused instantly the general suspicion and indignation
of Scottish patriotism. In 1548 the Queen of six years old was betrothed
to the dauphin Francis, and set sail for France, where she arrived
August 15th.

The society in which the child was thenceforward reared is known to
readers of Brantome as well as that of Imperial Rome at its worst is
known to readers of Suetonius or Petronius--as well as that of papal
Rome at its worst is known to readers of the diary kept by the domestic
chaplain of Pope Alexander VI. Only in their pages can a parallel be
found to the gay and easy record which reveals, without sign of shame or
suspicion of offence, the daily life of a court compared to which the
court of King Charles II is as the court of Queen Victoria to the
society described by Grammont.

Debauchery of all kinds, murder in all forms, were the daily matter of
excitement or of jest to the brilliant circle which revolved around
Queen Catherine de' Medici. After ten years' training under the tutelage
of the woman whose main instrument of policy was the corruption of her
own children, the Queen of Scots, aged fifteen years and five months,
was married to the eldest and feeblest of the brood on April 24, 1558.
On November 17th, Elizabeth became Queen of England, and the princes of
Lorraine--Francis the great Duke of Guise, and his brother the
Cardinal--induced their niece and her husband to assume, in addition to
the arms of France and Scotland, the arms of a country over which they
asserted the right of Mary Stuart to reign as legitimate heiress of Mary
Tudor. Civil strife broke out in Scotland between John Knox and the
Queen Dowager--between the self-styled "Congregation of the Lord" and
the adherents of the Regent, whose French troops repelled the combined
forces of the Scotch and their English allies from the beleaguered walls
of Leith, little more than a month before the death of their mistress in
the castle of Edinburgh, on June 10, 1560.

On August 25th Protestantism was proclaimed and Catholicism suppressed
in Scotland by a convention of states assembled without the assent of
the absent Queen. On December 5th Francis II died; in August, 1561, his
widow left France for Scotland, having been refused a safe-conduct by
Elizabeth on the ground of her own previous refusal to ratify the treaty
made with England by her commissioners in the same month of the
preceding year. She arrived nevertheless in safety at Leith, escorted by
three of her uncles of the house of Lorraine, and bringing in her train
her future biographer, Brantome, and Chastelard, the first of all her
voluntary victims. On August 21st she first met the only man able to
withstand her; and their first passage of arms left, as he has recorded,
upon the mind of John Knox, an ineffaceable impression of her "proud
mind, crafty wit, and indurate heart against God and his truth."

And yet her acts of concession and conciliation were such as no fanatic
on the opposite side could have approved. She assented, not only to the
undisturbed maintenance of the new creed, but even to a scheme for the
endowment of the Protestant ministry out of the confiscated lands of the
Church. Her half-brother, Lord James Stuart, shared the duties of her
chief counsellor with William Maitland of Lethington, the keenest and
most liberal thinker in the country. By the influence of Lord James, in
spite of the earnest opposition of Knox, permission was obtained for her
to hear mass celebrated in her private chapel--a license to which, said
the reformer, he would have preferred the invasion of ten thousand
Frenchmen.

Through all the first troubles of her reign the young Queen steered her
skilful and dauntless way with the tact of a woman and the courage of a
man. An insurrection in the North, headed by the Earl of Huntly under
pretext of rescuing from justice the life which his son had forfeited by
his share in a homicidal brawl, was crushed at a blow by the lord James
against whose life, as well as against his sister's liberty, the
conspiracy of the Gordons had been aimed, and on whom, after the father
had fallen in fight and the son had expiated his double offence on the
scaffold, the leading rebel's earldom of Murray was conferred by the
gratitude of the Queen. Exactly four months after the battle of
Corrichie, and the subsequent execution of a criminal whom she is said
to have "loved entirely," had put an end to the first insurrection
raised against her, Pierre de Boscosel de Chastelard, who had returned
to France with the other companions of her arrival, and in November,
1562, had revisited Scotland, expiated with his head the offence of the
misfortune of a second detection at night in her bedchamber.

In the same month, twenty-five years afterward, the execution of his
mistress, according to the verdict of her contemporaries in France,
avenged the blood of a lover who had died without uttering a word to
realize the apprehension which, according to Knox, had before his trial
impelled her to desire her brother "that, as he loved her, he would slay
Chastelard, and let him never speak word." And in the same month, two
years from the date of Chastelard's execution, her first step was
unconsciously taken on the road to Fotheringay, when she gave her heart
at first sight to her kinsman Henry, Lord Darnley, son of Matthew
Stuart, Earl of Lennox, who had suffered an exile of twenty years in
expiation of his intrigues with England, and had married the niece of
King Henry VIII, daughter of his sister Margaret, the widow of James IV,
by her second husband, the Earl of Angus. Queen Elizabeth, with the
almost incredible want of tact or instinctive delicacy which
distinguished and disfigured her vigorous intelligence, had recently
proposed as a suitor to the Queen of Scots her own low-born favorite,
Lord Robert Dudley, the widower if not murderer of Amy Robsart; and she
now protested against the project of marriage between Mary and Darnley.

Mary, who had already married her kinsman in secret at Stirling castle
with Catholic rites celebrated in the apartment of David Rizzio, her
secretary for correspondence with France, assured the English
ambassador, in reply to the protest of his mistress, that the marriage
would not take place for three months, when a dispensation from the Pope
would allow the cousins to be publicly united without offence to the
Church. On July 29, 1565, they were accordingly remarried at Holyrood.
The hapless and worthless bridegroom had already incurred the hatred of
two powerful enemies, the Earls of Morton and Glencairn; but the former
of these took part with the Queen against the forces raised by Murray,
Glencairn, and others, under the nominal leadership of Hamilton, Duke of
Châtelherault, on the double plea of danger to the new religion of the
country, and of the illegal proceeding by which Darnley had been
proclaimed king of Scots without the needful constitutional assent of
the estates of the realm.

Murray was cited to attend to the "raid" or array levied by the King and
Queen, and was duly denounced by public blast of trumpet for his
non-appearance. He entered Edinburgh with his forces, but failed to hold
the town against the guns of the castle, and fell back upon Dumfries
before the advance of the royal army, which was now joined by James
Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, on his return from a three years' outlawed
exile in France. He had been accused in 1562 of a plot to seize the
Queen and put her into the keeping of Earl of Arran, whose pretensions
to her hand ended only when his insanity could no longer be concealed.
Another new adherent was the son of the late Earl of Huntly, to whom the
forfeited honors of his house were restored a few months before the
marriage of his sister to Bothwell. The Queen now appealed to France for
aid; but Castelnau, the French ambassador, replied to her passionate
pleading by sober and earnest advice to make peace with the malcontents.
This counsel was rejected, and in October, 1565, the Queen marched an
army of eighteen thousand men against them from Edinburgh; their forces
dispersed in face of superior numbers, and Murray, on seeking shelter in
England, was received with contumely by Elizabeth, whose half-hearted
help had failed to support his enterprise, and whose intercession for
his return found at first no favor with the Queen of Scots.

But the conduct of the besotted boy, on whom at their marriage she had
bestowed the title of king, began at once to justify the enterprise and
to play into the hands of all his enemies alike. His father set him on
to demand the crown matrimonial, which would at least have assured him
the rank and station of independent royalty for life. Rizzio, hitherto
his friend and advocate, induced the Queen to reply by a reasonable
refusal to this hazardous and audacious request. Darnley at once threw
himself into the arms of the party opposed to the policy of the Queen
and her secretary--a policy which at that moment was doubly and trebly
calculated to exasperate the fears of the religious and the pride of the
patriotic. Mary was invited if not induced by the King of Spain to join
his league for the suppression of Protestantism; while the actual or
prospective endowment of Rizzio with Morton's office of chancellor, and
the projected attainder of Murray and his allies, combined to inflame at
once the anger and the apprehension of the Protestant nobles.

According to one account, Darnley privately assured his uncle George
Douglas of his wife's infidelity; he had himself, if he might be
believed, discovered the secretary in the Queen's apartment at midnight,
under circumstances yet more unequivocally compromising than those which
had brought Chastelard to the scaffold. Another version of the pitiful
history represents Douglas as infusing suspicion of Rizzio into the
empty mind of his nephew, and thus winning his consent to a deed already
designed by others.

A bond was drawn in which Darnley pledged himself to support the
confederates who undertook to punish "certain privy persons" offensive
to the state, "especially a stranger Italian called Davie"; another was
subscribed by Darnley and the banished lords, then biding their time in
Newcastle, which engaged him to procure their pardon and restoration,
while pledging them to insure to him the enjoyment of the title he
coveted, with the consequent security of an undisputed succession to the
crown, despite the counter-claims of the house of Hamilton, in case his
wife should die without issue--a result which, intentionally or not, he
and his fellow-conspirators did all that brutality could have suggested
to accelerate and secure.

On March 9th the palace of Holyrood was invested by a troop under the
command of Morton, while Rizzio was dragged by force out of the Queen's
presence and slain without trial in the heat of the moment. The
parliament was discharged by proclamation issued in the name of Darnley
as king; and in the evening of the next day the banished lords, whom it
was to have condemned to outlawry, returned to Edinburgh. On the
following day they were graciously received by the Queen, who undertook
to sign a bond for their security, but delayed the subscription until
the next morning under plea of sickness. During the night she escaped
with Darnley, whom she had already seduced from the party of his
accomplices, and arrived at Dunbar on the third morning after the
slaughter of her favorite. From thence they returned to Edinburgh on
March 28th, guarded by two thousand horsemen under the command of
Bothwell, who had escaped from Holyrood on the night of the murder, to
raise a force on the Queen's behalf with his usual soldierly
promptitude.

The slayers of Rizzio fled to England, and were outlawed; Darnley was
permitted to protest his innocence and denounce his accomplices; after
which he became the scorn of all parties alike, and few men dared or
cared to be seen in his company. On June 19th a son was born to his
wife, and in the face of his previous protestations he was induced to
acknowledge himself the father. But, as Murray and his partisans
returned to favor and influence no longer incompatible with that of
Bothwell and Huntly, he grew desperate enough with terror to dream of
escape to France. This design was at once frustrated by the Queen's
resolution. She summoned him to declare his reasons for it in the
presence of the French ambassador and an assembly of the nobles; she
besought him for God's sake to speak out, and not spare her; and at last
he left her presence with an avowal that he had nothing to allege.

The favor shown to Bothwell had not yet given occasion for scandal,
though his character as an adventurous libertine was as notable as his
reputation for military hardihood; but as the summer advanced, his
insolence increased with his influence at court and the general aversion
of his rivals. He was richly endowed by Mary from the greater and lesser
spoils of the Church; and the three wardenships of the border, united
for the first time in his person, gave the lord high admiral of Scotland
a position of unequalled power. In the gallant discharge of its duties
he was dangerously wounded by a leading outlaw, whom he slew in single
combat; and while yet confined to Hermitage castle he received a visit
of two hours from the Queen, who rode thither from Jedburgh and back
through twenty miles of the wild borderland, where her person was in
perpetual danger from the free-booters whom her father's policy had
striven and had failed to extirpate.

On January 22, 1567, the Queen visited her husband, who was ill at
Glasgow, and proposed to remove him to Craigmillar castle, where he
would have the benefit of medicinal baths; but instead of this resort he
was conveyed on the last day of the month to the lonely and squalid
shelter of the residence which was soon to be made memorable by his
murder. Between the ruins of two sacred buildings, with the town hall to
the south and a suburban hamlet known to ill-fame as the Thieves' Row to
the north of it, a lodging was prepared for the titular King of
Scotland, and fitted up with tapestries taken from the Gordons after the
battle of Corrichie. On the evening of Sunday, February 9th, Mary took
her last leave of the miserable boy who had so often and so mortally
outraged her as consort and as queen. That night the whole city was
shaken out of sleep by an explosion of gunpowder which shattered to
fragments the building in which he should have slept and perished; and
next morning the bodies of Darnley and a page were found strangled in a
garden adjoining it, whither they had apparently escaped over a wall, to
be despatched by the hands of Bothwell's attendant confederates.

Upon the view which may be taken of Mary's conduct during the next three
months depends the whole debatable question of her character. According
to the professed champions of that character, this conduct was a tissue
of such dastardly imbecility, such heartless irresolution, and such
brainless inconsistency as forever to dispose of her time-honored claim
to the credit of intelligence and courage. It is certain that just three
months and six days after the murder of her husband she became the wife
of her husband's murderer. On February 11th she wrote to the Bishop of
Glasgow, her ambassador in France, a brief letter, of simple eloquence,
announcing her providential escape from a design upon her own as well as
her husband's life. A reward of two thousand pounds was offered by
proclamation for discovery of the murderer. Bothwell and others, his
satellites or the Queen's, were instantly placarded by name as the
criminals. Voices were heard by night in the streets of Edinburgh
calling down judgment on the assassins.

Four days after the discovery of the bodies, Darnley was buried in the
chapel of Holyrood with secrecy as remarkable as the solemnity with
which Rizzio had been interred there less than a year before. On the
Sunday following, Mary left Edinburgh for Seton palace, twelve miles
from the capital, where scandal asserted that she passed the time
merrily in shooting-matches, with Bothwell for her partner, against
Lords Seton and Huntly; other accounts represent Huntly and Bothwell
as left at Holyrood in charge of the infant Prince. Gracefully and
respectfully, with statesmanlike yet feminine dexterity, the demands of
Darnley's father for justice on the murderers of his son were accepted
and eluded by his daughter-in-law. Bothwell, with a troop of fifty men,
rode through Edinburgh defiantly denouncing vengeance on his concealed
accusers. As weeks elapsed without action on the part of the royal
widow, while the cry of blood was up throughout the country, raising
echoes from England and abroad, the murmur of accusation began to rise
against her also. Murray, with his sister's ready permission, withdrew
to France.

On April 21st Mary went to visit her child at Stirling, where his
guardian, the Earl of Mar, refused to admit more than two women in her
train. It was well known in Edinburgh that Bothwell had a body of men
ready to intercept her on the way back, and carry her to Dunbar--not,
as was naturally inferred, without good assurance of her consent. On
April 24th, as she approached Edinburgh, Bothwell accordingly met her
at the head of eight hundred spearmen, assured her--as she afterward
averred--that she was in the utmost peril, and escorted her, together
with Huntly, Lethington, and Melville, who were then in attendance, to
Dunbar castle. On May 3d Lady Jane Gordon, who had become Countess of
Bothwell on February 22d of the year preceding, obtained, on the ground
of her husband's infidelities, a separation, which, however, would not
under the old laws of Catholic Scotland have left him free to marry
again.

On the day when the first or Protestant divorce was pronounced, Mary
and Bothwell returned to Edinburgh with every prepared appearance of a
peaceful triumph. Lest her captivity should have been held to invalidate
the late legal proceedings in her name, proclamation was made of
forgiveness accorded by the Queen to her captor in consideration of his
past and future services, and her intention was announced to reward them
by further promotion; and on the same day (May 12th) he was duly created
duke of Orkney and Shetland. The Duke, as a conscientious Protestant,
refused to marry his mistress according to the rites of her Church, and
she, the chosen champion of its cause, agreed to be married to him,
not merely by a Protestant, but by one who before his conversion had
been a Catholic bishop, and therefore should have been more hateful
and contemptible in her eyes than any ordinary heretic, had not
religion as well as policy, faith as well as reason, been absorbed or
superseded by some more mastering passion or emotion. This passion or
emotion, according to those who deny her attachment to Bothwell, was
simply terror--the blind and irrational prostration of an abject spirit
before the cruel force of circumstances and the crafty wickedness of
men. Hitherto, according to all evidence, she had shown herself on
all occasions, as on all subsequent occasions she indisputably
showed herself, the most fearless, the most keen-sighted, the most
ready-witted, the most high-gifted and high-spirited of women; gallant
and generous, skilful and practical, never to be cowed by fortune, never
to be cajoled by craft; neither more unselfish in her ends nor more
unscrupulous in her practice than might have been expected from her
training and her creed.

But at the crowning moment of trial there are those who assert their
belief that the woman who on her way to the field of Corrichie had
uttered her wish to be a man, that she might know all the hardship and
all the enjoyment of a soldier's life, riding forth "in jack and
knapskull"--the woman who long afterward was to hold her own for two
days together, without help of counsel, against all the array of English
law and English statesmanship, armed with irrefragable evidence and
supported by the resentment of a nation--showed herself devoid of moral
and physical resolution; too senseless to realize the significance and
too heartless to face the danger of a situation from which the simplest
exercise of reason, principle, or courage must have rescued the most
unsuspicious and inexperienced of honest women who was not helplessly
deficient in self-reliance and self-respect.

The famous correspondence produced next year in evidence against her at
the conference of York may have been, as her partisans affirm, so
craftily garbled and falsified by interpolation, suppression,
perversion, or absolute forgery as to be all but historically worthless.
Its acceptance or its rejection does not in any degree whatever affect,
for better or for worse, the rational estimate of her character. The
problem presented by the simple existence of the facts just summed up
remains in either case absolutely the same.

That the coarse and imperious nature of the hardy and able ruffian who
had now become openly her master should no less openly have shown itself
even in the first moments of their inauspicious union is what any
bystander of common insight must inevitably have foreseen. Tears,
dejection, and passionate expressions of a despair "wishing only for
death," bore fitful and variable witness to her first sense of a heavier
yoke than yet had galled her spirit and her pride. At other times her
affectionate gayety would give evidence as trustworthy of a fearless and
improvident satisfaction. They rode out in state together, and if he
kept cap in hand as a subject she would snatch it from him and clap it
on his head again; while in graver things she took all due or possible
care to gratify his ambition by the insertion of a clause in their
contract of marriage which made their joint signature necessary to all
documents of state issued under the sign manual. She despatched to
France a special envoy, the Bishop of Dunblane, with instructions
setting forth at length the unparalleled and hitherto ill-requited
services and merits of Bothwell, and the necessity of compliance at once
with his passion and with the unanimous counsel of the nation--a people
who would endure the rule of no foreign consort, and whom none of their
own countrymen were so competent to control, alike by wisdom and by
valor, as the incomparable subject of her choice.

These personal merits and this political necessity were the only pleas
advanced in a letter to her ambassador in England. But that neither plea
would avail her for a moment in Scotland she had ominous evidence on the
thirteenth day after her marriage, when no response was made to the
usual form of proclamation for a raid or levy of forces under pretext of
a campaign against the rievers of the border. On June 6th Mary and
Bothwell took refuge in Borthwick castle, twelve miles from the capital,
where the fortress was in the keeping of an adherent whom the diplomacy
of Sir James Melville had succeeded in detaching from his allegiance to
Bothwell. The fugitives were pursued and beleaguered by the Earl of
Morton and Lord Hume, who declared their purpose to rescue the Queen
from the thraldom of her husband. He escaped, leaving her free to follow
him or to join the party of her professed deliverers.

But whatever cause she might have since marriage to complain of his
rigorous custody and domineering brutality was insufficient to break the
ties by which he held her. Alone, in the disguise of a page, she slipped
out of the castle at midnight, and rode off to meet him at a tower two
miles distant, whence they fled together to Dunbar. The confederate
lords on entering Edinburgh were welcomed by the citizens, and after
three hours' persuasion Lethington, who had now joined them, prevailed
on the captain of the castle to deliver it also into their hands.
Proclamations were issued in which the crime of Bothwell was denounced,
and the disgrace of the country, the thraldom of the Queen, and the
mortal peril of her infant son were set forth as reasons for summoning
all the lieges of the chief cities of Scotland to rise in arms on three
hours' notice and join the forces assembled against the one common
enemy. News of his approach reached them on the night of June 14th, and
they marched before dawn with twenty-two hundred men to meet him near
Musselburgh. Mary meanwhile had passed from Dunbar to Haddington, and
thence to Seton, where sixteen hundred men rallied to her side. On June
15th, one month from their marriage day, the Queen and Bothwell, at the
head of a force of fairly equal numbers but visibly inferior discipline,
met the army of the confederates at Carberry hill, some six miles from
Edinburgh.

It was agreed that the Queen should yield herself prisoner, and Bothwell
be allowed to retire in safety to Dunbar with the few followers who
remained to him. Mary took leave of her first and last master with
passionate anguish and many parting kisses; but in face of his enemies,
and in hearing of the cries which burst from the ranks demanding her
death by fire as a murderess and harlot, the whole heroic and passionate
spirit of the woman represented by her admirers as a spiritless imbecile
flamed out in responsive threats to have all the men hanged and
crucified in whose power she now stood helpless and alone. She grasped
the hand of Lord Lindsay as he rode beside her, and swore "by this hand"
she would "have his head for this." In Edinburgh she was received by a
yelling mob, which flaunted before her at each turn a banner
representing the corpse of Darnley, with her child beside it, invoking
on his knees the retribution of divine justice.

From the violence of a multitude, in which women of the worst class were
more furious than the men, she was sheltered in the house of the
provost, where she repeatedly showed herself at the window, appealing
aloud with dishevelled hair and dress to the mercy which no man could
look upon her and refuse. At nine in the evening she was removed to
Holyrood, and thence to the port of Leith, where she embarked under
guard, with her attendants, for the island castle of Lochleven. On the
20th a silver casket containing letters and French verses, miscalled
sonnets, in the handwriting of the Queen, was taken from the person of a
servant who had been sent by Bothwell to bring it from Edinburgh to
Dunbar. Even in the existing versions of the letters, translated from
the lost originals and retranslated from this translation of a text
which was probably destroyed in 1603 by order of King James on his
accession to the English throne--even in these possibly disfigured
versions, the fiery pathos of passion, the fierce and piteous
fluctuations of spirit between love and hate, hope and rage and
jealousy, have an eloquence apparently beyond the imitation or invention
of art.

Three days after this discovery Lord Lindsay, Lord Ruthven, and Sir
Robert Melville were despatched to Lochleven, there to obtain the
Queen's signature to an act of abdication in favor of her son, and
another appointing Murray regent during his minority. She submitted, and
a commission of regency was established till the return from France of
Murray, who, on August 15th, arrived at Lochleven with Morton and Athol.
According to his own account the expostulations as to her past conduct
which preceded his admonitions for the future were received with tears,
confessions, and attempts at extenuation or excuse; but when they parted
next day on good terms, she had regained her usual spirits. Nor from
that day forward had they reason to sink again, in spite of the close
keeping in which she was held, with the daughters of the house for
bedfellows. Their mother and the Regent's, her father's former mistress,
was herself not impervious to her prisoner's lifelong power of seduction
and subjugation. Her son George Douglas fell inevitably under the charm.
A rumor transmitted to England went so far as to assert that she had
proposed him to their common half-brother Murray as a fourth husband for
herself; a later tradition represented her as the mother of a child by
him. A third report, at least as improbable as either, asserted that a
daughter of Mary and Bothwell, born about this time, lived to be a nun
in France.

It is certain that the necessary removal of George Douglas from
Lochleven enabled him to devise a method of escape for the prisoner on
March 25, 1568, which was frustrated by detection of her white hands
under the disguise of a laundress. But a younger member of the
household, Willie Douglas, aged eighteen, whose devotion was afterward
remembered and his safety cared for by Mary at a time of utmost risk and
perplexity to herself, succeeded on May 2d in assisting her to escape by
a postern gate to the lake-side, and thence in a boat to the mainland,
where George Douglas, Lord Seton, and others were awaiting her. Thence
they rode to Seton's castle of Niddry, and next day to Hamilton palace,
round which an army of six thousand men was soon assembled, and whither
the new French ambassador to Scotland hastened to pay his duty. The
Queen's abdication was revoked, messengers were despatched to the
English and French courts, and word was sent to Murray at Glasgow that
he must resign the regency, and should be pardoned in common with all
offenders against the Queen. But on the day when Mary arrived at
Hamilton, Murray had summoned to Glasgow the feudatories of the crown,
to take arms against the insurgent enemies of the infant King.

On the 13th of May the battle or skirmish of Langside determined the
result of the campaign in three-quarters of an hour. Kirkaldy of Grange,
who commanded the Regent's cavalry, seized and kept the place of vantage
from the beginning, and at the first sign of wavering on the other side
shattered at a single charge the forces of the Queen with a loss of one
man to three hundred. Mary fled sixty miles from the field of her last
battle before she halted at Sanquhar, and for three days of flight,
according to her own account, had to sleep on the hard ground, live on
oatmeal and sour milk, and fare at night like the owls, in hunger, cold,
and fear.

On the third day from the rout of Langside she crossed the Solway, and
landed at Workington in Cumberland, May 16, 1568. On the 20th Lord
Scrope and Sir Francis Knollys were sent from court to carry messages
and letters of comfort from Elizabeth to Mary at Carlisle. On June 11th
Knollys wrote to Cecil at once the best description and the noblest
panegyric extant of the Queen of Scots--enlarging, with a brave man's
sympathy, on her indifference to form and ceremony, her daring grace and
openness of manner, her frank display of a great desire to be avenged of
her enemies, her readiness to expose herself to all perils in hope of
victory, her delight to hear of hardihood and courage, commending by
name all her enemies of approved valor, sparing no cowardice in her
friends, but above all things athirst for victory by any means at any
price, so that for its sake pain and peril seemed pleasant to her, and
wealth and all things, if compared with it, contemptible and vile.

Mary was held a prisoner in England for seventeen years. In 1585 she was
accused of favoring Anthony Babington's plot against the life of
Elizabeth, her captor. Anthony Babington, in his boyhood a ward of
Shrewsbury, resident in the household at Sheffield castle, and thus
subjected to the charm before which so many victims had already fallen,
was now induced to undertake the deliverance of the Queen of Scots by
the murder of the Queen of England. It is maintained by those admirers
of Mary who assume her to have been an almost absolute imbecile, gifted
with the power of imposing herself on the world as a woman of
unsurpassed ability, that, while cognizant of the plot for her
deliverance by English rebels and an invading army of foreign
auxiliaries, she might have been innocently unconscious that this
conspiracy involved the simultaneous assassination of Elizabeth. In the
conduct and detection of her correspondence with Babington, traitor was
played off against traitor, and spies were utilized against assassins,
with as little scruple as could be required or expected in the diplomacy
of the time.

As in the case of the casket letters, it is alleged that forgery was
employed to interpolate sufficient evidence of Mary's complicity in a
design of which it is thought credible that she was kept in ignorance by
the traitors and murderers who had enrolled themselves in her
service--that one who pensioned the actual murderer of Murray and a
would-be murderer of Elizabeth was incapable of approving what her keen
and practised intelligence was too blunt and torpid to anticipate as
inevitable and inseparable from the general design. In August the
conspirators were netted, and Mary was arrested at the gate of Tixall
Park, whither Paulet had taken her under pretence of a hunting-party. At
Tixall she was detained till her papers at Chartley had undergone
thorough research. That she was at length taken in her own toils, even
such a dullard as her admirers depict her could not have failed to
understand; that she was no such dastard as to desire or deserve such
defenders, the whole brief course of her remaining life bore consistent
and irrefragable witness.

Her first thought on her return to Chartley was one of loyal gratitude
and womanly sympathy. She cheered the wife of her English secretary, now
under arrest, with promises to answer for her husband to all accusations
brought against him; took her new-born child from the mother's arms, and
in default of clergy baptized it, to Paulet's Puritanic horror, with her
own hands by her own name.

The next or the twin-born impulse of her indomitable nature was, as
usual in all times of danger, one of passionate and high-spirited
defiance on discovering the seizure of her papers. A fortnight afterward
her keys and her money were confiscated, while she, bedridden and unable
to move her hand, could only ply the terrible weapon of her bitter and
fiery tongue. Her secretaries were examined in London, and one of them
gave evidence that she had first heard of the conspiracy by letter from
Babington, of whose design against the life of Elizabeth she thought it
best to take no notice in her reply, though she did not hold herself
bound to reveal it. On September 25th she was removed to the strong
castle of Fotheringay in Northamptonshire. On October 6th she was
desired by letter from Elizabeth to answer the charges brought against
her before certain of the chief English nobles appointed to sit in
commission on the cause. In spite of her first refusal to submit, she
was induced by the arguments of the vice-chamberlain, Sir Christopher
Hatton, to appear before this tribunal on condition that her protest
should be registered against the legality of its jurisdiction over a
sovereign, the next heir of the English crown.

On October 14 and 15, 1586, the trial was held in the hall of
Fotheringay castle. Alone, "without one counsellor on her side among so
many," Mary conducted the whole of her own defence with courage
incomparable and unsurpassable ability. Pathos and indignation, subtlety
and simplicity, personal appeal and political reasoning, were the
alternate weapons with which she fought against all odds of evidence or
inference, and disputed step by step every inch of debatable ground. She
repeatedly insisted on the production of proof in her own handwriting as
to her complicity with the project of the assassins who had expiated
their crime on the 20th and 21st of the month preceding. When the charge
was shifted to the question of her intrigues with Spain, she took her
stand resolutely on her right to convey whatever right she possessed,
though now no kingdom was left her for disposal, to whomsoever she might
choose.

One single slip she made in the whole course of her defence, but none
could have been more unluckily characteristic and significant. When
Burghley brought against her the unanswerable charge of having at that
moment in her service, and in receipt of an annual pension, the
instigator of a previous attempt on the life of Elizabeth, she had the
unwary audacity to cite in her justification the pensions allowed by
Elizabeth to her adversaries in Scotland, and especially to her son. It
is remarkable that just two months later, in a conversation with her
keepers, she again made use of the same extraordinary argument in reply
to the same inevitable imputation, and would not be brought to admit
that the two cases were other than parallel. But, except for this single
instance of oversight or perversity, her defence was throughout a
masterpiece of indomitable ingenuity, of delicate and steadfast courage,
of womanly dignity and genius. Finally, she demanded, as she had
demanded before, a trial either before the states of the realm lawfully
assembled, or else before the Queen in council.

So closed the second day of the trial; and before the next day's work
could begin, a note of two or three lines hastily written at midnight
informed the commissioners that Elizabeth had suddenly determined to
adjourn the expected judgment and transfer the place of it to the
star-chamber. Here, on October 25th, the commissioners again met; and
one of them alone, Lord Zouch, dissented from the verdict by which Mary
was found guilty of having, since the 1st of June preceding, compassed
and imagined divers matters tending to the destruction of Elizabeth.
This verdict was conveyed to her, about three weeks later, by Lord
Buckhurst and Robert Beale, clerk of the privy council. At the
intimation that her life was an impediment to the security of the
received religion, "she seemed with a certain unwonted alacrity to
triumph, giving God thanks, and rejoicing in her heart that she was held
to be an instrument" for the restoration of her own faith. This note of
exultation as in martyrdom was maintained with unflinching courage to
the last. She wrote to Elizabeth and the Duke of Guise two letters of
almost matchless eloquence and pathos, admirable especially for their
loyal and grateful remembrance of all her faithful servants. Between the
date of these letters and the day of her execution wellnigh three months
of suspense elapsed.

Elizabeth, fearless almost to a fault in face of physical danger,
constant in her confidence even after discovery of her narrow escape
from the poisoned bullets of household conspirators, was cowardly even
to a crime in face of subtler and more complicated peril. She rejected
with resolute dignity the intercession of French envoys for the life of
the Queen Dowager of France; she allowed the sentence of death to be
proclaimed, and welcomed with bonfires and bell-ringing throughout the
length of England; she yielded a respite of twelve days to the pleading
of the French ambassador, and had a charge trumped up against him of
participation in a conspiracy against her life; at length, on February
1, 1587, she signed the death warrant, and then made her secretaries
write word to Paulet of her displeasure that in all this time he should
not of himself have found out some way to shorten the life of his
prisoner, as in duty bound by his oath, and thus relieve her singularly
tender conscience from the guilt of bloodshed.

Paulet, with loyal and regretful indignation, declined the disgrace
proposed to him in a suggestion "to shed blood without law or warrant";
and on February 7th the Earls of Shrewsbury and Kent arrived at
Fotheringay with the commission of the council for execution of the
sentence given against his prisoner. Mary received the announcement with
majestic tranquillity, expressing in dignified terms her readiness to
die, her consciousness that she was a martyr for her religion, and her
total ignorance of any conspiracy against the life of Elizabeth. At
night she took a graceful and affectionate leave of her attendants,
distributed among them her money and jewels, wrote out in full the
various legacies to be conveyed by her will, and charged her apothecary
Gorion with her last messages for the King of Spain. In these messages
the whole nature of the woman was revealed. Not a single friend, not a
single enemy, was forgotten; the slightest service, the slightest wrong,
had its place assigned in her faithful and implacable memory for
retribution or reward. Forgiveness of injuries was as alien from her
fierce and loyal spirit as forgetfulness of benefits; the destruction of
England and its liberties by Spanish invasion and conquest was the
strongest aspiration of her parting soul.

At eight o'clock next morning she entered the hall of execution, having
taken leave of the weeping envoy from Scotland, to whom she gave a brief
message for her son; took her seat on the scaffold; listened with an air
of even cheerful unconcern to the reading of her sentence; solemnly
declared her innocence of the charge conveyed in it, and her consolation
in the prospect of ultimate justice; rejected the professional services
of Richard Fletcher, Dean of Peterborough; lifted up her voice in Latin
against his in English prayer; and when he and his fellow-worshippers
had fallen duly silent, prayed aloud for the prosperity of her own
Church, for Elizabeth, for her son, and for all the enemies whom she had
commended over night to the notice of the Spanish invader; then, with no
less courage than had marked every hour and every action of her life,
received the stroke of death from the wavering hand of the headsman.




                      FOUNDING OF ST. AUGUSTINE

                 MASSACRE OF THE HUGUENOTS IN AMERICA

                              A.D. 1565

                         GEORGE R. FAIRBANKS


    Although Florida was discovered by Ponce de Leon as early as 1513,
    and was soon after visited by other Spanish explorers, no Spaniard
    gained permanent foothold there until after the middle of the
    sixteenth century. But when the Spaniards did secure such a
    foothold, it was to found the first permanent settlement on the
    mainland of the United States.

    The vast territory which the Spaniards named Florida was claimed by
    Spain in right of the discoveries of Columbus, the grant of the
    pope, and various expeditions to the region; by England in right of
    Cabot's discovery; and by France on account of Verrazano's voyage
    (1524) and "vague traditions" of French visitors to the coast.

    Following the early Spanish attempts at colonization, came the first
    Huguenot settlers from France, seeking refuge in the New World from
    persecution at home. What they did and what befell them in the
    Florida country, and how the founding of our oldest town, St.
    Augustine, was begun by their Spanish supplanters, is told by
    Fairbanks in an interesting and carefully verified account.


The settlement of Florida had its origin in the religious troubles
experienced by the Huguenots under Charles IX in France. Their
distinguished leader, Admiral Coligny, as early as 1555, projected
colonies in America, and sent an expedition to Brazil, which proved
unsuccessful. Having procured permission from Charles IX to found a
colony in Florida, a designation which embraced in rather an indefinite
manner the whole country from the Chesapeake to the Tortugas, he sent an
expedition in 1562 from France, under command of Jean Ribault, composed
of many young men of good family. They first landed at the St. John's
River, where they erected a monument, but finally established a
settlement at Port Royal, South Carolina, and erected a fort. After some
months, however, in consequence of dissensions among the officers of the
garrison and difficulties with the Indians, this settlement was
abandoned.

In 1564 another expedition came out under the command of René de
Laudonnière, and made their first landing at the River of Dolphins,
being the present harbor of St. Augustine, and so named by them in
consequence of the great number of dolphins (porpoises) seen by them at
its mouth. They afterward coasted to the north, and entered the river
St. John's, called by them the river May.

Upon an examination of this river Laudonnière concluded to establish his
colony on its banks, and, proceeding about two leagues above its mouth,
built a fort upon a pleasant hill of "mean height," which, in honor of
his sovereign, he named Fort Caroline. The colonists, after a few
months, were reduced to great distress, and were about taking measures
to abandon the country a second time, when Ribault arrived with
reënforcements.

It is supposed that intelligence of these expeditions was communicated
by the enemies of Coligny to the court of Spain. Jealousy of the
aggrandizement of the French in the New World, mortification for their
own unsuccessful efforts in that quarter, and a still stronger motive of
hatred to the faith of the Huguenot, induced the bigoted Philip II of
Spain to despatch Pedro Menendez de Aviles, a brave, bigoted, and
remorseless soldier, to drive out the French colony, and take possession
of the country for himself. The compact made between the King and
Menendez was, that he should furnish one galleon completely equipped,
and provisions for a force of six hundred men; that he should conquer
and settle the country.

He obligated himself to carry one hundred horses, two hundred horned
cattle, four hundred hogs, four hundred sheep and some goats, and five
hundred slaves--for which he had a permission free of duties--the third
part of which should be men, for his own service and that of those who
went with him, to aid in cultivating the land and in building; that he
should take twelve priests, and four fathers of the Jesuit order. He was
to build two or three towns of one hundred families, and in each town
should build a fort according to the nature of the country. He was to
have the title of _Adelantado_ of the country, as also to be entitled a
marquis (and his heirs after him), to have a tract of land, receive a
salary of two thousand ducats, a percentage of the royal duties, and
have the freedom of all the other ports of New Spain.

His force consisted, at starting, of eleven sail of vessels, with two
thousand six hundred men; but, owing to storms and accidents, not more
than one-half arrived. He came upon the coast on August 28, 1565,
shortly after the arrival of the fleet of Ribault. On September 7th
Menendez cast anchor in the River of Dolphins, the harbor of St.
Augustine. He had previously discovered and given chase to some of the
vessels of Ribault off the mouth of the river May. The Indian village of
Selooe then stood upon the site of St. Augustine, and the landing of
Menendez was upon the spot where the city of St. Augustine now stands.

Fra Francisco Lopez de Mendoza, the chaplain of the expedition, thus
chronicles the disembarkation and attendant ceremonies:

"On Saturday, September 8th, the day of the nativity of Our Lady, the
General disembarked, with numerous banners displayed, trumpets and other
martial music resounding, and amid salvos of artillery.

"Carrying a cross, I proceeded at the head, chanting the hymn '_Te Deum
Laudamus_.' The General marched straight up to the cross, together with
all those who accompanied him; and, kneeling, they all kissed the
cross. A great number of Indians looked upon these ceremonies, and
imitated whatever they saw done. Thereupon the General took possession
of the country in the name of his majesty. All the officers then took
an oath of allegiance to him, as their general and as adelantado of the
whole country."

The name of St. Augustine was given, in the usual manner of the early
voyagers, because they had arrived upon the coast on the day dedicated
in their calendar to that eminent saint of the primitive Church, revered
alike by the good of all ages for his learning and piety.

The first troops who landed, says Mendoza, were well received by the
Indians, who gave them a large mansion belonging to the chief, situated
near the banks of the river. The engineer officers immediately erected
an entrenchment of earth, and a ditch around this house, with a slope
made of earth and fascines, these being the only means of defence which
the country presents; for, says the father with surprise, "there is not
a stone to be found in the whole country." They landed eighty cannon
from the ships, of which the lightest weighed five hundred pounds.

Menendez had by no means forgotten the errand upon which he principally
came; and by inquiries of the Indians he soon learned the position of
the French fort and the condition of its defenders. Impelled by
necessity, Laudonnière had been forced to seize from the Indians food to
support his famished garrison, and had thus incurred their enmity, which
was soon to produce its sad results.

The Spaniards numbered about six hundred combatants, and the French
about the same; but arrangements had been made for further accessions to
the Spanish force, to be drawn from Santo Domingo and Havana, and these
were daily expected.

It was the habit of those days to devolve almost every event upon the
ordering of a special providence; and each nation had come to look upon
itself almost in the light of a peculiar people, led like the Israelites
of old by signs and wonders; and as in their own view all their actions
were directed by the design of advancing God's glory as well as their
own purposes, so the blessing of Heaven would surely accompany them in
all their undertakings.

So believed the crusaders on the plains of Palestine; so believed the
conquerors of Mexico and Peru; so believed the Puritan settlers of New
England--alike in their Indian wars and their oppressive social
polity--and so believed, also, the followers of Menendez and of Ribault;
and in this simple and trusting faith, the worthy chaplain gives us the
following account of the miraculous escape and deliverance of a portion
of the Spanish fleet:

"God and his Holy Mother have performed another great miracle in our
favor. The day following the landing of the General in the fort he said
to us that he was very uneasy, because his galley and another vessel
were at anchor, isolated and a league at sea, being unable to enter the
port on account of the shallowness of the water, and that he feared that
the French might come and capture or maltreat them. As soon as this idea
came to him he departed, with fifty men, to go on board of his galleon.
He gave orders to three shallops which were moored in the river to go
out and take on board the provisions and troops which were on board the
galleon. The next day, a shallop having gone out thither, they took on
board as much of the provisions as they could, and more than a hundred
men who were in the vessel, and returned toward shore; but half a league
before arriving at the bar they were overtaken by so complete a calm
that they were unable to proceed farther, and thereupon cast anchor and
passed the night in that place.

"The day following, at break of day, they raised anchor as ordered by
the pilot, as the rising of the tide began to be felt. When it was
fully light they saw astern of them, at the poop of the vessel, two
French ships which during the night had been in search of them. The
enemy arrived with the intention of making an attack upon them. The
French made all haste in their movements, for our men had no arms on
board, and had only embarked the provisions. When day appeared, and our
people discovered the French, they addressed their prayers to Our Lady
of _Bon Secours d'Utrera_, and supplicated her to grant them a little
wind, for the French were already close up to them. They say that Our
Lady descended herself upon the vessel; for the wind freshened and blew
fair for the bar, so that the shallop could enter it. The French
followed it; but as the bar had but little depth and their vessels were
large, they were not able to go over it, so that our men and the
provisions made a safe harbor.

"When it became still clearer they perceived, besides the two vessels of
the enemy, four others at a distance, being the same which we had seen
in the port the evening of our arrival. They were well furnished with
troops and artillery, and had directed themselves for our galleon and
the other ship, which were alone at sea. In this circumstance God
afforded us two favors: the first was, that the same evening after they
had discharged the provisions and the troops I have spoken of, at
midnight the galleon and the other vessel put to sea without being
perceived by the enemy; the one for Spain, and the other for Havana for
the purpose of seeking the fleet which was there; and in this way
neither was taken.

"The second favor, by which God rendered us a still greater service, was
that on the day following the one I have described there arose a great
storm, and so great a tempest that certainly the greater part of the
French vessels must have been lost at sea; for they were overtaken upon
the most dangerous coast I have ever seen, and were very close to the
shore; and if our vessels, that is, the galleon and its consort, are not
shipwrecked, it is because they were already more than twelve leagues
off the coast, which gave them the facility of manoeuvring as well as
they could, relying upon the aid of God to preserve them."

Menendez had ascertained from the Indians that a large number of the
French troops had embarked on board of the vessels which he had seen off
the harbor, and he had good ground for believing that these vessels
would either be cast helpless upon the shore, or be driven off by the
tempest to such a distance as would render their return for some days
impossible. He at once conceived the project of attacking the French
fort upon the river May by land.

The troops, having heard mass, marched out in order, preceded by twenty
Biscayans and Asturians, having as their captain Martin de Ochoa, a
leader of great fidelity and bravery, furnished with axes to open a road
where they could not get along. At this moment there arrived two
Indians, who said that they had been at the French six days before, and
who "seemed like angels" to the soldiers, sent to guide their march.
Halting for refreshment and rest wherever suitable places could be
found, and the Adelantado always with the vanguard, in four days they
reached the vicinity of the fort, and came up within a quarter of a
league of it, concealed by a grove of pine trees. It rained heavily, and
a severe storm prevailed. The place where they had halted was a very bad
one and very marshy; but he decided to stop there, and went back to seek
the rear-guard, lest they might lose their way.

About ten at night the last of the troops arrived, very wet indeed, for
there had been much rain during the four days; they had passed marshes
with the water rising to their waists, and every night there was so
great a flood that they were in great danger of losing their powder,
their match-fire, and their biscuit; and they became desperate, cursing
those who brought them there, and themselves for coming.

Menendez pretended not to hear their complaints, not daring to call a
council as to proceeding or returning, for both officers and soldiers
went forward very unquietly. Remaining firm in his own resolve, two
hours before dawn he called together the Master of the Camp and the
captains, to whom he said that during the whole night he had sought of
God and his Holy Mother that they would favor and instruct him what he
should do most advantageous for their holy service; and he was persuaded
that they had all done the same. "But now, gentlemen," he proceeded, "we
must make some determination, finding ourselves exhausted, lost, without
ammunition or provisions, and without the hope of relief."

Some answered very promptly, "Why should they waste their time in giving
reasons? for, unless they returned quickly to St. Augustine, they would
be reduced to eating palmettos; and the longer they delayed, the greater
trouble they would have."

The Adelantado said to them that what they said seemed very reasonable,
but he would ask them to hear some reasons to the contrary, without
being offended. He then proceeded--after having smoothed down their
somewhat ruffled dispositions, considerably disturbed by their first
experience in encountering the hardships of such a march--to show them
the danger of retreat was then greater than an advance would be, as they
would lose alike the respect of their friends and foes; that if, on the
contrary, they attacked the fort, whether they succeeded in taking it or
not, they would gain honor and reputation.

Stimulated by the speech of their general, they demanded to be led to
the attack, and the arrangements for the assault were at once made.
Their French prisoner was placed in the advance; but the darkness of the
night and the severity of the storm rendered it impossible to proceed,
and they halted in a marsh, with the water up to their knees, to await
daylight.

At dawn, the Frenchman recognized the country, and the place where they
were, and where stood the fort; upon which the Adelantado ordered them
to march, enjoining upon all, at the peril of their lives, to follow
him; and coming to a small hill, the Frenchman said that behind that
stood the fort, about three bow-shots distant, but lower down, near the
river. The General put the Frenchman into the custody of Castaneda. He
went up a little higher, and saw the river and one of the houses, but he
was not able to discover the fort, although it was adjoining them; and
he returned to Castaneda, with whom now stood the Master of the Camp and
Ochoa, and said to them that he wished to go lower down, near to the
houses which stood behind the hill, to see the fortress and the
garrison, for, as the sun was now up, they could not attack the fort
without a reconnaissance. This the Master of the Camp would not permit
him to do, saying this duty appertained to him; and he went alone with
Ochoa near to the houses, from whence they discovered the fort; and,
returning with their information, they came to two paths, and leaving
the one by which they came, they took the other.

The Master of the Camp discovered his error, coming to a fallen tree,
and turned his face to inform Ochoa, who was following him; and as they
turned to seek the right path, he stopped in advance, and the sentinel
discovered them, who imagined them to be French; but examining them he
perceived they were unknown to him. He hailed, "Who goes there?" Ochoa
answered, "Frenchmen." The sentinel was confirmed in his supposition
that they were his own people, and approached them; Ochoa did the same;
but seeing they were not French, the sentinel retreated. Ochoa closed
with him, and with his drawn sword gave him a cut over the head, but did
not hurt him much, as the sentinel fended off the blow with his sword;
and the Master of the Camp, coming up at that moment, gave him a thrust,
from which he fell backward, making a loud outcry. The Master of the
Camp, putting his sword to his breast, threatened him with instant death
unless he kept silence. They tied him thereupon, and took him to the
General, who, hearing the noise, thought the Master of the Camp was
being killed, and meeting with the Sergeant-major, Francisco de Recalde,
Diego de Maya, and Andres Lopez Patino, with their standards and
soldiers, without being able to restrain himself, he cried out,
"Santiago! Upon them! Help of God, victory! The French are destroyed.
The Master of the Camp is in their fort, and has taken it." Upon which,
all rushed forward in the path without order, the General remaining
behind, repeating what he had said many times; himself believing it to
be certain that the Master of the Camp had taken with him a considerable
force, and had captured the fort.

So great was the joy of the soldiers, and such their speed, that they
soon came up with the Master of the Camp and Ochoa, who was hastening to
receive the reward of carrying the good news to the General of the
capture of the sentinel. But the Master of the Camp, seeing the spirit
which animated the soldiery, killed the sentinel, and cried out with a
loud voice to those who were pressing forward, "Comrades! do as I do.
God is with us;" and turned running toward the fort, and, meeting two
Frenchmen on the way, he killed one of them, and Andres Lopez Patino the
other. Those in the environs of the fort, seeing this tragedy enacted,
set up loud outcries; and in order to know the cause of the alarm, one
of the French within opened the postern of the principal gate, which he
had no sooner done than it was observed by the Master of the Camp; and,
throwing himself upon him, he killed him and entered the gate, followed
by the most active of his followers.

The French, awakened by the clamor, some dressed, others in their
night-clothes, rushed to the doors of their houses to see what had
happened; but they were all killed, except sixty of the more wary, who
escaped by leaping the walls.

Immediately the standards of the Sergeant-major and of Diego Mayo were
brought in, and set up by Rodrigo Troche and Pedro Valdes Herrera, with
two cavaliers, at the same moment. These being hoisted, the trumpets
proclaimed the victory, and the band of soldiers who had entered opened
the gates and sought the quarters, leaving no Frenchman alive.

The Adelantado, hearing the cries, left Castaneda in his place to
collect the people who had not come up, who were at least half the
force, and went himself to see if they were in any danger. He arrived at
the fort running; and as he perceived that the soldiers gave no quarter
to any of the French, he shouted "that, at the penalty of their lives,
they should neither wound nor kill any woman, cripple, or child under
fifteen years of age." By which seventy persons were saved, the rest
were all killed.

Renato de Laudonnière, the commander of the fort, escaped, with his
servant and some twenty or thirty others, to a vessel lying in the
river.

Such is the Spanish chronicle, contained in Barcia, of the capture of
Fort Caroline. Its details in the main correspond with the account of
Laudonnière, and of Nicolas Challeux, the author of the letter printed
at Lyons, in France, under date of August, 1566, by Jean Saugrain. In
some important particulars, however, the historians disagree. It has
been already seen that Menendez is represented as having given orders to
spare all the women, maimed persons, and all children under fifteen
years of age. The French relations of the event, on the contrary, allege
that an indiscriminate slaughter took place, and that all were
massacred, without respect to age, sex, or condition; but as this
statement is principally made upon the authority of a terrified and
flying soldier, it is alike due to the probabilities of the case, and
more agreeable to the hopes of humanity, to lessen somewhat the horrors
of a scene which has need of all the palliation which can be drawn from
the slightest evidences of compassion on the part of the stern and
bigoted leader.

Some of the fugitives from the fort fled to the Indians; and ten of
these were given up to the Spaniards, to be butchered in cold blood,
says the French account--to be sent back to France, says the Spanish
chronicle.

September 24th being the day of St. Matthew, the name of the fort was
changed to San Matteo, by which name it was always subsequently called
by the Spaniards; and the name of St. Matthew was also given by them to
the river, now called St. John's, on which it was situated.

The Spaniards proceeded at once to strengthen the fortress, deepening
and enlarging the ditch, and raised and strengthened the ramparts and
wall in such manner, says the boastful Mendoza, "that, if the half of
all France had come to attack it, they could not have disturbed it;" a
boast upon which the easy conquest of it by De Gourgues, three years
subsequently, affords an amusing commentary. They also constructed,
subsequently, two small forts at the mouth of the river, one on each
side, which probably were located, the one on Batten Island, and the
other at Mayport Mills.

Leaving three hundred soldiers as a garrison under his son-in-law, De
Valdez, Master of the Camp, who was now appointed governor of the fort,
Menendez marched from St. Augustine, beginning now to feel considerable
anxiety lest the French fleet, escaping from the tempest, might return
and visit upon his own garrison at St. Augustine the fate of Fort
Caroline. He took with him upon his return but fifty soldiers, and,
owing to the swollen waters, found great difficulty in retracing his
route. When within a league of St. Augustine, he allowed one of the
soldiers to go forward to announce his victory and safe return.

The garrison at St. Augustine had been in great anxiety respecting their
leader, and from the accounts given by those who had deserted, they
feared the total loss of the expedition. The worthy captain thus
describes the return of Menendez: "The same day, being Monday, we saw a
man coming, crying out loudly. I myself was the first to run to him for
the news. He embraced me with transport, crying, 'Victory! Victory! The
French fort is ours.' I promised him the present which the bearer of
good news deserves, and gave him the best in my power.

"At the hour of vespers our good General arrived, with fifty
foot-soldiers very much fatigued. As soon as I learned that he was
coming, I ran home and put on a new soutain, the best which I had, and a
surplice, and, going out with a crucifix in my hand, I went forward to
receive him; and he, a gentleman and a good Christian, before entering,
kneeled and all his followers, and returned thanks to the Lord for the
great favors which he had received. My companions and myself marched in
front in procession chanting, so that we all returned with the
demonstrations of joy."




               REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS AGAINST SPAIN

                     RISE OF THE GUEUX OR BEGGARS

                              A.D. 1566

                        FRIEDRICH VON SCHILLER


    During the later mediæval and early modern periods, European states
    and provinces passed through many changes of political relation. In
    those times the territories comprised under the name of the
    Netherlands--embracing the present Holland and Belgium--belonged
    successively, in whole or in part, to different governments. In the
    fourteenth and fifteenth centuries the region was united with
    Burgundy; in 1477 it passed to the Hapsburgs; and later it came
    under Spanish dominion.

    In the reign of Charles V the Protestant Reformation spread through
    the Netherlands, whose peoples shared in all the disputes and
    turbulences of that religious revolution. Often in great peril,
    the liberties of the Netherlands were more than ever endangered by
    the absorption of the provinces into the vast empire of Charles.
    The Emperor issued persecuting edicts against the Protestant
    inhabitants, introduced the Inquisition with its terrible _auto
    dafé_, which spared neither character nor sex, and by his severe
    oppression caused the people of the Netherlands to feel themselves
    "destined to perpetual slavery." The number of martyrs there during
    the reign of Charles has been estimated on high authority at one
    hundred thousand, although some modern historians place it far
    below. The Inquisition, at all events, did some of its most cruel
    work in the Netherlands during that period.

    Toward the end of Charles' reign the Netherlands secured a certain
    degree of exemption from these persecutions. Philip II, when he
    succeeded his father, Charles V, on the throne of Spain, renewed
    such favorable pledges to the Netherlands as the Emperor had given.
    But once in full power (1555), Philip began the "dark and bloody
    reign" which a few years later drove the Netherlander to their great
    revolt, under the lead of William, Prince of Orange, called "William
    the Silent."

    In 1563 William and the Counts of Egmont and Horn, members of the
    council of state, sent to Philip II a petition for the recall of
    Cardinal Granvella, adviser of the regent, Margaret of Parma, who
    was violently persecuting the Protestants. Although next year
    Granvella was recalled, Philip did not change his determination to
    destroy political and religious liberty in the Netherlands, and his
    continued oppressions provoked his subjects there to rise in
    self-defence.

    As Schiller's history of the revolt, here presented, covers only
    the preparatory stage, the brilliant summary, from another portion
    of his works, is added to give completeness to his account.


A universal spirit of revolt pervaded the whole nation. Men began to
investigate the rights of the subject, and to scrutinize the prerogative
of kings. "The Netherlanders were not so stupid," many were heard to
say, with very little attempt at secrecy, "as not to know right well
what was due from the subject to the sovereign, and from the king to
the subject; and that, perhaps, means would yet be found to repel force
with force, although at present there might be no appearance of it." In
Antwerp a placard was set up in several places calling upon the town
council to accuse the King of Spain before the supreme court, at Spires,
of having broken his oath and violated the liberties of the country, for
Brabant, being a portion of the Burgundian circle, was included in the
religious peace of Passau and Augsburg.

About this time, too, the Calvinists published their confession of faith,
and in a preamble, addressed to the King, declared that they, although a
hundred thousand strong, kept themselves, nevertheless, quiet, and, like
the rest of his subjects, contributed to all the taxes of the country;
from which it was evident, they added, that of themselves they entertained
no ideas of insurrection. Bold and incendiary writings were publicly
disseminated, which depicted the Spanish tyranny in the most odious
colors, and reminded the nation of its privileges and occasionally also
of its powers.[1]

      [1] The Regent mentioned to the King a number (three thousand)
      of these writings. It is remarkable how important a part
      printing, and publicity in general, played in the rebellion of
      the Netherlands. Through this organ one restless spirit spoke to
      millions. Besides the lampoons, which for the most part were
      composed with all the low scurrility and brutality that were the
      distinguishing characteristics of most of the Protestant polemical
      writings of the time, works were occasionally published which
      defended religious liberty in the fullest sense of the word.

The warlike preparations of Philip against the Porte, as well as those
which, for no intelligible reason, Eric, Duke of Brunswick, about this
time made in the vicinity, contributed to strengthen the general
suspicion that the Inquisition was to be forcibly imposed on the
Netherlands. Many of the most eminent merchants already spoke of
quitting their houses and business, to seek in some other part of the
world the liberty of which they were here deprived; others looked about
for a leader, and let fall hints of forcible resistance and of foreign
aid.

That in this distressing position of affairs the Regent might be left
entirely without an adviser and without support, she was now deserted by
the only person who was at the present moment indispensable to her, and
who had contributed to plunge her into this embarrassment. "Without
kindling a civil war," wrote to her William of Orange, "it was
absolutely impossible to comply now with the orders of the King. If,
however, obedience was to be insisted upon, he must beg that his place
might be supplied by another, who would better answer the expectations
of his majesty and have more power than he had over the minds of the
nation. The zeal which on every other occasion he had shown in the
service of the crown would, he hoped, secure his present proceeding from
misconstruction; for, as the case now stood, he had no alternative
between disobeying the King and injuring his country and himself." From
this time forth William of Orange retired from the council of state to
his town of Breda, where, in observant but scarcely inactive repose, he
watched the course of affairs. Count Horn followed his example.

Egmont, ever vacillating between the republic and the throne, ever
wearying himself in the vain attempt to unite the good citizen with the
obedient subject--Egmont, who was less able than the rest to dispense
with the favor of the monarch, and to whom, therefore, it was less an
object of indifference, could not bring himself to abandon the bright
prospects which were now opening for him at the court of the Regent. The
Prince of Orange had, by his superior intellect, gained an influence
over the Regent which great minds cannot fail to command from inferior
spirits. His retirement had opened a void in her confidence, which Count
Egmont was now to fill by virtue of that sympathy which so naturally
subsists between timidity, weakness, and good nature. As she was as much
afraid of exasperating the people by an exclusive confidence in the
adherents of the crown as she was fearful of displeasing the King by too
close an understanding with the declared leaders of the faction, a
better object for her confidence could now hardly be presented than this
very Count Egmont, of whom it could not be said that he belonged to
either of the two conflicting parties.

Up to this point the general peace had, it appears, been the sincere
wish of the Prince of Orange, the Counts Egmont and Horn, and their
friends. They had pursued the true interest of their sovereign as much
as the general weal; at least their exertions and their actions had been
as little at variance with the former as with the latter. Nothing had as
yet occurred to make their motives suspected or to manifest in them a
rebellious spirit. What they had done they had done in discharge of
their bounden duty as members of a free state, as the representatives of
the nation, as advisers of the King, as men of integrity and honor. The
only weapons they had used to oppose the encroachments of the court had
been remonstrances, modest complaints, petitions. They had never allowed
themselves to be so far carried away by a just zeal for their good cause
as to transgress the limits of prudence and moderation, which on many
occasions are so easily overstepped by party spirit. But all the nobles
of the republic did not now listen to the voice of that prudence, all
did not abide within the bounds of moderation.

While in the council of state the great question was discussed, whether
the nation was to be miserable or not, while its sworn deputies summoned
to their assistance all the arguments of reason and of equity, and while
the middle classes and the people contented themselves with empty
complaints, menaces, and curses, that part of the nation which of all
seemed least called upon, and on whose support least reliance had been
placed, began to take more active measures. We have already described a
class of the nobility whose services and wants Philip, at his accession,
had not considered it necessary to remember. Of these, by far the
greater number had asked for promotion from a much more urgent reason
than a love of the mere honor. Many of them were deeply sunk in debt,
from which by their own resources they could not hope to emancipate
themselves. When, then, in filling up appointments, Philip passed them
over, he wounded them in a point far more sensitive than their pride.

In these suitors he had by his neglect raised up so many idle spies and
merciless judges of his actions, so many collectors and propagators of
malicious rumor. As their pride did not quit them with their prosperity,
so now, driven by necessity, they trafficked with the sole capital which
they could not alienate--their nobility, and the political influence of
their names; and brought into circulation a coin which only in such a
period could have found currency--their protection. With a self-pride,
to which they gave the more scope as it was all they could now call
their own, they looked upon themselves as a strong intermediate power
between the sovereign and the citizen, and believed themselves called
upon to hasten to the rescue of the oppressed state, which looked
imploringly to them for succor.

This idea was ludicrous only so far as their self-conceit was concerned
in it; the advantages which they contrived to draw from it were
substantial enough. The Protestant merchants, who held in their hands
the chief part of the wealth of the Netherlands, and who believed they
could not at any price purchase too dearly the undisturbed exercise of
their religion, did not fail to make use of this class of people, who
stood idle in the market and ready to be hired. These very men, whom at
any other time the merchants, in their pride of riches, would most
probably have looked down upon, now appeared likely to do them good
service through their numbers, their courage, their credit with the
populace, their enmity to the Government, nay, through their beggarly
pride itself and their despair. On these grounds they zealously
endeavored to form a close union with them, and diligently fostered the
disposition for rebellion, while they also used every means to keep
alive their high opinions of themselves, and, what was most important,
lured their poverty by well-applied pecuniary assistance and glittering
promises. Few of them were so utterly insignificant as not to possess
some influence, if not personally, yet at least by their relationship
with higher and more powerful nobles; and, if united, they would be able
to raise a formidable voice against the crown. Many of them had either
already joined the new sect or were secretly inclined to it; and even
those who were zealous Roman Catholics had political or private grounds
enough to set them against the decrees of Trent and the Inquisition.
All, in fine, felt the cause of vanity sufficiently powerful not to
allow the only moment to escape them in which they might possibly make
some figure in the republic.

But much as might be expected from the coöperation of these men in a
body, it would have been futile and ridiculous to build any hopes on any
one of them singly; and the great difficulty was to effect a union among
them. Even to bring them together, some unusual occurrence was
necessary; and, fortunately, such an incident presented itself. The
nuptials of Baron Montigny, one of the Belgian nobles, as also those of
the prince Alexander of Parma, which took place about this time in
Brussels, assembled in that town a great number of the Belgian nobles.
On this occasion relations met relations; new friendships were formed
and old renewed; and, while the distress of the country was the topic of
conversation, wine and mirth unlocked lips and hearts, hints were
dropped of union among themselves and of an alliance with foreign
powers. These accidental meetings soon led to concealed ones, and public
discussions gave rise to secret consultations. Two German barons,
moreover, a Count of Holle and of Schwarzenberg, who happened at this
time to be on a visit to the Netherlands, omitted nothing to awaken
expectations of assistance from their neighbors. Count Louis of Nassau,
too, had also, a short time before, visited several German courts to
ascertain their sentiments.[2] It has even been asserted that secret
emissaries of the admiral Coligny were seen at this time in Brabant; but
this, however, may be reasonably doubted.

      [2] It was not without cause that the Prince of Orange suddenly
      disappeared from Brussels in order to be present at the election
      of a king of Rome in Frankfort. An assembly of so many German
      princes must have greatly favored a negotiation.

If ever a political crisis was favorable to an attempt at revolution, it
was the present: a woman at the helm of government; the governors of
provinces disaffected themselves, and disposed to wink at
insubordination in others; most of the state counsellors quite
inefficient; no army to fall back upon; the few troops there were, long
since discontented on account of the outstanding arrears of pay, and
already too often deceived by false promises to be enticed by new;
commanded, moreover, by officers who despised the Inquisition from their
hearts, and would have blushed to draw a sword in its behalf; and
lastly, no money in the treasury to enlist new troops or to hire
foreigners. The court at Brussels, as well as the three councils, not
only divided by internal dissensions, but in the highest degree venal
and corrupt; the Regent without full powers to act on the spot, and the
King at a distance; his adherents in the provinces few, uncertain, and
dispirited; the faction numerous and powerful; two-thirds of the people
irritated against popery and desirous of a change--such was the
unfortunate weakness of the Government, and the more unfortunate still
that this weakness was so well known to its enemies!

In order to unite so many minds in the prosecution of a common object, a
leader was still wanting, and a few influential names, to give political
weight to their enterprise. The two were supplied by Count Louis of
Nassau, and Henry Count Brederode, both members of the most illustrious
houses of the Belgian nobility, who voluntarily placed themselves at the
head of the undertaking. Louis of Nassau, brother of the Prince of
Orange, united many splendid qualities, which made him worthy of
appearing on so noble and important a stage. In Geneva, where he
studied, he had imbibed at once a hatred to the hierarchy and a love to
the new religion, and, on his return to his native country, had not
failed to enlist proselytes to his opinions. The republican bias which
his mind had received in that school kindled in him a bitter hatred of
all that bore the Spanish name, which animated his whole conduct, and
only left him with his latest breath. Popery and Spanish rule were in
his mind identical, as indeed they were in reality; and the abhorrence
which he entertained for the one helped to strengthen his dislike to the
other.

Closely as the brothers agreed in their inclinations and aversions, the
ways by which each sought to gratify them were widely dissimilar. Youth
and an ardent temperament did not allow the younger brother to follow
the tortuous course through which the elder wound himself to his object.
A cold, calm circumspection carried the latter slowly, but surely, to
his aim; and with a pliable subtlety he made all things subserve his
purpose; with a foolhardy impetuosity, which overthrew all obstacles,
the other at times compelled success, but oftener accelerated disaster.
For this reason William was a general, and Louis never more than an
adventurer; a sure and powerful arm, if only it were directed by a wise
head. Louis' pledge once given was good forever; his alliances survived
every vicissitude, for they were mostly formed in a pressing moment of
necessity, and misfortune binds more firmly than thoughtless joy. He
loved his brother as dearly as he did his cause, and for the latter he
died.

Henry of Brederode, Baron of Viane and Burgrave of Utrecht, was
descended from the old Dutch counts, who formerly ruled that province as
sovereign princes. So ancient a title endeared him to the people, among
whom the memory of their former lords still survived and was the more
treasured the less they felt they had gained by the change. This
hereditary splendor increased the self-conceit of a man upon whose
tongue the glory of his ancestors continually hung, and who dwelt the
more on former greatness, even amid its ruins, the more unpromising the
aspect of his own condition became. Excluded from the honors and
employments to which in his opinion his own merits and his noble
ancestry fully entitled him--a squadron of light cavalry being all that
was intrusted to him--he hated the Government, and did not scruple
boldly to canvass and to rail at its measures. By these means he won the
hearts of the people.

Besides these two, there were others also from among the most
illustrious of the Flemish nobles--the young Count Charles of Mansfeld,
a son of that nobleman whom we have found among the most zealous
royalists, the Count Kinlemburg, two counts of Bergen and of Battenburg,
John of Marnix, Baron of Thoulouse, Philip of Marnix, Baron of St.
Aldegonde, with several others, who joined the league, which about the
middle of November, in the year 1565, was formed at the house of Von
Hammes, king-at-arms of the Golden Fleece. Here it was that six men
decided the destiny of their country--as formerly a few confederates
consummated the liberty of Switzerland--kindled the torch of a
forty-years' war, and laid the basis of a freedom which they themselves
were never to enjoy.

The objects of the league were set forth in the following declaration,
to which Philip of Marnix was the first to subscribe his name: "Whereas
certain ill-disposed persons, under the mask of a pious zeal, but in
reality under the impulse of avarice and ambition, have by their evil
counsels persuaded our most gracious sovereign the King to introduce
into these countries the abominable tribunal of the Inquisition--a
tribunal diametrically opposed to all laws human and divine, and in
cruelty far surpassing the barbarous institutions of heathenism--which
raises the inquisitors above every other power, and debases man to a
perpetual bondage, and by its snares exposes the honest citizen to a
constant fear of death, inasmuch as anyone--priest, it may be, or a
faithless friend, a Spaniard or a reprobate--has it in his power at any
moment to cause whom he will to be dragged before that tribunal, and to
be placed in confinement, condemned and executed, without the accused
ever being allowed to face his accuser or to adduce proof of his
innocence--we, therefore, the undersigned, have bound ourselves to watch
over the safety of our families, our estates, and our own persons. To
this we hereby pledge ourselves, and to this end bind ourselves as a
sacred fraternity, and vow with a solemn oath to oppose to the best of
our power the introduction of this tribunal into these countries,
whether it be attempted openly or secretly, and under whatever name it
may be disguised. We at the same time declare that we are far from
intending anything unlawful against the King our sovereign; rather is it
our unalterable purpose to support and defend the royal prerogative, and
to maintain peace, and, as far as lies in our power to put down all
rebellion. In accordance with this purpose we have sworn, and now again
swear, to hold sacred the Government, and to respect both in word and
deed, which witness almighty God!

"Further, we vow and swear to protect and defend one another, in all
times and places, against all attacks whatsoever touching the articles
which are set forth in this covenant. We hereby bind ourselves that no
accusation of any of our followers, in whatever name it may be clothed,
whether rebellion, sedition, or other wise, shall avail to annul our
oath toward the accused or absolve us from our obligation toward him. No
act which is directed against the Inquisition can deserve the name of a
rebellion. Whoever, therefore, shall be placed in arrest on any charge,
we here pledge ourselves to assist him to the utmost of our ability, and
to endeavor by every allowable means to effect his liberation. In this,
however, as in all matters, but especially in the conduct of all
measures against the tribunal of the Inquisition, we submit ourselves to
the general regulations of the league, or to the decision of those whom
we may unanimously appoint our counsellors and leaders.

"In witness hereof, and in confirmation of this our common league and
covenant, we call upon the holy name of the living God, maker of heaven
and earth and of all that are therein, who searches the hearts, the
consciences, and the thoughts, and knows the purity of ours. We implore
the aid of his holy spirit, that success and honor may crown our
undertaking to the glory of his name and to the peace and blessing of
our country!"

This covenant was immediately translated into several languages and
quickly disseminated through the provinces. To swell the league as
speedily as possible, each of the confederates assembled all his
friends, relations, adherents, and retainers. Great banquets were held,
which lasted whole days--irresistible temptations for a sensual
luxurious people, in whom the deepest wretchedness could not stifle the
propensity for voluptuous living. Whoever repaired to these
banquets--and everyone was welcome--was plied with officious assurances
of friendship, and, when heated with wine, carried away by the example
of numbers and overcome by the fire of a wild eloquence. The hands of
many were guided while they subscribed their signatures; the hesitating
were derided, the pusillanimous threatened, the scruples of loyalty
clamored down; some even were quite ignorant what they were signing, and
were ashamed afterward to inquire. To many whom mere levity had brought
to the entertainment, the general enthusiasm left no choice, while the
splendor of the confederacy allured the mean, and its numbers encouraged
the timorous.

The abettors of the league had not scrupled at the artifice of
counterfeiting the signature and seals of the Prince of Orange, Counts
Egmont, Horn, Megen, and others, a trick which won them hundreds of
adherents. This was done especially with a view of influencing the
officers of the army, in order to be safe in this quarter if matters
should come at last to violence. The device succeeded with many,
especially with subalterns, and Count Brederode even drew his sword upon
an ensign who wished time for consideration. Men of all classes and
conditions signed it. Religion made no difference. Roman Catholic
priests even were associates of the league. The motives were not the
same with all, but the pretext was similar. The Roman Catholics desired
simply the abolition of the Inquisition and a mitigation of the edicts;
the Protestants aimed at unlimited freedom of conscience.

A few daring spirits only entertained so bold a project as the overthrow
of the present Government, while the needy and indigent based the vilest
hopes on a general anarchy. A farewell entertainment, which about this
very time was given to the Counts Schwarzenberg and Holle in Breda, and
another shortly afterward in Hogstraten, drew many of the principal
nobility to these two places, and of these several had already signed
the covenant. The Prince of Orange, Counts Egmont, Horn, and Megen were
present at the latter banquet, but without any concert of design, and
without having themselves any share in the league, although one of
Egmont's own secretaries and some of the servants of the other three
noblemen had openly joined it. At this entertainment three hundred
persons gave in their adhesion to the covenant, and the question was
mooted whether the whole body should present themselves before the
Regent armed or unarmed, with a declaration or with a petition? Horn and
Orange--Egmont would not countenance the business in any way--were
called in as arbiters upon this point, and they decided in favor of the
more moderate and submissive procedure. By taking this office upon them,
they exposed themselves to the charge of having in no very covert manner
lent their sanction to the enterprise of the confederates. In
compliance, therefore, with their advice it was determined to present
their address unarmed and in the form of a petition, and a day was
appointed on which they should assemble in Brussels.

The first intimation the Regent received of this conspiracy of the
nobles was given by the Count of Megen soon after his return to the
capital. "There was," he said, "an enterprise on foot; no less than
three hundred of the nobles were implicated in it; it referred to
religion; the members of it had bound themselves together by an oath;
they reckoned much on foreign aid; she would soon know more about it."
Though urgently pressed, he would give her no further information. "A
nobleman," he said, "had confided it to him under the seal of secrecy,
and he had pledged his word of honor to him." What really withheld him
from giving her any further explanation was, in all probability, not so
much any delicacy about his honor, as his hatred of the Inquisition,
which he would not willingly do anything to advance. Soon after him,
Count Egmont delivered to the Regent a copy of the covenant, and also
gave her the names of the conspirators, with some few exceptions. Nearly
at the same time the Prince of Orange wrote to her: "There was, as he
had heard, an army enlisted, four hundred officers were already named,
and twenty thousand men would presently appear in arms." Thus the rumor
was intentionally exaggerated, and the danger was multiplied in every
mouth.

The Regent petrified with alarm at the first announcement of these
tidings, and guided solely by her fears, hastily called together all the
members of the council of state who happened to be then in Brussels, and
at the same time sent a pressing summons to the Prince of Orange and
Count Horn, inviting them to resume their seats in the senate.

The members of the senate had not yet dispersed, when all Brussels
resounded with the report that the confederates were approaching the
town. They consisted of no more than two hundred horse, but rumor
greatly exaggerated their numbers. Filled with consternation, the Regent
consulted with her ministers whether it was best to close the gates on
the approaching party or to seek safety in flight. Both suggestions were
rejected as dishonorable; and the peaceable entry of the nobles soon
allayed all fears of violence. The first morning after their arrival
they assembled at Kuilemburg house, where Brederode administered to them
a second oath, binding them, before all other duties, to stand by one
another, and even with arms if necessary. At this meeting a letter from
Spain was produced, in which it was stated that a certain Protestant,
whom they all knew and valued, had been burned alive in that country by
a slow fire. After these and similar preliminaries he called on them one
after another, by name, to take the new oath, and renew the old one in
their own names and in those of the absent. The next day, April 5, 1566,
was fixed for the presentation of the petition. Their numbers now
amounted to between three hundred and four hundred. Among them were many
retainers of the high nobility, as also several servants of the King
himself and of the Duchess.

With the Counts of Nassau and Brederode at their head, and formed in
ranks of four by four, they advanced in procession to the palace; all
Brussels attended the unwonted spectacle in silent astonishment. Here
were to be seen a body of men, advancing with too much boldness and
confidence to look like supplicants, and led by two men who were not
wont to be petitioners and, on the other hand, with so much order and
stillness as do not usually accompany rebellion. The Regent received the
procession, surrounded by all her counsellors and the Knights of the
Fleece. "These noble Netherlanders," thus Brederode respectfully
addressed her, "who here present themselves before your highness, wish
in their own name, and of many others besides, who are shortly to
arrive, to present to you a petition, of whose importance, as well as of
their own humility, this solemn procession must convince you. I, as
speaker of this body, entreat you to receive our petition, which
contains nothing but what is in unison with the laws of our country and
the honor of the King."

"Never"--so ran the petition, which, according to some, was drawn up by
the celebrated Balduin--"never had they failed in their loyalty to their
King, and nothing now could be further from their hearts; but they would
rather run the risk of incurring the displeasure of their sovereign than
allow him to remain longer in ignorance of the evils with which their
native country was menaced, by the forcible introduction of the
Inquisition, and the continued enforcement of the edicts. They had long
remained consoling themselves with the expectation that a general
assembly of the states would be summoned to remedy these grievances; but
now that even this hope was extinguished, they held it to be their duty
to give timely warning to the Regent. They, therefore, entreated her
highness to send to Madrid an envoy, well disposed, and fully acquainted
with the state and temper of the times, who should endeavor to persuade
the King to comply with the demands of the whole nation, and abolish the
Inquisition, to revoke the edicts, and in their stead cause new and more
humane ones to be drawn up at a general assembly of the states. But, in
the mean while, until they could learn the King's decision, they prayed
that the edicts and the operations of the Inquisition be suspended."
"If," they concluded, "no attention should be paid to their humble
request, they took God, the King, the Regent and all her counsellors to
witness that they had done their part, and were not responsible for any
unfortunate result that might happen."

The following day the confederates, marching in the same order of
procession, but in still greater numbers--Counts Bergen and Kuilemberg
having in the interim joined them with their adherents--appeared before
the Regent in order to receive her answer. It was written on the margin
of the petition, and was to the effect "that entirely to suspend the
Inquisition and the edicts, even temporarily, was beyond her powers; but
in compliance with the wishes of the confederates, she was ready to
despatch one of the nobles to the King, in Spain, and also to support
their petition with all her influence. In the mean time she would
recommend the inquisitors to administer their office with moderation;
but in return, she should expect, on the part of the league, that they
should abstain from all acts of violence, and undertake nothing to the
prejudice of the Catholic faith." Little as these vague and general
promises satisfied the confederates, they were, nevertheless, as much as
they could have reasonably expected to gain at first.

The granting or refusing of the petition had nothing to do with the
primary object of the league. Enough for them at present that it was
once recognized; enough that it was now, as it were, an established
body, which by its power and threats might, if necessary, overawe the
Government. The confederates, therefore, acted quite consistently with
their designs, in contenting themselves with this answer, and referring
the rest to the good pleasure of the King. As, indeed, the whole
pantomime of petitioning had only been invented to cover the more daring
plan of the league, until it should have strength enough to show itself
in its true light; they felt that much more depended on their being able
to continue this mask, and on the favorable reception of their petition,
than on its speedily being granted. In a new memorial, which they
delivered three days after, they pressed for an express testimonial from
the Regent, that they had done no more than their duty, and been guided
simply by their zeal for the service of the King. When the Duchess
evaded a declaration, they even sent a person to repeat this request in
a private interview. "Time alone and their future behavior," she replied
to this person, "would enable her to judge of their designs."

The league had its origin in banquets, and a banquet gave it form and
perfection. On the very day that the second petition was presented,
Brederode entertained the confederates in Kuilemberg house. About three
hundred guests assembled; intoxication gave them courage, and their
audacity rose with their numbers. During the conversation one of their
number happened to remark that he had overheard the Count of Barlaimont
whisper in French to the Regent, who was seen to turn pale on the
delivery of the petitions, that "she need not be afraid of a band of
beggars (_gueux_);" in fact, the majority of them had by their bad
management of their incomes only too well deserved this appellation.
Now, as the very name of their fraternity was the very thing which had
most perplexed them, an expression was eagerly caught up, which, while
it cloaked the presumption of their enterprise in humility, was at the
same time appropriate to them as petitioners. Immediately they drank to
one another under this name, and the cry "Long live the Gueux!" was
accompanied with a general shout of applause. After the cloth had been
removed, Brederode appeared with a wallet over his shoulder, similar to
that which the vagrant pilgrims and mendicant monks of the time used to
carry; and after returning thanks to all for their accession to the
league, and boldly assuring them that he was ready to venture life and
limb for every individual present, he drank to the health of the whole
company out of a wooden beaker. The cup went round, and everyone uttered
the same vow as he set it to his lips. Then one after the other they
received the beggar's purse, and each hung it on a nail which he had
appropriated to himself. The shouts and uproar attending this buffoonery
attracted the Prince of Orange and Counts Egmont and Horn, who, by
chance, were passing the spot at the very moment, and on entering the
house were boisterously pressed by Brederode, as host, to remain and
drink a glass with them.[3]

      [3] "But," Egmont asserted in his written defence, "we drank only
      one single small glass, and thereupon they cried, 'Long live the
      King and the Gueux!' This was the first time that I heard that
      appellation, and it certainly did not please me. But the times
      were so bad that one was often compelled to share in much that
      was against one's inclination, and I knew not but I was doing an
      innocent thing."

The entrance of three such influential personages renewed the mirth of
the guests, and their festivities soon passed the bounds of moderation.
Many were intoxicated; guests and attendants mingled together without
distinction, the serious and the ludicrous; drunken fancies and affairs
of state were blended one with another in a burlesque medley; and the
discussions on the general distress of the country ended in the wild
uproar of a bacchanalian revel. But it did not stop here; what they had
resolved on in the moment of intoxication, they attempted when sober to
carry into execution. It was necessary to manifest to the people in some
striking shape the existence of their protectors, and likewise to fan
the zeal of the faction by a visible emblem; for this end nothing could
be better than to adopt publicly this name of Gueux, and to borrow from
it the tokens of the association. In a few days the town of Brussels
swarmed with ash-gray garments, such as were usually worn by mendicant
friars and penitents. Every confederate put his whole family and
domestics in this dress. Some carried wooden bowls thinly overlaid with
plates of silver, cups of the same kind, and wooden knives; in short,
the whole paraphernalia of the beggar tribe, which they either fixed
around their hats or suspended from their girdles. Round the neck they
wore a golden or silver coin, afterward called the "Guesen penny," of
which one side bore the effigy of the King, with the inscription "True
to the King"; on the other side were seen two hands folded together,
holding a wallet, with the words "as far as the beggar's scrip." Hence
the origin of the name "Gueux," which was subsequently borne in the
Netherlands by all who seceded from popery and took up arms against the
King.

A name decides the whole issue of things. In Madrid that was called
rebellion which in Brussels was styled only a lawful remonstrance. The
complaints of Brabant required a prudent mediator; Philip II sent an
executioner, and the signal for war was given. An unparalleled tyranny
assailed both property and life.

The despairing citizens, to whom the choice of death was all that was
left, chose the nobler one on the battle-field. A wealthy and luxurious
nation loves peace, but becomes warlike as soon as it becomes poor. Then
it ceases to tremble for a life which is deprived of everything that had
made it desirable. In a moment the rage of rebellion seizes the most
distant provinces; trade and commerce are at a standstill, the ships
disappear from the harbors, the artisan abandons his workshop, the
rustic his uncultivated fields. Thousands fled to distant lands; a
thousand victims fell on the bloody field, and fresh thousands pressed
on; for divine, indeed, must that doctrine be for which men could die so
joyfully. All that was wanting was the last achieving hand, the
enlightened enterprising spirit, to seize on this great political crisis
and to mature the offspring of chance to the designs of wisdom. William
the Silent devoted himself, a second Brutus, to the great cause of
liberty. Superior to a timorous selfishness, he sent in to the throne
his resignation of offices which devolved on him objectionable duties,
and, magnanimously divesting himself of all his princely dignities, he
descended to a state of voluntary poverty, and became but a citizen of
the world. The cause of justice was staked upon the hazardous game of
battle; but the sudden levies of mercenaries and peaceful husbandmen
could not withstand the terrible onset of an experienced force. Twice
did the brave William lead his dispirited troops against the tyrant,
twice was he abandoned by them, but not by his courage.

Philip II sent as many reënforcements as the dreadful importunity of his
viceroy begged for. Fugitives whom their fatherland rejected sought a
new country on the ocean, and turned to satisfy, on the ships of their
enemy, the demon of vengeance and of want. Naval heroes were now formed
out of corsairs, and a marine collected out of piratical vessels; and
out of morasses arose a republic. Seven provinces threw off the yoke at
the same time, to form a new, youthful state, powerful by its waters and
its union and despair. A solemn decree of the whole nation deposed the
tyrant, and the Spanish name disappeared from all the laws.

For what had now been done no forgiveness remained; the republic became
formidable, because it was no longer possible for her to retrace her
steps; factions distracted her within; her terrible element, the sea
itself, leaguing with her oppressors, threatened her very infancy with a
premature grave. She felt herself succumb to the superior force of the
enemy, and cast herself a suppliant before the most powerful thrones of
Europe, begging them to accept a dominion which she herself could no
longer protect. At last, but with difficulty--so despised at first was
this state that even the rapacity of foreign monarchs spurned her
opening bloom--a stranger deigned to accept their importunate offer of a
dangerous crown. New hopes began to revive her sinking courage; but in
this new father of his country, destiny gave her a traitor; and in the
critical emergency, when the implacable foe was in full force before her
very gates, Charles of Anjou invaded the liberties which he had been
called to protect. The assassin's hand, too, tore the steersman from the
rudder, and with William of Orange the career, seemingly, of the infant
republic and all her guardian angels fled; but the ship continued to
scud along in the storm, and the swelling canvas carried her safe
without the steersman's help.

Philip II missed the fruits of a deed which cost him his royal honor and
perhaps also his self-respect. Liberty struggled on still with despotism
in the obstinate and dubious contest; sanguinary battles were fought; a
brilliant array of heroes succeeded each other on the field of glory;
and Flanders and Brabant were the schools which educated generals for
the coming century. A long, devastating war laid waste the open country;
victor and vanquished alike were bathed in blood; while the rising
republic of the waters gave a welcome to fugitive industry, and out of
the ruins erected the noble edifice of its own greatness. For forty
years a war lasted, whose happy termination was not to bless the dying
eye of Philip; which destroyed one paradise in Europe, to create a new
one out of its shattered fragments; which destroyed the choicest flower
of military youth; and while it enriched more than a quarter of the
globe, impoverished the possessor of the golden Peru. This monarch, who,
even without oppressing his subjects, could expend nine hundred tons of
gold, but who by tyrannical means extorted far more, heaped on his
depopulated kingdom a debt of one hundred and forty millions of ducats.
An implacable hatred of liberty swallowed up all these treasures and
consumed in fruitless labor his royal life. But the Reformation throve
amid the devastation of his sword, and over the blood of her citizens
the banner of the new republic floated victorious.




           LEPANTO: DESTRUCTION OF THE TURKISH NAVAL POWER

                               A.D. 1571

                     SIR WILLIAM STIRLING-MAXWELL


    By the defeat of the Turks in the naval fight near Lepanto their
    power was so seriously shaken that its decline may be reckoned to
    have begun with that event. For many years, under their great sultan
    Solyman, the Magnificent, they had kept Europe in terror of their
    assaults. They had taken a recognized place among European peoples.
    Before his alliance with Francis I of France (1534), Solyman had
    made himself master of Hungary, and by threatening Vienna he so
    alarmed Charles V that the Emperor agreed to the Peace of Nuremberg,
    in order that he might unite Protestants and Catholics against the
    Ottoman foe.

    Although Solyman withdrew before the united forces of the Christian
    empire, the Turks continued their depredations, especially on the
    coasts of Italy and Spain. Charles succeeded in repelling them
    there, and defeated them (1535) at Tunis, but they soon renewed
    their frightful ravages along the European shores.

    Finally, in the reign of Solyman's successor, Selim II, they were
    met with effectual resistance through the efforts of the Holy League
    formed in 1570 by Spain, Venice, and Pope Pius V. Selim in that year
    captured and pillaged Nicosia, the capital of Cyprus. In May, 1571,
    the League agreed upon a plan of action, and after a series of
    indecisive operations the allies accomplished their task in the
    manner described below. Their forces were commanded by Don John of
    Austria, a Spanish soldier, illegitimate son of Charles V. Don John
    had already (1569-1570) defeated the Moriscoes or Moors in Granada.
    Stirling-Maxwell is the authoritative historian of his remarkable
    career. Sir William's account of the important victory near Lepanto
    is one of our most interesting examples of military narration.


The Gulf of Lepanto is a long inlet of irregular shape, extending east
and west, and bounded on the north by the shores of Albania, the ancient
Epirus, and on the south by the coast of Morea, and closed at its
eastern end by the Isthmus of Corinth. The bold headland on the north
side, guarded by the castle of Roumelia, and the lower promontory on the
south with the castle of the Morea, advancing from the opposite shores
into its waters, divide the long inlet into two unequal parts. The first
of these parts consists of the mouth of the gulf and the lake-like
basin, together forming the Gulf of Patras. The second is the long reach
of waters within the castled headlands called the Gulf (anciently) of
Corinth, and now of Epakte or Lepanto. When the hostile fleets came in
sight of each other, that of the League was entering the gulf near its
northern shore, while that of the Turk was about fifteen miles within
its jaws, his vast crescent-shaped line stretching almost from the broad
swampy shallows which lie beneath the Acarnanian mountains to the margin
of the rich lowlands of the Morea.

As the two armaments now advanced, each in full view of the other, the
sea was somewhat high, and the wind, blowing freshly from the east, was
in the teeth of the Christians. But in the course of the morning the
waves of the gulf fell to a glassy smoothness, and the breeze shifted to
the west, a change fortunate for the sailors of the League, which their
spiritual teachers did not fail to declare a special interposition of
God in behalf of the fleet which carried the flag of his vicar upon
earth.

At the sound of the signal gun each captain began to prepare his ship
for action. By order of Don John of Austria the sharp peaks of the
galleys, the spurs (_espolones_) as they were called, had been cut off,
it being thought expedient to sacrifice those weapons of offence, which
were somewhat uncertain in their operation, to insure the more effectual
working of the guns on the forecastle and gangway; and the bulwarks had
been strengthened, and heightened by means of boarding-nettings. In
some vessels the rowers' benches were removed or planked over, to give
more space and scope to the soldiers. Throughout the fleet the Christian
slaves had their fetters knocked off and were furnished with arms,
which they were encouraged to use valiantly by promises of freedom and
rewards. Of the Moslem slaves, on the contrary, the chains which
secured them to their places were carefully examined, and their rivets
secured; and they were, besides, fitted with handcuffs, to disable them
from using their hands for any purpose but tugging on the oar. The
arquebusier, the musketeer, and the bombardier looked carefully to the
state of their weapons, ammunition, and equipments; the sailor sharpened
his pike and cutlass; the officer put on his strongest casque and his
best-wrought cuirass; the stewards placed supplies of bread and wine in
convenient places, ready to the hands of the combatants; and the surgeons
prepared their instruments and bandages, and spread tables in dark and
shaded nooks, for the use of the wounded.

While these preparations occupied their subordinate officers, the chiefs
of the armament repaired to the flag-ship to learn the final resolution
and receive the last instructions of Don John of Austria. Some of these
went for the purpose of combating that resolution and objecting to those
instructions; for that eagerness to fight, which pervaded the soldiers
and sailors, was not unanimously shared by their leaders. Veniero,
although he had been hitherto very desirous of meeting the enemy, was
now anxious and dispirited. Doria and Ascanio de la Corgnia reminded
their young commander that the Turk, who was evidently bent upon
fighting, had a convenient harbor and arsenal behind him at Lepanto;
while for the fleet of the League, far from accessible ports, a disaster
implied total destruction. Some of their colleagues ventured to advise
Don John to retire while it was still in his power to do so. He refused
to discuss a question which had been decided at Corfu. "Gentlemen," he
said, "the time for counsel is past, and the time for fighting has
come," and with these words dismissed them to their ships.

While the galleys were taking up their positions, Don John of Austria,
in complete armor and attended by Don Luis de Cordoba and his secretary
Juan de Soto, transferred himself to a frigate remarkable for speed and
armed with a single German gun, and ran along the line to the right of
the flag-ship, embracing the whole extent of the right wing. As he
neared each galley he addressed a few words of encouragement to the
officers and men. He reminded the Venetians of the cruel outrages which
the Republic had lately received from the Turk in the Adriatic, Corfu,
and especially in Cyprus; and that now was the time to take signal
vengeance; and he therefore bid them use their weapons as these
recollections and the great opportunity required. To the Spaniards he
said: "My children, we are here to conquer or to die as Heaven may
determine. Do not let our impious foe ask us, 'Where is your God?' Fight
in his holy name, and in death or victory you will win immortality." His
words were eminently successful. They were in all cases received with
enthusiastic applause. The soldiers and sailors were delighted and
inspired by the gallant bearing and language of their young leader. As
he left them, shipmates who had quarrelled as only shipmates can, and
who had not spoken for weeks, embraced, and swore to conquer or to die
in the sacred cause of Christ.

As the two fleets approached--the Christians wafted gently onward by a
light breeze, the Ottomans plying their oars to the utmost--the Turkish
commander, who like Don John sailed in the centre of his line, fired a
gun. Don John acknowledged the challenge and returned the salute. A
second shot elicited a second reply. The two armaments had approached
near enough to enable each to distinguish the individual vessels of the
other and to scan their various banners and insignia. The Turks advanced
to battle shouting and screaming and making a great uproar with
ineffectual musketry. The Christians preserved complete silence. At a
certain signal a crucifix was raised aloft in every ship in the fleet.
Don John of Austria, sheathed in complete armor, and standing in a
conspicuous place on the prow of his ship, now knelt down to adore the
sacred emblem, and to implore the blessing of God on the great
enterprise which he was about to commence. Every man in the fleet
followed his example and fell upon his knees. The soldier, poising his
firelock, knelt at his post by the bulwarks, the gunner knelt with his
lighted match beside his gun. The decks gleamed with prostrate men in
mail. In each galley, erect and conspicuous among the martial throng,
stood a Franciscan or a Dominican friar, a Theatine or a Jesuit, in his
brown or black robe, holding a crucifix in one hand and sprinkling holy
water with the other, while he pronounced a general absolution, and
promised indulgence in this life, or pardon in the next, to the
steadfast warriors who should quit them like men and fight the good
fight of faith against infidel.

In the night between October 6th and 7th, 1571, about the same hour that
the Christian fleet weighed anchor at Cephalonia, the Turks had left
their moorings in the harbor of Lepanto. While Don John, baffled by the
winds and waves, was beating off the Curzolarian Isles, the Pacha was
sailing down the gulf before a fair breeze. Every Turk on board the
Sultan's fleet believed that he was about to assist in conveying the
armament of the Christian powers to the Golden Horn, in obedience to the
commands of the Padishah. The soldiers and sailors, lately recruited by
large reënforcements, were many of them fresh from quarters on shore.
Officers and men were in the highest spirits, eager for the battle which
they knew to be at hand, and in which they supposed their success to be
certain. For although Ali was well informed as to the position and
movements of the fleet of the League, he was no less mistaken as to the
strength of the Christians than the Christians were as to his own. He
had been more successful in pouring fictions into the ear of Don John
than in obtaining accurate intelligence for himself.

The Greek fishermen, in reporting to each leader the condition of his
enemy, had, as we have seen, taken care to please and deceive both.
Karacosh had indeed been present at the review of Gomenzia, but he had
erred considerably in his reckoning of the numbers of the Christian
fleet. Either by accident or design, he computed the vessels at fifty
less than the real number, and he, besides, greatly underrated the
weight of the artillery. Ali was still further deceived by the reports
of three Spanish soldiers, captured on the shore near Gomenzia, where
they had strayed too far from their boat. These prisoners assured the
Pacha that the Christian fleet had not as yet been joined either by the
great ships or the galeases, and that forty galleys, sent under Santa
Cruz to Otranto for troops, and two galleys with which Andrade had gone
on a cruise of observation, had not yet returned. This story confirmed
the accounts both of Karacosh and the Greek fishermen. The Pacha was
naturally no less anxious to meet Don John with Santa Cruz than Don John
had been to meet the Pacha without the Viceroy of Algiers. It was no
wonder, then, that the chiefs of the Turkish fleet led their galleys
down the gulf in the ardent hope of speedily meeting with an enemy in
whom they made certain of finding a rich and easy prey. The three
hundred sail of the Sultan moved, as already described, in the form of
an immense crescent, stretching nearly from shore to shore.

When the Christian armament first came in sight, nothing was seen of it
but the small vanguard of Cardona's Sicilian galleys, and a portion of
the right wing under Doria. The rest was hidden by the rocky headlands
at the north of the gulf. For a while this circumstance buoyed up the
Turks in their belief that the force of the enemy was greatly inferior
to their own. As, however, the long lines of the centre under Don John
of Austria, and of the left wing under Barbarigo, came galley after
galley into view, they began to discover their mistake. The men posted
aloft were eagerly questioned by the officers as to the result of their
observations, and their answers, always announcing accessions of
strength to the Christians, led to misgivings, and to vehement
denunciations against Karacosh for the inaccuracy of his report from
Gomenzia. When Ali perceived that the Christians had adopted a long
straight line of battle, he also caused his fleet to take the same
order, drawing in the horns and advancing the centre of his crescent. As
the fleets came nearer to each other, the leaders of the League were
encouraged by observing that the enemy's rear was not covered by
anything that could be called a reserve, but only by a number of small
craft. Ali, on the contrary, was surprised to see the galeases which had
been pushed forward by the Christians. He inquired what these _mahones_
were, and was told that they were not mahones, but galeases; the very
vessels, in fact, which he had been led to believe had been separated
from the enemy, and whose formidable artillery he did not expect to
encounter. He also observed with concern the large number of the
galleys which were Spanish, or western (_ponenirinas_, as they were
called in the Levant), and of a stronger build than those which were
constructed at Venice by the Orientals. He now saw that the victory was
not to be so easy as he had anticipated, and that he must neglect no
means that might avert defeat. A kind-hearted as well as a brave man,
he had always been remarkable for the humanity with which he had cared
for the unhappy Christian slaves who rowed his galley. He now walked
forward to their benches and said to them in Spanish: "Friends, I
expect you to-day to do your duty by me, in return for what I have done
for you. If I win the battle, I promise you your liberty; if the day is
yours, God has given it to you."

When the fleets neared each other, and the Christians were all prostrate
before their crucifixes and friars, and no sound was heard on their
decks but the voices of the holy fathers, the Turks were indulging in
every kind of noise which nature or art had furnished them with the
means of producing. Shouting and screaming, they bade the Christians
come on "like drowned hens" and be slaughtered; then they danced and
stamped and clanged their arms; they blew trumpets, clashed cymbals, and
fired volleys of useless musketry. When the Christians had ended their
devotions and stood to their guns, or in their ordered ranks, each
galley, in the long array, seemed on fire, as the noon-tide sun blazed
on helmet and corselet, and pointed blades and pikes with flame. The
bugles now sounded a charge, and the bands of each vessel began to play.
Before Don John retired from the forecastle to his proper place on the
quarter-deck, it is said by one of the officers, who had written an
account of the battle, that he and two of his gentlemen, "inspired with
youthful ardor, danced a galliard on the gun platform to the music of
the fifes." The Turkish line, to the glitter of arms, added yet more
splendor of color from the brilliant and variegated garb of the
janizaries, their tall and fanciful crests and prodigious plumes, and
from the multitude of flags and streamers which every galley displayed
from every available point and peak. Long before the enemy were within
range the Turkish cannon opened. The first shot that took effect carried
off the point of the pennant of Don Juan de Cardona, who in his swiftest
vessel was hovering along the line, correcting trifling defects of
position and order, like a sergeant drilling recruits. About noon a
flash was seen to proceed from one of the galeases of the Christian
fleet. The shot was aimed at the flag-ship of the Pacha, conspicuous in
the centre of the line, and carrying the sacred green standard of the
Prophet. Passing through the rigging of the vessel, the ball carried off
a portion of the highest of the three splendid lanterns which hung on
the lofty stern as symbols of command. The Pacha, from his quarter-deck,
looked up on hearing the crash, and perceiving the ominous mischief,
said, "God grant we may be able to give a good answer to this question."
The next shot split off a great piece of the poop of an adjacent galley.
Of the six galeases four were soon pouring a murderous fire into the
Turkish centre and right wing; the remaining two, which were intended to
gall the left wing, having been rendered of little use, then and during
the battle, by dexterous southerly movements of Aluch Ali. The balls
from the galeases appeared to stop the vessels which they struck, and
which seemed to have been met as by a wall. Two of them were speedily
sunk by the terrible fire. Perceiving the great superiority of the
galeases in weight of metal, Ali ordered his galleys not to attempt to
attack them, but, avoiding them as well as they could, to push on
against the galleys of the Christians. Obedience to this order, however
necessary, produced great confusion in the Turkish line.

The Pacha of Alexandria, who led the right wing, endeavored both to
elude the galeases and circumvent his antagonists, the Venetians on the
Christian left, by passing between them and the shore. Barbarigo
observed the movement, and prepared to oppose by adopting it; but his
pilots, inferior to those of Sirocco in local knowledge, dreading the
shoals and shallows, did not stand toward the coast with sufficient
boldness. The Pacha therefore effected his purpose with a few of his
vessels and Barbarigo found himself placed between two fires; his own
galley at one time being engaged by no less than eight Turkish vessels.
As they approached the Christians, the Turks assailed them not only with
cannon and musketry, but also with showers of arrows, many of which,
from the wounds inflicted by them, were supposed to have been poisoned.
As Barbarigo stood giving orders on his quarter-deck, he became a
conspicuous mark; and the hail of arrows fell so thick around him that
the great lantern which adorned the galley's stern was afterward found
to be studded with their shafts. At length one of these ancient missiles
pierced the left eye of the gallant commander and compelled his
immediate removal below. The wound, in three days, proved mortal. His
nephew, Marco Contarini, rushing to his assistance, was also slain.
These untoward events for a moment paralyzed the efforts of the
Venetians. The galley became the centre of so severe a fire that its
defenders were more than once swept away, and it was in great danger of
being taken. Frederigo Nano, however, who, by Barbarigo's desire, had
assumed the command, succeeded in rallying his men, and not only beat
off Sirocco, but made a prize of one of his best galleys and its
commander, the corsair Kara Ali. The combat between the Turks and the
Venetians seemed inspired by the intensest personal hatred; the Turks
thirsting for fresh conquests, the Venetians for vengeance. That they
might the more effectually use their weapons, many of the soldiers of
St. Mark uncovered their faces and laid aside their shields. No quarter
was given, and the slaughter was very great on both sides. One of the
Sultan's galleys near the shore being very hard pressed, the Turks
jumped overboard and escaped to land. Some of the Venetians followed and
slew them as they ran to the cover of some rocks. One of these pursuers,
being armed only with a stick, contrived with that simple weapon to pin
his victim through the mouth to the ground, to the great admiration of
his comrades.

As the centre divisions of the two fleets closed with each other the
wisdom of Don John in retrenching the fore-peaks of his vessels became
abundantly apparent. The Turks had neglected to take this precaution;
the efficiency of their forecastle guns was therefore greatly impaired.
Their prows were also much higher than the prows of their antagonists.
While their shot passed harmlessly over the enemy, his balls struck
their galleys close to water-mark with fatal precision. The fire of the
Christians was the more murderous because many of the Turkish vessels
were crowded with soldiers both on the deck and below.

Ali and Don John had each directed his helmsman to steer for the
flag-ship of the enemy. The two galleys soon met, striking each other
with great force. The left prow of the Pacha towered high above the
lower forecastle of Don John, and his galley's peak was thrust through
the rigging of the other vessel until its point was over the fourth
rowing-bench. Thus linked together the two flag-ships became a
battle-field which was strongly contested for about two hours. The Pacha
had on board four hundred picked janizaries--three hundred armed with
the arquebus and one hundred with the bow. Two galliots and ten galleys,
all filled with janizaries, lay close astern, the galliots being
connected with the Pacha's vessels by ladders, up which reënforcements
immediately came when wanted. The galley of Pertau Pacha fought
alongside. Don John's consisted of three hundred arquebusiers; but his
forecastle artillery was, for reasons above mentioned, more efficient,
while his bulwarks, like those of other Christian vessels, were
protected from boarders by nettings and other devices with which the
Turks had not provided themselves. Requesens, wary and watchful, lay
astern with two galleys, from which he led fresh troops into the
flag-ship from time to time. Alongside, Vaniero and Colonna were each
hotly engaged with an antagonist. The combat between the two chiefs was
on the whole not unequal, and it was fought with great gallantry on both
sides. From the Turkish forecastle the arquebusiers at first severely
galled the Christians. Don Lope de Figueroa, who commanded on the prow
of the flag-ship, lost so many of his men that he was compelled to ask
for assistance. Don Bernardino de Cardenas, who led a party to his aid,
was struck on the chest by a spent ball from an esmeril, and in falling
backward received injuries from which he soon expired. Considerable
execution was also done by the Turkish arrows, with which portions of
the masts and spars bristled. Several of these missiles came from the
bow of the Pacha himself, who was probably the last commander-in-chief
who ever drew a bowstring in European battle. But on the whole the fire
of the Christians was greatly superior to that of the Turks. Twice the
deck of Ali was swept clear of defenders, and twice the Spaniards rushed
on board and advanced as far as the mainmast. At that point they were on
each occasion driven back by the janizaries, who, though led by Ali in
person, do not appear to have made good a footing on the deck of Don
John. A third attempt was more successful. Not only did the Spaniards
pass the mast, but they approached the poop and assailed it with a
vigorous fire. The Pacha led on his janizaries to meet them, but it
seems with small hope of making a successful resistance, for at the same
moment he threw into the sea a small box which was supposed to contain
his most precious jewels. A ball from an arquebuse soon afterward struck
him in the forehead. He fell forward upon the gangway (_crucija_). A
soldier from Malaga, seizing the body, cut off the head and carried it
to Don John, who was already on board the Turkish vessel, leading a
fresh body of men to the support of their comrades. The trophy was then
raised on the point of a lance, to be seen by friend and foe. The Turks
paused for a moment panic-stricken; the Christians shouted victory, and,
hauling down the Turkish standard, hoisted a flag with a cross in its
place. Don John ordered his trumpets to sound, and the good news was
soon proclaimed in the adjacent galleys of the League. The Turks
defended their flag-ship but feebly after the death of their Pacha. The
vessel, which was the first taken, was in the hands of the Spaniards
about two o'clock in the afternoon--about an hour and a half after the
two leaders had engaged each other. A brigantine which had been employed
in bringing up fresh troops, surrendered almost at the same time. The
neighboring galleys of the Sultan had themselves been by this time too
severely handled to render much assistance. Only one serious attempt was
made to recover the ship of Ali or to avenge its loss. Several galleys
from other parts of the line bore down at once upon Don John. The
movement was perceived by Santa Cruz, whose vessels of reserve were
still untouched. Dashing into the advancing squadron, he had the
good-fortune to sink one galley by the force of his fire; and he
immediately boarded another and put all the janizaries to the sword. Don
John himself dealt with the remaining assailants.

Vaniero and Colonna fought with great gallantry and success, and each
vanquished the Turk who had engaged him. The brave old Admiral of Venice
fairly earned the Doge's cap, which soon after crowned his hoary brow.
He was often in the thickest of the fire; and when, in the absence of
many of his men, who had boarded the Turkish flag-ship, his own was also
boarded, he repulsed the assailants in person, and, fighting with all
the vigor of youth, received a wound in the foot on the deck of the
galley of Pertau Pacha, whither he had pursued his advantage. A second
Turkish galley, advancing to attack Vaniero, was run into about midships
and sunk by Giovanni Contarini. Giovanni de Loredano and Caterino
Malipieri were less happy in the enemies whom they encountered, and
perished in their sunken vessels. From the flag-ship of Genoa the young
Prince of Parma, followed by a single Spanish soldier named Alonso
Davalos, leaped into a Turkish galley, fought their way through its
defenders without a wound, and might also boast of having, unaided,
caused it to strike its flag. Two other Turks afterward surrendered to
the Genoese flag-ship, the captain of which, Ettore Spinola, lost his
life by an arrow. In the flag-ship of Savoy, under a captain named Leni,
of remarkable courage, who was also severely wounded, the Prince of
Urbino likewise greatly distinguished himself. The gallant Karacosh was
compelled to surrender to Juan Bautista Cortez, a captain of the King of
Spain, although his galley was defended by one hundred fifty picked
janizaries and was one of the best built and equipped vessels in the
fleet. The Eleugina of the Pope had the credit of taking the guard-ship
of Rhodes; and the Toscana, also a papal galley, in making a prize of
the vessel of the Turkish paymaster recovered to the pontifical squadron
the flag-ship of the contingent of Pius IV in the unfortunate battle of
Gerbi. The crowning achievement of the central division was performed by
the Grand Commander, who attacked and captured after an obstinate and
bloody contest, a fine galley, in which were the sons of the deceased
Ali Pacha. These lads--Mahomet Bey, aged seventeen years, and Said Bey,
aged thirteen--had been brought to sea by their father for the first
time. Their capture was of importance, because the mother of one of them
was a sister of Sultan Selim.

Juan de Cardona, who sailed on the left of the right wing, finding no
enemy opposed to him, brought his vessel round to the rear of the
Turkish centre, and attacked Pertau Pacha, with whom Paolo Giordano
Orsini was engaged in a somewhat unequal conflict. After a stout
resistance the Christians entered the Turkish galley, out of which the
Pacha, though wounded, succeeded in escaping in a boat.

The right wing of the Christians and the Turkish left wing did not
engage each other until some time after the other divisions were in
deadly conflict. Doria and Aluch Ali were, each of them, bent on
outmanoeuvring the other. The Algerine did not succeed, like Sirocco,
in insinuating himself between his adversary and the shore. But the
seamen whose skill and daring were the admiration of the Mediterranean
were not easily baffled. Finding himself foiled in his first attempt, he
slackened his course, and, threatening sometimes one vessel and
sometimes another, drew the Genoese eastward, until the inferior speed
of some of the galleys had caused an opening at the northern end of the
Christian line. Upon this opening the crafty corsair immediately bore
down with all the speed of his oars, and passed through it with most of
his galleys. This evolution placed him in the rear of the whole
Christian line of battle. On the extreme right of the centre division
sailed Prior Giustiniani, the commodore of the small Maltese squadron.
This officer had hitherto fought with no less success than skill, and
had already captured four Turkish galleys. The Viceroy of Algiers had,
the year before, captured three galleys of Malta, and was fond of
boasting of being the peculiar scourge and terror of the Order of St.
John. The well-known white cross banner, rising over the smoke of
battle, soon attracted his eye and was marked for his prey. Wheeling
round like a hawk, he bore down from behind upon the unhappy prior. The
three war-worn vessels of St. John were no match for seven stout
Algerines which had not yet fired a shot. The knights and their men
defended themselves with a valor worthy of their heroic order. A youth
named Bernardino de Heredia, son of the Count of Fuentes, signally
distinguished himself; and a Saragossan knight, Geronimo Ramirez,
although riddled with arrows like another St. Sebastian, fought with
such desperation that none of the Algerine boarders cared to approach
him until they saw that he was dead. A knight of Burgundy leaped alone
into one of the enemy's galleys, killed four Turks, and defended himself
until overpowered by numbers. On board the prior's vessel, when he was
taken, he himself, pierced with five arrow wounds, was the sole
survivor, except two knights, a Spaniard and a Sicilian, who, being
senseless from their wounds, were considered as dead. Having secured the
banner of St. John, Aluch Ali took the prior's ship in tow, and was
making the best of his way out of a battle which his skilful eye soon
discovered to be irretrievably lost. He had not, however, sailed far
when he was in turn descried by the Marquess of Santa Cruz, who, with
his squadron of reserve, was moving about redressing the wrongs of
Christian fortune. Aluch Ali had no mind for the fate of Giustiniani,
and resolved to content himself with the banner of Malta. Cutting his
prize adrift, he plied his oars and escaped, leaving the prior
grievously wounded to the care of his friends, and once more master, not
only of his ship, but of three hundred dead enemies who cumbered the
deck, a few living Algerine mariners who were to navigate the vessel,
and some Turkish soldiers, from whom he had just purchased his life.
This struggle cost the order, in killed alone, upward of thirty knights,
among whom was the Grand Bailiff of Germany, commander-in-chief of its
land forces. A few were also made prisoners, most of them desperately
wounded. For one of them, Borgianni Gianfigliazzi, his relations at
Florence, supposing him dead, performed funeral obsequies, in spite of
which he returned home from captivity, and was afterward ambassador from
the Grand Duke to Sultan Amurath. Two other knights, Mastrillo and
Caraffa, finding themselves unsupported in an enemy's brigantine, had
given themselves up, and had just bribed their captor to spare their
lives and admit them to a ransom, when a Neapolitan galley coming by
boarded the brigantine and turned their new master into their slave.

The main body of the Turkish left wing, though long of engaging the
Christian right, fought with perhaps greater fierceness than any other
part of the fleet. The battle was raging in that part of the line with
very doubtful aspect, when Don John of Austria found himself free from
the attacks of the enemies immediately around him. Thither, therefore,
he steered to the assistance of his comrades. The Turks, perceiving the
approach of a succoring squadron, and surmising the disasters which had
occurred in the centre, immediately gave way and dispersed. Sixteen of
the Algerine galleys, however, retired together, and rallying at a
little distance, adopted the tactics of their chief, by making a circuit
toward the shore of the Morea, and endeavoring to sweep round upon the
rear of the Christians. Their manoeuvres were closely watched by Don
Juan de Cardona, who placed himself in their path with eight galleys.
The encounter which took place between the two unequal squadrons was one
of the bloodiest episodes of the battle. Cardona was completely
successful, disabling some of his antagonists and putting the rest to
flight. His loss was, however, very severe. His own galley suffered more
damage than any vessel in the fleet which was not rendered absolutely
unfit for service. The forecastle was a ruin; the bulwark and defences
of all kinds were shattered to pieces; and the masts and spars were
stuck full of arrows. Cardona himself, after escaping a ball from an
arquebus, which was turned by a cuirass of fine steel given to him at
Genoa by the Prince of Tuscany, received a severe wound in the throat,
of which he died. Of the five hundred Sicilian soldiers who fought on
board his galleys only fifty remained unwounded. Many of the officers
were slain, and not one escaped without a wound. Others had suffered
even greater loss. In the Florence, a papal galley, not only many
knights of St. Stephen were killed, but also every soldier and slave;
and the captain, Tommaso de' Medicis, himself severely wounded, found
himself at the head of only seventeen wounded seamen. In the San
Giovanni, another vessel of the Pope, the soldiers were also killed to a
man, the rowing-benches occupied by corpses, and a captain laid for dead
with two musket-balls in his neck. The Piamontesa of Savoy had likewise
lost her commander and all of her soldiers and rowers.

Although Doria, having suffered himself to be outmanoeuvred by Aluch
Ali, and having failed to exchange a shot with that leader, could not
claim any considerable part of the laurels of the day, he was
nevertheless frequently engaged with other foes and made several prizes.
He escaped without a wound, though he was covered with blood of a
soldier killed by a cannon-ball close behind him.

On the left wing of the Christian fleet, the battle, which had begun so
unpropitiously, was also brought to a prosperous issue. The wound of
Barbarigo transferred the command to the commissary Canale. Aided by
Nano, who commanded Barbarigo's galley, Canale engaged and sunk the
vessel of the Pacha of Alexandria. Mahomet Sirocco himself, severely
wounded, was fished out of the sea by Gian Contarini, and sent on board
Canale's galley. As the wound of the Turk appeared to be mortal, the
Venetian relieved him from further suffering by cutting off his head.
Marco Quirini likewise did gallant service, compelling several of the
enemy to strike their flags. Of the remaining galleys many were run
ashore by their crews, of whom the greater number were slain or drowned
as they attempted to swim to land.

The victory of the Christians at Lepanto was in a great measure to be
ascribed to the admirable tactics of their chief. The shock of the
Turkish onset was effectually broken by the dexterous disposition made
of the galeases of Venice. Indeed, had the great ships been there to
strengthen the sparse line formed by these six vessels, it is not
impossible that the Turks would have failed in forcing their way through
the wall of that terrible fire. Each Christian vessel, by the
retrenchment of its peak, enjoyed an advantage over its antagonist in
the freer play of its artillery. When, however, the galleys of Selim
came to close combat with the galleys of the League, the battle became a
series of isolated struggles which depended more upon individual mind
and manhood than upon any comprehensive plan of far-seeing calculation.
But Don John of Austria had the merit or the good-fortune of bringing
his forces into action in the highest moral and material perfection; of
placing admirable means in the hands of men whose spirit was in the
right temper to use them. He struck his great blow at the happy moment
when great dangers are cheerfully confronted and great things easily
accomplished.

His plan of battle was on the whole admirably executed. The galleys of
the various confederates were so studiously intermingled that each
vessel was incited to do its utmost by the spur of rivalry. Vaniero and
Colonna deserve their full share of the credit of the day; and the
gallant Santa Cruz, although at first stationed in the rear, soon found
and employed his opportunity of earning his share of laurels. On Doria
alone Roman and Venetian critics, and indeed public opinion, pronounced
a less favorable verdict. His shoreward movement unquestionably had the
effect of enabling Aluch Ali to cut the Christian line and fall with
damaging force upon its rear, and of rendering the victory more costly
in blood and less rich in prizes. This movement was ascribed to the
desire of the Genoese to spare his own ships, and to secure a safe
retreat for himself in case of a disaster; and he was further even
taunted with cowardice for hauling down the gilded celestial sphere, the
proud cognizance of his house, which usually surmounted his flag-staff.
To the latter charge his friends replied that the sphere was taken down
to secure it from injury, it being the gift of his wife, and that his
ship was too well known to both the fleets to find safety in the want of
her usual badge. The other accusations, they considered, were disposed
of by the necessity of shaping his course according to the tactics of
the Algerine, and abundantly refuted by the vigor and success with which
he at last attacked the enemy. It is not improbable that the true
explanation of his conduct is that offered by the captain of a
Neapolitan galley, present at the battle, that he wished to gain an
advantage over Aluch Ali by seamanship, and that the renegade, no less
skilled in the game, played it on this occasion better than he.

Although in numbers, both of men and vessels, the Sultan's fleet was
superior to the fleet of the League, this superiority was more than
counterbalanced by other important advantages possessed by the
Christians. The artillery of the West was of greater power and far
better served than the ordnance of the East; and its fire was rendered
doubly disastrous by the thronged condition of the Turkish vessels. The
lofty-peaked prows of these vessels seriously interfered, as we have
already seen, with the working of their guns. A great number of their
combatants were armed with the bow instead of the firelock, which placed
them at an obvious disadvantage, except during heavy rains, which
extinguished the match of the latter weapon. Of the Turks who carried
the musket or arquebus few could handle them with the expertness of a
Christian soldier. The advantages which the League derived from its
galeases were heightened by the fact that a large proportion of its
other vessels were superior to their antagonists. The galleys of the
King of Spain were, in general, both more strongly built and more
carefully protected against boarders than those of the Sultan. Even
early in the battle the Moslems began to discover that they were
overmatched. In many of the galleys the guns were at once silenced by
the heavier artillery of the Christians, in whose hands the fire of the
arquebus and the musket, when they came to close quarters, proved so
withering that the enemy's deck was sometimes swept clean before they
boarded, and the turbaned heads of the janizaries were seen crouching
beneath the benches of the slaves. When the conflict was transferred to
the Turkish decks, the Christians, however, found themselves fiercely
met, and among other means of opposing their progress they perceived
that the central gangway (_corsia_) had been torn up, or they slipped
upon planking which had been smeared with butter, oil, or even, it is
said, with honey, to render the footing insecure. So efficient were the
nettings and other precautions with which Don John of Austria defended
the bulwarks of his ships that he was able to inform Philip II that not
a Turk had set foot upon a single deck belonging to his majesty.

Such were some of the chief causes of the success of the arms of the
League. In the sixteenth century, in a vast concourse of men of the
South, hot from battle and largely leavened with priests and friars, it
was natural that the victory should be by many ascribed to a more
mysterious agency. In the opinion of these persons the Almighty had
evidently been fighting on the side of the Pope and the Cross, although
they would perhaps have demurred to the logical deduction from that
opinion that at Cyprus he had steadily adhered to the drunken Sultan and
the Crescent. It was not only in the victory that they saw the finger of
Omnipotence, but in many accidents and incidents of the day. The wind,
which wafted the Turks swiftly to destruction, changed at the precise
moment when it was needed to aid the onset of the Christians. The
boisterous sea also sank to smoothness in the special interest of the
League. Of the clergy and friars who ministered on the Spanish decks to
the wounded and dying, although some of them were struck, not one was
killed. The Venetians were less fortunate, having four chaplains killed
and three wounded; and the Pope likewise lost one of his friars, who
died of his wounds soon after the battle. The churchmen exposed
themselves as freely as the combatants, whom they encouraged from
conspicuous posts either on deck or in the rigging, and sometimes by
example as well as precept. A Spanish Capuchin, an old soldier, had tied
his crucifix to a halbert, and, crying that Christ would fight for his
faith, led the boarders of his galley over the bulwarks of her
antagonist; after using his weapon manfully, he returned victorious and
untouched.

An Italian priest, with a great gilded crucifix in one hand and a sword
in another, stood cheering on his spiritual sons, unharmed in the
fiercest centre of the arrowy sleet and iron hail. A Roman Capuchin,
finding his flock getting the worst of it, seized a boat-hook, and,
pulling his peaked hood over his face, rushed into the fray, laid about
him until he had slain seven Turks and driven the rest from the deck,
and lived to call a smile to the thin lips of Pius V by telling the
story of his prowess. The green banner of Mecca, brought from the
Prophet's tomb, and unfurled from the main-top of Ali, was riddled with
shot, which rendered illegible many of the sacred words with which it
was embroidered. But the azure standard of the League, blessed by the
supreme Pontiff and emblazoned with the image of the crucified Redeemer,
remained untouched by bolt or bullet, although masts, spars, and shrouds
around were torn and shattered from top to bottom.

The battle was over about four o'clock in the afternoon. The rout of the
centre and right wing of the Turk was complete. The vessels which
composed these divisions were either sunk or taken, or they had singly
sought safety in flight. A few galleys of the left wing still followed
the banner of the Viceroy of Algiers. After hovering for a while near
the coast of the Morea he made sail for St. Maura. Don John of Austria,
with Doria and some other captains, gave him chase, but was compelled to
desist for want of oarsmen. The pursuit, however, was not altogether
unsuccessful, for several of the panic-stricken Algerines ran their
galleys ashore, where some of them suffered shipwreck on the rocks. In
the course of the night Aluch Ali and his little squadron of fugitives
stole back from St. Maura to Lepanto. That harbor afforded a refuge to
about nine-and-twenty vessels, most of them much shattered, the sole
remains of the proud and confident armament which had so lately sailed
out from between the two castles.




                     MASSACRE OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW

                              A.D. 1572

        HENRY WHITE          ISAAC D'ISRAELI          JNO. RUDD


    Among the numberless butcheries which history, both ancient and
    modern, records, there has been none more remarkable in motive,
    execution, and number of victims than the Massacre of St.
    Bartholomew. It is scarcely less remarkable as being one of those
    historic crimes which defeat their own purpose by reacting against
    the perpetrators and advancing the cause of those who suffer
    outrage.

    The tragedy of St. Bartholomew's Day marked the culmination of the
    great struggle which devastated France in the latter half of the
    sixteenth century. During the reign of Francis I (1515-1547) and his
    immediate successors, Henry II (1547-1559), Francis II (1559-1560),
    and Charles IX (1560-1574), "the Huguenot (French Protestant)
    character was formed, and the nation gradually separated into two
    parties so fanatically hostile that the extermination of the weaker
    seemed the only possible means of reestablishing the unity of
    France."

    The "Puritans of France" were persecuted under all these kings.
    During the minority of Charles IX his mother, Catherine de' Medici,
    was regent, and throughout his reign she dictated the King's policy.
    Under this rule the persecutions continued with increasing violence.

    From 1562 to 1570 France was torn with civil wars between Catholics
    and Protestants. On the Protestant side the great leaders were the
    Prince of Condé, Admiral Coligny, and later Henry of Navarre. Condé
    was murdered in 1569. By the Peace of St. Germain (1570) the
    Huguenots received some favorable concessions. The weak Charles IX,
    now in fear of Philip II of Spain, was inclining to the Protestant
    side. Seconded by Coligny, he planned alliances with all the enemies
    of Philip in Europe. But Catherine overruled him. Charles and
    Coligny, however, had their way in the marriage of the King's
    sister, Margaret of Valois, to Henry of Navarre. Coligny now gained
    a stronger influence over the young Charles. He was followed by a
    large body of exulting Protestants to Paris, and the Catholic party,
    headed by Catherine, the Duke of Anjou, and the Guises, became
    greatly enraged.

    Of the terrible massacre which followed, and in which the number
    killed throughout France has been estimated at from twenty thousand
    to one hundred thousand, Coligny was the first victim. One attempt
    to assassinate him failed; he was only wounded; and the Queen-mother
    then plied her weak son with argument and persuasion in order to
    make him consent to the admiral's murder and to the massacre which
    had been arranged, with profound secrecy, for August 24th. She told
    him of a Huguenot plot, in which, at a signal from Coligny,
    conspirators were to rise throughout the kingdom, overturn the
    throne, take Charles himself prisoner, and destroy the Queen-mother
    and the Catholic nobility. She showed him some proofs, "forged or
    real," of his personal danger.

    As a counter-view to the intensely bitter picture of Catherine
    presented by most non-Catholic historians, and represented here by
    White, the explanation of Charles IX himself, in the letter
    furnished by D'Israeli, possesses a peculiar interest.


                             HENRY WHITE

The King sat moody and silent, biting his nails, as was his wont. He
would come to no decision. He asked for proofs, and none was
forthcoming, except some idle gossip of the streets and the foolish
threats of a few hot-headed Huguenots. Charles had learned to love the
admiral: could he believe that the gentle Coligny and that
Rochefoucault, the companion of his rough sports, were guilty of this
meditated plot? He desired to be the king of France--of Huguenots and
Catholics alike--not a king of party. Catherine, in her despair,
employed her last argument. She whispered in his ear, "Perhaps, sire,
you are afraid." As if struck by an arrow, he started from his chair.
Raving like a madman, he bade them hold their tongues, and with fearful
oaths exclaimed: "Kill the admiral, if you like, but kill all the
Huguenots with him--all--all--all--so that not one be left to reproach
me hereafter. See to it at once--at once; do you hear?" And he dashed
furiously out of the closet, leaving the conspirators aghast at his
violence.

But there was no time to be lost; the King might change his mind; the
Huguenots might get wind of the plot. The murderous scheme must be
carried out that very night, and accordingly the Duke of Guise was
summoned to the Louvre. And now the different parts of the tragedy were
arranged, Guise undertaking, on the strength of his popularity with the
Parisian mob, to lead them to the work of blood. We may also imagine him
begging as a favor the privilege of despatching the admiral in
retaliation for his father's murder. The city was parted into districts,
each of which was assigned to some trusty officer, Marshal Tavannes
having the general superintendence of the military arrangements. The
conspirators now separated, intending to meet again at ten o'clock.
Guise went into the city, where he communicated his plans to such of the
mob leaders as could be trusted. He told them of a bloody conspiracy
among the Huguenot chiefs to destroy the King and the royal family and
extirpate Catholicism; that a renewal of war was inevitable, but it was
better that war should come in the streets of Paris than in the open
field, for the leaders would thus be far more effectually punished and
their followers crushed. He affirmed that letters had been intercepted
in which the admiral had sought the aid of German reiters and Swiss
pikemen, and that Montmorency was approaching with twenty-five thousand
men to burn the city, as the Huguenots had often threatened. And, as if
to give color to this idle story, a small body of cavalry had been seen
from the walls in the early part of the day.

Such arguments and such falsehoods were admirably adapted to his
hearers, who swore to carry out the Duke's orders with secrecy and
despatch. "It is the will of our lord the King," continued Henry of
Guise, "that every good citizen should take up arms to purge the city of
that rebel Coligny and his heretical followers. The signal will be given
by the great bell of the Palace of Justice. Then let every true Catholic
tie a white band on his arm and put a white cross in his cap, and begin
the vengeance of God." Finding upon inquiry that Le Charron, the provost
of the merchants, was too weak and tender-hearted for the work before
him, the Duke suggested that the municipality should temporarily confer
his power on the ex-provost Marcel, a man of very different stamp.

About four in the afternoon Anjou rode through the crowded streets in
company with his bastard brother Angoulême. He watched the aspect of the
populace, and let fall a few insidious expressions in no degree
calculated to quiet the turbulent passions of the citizens. One account
says he distributed money, which is not probable, his afternoon ride
being merely a sort of reconnaissance. The journals of the Hôtel de
Ville still attest the anxiety of the court--of Catherine and her
fellow-conspirator--that the massacre should be sweeping and complete.
"Very late in the evening"--it must have been after dark, for the King
went to lie down at eight, and did not rise until ten--the provost was
sent for. At the Louvre he found Charles, the Queen-mother, and the Duke
of Anjou, with other princes and nobles, among whom we may safely
include Guise, De Retz, and Tavannes. The King now repeated to him the
story of the Huguenot plot which had already been whispered abroad by
Guise of Anjou, and bade him shut the gates of the city, so that no one
could pass in or out, and take possession of the keys. He was also to
draw up all the boats on the river bank and chain them together, to
remove the ferry, to muster under arms the able-bodied men of each ward
under their proper officers, and hold them in readiness at the usual
mustering-places to receive the orders of his majesty. The city
artillery, which does not appear to have been as formidable as the word
would imply, was to be stationed at the Grève to protect the Hôtel de
Ville or for any other duty required of it. With these instructions the
provost returned to the Hôtel de Ville, where he spent great part of the
night in preparing the necessary orders, which were issued "very early
the next morning." There is reason for believing that these measures
were simply precautions in case the Huguenots should resist and a bloody
struggle should have to be fought in the streets of their capital. The
municipality certainly took no part in the earlier massacres, whatever
they may have done later. Tavannes complains of the "want of zeal" in
some of the citizens, and Brantome admits that "it was necessary to
threaten to hang some of the laggards."

That evening the King had supped in public, and, the hours being much
earlier than with us, the time was probably between six and seven. The
courtiers admitted to witness the meal appear to have been as numerous
as ever, Huguenots as well as Catholics, victims and executioners.
Charles, who retired before eight o'clock, kept Francis, Count of La
Rochefoucault, with him for some time, as if unwilling to part with him.
"Do not go," he said; "it is late. We will sit and talk all night."

"Excuse me, sire, I am tired and sleepy."

"You must stay; you can sleep with my valets." But as Charles was rather
too fond of rough practical jokes, the Count still declined, and went
away, suspecting no evil, to pay his usual evening visit to the Dowager
Princess of Condé. He must have remained some time in her apartments,
for it was past twelve o'clock when he went to bid Navarre good-night.
As he was leaving the palace a man stopped him at the foot of the stairs
and whispered in his ear. When the stranger left. La Rochefoucault bade
Mergey, one of his suite, to whom we are indebted for these particulars,
return and tell Henry that Guise and Nevers were about the city. During
Mergey's brief absence something more appears to have been told the
Count, for he returned upstairs with Nancay, captain of the guard, who,
lifting the tapestry which closed the entrance to Navarre's antechamber,
looked for some time at the gentlemen within, playing at cards or dice,
others talking. At last he said: "Gentlemen, if any one of you wishes to
retire, you must do so at once, for we are going to shut the gates." No
one moved, as it would appear, for at Charles' express desire, it is
said--which is scarcely probable--these Huguenot gentlemen had gathered
round the King of Navarre to protect him against any outrage of the
Guises. In the court-yard Mergey found the guard under arms. "M.
Rambouillet, who loved me," he continues, "was sitting by the wicket as
I passed out. He took my hand, and with a piteous look said: 'Adieu,
Mergey; adieu, my friend,' not daring to say more, as he told me
afterward."

Coligny's hotel had been crowded all day by visitors; the Queen of
Navarre had paid him a visit, and most of the gentlemen in Paris,
Catholic as well as Huguenot, had gone to express their sympathy. For
the Frenchman is a gallant enemy and respects brave men; and the foul
attempt upon the admiral, whom they had so often encountered on the
battle-field, was felt as a personal injury. A council had been held
that day, at which the propriety of removing in a body from Paris and
carrying the admiral with them had again been discussed. Navarre and
Condé opposed the proposition, and it was finally resolved to petition
to the King "to order all the Guisians out of Paris, because they had
too much sway with the people of the town." One Bouchavannnes, a
traitor, was among them, greedily listening to every word, which he
reported to Anjou, strengthening him in his determination to make a
clean sweep that very night.

As the evening came on, the admiral's visitors took their leave.
Teligny, his son-in-law, was the last to quit his bedside. To the
question whether the admiral would like any of them to keep watch in his
house during the night, he answered, says the contemporary biographer,
"that it was labor more than needed, and gave them thanks with very
loving words." It was after midnight when Teligny and Guerchy departed,
leaving Ambrose Paré and Pastor Merlin with the wounded man. There were
besides in the house two of his gentlemen, Cornaton, afterward his
biographer, and La Bonne; his squire Yolet, five Switzers belonging to
the King of Navarre's guard, and about as many domestic servants. It was
the last night on earth for all except two of that household.

It is strange that the arrangements in the city, which must have been
attended with no little commotion, did not rouse the suspicion of the
Huguenots. Probably, in their blind confidence, they trusted implicitly
in the King's word that these movements of arms and artillery, these
postings of guards and midnight musters, were intended to keep the
Guisian faction in order. There is a story that some gentlemen, aroused
by the measured tread of the soldiers and the glare of torches--for no
lamps then lit up the streets of Paris--went outdoors and asked what it
meant. Receiving an unsatisfactory reply, they proceeded to the Louvre,
where they found the outer court filled with armed men, who, seeing them
without the white cross and the scarf, abused them as "accursed
Huguenots," whose turn would come next. One of them who replied to this
insolent threat, was immediately run through with a spear. This, if the
incident be true, occurred about one o'clock on Sunday morning, August
24th, the festival of St. Bartholomew.

Shortly after midnight the Queen-mother rose and went to the King's
chamber, attended only by one lady, the Duchess of Nemours, whose thirst
for revenge was to be satisfied at last. She found Charles pacing the
room in one of those fits of passion which he at times assumed to
conceal his infirmity of purpose. At one moment he swore he would raise
the Huguenots and call them to protect their sovereign's life as well as
their own. Then he burst out into violent imprecations against his
brother Anjou, who had entered the room but did not dare say a word.
Presently the other conspirators arrived--Guise, Nevers, Birague, De
Retz, and Tavannes. Catherine alone ventured to interpose, and, in a
tone of sternness well calculated to impress the mind of her weak son,
she declared that there was now no turning back: "It is too late to
retreat, even were it possible. We must cut off the rotten limb, hurt it
ever so much; if you delay, you will lose the finest opportunity God
ever gave man of getting rid of his enemies at a blow." And then, as if
struck with compassion for the fate of her victims, she repeated in a
low tone--as if talking to herself--the words of a famous Italian
preacher, which she had often been heard to quote before: "_E la pieta
lor ser crudele, e la crudelta lor ser pietosa_" ("Mercy would be
cruel to them, and cruelty merciful"). Catherine's resolution again
prevailed over the King's weakness, and, the final orders being given,
the Duke of Guise quitted the Louvre, followed by two companies of
arquebusiers and the whole of Anjou's guard.

As soon as Guise had left, the chief criminals--each afraid to lose
sight of the other, each needing the presence of the other to keep his
courage up--went to a room adjoining the tennis-court overlooking the
Place Bassecour. Of all the party--Charles, Catherine, Anjou, and De
Retz--Charles was the least guilty and the most to be pitied. They went
to the window, anxiously listening for the signal that the work of death
had begun. Their consciences, no less than their impatience, made it
impossible for them to sit calmly within the palace. Anjou's narrative
continues: "While we were pondering over the events and the consequences
of such a mighty enterprise, of which, to tell the truth, we had not
thought much until then, we heard a pistol shot. The sound produced such
an effect upon all three of us that it confounded our senses and
deprived us of judgment. We were smitten with terror and apprehension of
the great disorders about to be perpetrated." Catherine, who was a timid
woman, adds Tavannes, would willingly have recalled her orders, and with
that intent hastily despatched a gentleman to the Duke of Guise
expressly desiring him to return and attempt nothing against the
admiral. "It is too late," was the answer brought back; "the admiral is
dead"--a statement at variance with other accounts. "Thereupon,"
continues Anjou, "we returned to our former deliberations, and let
things take their course."

Between three and four in the morning the noise of horses and measured
tramp of foot-soldiers broke the silence of the narrow street in which
Coligny lay wounded. It was the murderers seeking their victims: they
were Henry of Guise with his uncle the Duke of Aumale, the bastard of
Angoulême, and the Duke of Nevers, with other foreigners, Italian and
Swiss, namely, Fesinghi (or Tosinghi) and his nephew Antonio, Captain
Petrucci, Captain Studer of Winkelbach with his soldiers, Martin Koch of
Freyberg, Conrad Burg, Leonard Grunenfelder of Glaris, and Carl
Dianowitz, surnamed Behm (the Bohemian?). There were, besides, one
Captain Attin, in the household of Aumale, and Sarlabous, a renegade
Huguenot and commandant of Havre. It is well to record the names even of
these obscure individuals who stained their hands in the best blood of
France. De Cosseins, too, was there with his guard, some of whom he
posted with their arquebuses opposite the windows of Coligny's hotel,
that none might escape.

Presently there was a loud knock at the outer gate--"Open in the King's
name." La Bonne, imagining it to be a message from the Louvre, hastened
with the keys, withdrew the bolt, and was immediately butchered by the
assassins who rushed into the house. The alarmed domestics ran half
awake to see what was the uproar: some were killed outright, others
escaped upstairs, closing the door at the foot and placing some
furniture against it. This feeble barrier was soon broken down, and the
Swiss who had attempted to resist were shot. The tumult woke Coligny
from his slumbers, and divining what it meant--that Guise had made an
attack on the house--he was lifted from his bed, and, folding his
_robe-de-chambre_ round him, sat down prepared to meet his fate.
Cornaton entering the room at this moment, Ambrose Pare asked him what
was the meaning of the noise. Turning to his beloved master he replied:
"Sir, it is God calling us to himself. They have broken into the house,
and we can do nothing."

"I have been long prepared to die," said the admiral. "But you must all
flee for your lives, if it be not too late; you cannot save me. I commit
my soul to God's mercy." They obeyed him, but only two succeeded in
making their way over the roofs. Pastor Merlin lay hid for three days in
a loft, where he was fed by a hen, that every morning laid an egg within
his reach.

Pare and Coligny were left alone--Coligny looking as calm and collected
as if no danger impended. After a brief interval of suspense the door
was dashed open, and Cosseins, wearing a corselet and brandishing a
bloody sword in his hand, entered the room, followed by Behm, Sarlabous,
and others; a party of Anjou's Swiss guard, in their tricolored uniform
of black, white, and green, keeping in the rear. Expecting resistance,
the ruffians were for a moment staggered at seeing only two unarmed men.
But his brutal instincts rapidly regaining the mastery, Behm stepped
forward, and pointing his sword at Coligny's breast asked, "Are you not
the admiral?"

"I am, but, young man, you should respect my gray hairs, and not attack
a wounded man. Yet what matters it? You cannot shorten my life except by
God's permission." The German soldier, uttering a blasphemous oath,
plunged his sword into the admiral's breast.

    "_Jugulumque parans, immota tonebat_
    _Ora senex._"

Others in the room struck him also, Behm repeating his blows until the
admiral fell to the floor. The murderer now ran to the window and
shouted into the court-yard, "It is all over." Henry of Guise, who had
been impatiently ordering his creatures to make haste, was not satisfied.
"Monsieur d'Angoulême will not believe it unless he sees him," returned
the Duke. Behm raised the body from the ground, and dragged it to the
window to throw it out; but life was not quite extinct, and the admiral
placed his foot against the wall, faintly resisting the attempt. "Is it
so, old fox?" exclaimed the murderer, who drew his dagger and stabbed
him several times. Then, assisted by Sarlabous, he threw the body down.
It was hardly to be recognized. The bastard of Angoulême--the chevalier
as he is called in some of the narratives--wiped the blood from the face
of the corpse. "Yes, it is he; I know him well," said Guise, kicking the
body as he spoke. "Well done, my men," he continued, "we have made a
good beginning. Forward--by the King's command." He mounted his horse
and rode out of the court-yard, followed by Nevers, who cynically
exclaimed as he looked at the body, "_Sic transit gloria mundi_."
Tosinghi took the chain of gold--the insignia of his office--from the
admiral's neck, and Petrucci, a gentleman in the train of the Duke of
Nevers, cut off the head and carried it away carefully to the Louvre. Of
all who were found in the house, not one was spared except Ambrose Paré,
who was escorted in safety to the palace by a detachment of Anjou's
guard.

Coligny's headless trunk was left for some hours where it fell, until it
became the sport of rabble children, who dragged it all round Paris.
They tried to burn it, but did little more than scorch and blacken the
remains, which were first thrown into the river, and then taken out
again "as unworthy to be food for fish," says Claude Haton. In accordance
with the old sentence of the Paris Parliament, it was dragged by the
hangman to the common gallows at Montfaucon, and there hanged up by the
heels. All the court went to gratify their eyes with the sight, and
Charles, unconsciously imitating the language of Vitellius, said, as he
drew near the offensive corpse, "The smell of a dead enemy is always
sweet." The body was left hanging for a fortnight or more, after which
it was privily taken down by the admiral's cousin, Marshal Montmorency,
and it now rests, after many removals, in a wall among the ruins of his
hereditary castle of Chatillon-sur-Loing. What became of the head no one
knows.

When Guise left the admiral's corpse lying in the court-yard, he went
to the adjoining house, in which Teligny lived. All the inmates were
killed, but he escaped by the roof. Twice he fell into the hands of the
enemy, and twice he was spared; he perished at last by the sword of a
man who knew not his amiable and inoffensive character. His neighbor
La Rochefoucault was perhaps more fortunate in his fate. He had hardly
fallen asleep when he was disturbed by the noise in the street. He heard
shouts and the sound of many footsteps; and scarcely awake and utterly
unsuspicious, he went to his bedroom door at the first summons in the
King's name. He seems to have thought that Charles, indulging in one of
his usual mad frolics, had come to punish him as he had punished others,
like schoolboys. He opened the door and fell dead across the threshold,
pierced by a dozen weapons.

When the messenger returned from the Duke of Guise with the answer that
it was "too late," Catherine, fearing that such disobedience to the
royal commands might incense the King and awaken him to a sense of all
the horrors that were about to be perpetrated in his name, privately
gave orders to anticipate the hour. Instead of waiting until the matin
bell should ring out from the old clock tower of the Palace of Justice,
she directed the signal to be given from the nearer belfry of St.
Germain l'Auxerrois. As the harsh sound rang through the air of that
warm summer night, it was caught up and echoed from tower to tower,
rousing all Paris from their slumbers.

Immediately from every quarter of that ancient city uprose a tumult as
of hell. The clanging of bells, the crashing doors, the rush of armed
men, the musket-shots, the shrieks of their victims, and high over all
the yells of the mob, fiercer and more pitiless than hungry wolves--made
such an uproar that the stoutest hearts shrank appalled, and the sanest
appear to have lost their reason. Women unsexed, men wanting but the
strength of the wild beast, children without a single charm of youth or
innocence, crowded the streets where rising day still struggled with
the glare of a thousand torches. They smelt the odor of blood, and,
thirsting to indulge their passions for once with impunity, committed
horrors that have become the marvel of history.

Within the walls of the Louvre, within the hearing of Charles and his
mother, if not actually within their sight, one of the foulest scenes of
this detestable tragedy was enacted. At daybreak, says Queen Margaret of
Navarre, her husband rose to go and play tennis, with a determination
to be present at the King's _lever_, and demand justice for the assault
on the admiral. He left his apartment, accompanied by the Huguenot
gentlemen who had kept watch around him during the night. At the foot
of the stairs he was arrested, while the gentlemen with him were
disarmed, apparently without any attempt at resistance. A list of them
had been carefully drawn up, which the sire D'O, quartermaster of the
guards, read out. As each man answered his name, he stepped into the
court-yard, where he had to make his way through a double line of Swiss
mercenaries. Sword, spear, and halberd made short work of them, and two
hundred, according to Davila, of the best blood of France soon lay a
ghastly pile beneath the windows of the palace. Charles, it is said,
looked on coldly at the horrid deed, the victims appealing in vain to
his mercy. Among the gentlemen they murdered were two who had been
boldest in their language to the King not many hours before--Segur,
Baron of Pardaillan, and Armand de Clermont, Baron of Pilles, who with
stentorian voices called upon the King to be true to his word. De
Pilles took off his rich cloak and offered it to someone whom he
recognized: "Here is a present from the hand of De Pilles, basely and
traitorously murdered."

"I am not the man you take me for," said the other, refusing the cloak.
The Swiss plundered their victims as they fell, and, pointing to the
heap of half-naked bodies, described them to the spectators as the men
who had conspired to kill the King and all the royal family in their
sleep, and make France a republic. But more disgraceful than even this
massacre was the conduct of some of the ladies in Catherine's train, of
her "flying squadron," who, later in the day, inspected and laughed at
the corpses as they lay stripped in the court-yard, being especially
curious about the body of Soubise, from whom his wife had sought to be
divorced on the ground of nullity of marriage.

A few gentlemen succeeded in escaping from this slaughter. Margaret,
"seeing it was daylight," and imagining the danger past of which her
sister had told her, fell asleep. But her slumbers were soon rudely
broken. "An hour later," she continues, "I was awoke by a man knocking
at the door and calling, 'Navarre! Navarre!' The nurse, thinking it was
my husband, ran and opened it. It was a gentleman named Léran, who had
received a sword-cut in the elbow and a spear-thrust in the arm; four
soldiers were pursuing him, and they all rushed into my chamber after
him. Wishing to save his life, he threw himself upon my bed. Finding
myself clasped in his arms, I got out on the other side; he followed me,
still clinging to me. I did not know the man, and could not tell whether
he came to insult me or whether the soldiers were after him or me. We
both shouted out, being equally frightened. At last, by God's mercy,
Captain de Nançay of the guards came in, and, seeing me in this condition,
could not help laughing, although commiserating me. Severely reprimanding
the soldiers for their indiscretion, he turned them out of the room, and
granted me the life of the poor man who still clung to me. I made him
lie down and had his wounds dressed in my closet until he was quite
cured. While changing my night-dress, which was all covered with blood,
the captain told me what had happened, and assured me that my husband
was with the King and quite unharmed. He then conducted me to the room
of my sister of Lorraine, which I reached more dead than alive. As I
entered the anteroom, the doors of which were open, a gentleman named
Bourse, running from the soldiers who pursued him, was pierced by a
halberd three paces from me. I fell almost fainting into Captain de
Nançay's arms, imagining the same thrust had pierced us both. Being
somewhat recovered, I entered the little room where my sister slept.
While there De Moissans, my husband's first gentleman, and Armagnac, his
first _valet-de-chambre_, came and begged me to save their lives. I
went and threw myself at the feet of the King and the Queen--my
mother--to ask the favor, which they at last granted me."

When Captain de Nançay arrived so opportunely, he was leaving the
King's chamber, whither he had conducted Henry of Navarre and the
Prince of Condé. The tumult and excitement had worked Charles up to
such a pitch of fury that the lives of the princes were hardly safe.
But they were gentlemen, and their first words were to reproach the
King for his breach of faith. Charles bade them be silent--"_Messe ou
mort_"--("Apostatize or die"). Henry demanded time to consider; while
the Prince boldly declared that he would not change his religion:
"With God's help it is my intention to remain firm in my profession."
Charles, exasperated still more by this opposition to his will, angrily
walked up and down the room, and swore that if they did not change in
three days he would have their heads. They were then dismissed, but
kept close prisoners within the palace.

The houses in which the Huguenots lodged, having been registered, were
easily known. The soldiers burst into them, killing all they found,
without regard to age or sex, and if any escaped to the roof they were
shot down like pigeons. Daylight served to facilitate a work that was
too foul even for the blackest midnight. Restraint of every kind was
thrown aside, and while the men were the victims of bigoted fury, the
women were exposed to violence unutterable. As if the popular frenzy
needed excitement, Marshal Tavannes, the military director of this deed
of treachery, rode through the streets with dripping sword, shouting:
"Kill! Kill! Bloodletting is as good in August as in May." One would
charitably hope that this was the language of excitement, and that in
his calmer moods he would have repented of his share in the massacre.
But he was consistent to the last. On his death-bed he made a general
confession of his sins, in which he did not mention the day of St.
Bartholomew; and when his son expressed surprise at the omission, he
observed, "I look upon that as a meritorious action, which ought to
atone for all the sins of my life."

The massacre soon exceeded the bounds upon which Charles and his mother
had calculated. They were willing enough that the Huguenots should be
murdered; but the murderers might not always be able to draw the line
between orthodoxy and heresy. Things were fast getting beyond all
control; the thirst for plunder was even keener than the thirst for
blood. And it is certain that among the many ignoble motives by which
Charles was induced to permit the massacre, was the hope of enriching
himself and paying his debts out of the property of the murdered
Huguenots. Nor were Anjou and others insensible to the charms of
heretical property. Hence we find the provost of Paris remonstrating
with the King about "the pillaging of the houses and the murders in the
streets by the guards and others in the service of his majesty and the
princes." Charles, in reply, bade the magistrates "mount their horses,
and with all the force of the city put an end to such irregularities,
and remain on the watch day and night." Another proclamation,
countersigned by Nevers, was issued about five in the afternoon,
commanding the people to lay down the arms which they had taken up "that
day by the King's orders," and to leave the streets to the soldiers
only--as if implying that they alone were to kill and plunder.

The massacre, commenced on Sunday, was continued through that and the
two following days. Capilupi tells us, with wonderful simplicity, "that
it was a holiday, and therefore the people could more conveniently find
leisure to kill and plunder." It is impossible to assign to each day its
task of blood; in all but a few exceptional cases, we know merely that
the victims perished in the general slaughter. Writing in the midst of
the carnage, probably not later than noon on the 24th, the nuncio
Salviati says: "The whole city is in arms; the houses of the Huguenots
have been forced with great loss of life, and sacked by the populace
with incredible avidity. Many a man to-night will have his horses and
his carriage, and will eat and drink off plate, who had never dreamed of
it in his life before. In order that matters may not go too far, and to
prevent the revolting disorders occasioned by the insolence of the mob,
a proclamation has just been issued, declaring that there shall be three
hours in the day during which it shall be unlawful to rob and kill; and
the order is observed, though not universally. You can see nothing in
the streets but white crosses in the hats and caps of everyone you meet,
which has a fine effect!" The nuncio says nothing of the streets
encumbered with bleeding corpses, nothing of the cart-loads of bodies
conveyed to the Seine, and then flung into the river, "so that not only
were all the waters in it turned to blood, but so many corpses grounded
on the bank of the little island of Louvre that the air became infected
with the smell of corruption." The living, tied hand and foot, were
thrown off the bridges. One man--probably a rag-gatherer--brought two
little children in his creel, and tossed them into the water as
carelessly as if they had been blind kittens. An infant, yet unable to
walk, had a cord tied round its neck, and was dragged through the
streets by a troop of children nine or ten years old. Another played
with the beard and smiled in the face of the man who carried him; but
the innocent caress exasperated instead of softened the ruffian, who
stabbed the child, and with an oath threw it into the Seine. Among
the earliest victims was the wife of the King's _plumassier_. The
murderers broke into her house on the Notre-Dame bridge, about four in
the morning, stabbed her, and flung her still breathing into the river.
She clung for some time to the wooden piles of the bridge, and was
killed at last with stones, her body remaining for four days entangled
by her long hair among the woodwork. The story goes that her husband's
corpse, being thrown over, fell against hers and set it free, both
floating away together down the stream. Madeleine Briçonnet, the widow
of Theobald of Yverni, disguised herself as a woman of the people, so
that she might save her life, but was betrayed by the fine petticoat
which hung below her coarse gown. As she would not recant, she was
allowed a few moments' prayer, and then tossed into the water. Her
son-in-law, the marquis Renel, escaping in his shirt, was chased by the
murderers to the bank of the river, where he succeeded in unfastening a
boat. He would have got away altogether but for his cousin Bussy
d'Amboise, who shot him down with a pistol. One Keny, who had been
stabbed and flung into the Seine, was revived by the reaction of the
cold water. Feeble as he was he swam to a boat and clung to it, but was
quickly pursued. One hand was soon cut off with a hatchet, and as he
still continued to steer the boat down the stream, he was "quieted" by a
musket-shot. One Puviaut, or Pluviaut, who met with a similar fate,
became the subject of a ballad.

Captain Moneins had been put into a safe hiding-place by his friend
Fervacques, who went and begged the King to spare the life of the
fugitive. Charles not only refused, but ordered him to kill Moneins if
he desired to save his own life. Fervacques would not stain his own
hands, but made his friend's hiding-place known.

Brion, governor of the young Marquis of Conti, the Prince of Condé's
brother, snatched the child from his bed, and, without stopping to dress
him, was hurrying away to a place of safety, when the boy was torn from
his arms, and he himself murdered before the eyes of his pupil. We are
told that the child "cried and begged they would save his tutor's life."

The houses on the bridge of Notre-Dame, inhabited principally by
Protestants, were witnesses to many a scene of cruelty. All the inmates
of one house were massacred, except a little girl, who was dipped stark
naked in the blood of her father and mother and threatened to be served
like them if she turned Huguenot. The Protestant booksellers and
printers were particularly sought after. Spire Niquet was burned over a
slow fire made out of his own books, and thrown lifeless, but not dead,
into the river. Oudin Petit fell a victim to the covetousness of his
son-in-law, who was a Catholic bookseller. Rene Bianchi, the Queen's
perfumer, is reported to have killed with his own hands a young man, a
cripple, who had already displayed much skill in goldsmith's work. This
is the only man whose death the King lamented, "because of his excellent
workmanship, for his shop was entirely stripped."

Mezeray writes that seven hundred or eight hundred people had taken
refuge in the prisons, hoping they would be safe "under the wings of
Justice"; but the officers selected for this work had brought them into
the fitly named "Valley of Misery," and there beat them to death with
clubs and threw their bodies into the river. The Venetian ambassador
corroborates this story, adding that they were murdered in batches of
ten. Where all were cruel, some few persons distinguished themselves by
especial ferocity. A gold-beater, named Crozier, one of those
prison-murderers, bared his sinewy arm and boasted of having killed four
thousand persons with his own hands. Another man--for the sake of human
nature we would fain wish him to be the same--affirmed that unaided he
had "despatched" eighty Huguenots in one day. He would eat his food with
hands dripping with gore, declaring "that it was an honor to him,
because it was the blood of heretics." On Tuesday a butcher, Crozier's
comrade, boasted to the King that he had killed one hundred fifty the
night before. Coconnas, one of the _mignons_ of Anjou, prided himself
on having ransomed from the populace as many as thirty Huguenots, for
the pleasure of making them abjure, and then killing them with his own
hand, after he had "secured them for hell."

About seven o'clock the King was at one of the windows of his palace,
enjoying the air of that beautiful August morning, when he was startled
by shouts of "Kill, kill!" They were raised by a body of guards, who
were firing with much more noise than execution at a number of Huguenots
who had crossed the river--"to seek the King's protection," says one
account; "to help the King against the Guises," says another. Charles,
who had just been telling his mother that "the weather seemed to rejoice
at the slaughter of the Huguenots," felt all his savage instincts kindle
at the sight. He had hunted wild beasts; now he would hunt men, and,
calling for an arquebuse, he fired at the fugitives, who were
fortunately out of range. Some modern writers deny this fact, on the
ground that the balcony from which Charles is said to have fired was not
built until after 1572. Were this true, it would only show that
tradition had misplaced the locality. Brantome expressly says the King
fired on the Huguenots--not from a balcony, but--"from his bedroom
window." Marshal Tesse heard the story, according to Voltaire, from the
man who loaded the arquebuse. Henault, in his _Abrégé chronologique_,
mentions it with a "_dit-on_" and it is significant that the passage
is suppressed in Latin editions. Simon Goulart, in his contemporary
narrative, uses the same words of caution.

Not many of the Huguenot gentlemen escaped from the toils so skilfully
drawn round them on that fatal Saturday night: yet there were a few. The
Count of Montgomery--the same who was the innocent cause of the death of
Henry II--got away safe, having been forewarned by a friend who swam
across the river to him. Guise set off in hot pursuit, and would
probably have caught him up had he not been waiting for the keys of the
city gate. Some sixty gentlemen, also, lodging near him in the Faubourg
St. Germain, were the companions of his flight.

Sully, afterward the famous minister of Henry IV, had a narrow escape.
He was in his twelfth year, and had gone to Paris in the train of Joan
of Navarre for the purpose of continuing his studies. "About three after
midnight," he says, "I was awoke by the ringing of bells and the
confused cries of the populace. My governor, St. Julian, with my
_valet-de-chambre_, went out to know the cause; and I never heard
of them afterward. They, no doubt, were among the first sacrificed to
the public fury. I continued alone in my chamber, dressing myself, when
in a few moments my landlord entered, pale and in the most utmost
consternation. He was of the Reformed religion, and, having learned what
was the matter, had consented to go to mass to save his life and
preserve his house from being pillaged. He came to persuade me to do the
same and to take me with him. I did not think proper to follow him, but
resolved to try if I could gain the College of Burgundy, where I had
studied; though the great distance between the house in which I then was
and the college made the attempt very dangerous. Having disguised myself
in a scholar's gown, I put a large prayer-book under my arm, and went
into the street. I was seized with horror inexpressible at the sight of
the furious murderers, running from all parts, forcing open the houses,
and shouting out: 'Kill, kill! Massacre the Huguenots!' The blood which
I saw shed before my eyes, redoubled my terror. I fell into the midst of
a body of guards, who stopped and questioned me, and were beginning to
use me ill, when, happily for me, the book that I carried was perceived
and served me for a passport. Twice after this I fell into the same
danger, from which I extricated myself with the same good-fortune. At
last I arrived at the College of Burgundy, where a danger still greater
than any that I had yet met with awaited me. The porter having twice
refused me entrance, I continued standing in the midst of the street, at
the mercy of the savage murderers, whose number increased every moment,
and who were evidently seeking for their prey, when it came into my head
to ask for La Faye, the principal of the college, a good man, by whom I
was tenderly beloved. The porter, prevailed upon by some small pieces of
money which I put in his hand, admitted me; and my friend carried me to
his apartment, where two inhuman priests whom I heard mention 'Sicilian
Vespers,' wanted to force me from him, that they might cut me in pieces,
saying the order was, not to spare even infants at the breast. All the
good man could do was to conduct me privately to a distant chamber,
where he locked me up. Here I was confined three days, uncertain of my
destiny, and saw no one but a servant of my friend's, who came from time
to time to bring me provisions."

Not until the second day does there appear to have been any remorse or
pity for the horrors inflicted upon the wretched Huguenots. Elizabeth of
Austria, the young Queen who hoped shortly to become a mother,
interceded for Condé, and so great was her agitation and distress that
her "features were quite disfigured by the tears she had shed night and
day." And, the Duke of Alençon, a youth of by no means lovable
character, "wept much," we are told, "over the fate of those brave
captains and soldiers." For this tenderness he was so bitterly
reproached by Charles and his mother that he was forced to keep out of
their sight. Alençon was partial to Coligny, and when there was found
among the admiral's papers a report in which he condemned appanages, the
grants usually given by the crown to the younger members of the royal
family, Catherine exultingly showed it to him--"See what a fine friend
he was to you."

"I know not how far he may have been my friend," replied the Duke, "but
the advice he gave me was very good."

If Mezeray is to be trusted, Charles broke down on the second day of the
massacre. Since Saturday he had been in a state of extraordinary
excitement, more like madness than sanity, and at last his mind gave way
under the pressure. To his surgeon, Ambrose Paré, who kept at his side
all through these dreadful hours, he said: "I do not know what ails me.
For these two or three days past, both mind and body have been quite
upset. I burn with fever; all around me grin pale blood-stained faces.
Ah! Ambrose, if they had but spared the weak and innocent." A change,
indeed, had come over him; be became more restless than ever, his looks
savage, his buffoonery coarser and more boisterous. "_Ne mai poteva
pigliar requie_" says Sigismond Cavalli. Like Macbeth, he had murdered
sleep. "I saw the King on my return from Rochelle," says Brantome, "and
found him entirely changed. His features had lost all the gentleness
[_douceur_] usually visible in them."

"About a week after the massacre," says a contemporary, "a number of
crows flew croaking round and settled on the Louvre. The noise they made
drew everybody out to see them, and the superstitious women infected the
King with their own timidity. That very night Charles had not been in
bed two hours when he jumped up and called for the King of Navarre, to
listen to a horrible tumult in the air; shrieks, groans, yells, mingled
with blasphemous oaths and threats, just as they were heard on the night
of the massacre. The sound returned seven successive nights, precisely
at the same hour." Juvenal des Ursins tells the story rather
differently. "On August 31st I supped at the Louvre with Madame de
Fiesque. As the day was very hot we went down into the garden and sat in
an arbor by the river. Suddenly the air was filled with a horrible noise
of tumultuous voices and groans, mingled with cries of rage and madness.
We could not move for terror; we turned pale and were unable to speak.
The noise lasted for half an hour, and was heard by the King, who was so
terrified that he could not sleep the rest of the night." As for
Catherine; knowing that strong emotions would spoil her digestion and
impair her good looks, she kept up her spirits. "For my part," she said,
"there are only six of them on my conscience;" which is a lie, for when
she ordered the tocsin to be rung, she must have foreseen the
horrors--perhaps not all the horrors--that would ensue.


                           ISAAC D'ISRAELI

An original document now lying before me, the autograph letter of
Charles IX, will prove that that unparalleled massacre, called by the
world religious, was, in the French cabinet, considered merely as
political; one of those revolting state expedients which a pretended
instant necessity has too often inflicted on that part of a nation
which, like the under-current, subterraneously works its way, and runs
counter to the great stream, till the critical moment arrives when one
or the other must cease.

The massacre began on St. Bartholomew Day, in August, 1572, lasted in
France during seven days; that awful event interrupted the
correspondence of our court with that of France. A long silence ensued;
the one did not dare tell the tale which the other could not listen to.
But sovereigns know how to convert a mere domestic event into a
political expedient. Charles IX, on the birth of a daughter, sent over
an ambassador extraordinary to request Elizabeth to stand as sponsor; by
this the French monarch obtained a double purpose; it served to renew
his interrupted intercourse with the silent Queen, and alarmed the
French Protestants by abating their hopes, which long rested on the aid
of the English Queen.

The following letter, dated February 8, 1573, is addressed by the King
to La Motte Fénelon, his resident ambassador at London. The King in this
letter minutely details a confidential intercourse with his mother,
Catherine de' Medici, who, perhaps, may have dictated this letter to the
secretary, although signed by the King with his own hand. Such minute
particulars could only have been known to herself. The Earl of
Wolchester (Worcester) was now taking departure, having come to Paris on
the baptism of the princess; and accompanied by Walsingham, our resident
ambassador, after taking leave of Charles, had the following interview
with Catherine de' Medici. An interview with the young monarch was
usually concluded by a separate audience with his mother, who probably
was still the directress of his councils.

After Catherine de' Medici had assured the Earl of Worcester of her
great affection for the Queen of England, and the King's strict
intention to preserve it, she took this opportunity of inquiring of the
Earl of Worcester the cause of the Queen his mistress' marked coolness
toward them. The narrative becomes now dramatic.

"On this, Walsingham, who always kept close by the side of the Count
[Earl of Worcester], here took on himself to answer, acknowledging that
the said Count had indeed been charged to speak on this head; and he
then addressed some words in English to Worcester. And afterward the
Count gave to my lady and mother to understand that the Queen his
mistress had been waiting for an answer on two articles; the one
concerning religion, and the other for an interview.

"In regard to what has occurred these latter days, that he must have
seen how it happened by the fault of the chiefs of those who remained
here; for when the late admiral was treacherously wounded at Notre Dame,
he knew the affliction it threw us into--fearful that it might have
occasioned great troubles in this kingdom--and the diligence we used to
verify judicially whence it proceeded; and the verification was nearly
finished, when they were so forgetful as to raise a conspiracy, to
attempt the lives of myself, my lady and mother, and my brothers, and
endanger the whole state; which was the cause that to avoid this I was
compelled, to my very great regret, to permit what had happened in
Paris; but as he had witnessed, I gave orders to stop, as soon as
possible, this fury of the people, and place everyone on repose. On
this, the Sieur Walsingham replied to my lady and mother that the
exercise of the said religion had been interdicted in this kingdom. To
which she also answered that this had not been done but for a good and
holy purpose; namely, that the fury of the Catholic people might the
sooner be allayed, who else had been reminded of the past calamities,
and would again have been let loose against those of the said religion
had they continued to preach in this kingdom. Also should these once
more fix on any chiefs, which I will prevent as much as possible, giving
him clearly and pointedly to understand that what is done here is much
the same as what has been done and is now practised by the Queen his
mistress in her kingdom. For she permits the exercise but of one
religion, although there are many of her people who are of another; and
having also during her reign punished those of her subjects whom she
found seditious and rebellious. It is true this has been done by the
laws, but I, indeed, could not act in the same manner; for finding
myself in such imminent peril, and the conspiracy raised against me and
mine and my kingdom ready to be executed, I had no time to arraign and
try in open justice as much as I wished, but was constrained, to my very
great regret, to strike the blow [_lascher la main_] in what has been
done in this city."

This letter of Charles IX, however, does not here conclude. "My lady and
mother" plainly acquaints the Earl of Worcester and Sir Francis
Walsingham that her son had never interfered between their mistress and
her subjects, and in return expects the same favor although, by accounts
they had received from England, many ships were arming to assist their
rebels at La Rochelle. "My lady and mother" advances another step, and
declares that Elizabeth by treaty is bound to assist her son against his
rebellious subjects; and they expect, at least, that Elizabeth will not
only stop these armaments in all her ports, but exemplarily punish the
offenders. I resume the letter.

"And on hearing this, the said Walsingham changed color, and appeared
somewhat astonished, as my lady and mother well perceived by his face;
and on this he requested the Count of Worcester to mention the order
which he knew the Queen his mistress had issued to prevent these people
from assisting those of La Rochelle; but that in England, so numerous
were the seamen and others who gained their livelihood by maritime
affairs, and who would starve without the entire freedom of the seas,
that it was impossible to interdict them."

Such is the first letter on English affairs which Charles IX despatched
to his ambassador, after an awful silence of six months, during which
time La Motte Fénelon was not admitted into the presence of Elizabeth.
The apology for the massacre of St. Bartholomew comes from the King
himself, and contains several remarkable expressions, which are at least
divested of that style of bigotry and exultation we might have expected:
on the contrary, this sanguinary and inconsiderate young monarch, as he
is represented, writes in a subdued and sorrowing tone, lamenting his
hard necessity, regretting he could not have recourse to the laws, and
appealing to others for his efforts to check the fury of the people,
which he himself had let loose. Catherine de' Medici, who had governed
from the tender age of eleven years, when he ascended the throne, might
unquestionably have persuaded him that a conspiracy was on the point of
explosion. Charles IX died young, and his character is unfavorably
viewed by the historians. In the voluminous correspondence which I have
examined, could we judge by state letters of the character of him who
subscribes them, we must form a very different notion; they are so
prolix and so earnest that one might conceive they were dictated by the
young monarch himself!


[Illustration: Catherine de Medici, accompanied by her suite, issues
from the gate of the Louvre the morning after the massacre of St.
Bartholomew

Painting by Ed. Debat-Ponsan.]


                              JNO. RUDD

Popular error has done more injury to the memory of Catherine de' Medici
than to that of any other woman famous in history. To understand
Catherine, and the part she played on the stage of French politics, her
training and the position she held must be understood. It is one thing
to look upon her on the obverse as wholly without heart, a trafficker in
human life, a ghoul who smiled with complacency on the victims of her
hate, and another to look on the reverse of the medal. The Massacre of
St. Bartholomew is pointed to as a crime--a religious crime. But is this
true? It may not have been an act in accordance with twentieth-century
morality, but bad, horrible indeed as it was, were there not extenuating
circumstances attending it--looked upon in the light of that age? To
Catherine de' Medici--perhaps justly--has been given the credit--or
infamy, if you will--of its conception and execution.

"Historians are privileged liars"--this is a truism as valid to-day as
when expressed by its brilliant creator. The throne of France was saved
by Catherine de' Medici, the royal power was maintained by her under
such difficulties as few rulers would have withstood. She is painted by
Catholic and Protestant writers alike as standing without the gates of
the Louvre, the morning after the massacre, and there gloating over the
bodies of the slain lying about the palace entrance.

Apart from her political duty, as she understood it, and which meant the
upholding of the monarchy, Catherine was a true woman; kind to her
suite, faithful to her friends. She had none of the weaknesses of her
sex; she lived chaste amid the debauchery of the most licentious court
in Europe. The losses to art caused by the destructive Calvinists she
replaced by erecting noble buildings and beautifying Paris. But she had
the sense of royalty developed to the utmost; she defended it to the
extreme. In France the opposition was always Protestant. It was her
enemy, the enemy of the crown, the arch-enemy of France. It is laid to
her charge that she coquetted with the Huguenots, whom she afterward
slew. This there is no denying; she had but her craft with which to
oppose the Guise faction, the various court cliques, and the Huguenots
themselves.

An expert at the game, she played one piece against another, skilfully
avoiding the checkmate. Pawns might be lost, bishops fall to her hand,
knights be unhorsed, but her king was secured. She could only triumph by
cunning.

A state cannot be governed by the same rule of morality as that which
should govern individual conduct; it is impossible that it should be so.
Professor Saintsbury says: "Every cool-headed student of history and
ethics will admit that it was precisely the abuse of the principle at
this time, and by the persons of whom Catherine de' Medici, if not the
most blamable, _has had the most blame put on her_, that brought the
principle itself into discredit."[1]

      [1] The author, not Professor Saintsbury, is responsible for the
      Italics.

Casimir Périer, the noted French statesman, wrote, "All power is a
permanent conspiracy." This is as true to-day in republican America as
it was at that time in monarchical France. And it was not religion, as
such, that led to the horrible scenes of that fatal August 24th; it was
a move in the game of politics. Protestantism spelt republicanism; to
one raised as Catherine had been, taught her life through by bitter
experience, any means available, any course adopted, was righteous if it
answered the purpose of saving the realm.

Research into this period will amply repay the explorer with enlarged
ideas of its meaning and its issues. Of the Queen-mother "naught
extenuate nor aught set down in malice." Catherine compares more than
favorably with Marie de' Medici, whom history has painted in brighter
hue. Bigotry has blasted the name of one who for her time was at least
the equal of any ruler in Europe.




                    HEROIC AGE OF THE NETHERLANDS

                           SIEGE OF LEYDEN

                              A.D. 1573

                          THOMAS HENRY DYER


    Events followed one another rapidly after the rising of the
    Netherlanders in 1566. The organization of the Gueux ("beggars"),
    the league of noblemen pledged to resist the introduction of the
    Inquisition into the Low Countries by Philip II of Spain, had shown
    itself prepared for extreme action in self-defence. The name Gueux,
    first used in contempt, was borne in honor by the patriots in the
    ensuing war, which Philip conducted as a "war of extermination."

    In 1567 the Duke of Alva, a famous veteran of the wars of Charles V
    and of Philip, was sent to the Netherlands as governor, where his
    cruelties soon made him notorious. He established the court known as
    the Council of Blood, which first sat in September, 1567. In less
    than three months this tribunal put to death eighteen hundred
    persons, including Horn, Egmont, and other eminent patriots. As many
    as one hundred thousand of the population are said to have emigrated
    at this time to England.

    William of Orange, the great leader of the Netherlanders, refused to
    appear before the Council of Blood. He had resigned his offices,
    civil and military, and now retired to Dillenburg, still proclaiming
    his adhesion to the Protestant faith. But in 1568 he gathered two
    armies. Alva destroyed one of them, and the other was disbanded. In
    1570 William issued letters of marque to seamen who were nicknamed
    "Sea Beggars," and bore a prominent part in the war of independence.
    In 1572 they captured Briel. That year Mons was captured by Louis of
    Nassau, William's brother, but in September it was retaken by Alva.
    In Dyer's narrative the subsequent course of events, to the
    Pacification of Ghent, is clearly and succinctly traced.


Soon after the capture of Mons, Alva went to Brussels and left the
conduct of the war to his son, Frederick de Toledo. Zutphen and Naarden
successively yielded to Frederick's arms, and became the scenes of the
most detestable violence. Alva ordered his son not to leave a single man
alive in Zutphen, and to burn down all the houses--commands which were
almost literally obeyed. The treatment of Naarden was still more
revolting. The town had capitulated, and Don Julian Romero, an officer
of Don Frederick's, had pledged his word that the lives and property of
the inhabitants should be respected. Romero then entered the town with
some five hundred musketeers, for whom the citizens provided a sumptuous
feast; and he summoned the inhabitants to assemble in the Gast Huis
Church, then used as a town hall. More than five hundred of them had
entered the church when a priest, suddenly rushing in, bade them prepare
for death. Scarcely had the announcement been made when a band of
Spanish soldiers entered and, after discharging a volley into the
defenceless crowd, attacked them sword in hand. The church was then
fired and the dead and dying consumed together.

But these cruelties only steeled the Hollanders to a more obstinate
resistance; nor must it be concealed that in these _plusquam civilia
bella_, where civil hatred was still further embittered by sectarian
malignancy, the Dutch sometimes displayed as much savageness as their
adversaries. Thus, during the struggle in Zealand, a surgeon at Veer cut
out the heart of a Spanish prisoner, and, fixing it on the prow of a
vessel, invited his fellow-townsmen to fix their teeth in it, an
invitation with which many complied.

The war was continued during the winter (1572-1573). In December the
Spaniards marched to attack a fleet frozen up near Amsterdam. It was
defended by a body of Dutch musketeers on skates, who, by the superior
skill of their evolutions, drove the enemy back and killed great numbers
of them. In consequence of this extraordinary combat, Alva ordered seven
thousand pairs of skates, and directed his soldiers to be instructed in
their use. Siege was then laid to Haarlem, which town, warned by the
fate of Zutphen and Naarden, made a defence that astonished all Europe.
A corps of three hundred respectable women, armed with musket, sword,
and dagger, and led by Kenan Hasselaer, a widow lady of distinguished
family, about forty-seven years of age, enrolled themselves among its
defenders, and partook in some of the most fiercely contested actions.
Battles took place upon Haarlem Lake, on which the Prince of Orange had
more than a hundred sail of various kinds; till at length Bossu, whose
vessels were larger, though less numerous, entirely defeated the
Hollanders, and swept the lake in triumph (May 28, 1573). The siege had
lasted seven months, and Frederick de Toledo, who had lost a great part
of his army by hunger, cold, and pestilence, was inclined to abandon the
enterprise; but he was kept to it by the threats of his father, and on
the 12th of July Haarlem surrendered. Don Frederick had written a letter
solemnly assuring the besieged that no punishment should be inflicted
except on those who deserved it in the opinion of the citizens
themselves, yet he was in possession of strict orders from his father to
put to death the whole garrison, except the Germans, and also to execute
a large number of the inhabitants. Between two and three thousand were
slaughtered; three hundred were drowned in the lake tied by twos back to
back.

The resistance of Haarlem and other places determined Alva to try what
might be done by an affectation of clemency; and on the 26th of July he
issued a proclamation in which Philip was compared to a hen gathering
its chickens under the parental wing. But in the same breath his
subjects were admonished not to excite his rage, cruelty, and fury, and
they were threatened that if his gracious offers of mercy were
neglected, his majesty would strip bare and utterly depopulate the land,
and cause it to be again inhabited by strangers. So ludicrous a specimen
of paternal love was not calculated to excite much confidence in the
breasts of the Hollanders, and Alkmaar, the next town to which Don
Frederick laid siege, though defended only by eight hundred soldiers and
thirteen hundred citizens against sixteen thousand veterans, also
resolved to hold out to the last extremity. Enraged at this contempt of
what he called his clemency, at Haarlem, Alva resolved to make Alkmaar
an example of his cruelty, and he wrote to Philip that everyone in it
should be put to the sword. But the inhabitants made a heroic defence
and repulsed the besiegers in many a bloody assault; till at length the
superstitious Spaniards, believing that the place was defended by the
devil, whom they thought that the Protestants worshipped, refused to
mount to the attack, suffering themselves rather to be run through the
body by their officers; and Don Frederick, finding from an intercepted
letter that the Prince of Orange contemplated cutting the dikes and
flooding the country, in order to prevent the place from being
surrendered, raised the siege (October 8th) after it had lasted seven
weeks.

About this time William published his _Epistle in the form of
supplication to his Royal Majesty of Spain, from the Prince of Orange
and States of Holland and Zealand_, which produced a profound
impression. It demanded that the privileges of the country should be
restored, and insisted on the recall of the Duke of Alva, whose
atrocities were vigorously described and condemned. Orange, as
stadtholder, was now acting as the King's representative in Holland,
and gave all his orders in Philip's name. He had recently turned
Calvinist, and in October publicly joined the Church at Dort. It was
reserved for the two greatest princes of the age to alleviate by their
apostasy, which, however, approached more nearly than the orthodoxy of
their adversaries, the spirit of true Christianity, the evils inflicted
on society by a consistent but bloody-minded and intolerant bigotry.

The siege of Alkmaar was one of the last acts under Alva's auspices in
the Netherlands, and formed a fitting termination to his career. He had
himself solicited to be recalled, and in December, 1573, he was
superseded by Don Luis de Requesens, Grand Commander of St. Jago. In
fact, Philip had found this war of extermination too expensive for his
exhausted treasury. Alva boasted on his journey back that he had caused
eighteen thousand six hundred Netherlanders to be executed. He was well
received by Philip, but soon after his return was imprisoned along with
his son, Don Frederick; the latter for having seduced a maid of honor,
his father for recommending him not to marry his victim. Alva was,
however, subsequently released to undertake the conquest of Portugal.

Requesens, the new Governor, had been vice-admiral to Don John of
Austria, had distinguished himself at the battle of Lepanto, and had
subsequently governed the Milanese with reputation. He was mild and just
and more liberal than the generality of Spaniards, though inferior to
Alva in military talent. He attempted immediately after his arrival in
the Netherlands to bring about a peace through the mediation of St.
Aldegonde, but Orange was too suspicious to enter into it. Requesens put
down robbery and murder, but he was neither able to abrogate the Council
of Blood nor to alleviate the oppressive taxes. Philip had selected him
as governor of the Netherlands, as a pledge of the more conciliatory
policy which he had thought it prudent to adopt; yet Requesens' hands
were tied up with such injunctions as rendered all conciliation
hopeless, and he was instructed to bring forward no measures which had
not for their basis the maintenance of the King's absolute authority and
the prohibition of all worship except the Roman Catholic.

The Gueux de Mer were at this time most troublesome to the Spaniards, as
their small vessels enabled them to penetrate up the rivers and canals.
A naval action had been fought (October 11, 1573) on the Zuyder Zee
between Count Bossu, who had collected a considerable fleet at
Amsterdam, and the patriot admiral Dirkzoon, in which Bossu was
completely defeated and taken prisoner. One of the first acts of
Requesens was to send a fleet under Sancho Davila, Julian Romero, and
Admiral Glimes to the relief of Middelburg, which had been besieged by
the patriots upward of eighteen months and was now reduced to the last
extremity. Orange visited the Zealand fleet under the command of Louis
Boissot (January 20, 1574), and an action ensued a few days later, in
which the Spaniards were completely beaten. Requesens himself beheld the
action from the lofty dike of Schakerloo, where he stood all day in a
drenching rain; and Romero, who had escaped by jumping out of a
porthole, swam ashore and landed at the very feet of the Grand
Commander. The Hollanders and Zealanders were now masters of the coast,
but the Spaniards still held their ground in the interior of Holland.
After raising the siege of Alkmaar, they had invested Leyden and cut off
all communication between the Dutch cities.

The efforts of the patriots were less fortunate on land, where they were
no match for the Spanish generals and their veteran troops. It had been
arranged that Louis of Nassau should march out of Germany with an army
of newly levied recruits and form a junction with his brother William,
who was at Bommel on the Waal. Toward the end of February, 1574, Louis
encamped within four miles of Maestricht, with the design of taking that
town; but finding that he could not accomplish this object, and having
suffered some losses, he marched down the right bank of the Meuse to
join his brother. When, however, he arrived at Mook, a village on the
Meuse a few miles south of Nimwegen, he found himself intercepted by the
Spaniards under Davila, who, having outmarched him on the opposite bank,
had crossed the river at a lower point on a bridge of boats, and placed
himself directly in his path. There was now no alternative but to fight,
and battle was delivered on the following day on the heath of Mook, when
fortune declared against the patriots. The gallant Louis, seeing that
the day was lost, put himself at the head of a little band of troopers,
and, accompanied by his brother Henry, and Duke Christopher, son of the
Elector Palatine Frederick III, made a desperate charge in which they
all perished, and were never heard of more. The only effect of Louis'
invasion was to cause the Spaniards to raise the siege of Leyden; before
which place, however, they afterward again sat down (May 26th).

The defence of Leyden formed a worthy parallel to that of Haarlem and
Alkmaar, and acquired for the garrison and the inhabitants the respect
and admiration of all Europe. A modern historian has aptly observed that
this was the heroic age of Protestantism. Never have the virtues which
spring from true patriotism and sincere religious conviction been more
strikingly developed and displayed. Leyden was defended by John van der
Does, Lord of Nordwyck, a gentleman of distinguished family, but still
more distinguished by his learning and genius, and his Latin poetry
published under the name of Joannes Douza. The garrison of Leyden was
small, and it relied for its defence chiefly on the exertions of the
inhabitants. The revictualling of the city had been neglected after the
raising of the first siege, and at the end of June it became necessary
to put the inhabitants on short allowance; yet they held out more than
three months longer. Orange, whose head-quarters were at Delft and
Rotterdam, had no means of relieving Leyden except by breaking down the
dikes on the Meuse and the Yssel, and thus flooding the country, a step
which would involve the destruction of the growing crops, besides other
extraordinary expenses; yet he succeeded in obtaining the consent of the
Dutch States to this extreme and desperate measure. On the 3d of August
he superintended in person the rupture of the dikes on the Yssel; at the
same time the sluices of Rotterdam and Schiedam were opened; the flood
began to pour over the land, while the citizens of Leyden watched with
anxious eyes from the tower of Hengist the rising of the waters.

A flotilla of two hundred flat-bottomed vessels had been provided,
stored with provisions, and manned by two thousand five hundred veterans
under the command of Boissot. But unexpected obstacles arose. Fresh
dikes appeared above the water, and had to be cut through amid the
resistance of the Spaniards. Twice the waters receded under the
influence of the east wind, and left the fleet aground; twice it was
floated again, as if by a providential interposition, by violent gales
from the north and west, which accumulated on the coast the waters of
the ocean. Meanwhile the besieged were suffering all the extremities of
famine; the most disgusting garbage was used for food, and caused a
pestilence which carried off thousands. In this extremity a number of
the citizens surrounded the burgomaster, Adrian van der Werf, demanding
with loud threats and clamors that he should either provide them with
food or surrender the city to the enemy. To these menaces Adrian calmly
replied, "I have taken an oath that I will never put myself or my
fellow-citizens in the power of the cruel and perfidious Spaniards, and
I will rather die than violate it." Then drawing his sword he offered it
to the surrounding crowd and bade them plunge it in his bosom and devour
his flesh if such an action could relieve them from their direful
necessity. This extraordinary address filled the people with amazement
and admiration and inspired them with a new courage. Their constancy was
soon rewarded with deliverance. On the night of October 1st a fresh gale
set in from the northwest; the ocean rushed furiously through the ruined
dikes; the fleet had soon two feet of water, and sailed on their onward
course amid storm and darkness. They had still to contend with the
vessels of the enemy, and a naval battle was fought amid the boughs of
orchards and the chimney-stacks of houses. But this was the last attempt
at resistance on the part of the Spaniards. Appalled both by the
constancy of their adversaries and by the rising flood, which was
gradually driving them into a narrow circle, the Spaniards abandoned the
two remaining forts of Zoetermonde and Lammen, which still stood between
the fleet and the city. From the latter they fled in alarm at the noise
of the falling of a large portion of the town walls which had been
thrown down by the waters, and which in the darkness they luckily
mistook for some operation of their adversaries; otherwise they might
easily have entered and captured Leyden. The fleet of Boissot approached
the city on the morning of October 3d. After the pangs of hunger were
relieved the whole population repaired to church to return thanks to the
Almighty for their deliverance. On October 4th another providential gale
from the northeast assisted in clearing off the water from the land. In
commemoration of this remarkable defence, and as a reward for the
heroism of the citizens, was founded the University of Leyden, as well
as a ten days' annual fair, free from all tolls and taxes. During this
siege the Gueux had been again successful at sea. On May 30th Boissot
defeated between Lilloo and Kalloo a Spanish fleet, took the admiral and
three ships, and chased the rest into Antwerp.

The bankrupt state of Philip II's exchequer, and the reverses which his
arms had sustained, induced him to accept in the following year the
proffered mediation of the emperor Maximilian, which he had before
arrogantly rejected, and a congress was held at Breda from March till
June, 1575. But the insurgents were suspicious, and Philip was
inflexible; he could not be induced to dismiss his Spanish troops, to
allow the meeting of the States-General, or to admit the slightest
toleration in matters of religion; and the contest was therefore renewed
with more fury than ever. The situation of the patriots became very
critical when the enemy, by occupying the islands of Duyveland and
Schouwen, cut off the communication between Holland and Zealand,
especially as all hope of succor from England had expired. Toward the
close of the year envoys were despatched to solicit the aid of
Elizabeth, and to offer her, under certain conditions, the sovereignty
of Holland and Zealand. Requesens sent Champagny to counteract these
negotiations, which ended in nothing. The English Queen was afraid of
provoking the power of Spain, and could not even be induced to grant the
Hollanders a loan. The attitude assumed at that time by the Duke of
Alençon in France also prevented them from entering into any
negotiations with that Prince.

In these trying circumstances William the Silent displayed the greatest
firmness and courage. It was now that he is said to have contemplated
abandoning Holland and seeking with its inhabitants a home in the New
World, having first restored the country to its ancient state of a waste
of waters, a thought, however, which he probably never seriously
entertained, though he may have given utterance to it in a moment of
irritation or despondency. On June 12, 1575, William had married
Charlotte de Bourbon, daughter of the Duke of Montpensier. The Prince's
second wife, Anne of Saxony, had turned out a drunken, violent
character, and at length an intrigue which she formed with John Rubens,
an exiled magistrate of Antwerp, and father of the celebrated painter,
justified William in divorcing her. She subsequently became insane.
Charlotte de Bourbon had been brought up a Calvinist, but at a later
period, her father having joined the party of the persecutors, she took
refuge with the Elector Palatine, and it was under these circumstances
that she received the addresses of the Prince of Orange.

The unexpected death of Requesens, who expired of a fever, March 5,
1576, after a few days' illness, threw the government into confusion.
Philip II had given Requesens a _carte blanche_ to name his successor,
but the nature of his illness had prevented him from filling it up. The
government, therefore, devolved to the council of state, the members of
which were at variance with one another; but Philip found himself
obliged to intrust it _ad interim_ with the administration till a
successor to Requesens could be appointed. Count Mansfeld was made
commander-in-chief, but was totally unable to restrain the licentious
soldiery. The Spaniards, whose pay was in arrear, had now lost all
discipline. After the raising of the siege of Leyden they had beset
Utrecht and pillaged and maltreated the inhabitants, till Valdez
contrived to furnish their pay. No sooner had Requesens expired than
they broke into open mutiny and acted as if they were entire masters of
the country. After wandering about some time and threatening Brussels,
they seized and plundered Alost, where they established themselves;
and they were soon after joined by the Walloon and German troops. To
repress their violence, the council of state restored to the Netherlands
the arms of which they had been deprived, and called upon them by a
proclamation to repress force by force, but these citizen-soldiers were
dispersed with great slaughter by the disciplined troops in various
rencounters. Ghent, Utrecht, Valenciennes, Maestricht were taken and
plundered by the mutineers; and at last the storm fell upon Antwerp,
which the Spaniards entered early in November, and sacked during three
days. More than a thousand houses were burnt, eight thousand citizens
are said to have been slain, and enormous sums in ready money were
plundered. The whole damage was estimated at twenty-four million
florins. The horrible excesses committed in this sack procured for it
the name of the "Spanish Fury."

The government was at this period conducted in the name of the State of
Brabant. On September 5th De Hèze, a young Brabant gentleman who was in
secret intelligence with the Prince of Orange, had, at the head of five
hundred soldiers, entered the palace where the council of state was
assembled, and seized and imprisoned the members. William, taking
advantage of the alarm created at Brussels by the sack of Antwerp,
persuaded the provisional government to summon the States-General,
although such a course was at direct variance with the commands of the
King. To this assembly all the provinces except Luxemburg sent deputies.
The nobles of the southern provinces, although they viewed the Prince of
Orange with suspicion, feeling that there was no security for them so
long as the Spanish troops remained in possession of Ghent, sought his
assistance in expelling them, which William consented to grant only on
condition that an alliance should be effected between the northern and
the southern, or Catholic, provinces of the Netherlands. This proposal
was agreed to, and toward the end of September Orange sent several
thousand men from Zealand to Ghent, at whose approach the Spaniards, who
had valorously defended themselves for two months under the conduct of
the wife of their absent general, Mondragon, surrendered and evacuated
the citadel. The proposed alliance was now converted into a formal
union, by the treaty called the Pacification of Ghent, signed November
8, 1576, by which it was agreed, without waiting for the sanction of
Philip, whose authority, however, was nominally recognized, to renew the
edict of banishment against the Spanish troops, to procure the
suspension of the decrees against the Protestant religion, to summon the
States-General of the northern and southern provinces, according to the
model of the assembly which had received the abdication of Charles V, to
provide for the toleration and practice of the Protestant religion in
Holland and Zealand, together with other provisions of a similar
character. About the same time with the Pacification of Ghent, all
Zealand, with the exception of the island of Tholen, was recovered from
the Spaniards.




            SEARCH FOR THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE BY FROBISHER

                              A.D. 1576

                             GEORGE BEST


    Martin Frobisher, the English navigator, was born in Yorkshire about
    1535. When a lad he went to sea, and seems early to have dreamed of
    a shorter route to China through the Arctic Ocean. He became the
    pioneer in the long search for a northwest passage from the Atlantic
    to the Pacific by the northern coasts of the American continent. He
    even contemplated the planting of English colonies on the Pacific
    shore of the New World.

    Columbus had found the western way to China barred by the continent
    of America. Magellan discovered a southwest passage around that
    continent. Half a century later Frobisher entered upon the northern
    quest.

    Frobisher was poorly educated, and wrote with difficulty. The
    narrative of his first voyage was written by George Best from an
    account furnished by Frobisher himself, whom Best accompanied on his
    second and third voyages. The present narrative has therefore all
    the value of a first-hand record, and it is included in the
    _Principal Navigations_ of Hakluyt.

    Although over two hundred voyages have now been made in search of
    this passage, which in 1850-1854 was achieved by Sir Robert McClure,
    the long-cherished hopes of its advantages have not been realized.
    The route, for commercial purposes, is thus far quite useless, owing
    to arctic conditions. Great gains, however, through these
    expeditions, have been made in scientific knowledge.


Which thing being well considered and familiarly known to our General,
Captain Frobisher, as well for that he is thoroughly furnished of the
knowledge of the sphere and all other skills appertaining to the art of
navigation, as also for the confirmation he hath of the same by many
years' experience both by sea and land; and being persuaded of a new and
nearer passage to Cataya[1] than by Cabo de Buona Sperança, which the
Portugals yearly use, he began first with himself to devise, and then
with his friends to confer, and laid a plain plot unto them that that
voyage was not only possible by the northwest, but also, he could prove,
easy to be performed. And further, he determined and resolved with
himself to go make full proof thereof, and to accomplish or bring true
certificate of the truth, or else never to return again; knowing this to
be the only thing of the world that was left yet undone, whereby a
notable mind might be made famous and fortunate.

      [1] Cathay (China).

But although his will were great to perform this notable voyage,[2]
whereof he had conceived in his mind a great hope by sundry sure reasons
and secret intelligence, which here, for sundry causes, I leave
untouched; yet he wanted altogether means and ability to set forward and
perform the same. Long time he conferred with his private friends of
these secrets, and made also many offers for the performing of the same
in effect unto sundry merchants of our country, above fifteen years
before he attempted the same, as by good witness shall well appear,
albeit some evil-willers, which challenge to themselves the fruits of
other men's labors, have greatly injured him in the reports of the same,
saying that they have been the first authors of that action, and that
they have learned him the way, which themselves as yet have never gone.
But perceiving that hardly he was hearkened unto of the merchants, which
never regard virtue without sure, certain, and present gains, he
repaired to the court, from whence, as from the fountain of our common
wealth, all good causes have their chief increase and maintenance, and
there laid open to many great estates and learned men the plot and sum
of his device. And among many honorable minds which favored his honest
and commendable enterprise, he was specially bound and beholding to the
Right Honorable Ambrose Dudley, Earl of Warwick, whose favorable mind
and good disposition hath always been ready to countenance and advance
all honest actions, with the authors and executers of the same. And so
by means of my lord his honorable countenance he received some comfort
of his cause, and by little and little, with no small expense and pain,
brought his cause to some perfection, and had drawn together so many
adventurers and such sums of money as might well defray a reasonable
charge to furnish himself to sea withal.

      [2] Further details of this voyage may be gathered from the log of
      Christopher Hall, master of the Gabriel, printed in Hakluyt. The
      present narrative, prefixed to Best's accounts of the second and
      third voyages, was preceded by a treatise intended to prove all
      parts of the earth, even the poles, equally habitable.

He prepared two small barks of twenty and five-and-twenty ton apiece,
wherein he intended to accomplish his pretended voyage. Wherefore, being
furnished with the aforesaid two barks, and one small pinnace of ten ton
burden, having therein victuals and other necessaries for twelve months'
provision, he departed upon the said voyage from Blackwall, the 15. of
June,[3] Anno Domini 1576.

      [3] The date is incorrect. Hall quitted his moorings at Ratcliffe
      on the 7th, and left Deptford on the 8th. In passing the royal
      palace of Greenwich, says Hall, "we shot off our ordnance, and
      made the best show we could. Her majesty, beholding the same,
      commended it, and bade us farewell, with shaking her hand at us
      out of the window." Gravesend was passed on the 12th.

One of the barks wherein he went was named the Gabriel, and the other
the Michael; and, sailing northwest from England upon the 11. of July he
had sight of an high and ragged land, which he judged to be Frisland,[4]
whereof some authors have made mention; but durst not approach the same
by reason of the great store of ice that lay alongst the coast, and the
great mists that troubled them not a little. Not far from thence he lost
company of his small pinnace, which by means of the great storm he
supposed to be swallowed up of the sea; wherein he lost only four men.
Also the other bark, named the Michael, mistrusting the matter, conveyed
themselves privily away from him, and returned home, with great report
that he was cast away.

      [4] The land was Greenland. Friesland was the name given to the
      Faroe Islands in the voyage of the brothers Zeni. Hall saw the
      rocky spires of the coast "rising like pinnacles of steeples" in
      the afternoon sun.

The worthy captain, notwithstanding these discomforts, although his mast
was sprung and his topmast blown overboard with extreme foul weather,
continued his course toward the northwest, knowing that the sea at
length must needs have an ending and that some land should have a
beginning that way; and determined therefore at the least to bring true
proof what land and sea the same might be so far to the northwestward,
beyond any that man hath heretofore discovered. And the 20. of July he
had sight of an high land, which he called "Queen Elizabeth's
Foreland,"[5] after her majesty's name. And sailing more northerly
alongst that coast, he descried another foreland,[6] with a great gut,
bay, or passage, dividing as it were two main lands or continents
asunder. There he met with store of exceeding great ice all this coast
along, and, coveting still to continue his course to the northward, was
always by contrary wind detained overthwart these straits, and could not
get beyond.

      [5] The northeast corner of the island to the north of Resolution
      Island.

      [6] The North Foreland, at the southeast corner of Hall's Island.

Within few days after, he perceived the ice to be well consumed and
gone, either there engulfed in by some swift currents or indrafts,
carried more to the southward of the same straits, or else conveyed some
other way; wherefore he determined to make proof of this place, to see
how far that gut had continuance, and whether he might carry himself
through the same into some open sea on the back side, whereof he
conceived no small hope; and so entered the same the one-and-twentieth
of July, and passed above fifty leagues therein, as he reported, having
upon either hand a great main or continent. And that land upon his right
hand as he sailed westward he judged to be the continent of Asia, and
there to be divided from the firm of America, which lieth upon the left
hand over against the same.

This place he named after his name, "Frobisher's Straits,"[7] like as
Magellanus at the southwest end of the world, having discovered the
passage to the South Sea, where America is divided from the continent of
that land, which lieth under the south pole, and called the same straits
"Magellan's Straits."

      [7] Afterward called Frobisher Bay.

After he had passed sixty leagues into this aforesaid strait, he went
ashore, and found signs where fire had been made. He saw mighty deer,
that seemed to be mankind, which ran at him; and hardly he escaped with
his life in a narrow way, where he was fain to use defence and policy to
save his life. In this place he saw and perceived sundry tokens of the
peoples resorting thither. And being ashore upon the top of a hill, he
perceived a number of small things fleeting in the sea afar off, which
he supposed to be porpoises, or seals, or some kind of strange fish; but
coming nearer, he discovered them to be men in small boats made of
leather. And before he could descend down from the hill, certain of
those people had almost cut off his boat from him, having stolen
secretly behind the rocks for that purpose; where he speedily hastened
to his boat, and bent himself to his halberd, and narrowly escaped the
danger, and saved his boat.

Afterward he had sundry conferences with them, and they came aboard his
ship, and brought him salmon and raw flesh and fish, and greedily
devoured the same before our men's faces. And to show their agility,
they tried many masteries upon the ropes of the ship after our mariners'
fashion, and appeared to be very strong of their arms and nimble of
their bodies. They exchanged coats of seals' and bears' skins, and such
like, with our men, and received bells, looking-glasses, and other toys
in recompense thereof again. After great courtesy and many meetings, our
mariners, contrary to their captain's direction, began more easily to
trust them; and five of our men going ashore were by them intercepted
with their boat, and were never since heard of to this day again; so
that the captain being destitute of boat, bark, and all company, had
scarcely sufficient number to conduct back his bark again.

He could now neither convey himself ashore to rescue his men, if he had
been able, for want of a boat; and again the subtle traitors were so
wary, as they would after that never come within our men's danger. The
captain, notwithstanding, desirous of bringing some token from thence of
his being there, was greatly discontented that he had not before
apprehended some of them; and, therefore, to deceive the deceivers, he
wrought a pretty policy. For knowing well how they greatly delighted in
our toys, and specially in bells, he rang a pretty loud bell, making
signs that he would give him the same who would come and fetch it. And
because they would not come within his danger for fear, he flung one
bell unto them, which of purpose he threw short, that it might fall into
the sea and be lost. And to make them more greedy of the matter he rang
a louder bell, so that in the end one of them came near the ship side to
receive the bell. Which when he thought to take at the captain's hand,
he was thereby taken himself; for the captain, being readily provided,
let the bell fall, and caught the man fast, and plucked him with main
force, boat and all, into his bark out of the sea. Whereupon, when he
found himself in captivity, for very choler and disdain he bit his
tongue in twain within his mouth; notwithstanding, he died not thereof,
but lived until he came in England, and then he died of cold which he
had taken at sea.

Now with this new prey, which was a sufficient witness of the captain's
far and tedious travel toward the unknown parts of the world, as did
well appear by this strange infidel, whose like was never seen, read,
nor heard of before, and whose language was neither known nor understood
of any, the said Captain Frobisher returned homeward, and arrived in
England, in Harwich, the second of October following, and thence came to
London, 1576, where he was highly commended of all men for his great and
notable attempt, but specially famous for the great hope he brought of
the passage to Cataya.

And it is especially to be remembered that at their first arrival in
those parts there lay so great store of ice all the coast along, so
thick together, that hardly his boat could pass unto the shore. At
length, after divers attempts, he commanded his company, if by any
possible means they could get ashore, to bring him whatsoever thing they
could first find, whether it were living or dead, stock or stone, in
token of Christian possession, which thereby he took in behalf of the
Queen's most excellent majesty, thinking that thereby he might justify
the having and enjoying of the same things that grew in these unknown
parts.

Some of his company brought flowers, some green grass; and one brought a
piece of black stone, much like to a sea coal in color, which by the
weight seemed to be some kind of metal or mineral. This was a thing of
no account in the judgment of the captain at first sight; and yet for
novelty it was kept, in respect of the place from whence it came. After
his arrival in London, being demanded of sundry his friends what thing
he had brought them home out of that country, he had nothing left to
present them withal but a piece of this black stone. And it fortuned a
gentlewoman, one of the adventurer's wives, to have a piece thereof,
which by chance she threw and burned in the fire, so long that at the
length being taken forth, and quenched in a little vinegar, it glistened
with a bright marquesite of gold. Whereupon the matter being called in
some question, it was brought to certain gold-finers in London to make
assay thereof, who gave out that it held gold, and that very richly for
the quantity.[8] Afterward the same gold-finers promised great matters
thereof if there were any store to be found, and offered themselves to
adventure for the searching of those parts from whence the same was
brought. Some that had great hope of the matter sought secretly to have
a lease at her majesty's hands of those places, whereby to enjoy the
mass of so great a public profit unto their own private gains.

      [8] The English assayers all pronounced the stone worthless. An
      Italian, Giovanni Baptista Agnello, reported it to contain gold.
      On being questioned as to how it was that he alone was able to
      produce gold from the stone, he is said to have replied, "_Bisogna
      safiere adular la natura_" ("Nature requires coaxing "). Agnello's
      assay necessarily involved the addition of other substances for
      the purpose of separating the gold; and it has been suggested that
      the gold produced by him was itself added during this process.
      There is no good reason for thinking so. Pyrites often contains a
      minute proportion of gold. Admitting the possibility of trickery
      in the case of the small specimen submitted to Agnello, it is
      incredible that the fraud should have been successfully repeated
      when the two hundred tons of mineral brought back by the second
      expedition came to be tested. The mineral undoubtedly contained
      gold, but not enough to pay for the carriage and working.

In conclusion, the hope of more of the same gold ore to be found kindled
a greater opinion in the hearts of many to advance the voyage again.
Whereupon preparation was made for a new voyage against the year
following, and the captain more specially directed by commission for the
searching more of this gold ore than for the searching any further
discovery of the passage. And being well accompanied with divers
resolute and forward gentlemen, her majesty then lying at the Right
Honorable the Lord of Warwick's house, in Essex, he came to take his
leave; and kissing her highness' hands, with gracious countenance and
comfortable words departed toward his charge.




               BUILDING OF THE FIRST THEATRE IN ENGLAND

                              A.D. 1576

                            KARL MANTZIUS


    _A History of the Theatre_, the scholarly work of Mantzius, has had
    no time to become a classic--published 1904--but certainly the
    author has delved into his subject with a minuteness and presented
    it with a lively interest which fully justify the selection of his
    work for presentation here.

    The theatre has become so prominent an institution among us that its
    origin must be of interest to all; and the building of the first
    theatre is inextricably interwoven with the larger and vaguer story
    of the rise of the modern drama itself. The dramatic arts of Greece
    and Rome had never been wholly forgotten. Their traditions survived
    in Italy in the crude pantomime performances of the common people.
    Practically, however, the Middle Ages invented a new dramatic art of
    their own, developed from the gorgeous religious pantomime of the
    church services. The theatre was born of the cathedral; the stage,
    of the altar.

    The plays, at first purely religious, rapidly developed a comic
    side, which by degrees became their central theme. The moral purpose
    of the performance was forgotten; and the Church disowned its evil
    changeling. To none of these early plays can the term "drama" be
    accurately applied; for each and all of them lack plot. They are
    merely a series of disconnected scenes, pictures having small
    connection and less development. The idea of pursuing a single,
    slowly developing story to its climax and conclusion dawns upon the
    modern stage only with the English Elizabethan drama.

    Despite our imperfect knowledge of the plays and players of that
    time, one feels almost justified in saying that the modern drama was
    created about 1580 by Christopher Marlowe and was raised to the
    highest point of its development about 1600 by William Shakespeare.


At the date of Shakespeare's birth, 1564, no permanent theatre as yet
existed in England. But there had long existed a class of professional
actors, descended partly from the mystery and the miracle-playing
artisans of the Middle Ages, partly from the strolling players,
equilibrists, jugglers, and jesters. Professional Italian actors,
players of the _commedia dell'arte_, who in the sixteenth century spread
their gay and varied art all over Europe, also supplied English players
with that touch of professional technique in which their somewhat
vacillating and half-amateurish arts were still wanting.

While, however, as far as France is concerned, the Italian influence
must strike everybody who studies the stage history of the country, the
evidence of a fertilization of English scenic art by the commedia dell'
arte is scanty. Yet I think it is sufficient to deserve more attention
than has hitherto been bestowed upon it.

In any case there is sufficient evidence to prove that Italian
professional actors penetrated into England and exercised their art
there.

In January, 1577, an Italian comedian came to London with his company.
The English called him Drousiano, but his real name was Drousiano
Martinelli, the same who, with his brother Tristano, visited the court
of Philip II, and there is no reason to suppose that he was either the
first or the last of his countrymen who tried to carry off English gold
from merry London. The typical Italian masks are quite well known to the
authors of that period. Thus Thomas Heywood mentions all these doctors,
zanies, pantaloons, and harlequins, in which the French, and still more
the Italians, distinguished themselves. In Kyd's _Spanish Tragedy_, and
in Ben Jonson's _The Case is Altered_, mention is made of the Italian
improvised comedy, and a few of the well-known types of character in the
dramatic literature of the time bear distinct traces of having been
influenced by Italian masks, _e.g._, Ralph Roister Doister in Udall's
comedy of that name; as well as the splendid Captain Bobadill and his no
less amusing companion, Captain Tucca, in Ben Jonson's _Every Man in his
Humour_ and _The Poetaster_, all of which are reproductions of the
typical _capitano_.

However, it is not these literary testimonies that I consider the most
striking evidence of the influence of Italian professional technique on
English professional actors. It is a remarkable discovery made by the
highly esteemed Shakespearean archaeologist, Edmund Malone, about a
century ago, in Dulwich College, that mine of ancient English dramatic
research, founded by the actor Edward Alleyn.

Among the notes left by the old pawnbroker and theatrical manager,
Henslowe, and the various papers, letters, parts, accounts, etc., of his
son-in-law, the famous and very wealthy actor Alleyn, among these rare
documents, to which we owe a great part of our knowledge of the
Shakespearean stage, Malone found four remarkable card-board tables, on
which the plots of as many plays were put down, together with the names
of the persons represented, their entrances and exits, cues for music,
sonnets, etc.

According to Collier's description, these tables--one of which only is
preserved, the three others having disappeared through the carelessness
and disorder which at that time prevailed in the Dulwich treasury--were
about fifteen inches in length and nine in breadth. They were divided
into two columns, and between these, toward the top of the table, there
was a square hole for hanging it up on a hook or some such thing. They
bore the following titles:

    1. The Plotte of the Deade Man's Fortune.
    2. The Plotte of the First Parte of Tamar Cain.
    3. The Plotte of Frederick and Basilea.
    4. The Plotte of the Second Parte of the Seven Deadlie Sinns.

The last-mentioned play is known for certain to have been composed by
the excellent comic actor, Richard Tarlton. Gabriel Harvey, the
astrologist, and the implacable antagonist of Thomas Nash, tells us in
his letters how Tarlton himself in Oxford invited him to see his
celebrated play on _The Seven Deadly Sins_; Harvey asked him which
of the seven was his own deadly sin, and he instantly replied, "By
G----, the sinne of other gentlemen, lechery."

Tarlton died in the year 1588, and some of the other plays, especially
_The Dead Man's Fortune_, are considered to be a good deal older than
his. They belong, therefore, to an early period of the English
Renaissance stage.

These four tables caused considerable trouble to Malone and his
contemporary Steevens, as well as to later investigators, as they are
without equals in the archæology of the English stage. If these men had
known that such tables, containing the plot of the piece which was acted
at the time, were always hung upon the stage of the Italian commedia
dell' arte in order to assist the memory of the improvising actors, they
would have seen instantly that their essential historical importance to
us consists in their showing by documentary evidence how the early
Elizabethan scenic art in its outer form was influenced and improved by
the Italians.

The fact that one of the principal characters in the oldest scenario,
_The Dead Man's Fortune_, bears the name of "Panteloun" further confirms
this supposition.

This is not the place to investigate how far the English were influenced
by Italian professional dramatic art. At any rate, the English national
character differed too much from the Italian to allow it to receive more
than an outward and formal stamp. And even this superficial effect is
much less significant in England than in France. Still, we are certainly
not mistaken in assuming that it helped to strengthen English dramatic
art, which already possessed no small amount of power; and we may take
it for granted that about the time of Shakespeare's birth London
possessed a socially and professionally organized class of actors, in
spite of the fact that they did not yet possess a theatre of their own.

Before proper theatres were built, and after the time of the great
mysteries, the actors found a refuge for their art chiefly in the inns,
those splendid and expensive old public-houses which convey to our minds
the idea of old-fashioned and picturesque comfort; where the nobility
and clergy sought their quarters in winter, and where the carriers
unloaded their goods in the large square yards, which were surrounded on
all sides by the walls of the inn. On these walls there were galleries
running all round, supported by wooden pillars and with steep
picturesque ladders running up to them.

It was in these yards of the Cross Keys in Gracechurch Street, of The
Bull in Bishopsgate Street, La Belle Sauvage on Ludgate Hill, or the
Tabbard Inn in Southwark that the actors set up their stages. Perhaps it
was this very circumstance that became one of the indirect reasons why
they finally were obliged to build a house for themselves.

Certainly the inns offered advantages to the actors; they were
meeting-places for the public, frequented by lords and other persons of
distinction; probably the companies paid next to nothing for the use of
them. In themselves they afforded good room for the audience, with a
natural pit for ordinary people in the yard, and with more comfortable
"boxes" for the more distinguished part of the audience on the
surrounding balconies and at the windows facing the yard.

On the other hand, these inn-theatres had their drawbacks. In the first
place, the actors were not on their own ground, and so, after all, they
were only tolerated. Secondly, it must have been very difficult for them
to keep to regular prices, and especially to secure the payment of the
entrance fee, as they had probably to collect the money during or after
the performance, thus depending on the liberality of the public for
their remuneration. And finally, worst of all, they were led into
quarrels with the lord mayor and with the citizens.

Indeed, it is not unlikely that these performances in the inns caused a
good deal of noise and disturbance in the quarters where they took
place, and that the joyous, but by no means refined or quiet, "pit,"
when going home, excited by one of Tarlton's jigs and by the strong ale
of the inn, was not animated by very respectful feelings toward their
sour Puritan fellow-citizens, who were scandalized as they watched
"merry London" crowding past their windows. Nor is it improbable that
these anything but respectful feelings vented themselves in some of the
coarse expressions in which the plays of those times abound, where
Puritanism, the sworn enemy, is concerned; "this barbarous sect," as it
is called by a modern English author, "from whose inherited and
contagious tyranny this nation is as yet but imperfectly released."

It is certain, at any rate, that the Puritan citizens entertained a deep
and sincere hatred of anything connected with plays and actors, and if
it had been in their power to do what they liked, the world would once
for all have been relieved of such pernicious and wicked vagabonds as
William Shakespeare, Christopher Marlowe, and Ben Jonson.

Fortunately, however, this power did not lie with the Puritans only.

Luckily, this sect, which like a malicious growth seemed to have
gathered to itself all the stubbornness, insensibility, and rude
obstinacy of the nation, was counterbalanced by a refined and
intellectual nobility, which was inspired by the new artistic and
philosophical thought of the Renaissance, and seemed to foresee, if not
fully to recognize, what a mine of poetry the English theatre of those
times was destined to be. Thanks to men like Sir Francis Walsingham,
Lords Leicester, Nottingham, Strange, and Sussex, the drama resisted for
a time the violent and unwearied attacks of the Puritans. Most
fortunately for the actors also, Queen Elizabeth, as well as her
successors, James I and Charles I, was fond of plays and favorably
inclined toward their performers.

Elizabeth rendered a great service to the actors by placing them under
the patronage of the nobility. The municipal authorities, who were
frequently Puritan, considered neither dramatic art nor dramatic poetry
as an acceptable means of livelihood; consequently, those who cultivated
these noble arts easily exposed themselves to being treated as
"masterless men," unless they could give a reference to some
distinguished aristocratic name.

The Queen ordered by law--in a statute which has often been
misunderstood--"that all common players of interludes wandering abroad,
other than players of interludes belonging to any baron of this realme,
or any other honorable personage of greater degree, to be authorized to
play under the hand and seale of arms of such baron or personage, shall
be adjudged and deemed rogues and vagabonds"; in other words, the Queen
urged all actors, for their own sakes, to place themselves under the
patronage of some nobleman, in order to protect them against the
persecution of the Puritan citizens.

But even such mighty protection could not entirely shield them, and it
was this very power of the London corporation to injure the actors that
caused the establishment of the first London theatre.

In the year 1572 the plague broke out in London; it killed many
thousands of people, and kept recurring at certain intervals during the
next twenty or thirty years, carrying horror and death with it. Under
these circumstances all dramatic performances were prohibited for a time
in London, a precaution which was reasonable enough, as the dense
crowding of people might have helped to spread the disease. But the
magistrate seems to have caught eagerly at this opportunity of
interfering.

In Harrison's _Description of England_ the event is reported as follows:
"Plaies are banished for a time out of London, lest the resort unto them
should ingender a plague, or rather disperse it, being already begonne.
Would to God these comon plaies were exiled for altogether as seminaries
of impiety, and their theatres pulled downe as no better than houses of
baudrie. It is an evident token of a wicked time when plaiers wexe so
rich that they can build suche houses. As moche I wish also to our comon
beare baitinges used on the Sabaothe daies."

We cannot help noticing the predilection of the Puritans for the coarse
bear-fights, which in their opinion were only displeasing to God when
performed on a Sabbath, whereas the playhouses at any time were no
better than the "ill-famed stews" in Southwark. It cannot be denied,
however, that under the prevailing circumstances it was quite right that
the playhouses should be temporarily forbidden.

But the sudden and unwarranted expulsion of all dramatic performances
from the precincts of London a few years later, 1575, cannot be
accounted for otherwise than by the increasing popularity which these
plays enjoyed among the non-Puritan public, and the envy with which the
clergy saw the people crowding much more to the places where actors
interpreted the rising poets than to those where the preachers
themselves enunciated their gloomy doctrine.

In the year 1574 the actor James Burbage, with four other actors, all
belonging to the retinue of the Earl of Leicester, had received
permission from the Queen to perform all kinds of plays anywhere in
England, "for the recreation of her beloved subjects as well as for her
own comfort and pleasure, if it should please her to see them."

Perhaps it was a counter-move on the part of the Puritan community when
the lord mayor and the corporation in the following year straightway
forbade all plays within the precincts of the town. If so, it proved a
failure. James Burbage resolutely hired a liberty outside the city, and
here, in 1576, on the premises of an ancient Roman Catholic priory, he
built the first English playhouse, which he named "The Theatre."

In the following year The Theatre gained an ally in "The Curtain," which
was built in the same neighborhood, both, of course, causing great
indignation among the Puritans. In 1577, the year after the first
playhouse had been erected, there appeared a furious pamphlet, by John
Northbrooke, against "dicing, dancing, plays and interludes as well as
other idle pastimes."

No doubt all possible means were taken to have plays forbidden and the
playhouses pulled down, but though the attack of the Black Army never
ceased for a moment, the Puritans did not succeed in getting the better
of the theatres till the year 1642, when they acquired political power
through the civil war; and, fortunately for the part of mankind which
appreciates art, this precious flower of culture, one of the richest and
most remarkable periods in the life of dramatic art, had developed into
full bloom before the outbreak of the war.

In a sermon of 1578 we read the following bitter and deep-drawn sigh by
the clergyman John Stockwood: "Wyll not a fylthye playe wyth the blast
of a trumpette sooner call thyther a thousande than an houres tolling of
a bell bring to the sermon a hundred?--nay, even heere in the Citie,
without it be at this place and some other certaine ordinarie audience,
where shall you finde a reasonable company?--whereas, if you resort to
the Theatre, The Curtayne, and other places of playes in the Citie, you
shall on the Lord's Day have these places, with many other that I cannot
reckon, so full as possible they can throng."

That the bold defiance with which James Burbage and the other actors met
the lord mayor and the corporation should prove so successful lay almost
in the nature of things. The prohibition of plays within the bounds of
the city of London did not mean that they were looked upon with
animosity by the people, but merely that a majority of the corporation
was unfriendly to them. It was soon shown that, though the wise city
fathers could easily forbid the actors to perform their plays in London,
they could not prevent the enthusiastic public from walking in crowds a
mile out of town in order to see such performances, especially as people
were quite accustomed to the journey. Burbage, who was a business-like
man, had chosen his ground quite close to the public places, where the
Londoners practised their open-air sports and amused themselves with
tennis and football, stone-throwing, cock fights, and archery.

Although Burbage called his new building "The Theatre," the title was
not intended to mean _the_ theatre _par excellence_, for the word
"theatre" was not then commonly used to denote a building in which
dramatic representations were performed. It is more probable that he
thought he had succeeded in choosing an elegant name with a certain
suggestion of the old classics, which was euphonious and not quite
common.

The usual name for a theatre was the playhouse, a house intended for all
kinds of games and sport, such as fencing, bear-fights, bull-fights,
jigs, morris-dances, and pantomimes, as well as for dramatic
performances.

It cannot be sufficiently emphasized that the theatrical entertainments
of those times were something more or less literary; anyhow, something
quite apart from the dramatic performances of the present day. They were
meant to satisfy mixed desires in the nation; but, besides satisfying
its craving for beautiful, picturesque language, fine spectacles, and
merry jests, they also gratified its desire for the display of physical
strength, for shallow rhyming tricks and competitions, graceful
exercises of the body, indeed for all that might be included under the
notion of sport and give opportunity for betting.

Therefore, the plays, properly so called, alternated with fights between
animals, in which bears and bulls were baited by great blood-thirsty
bulldogs, or with fencing-matches fought by celebrated English and
foreign fencing-masters, with rope-dancing, acrobatic tricks, and
boxing. Even the serious performances ended with a more or less absurd
jig, in which the clown sang endless songs about the events of the day,
and danced interminable morris-dances.

Shakespeare and his contemporaries, whose works are now reckoned among
the first literature--so much so that they are scarcely read any
longer--at the time of which we are speaking were nothing but practical
playwrights, and Shakespeare was so far from dreaming that the time
would come when his plays would be counted among the most precious
treasures of posterity that, as we know, he did not even take the
trouble to have a printed edition of his works published.

The many fighting-scenes in the plays of the time, in Shakespeare's
among the rest, the wrestling-match in _As You Like It_, the duel
between Macduff and Macbeth, the fencing-scene between Hamlet and
Laertes, no doubt afforded opportunities for magnificent displays of
skill in the use of arms and in physical exercises, and we may be sure
that the spectators followed those scenes with an interest which was
perhaps more of a sporting than of a literary nature.

It was according to a well-calculated plan, therefore, that the elder
Burbage erected his playhouse north of the city, in Finsbury Fields,
where from ancient times the people had been accustomed to see and
practise military exercises and other sports, and where the soldiers
were still in the habit of practising archery and musketry.

And it was with equally sound calculation that he gave the theatre its
particular form, which remained essentially the same in all the
playhouses of the Shakespearean period.

Before the establishment of the permanent theatres there had long
existed amphitheatres for the performance of fights between animals, the
so-called "rings." These rings--the auditorium as well as the
arena--were open all round, and the seats, like those of the ancient
Greek theatre, were placed according to the natural formation of the
ground.

Burbage retained the circular amphitheatrical form; being a joiner as
well as an actor and manager, he was no doubt his own architect in his
new theatrical enterprise.

But instead of the roofless, open-air auditorium, he constructed a
covered circular wooden building with stories or galleries, which was
made so as to contain a number of boxes for the distinguished and
well-paying public, and which entirely enclosed the open, uncovered
arena, which, as it recalled the inn-yards, was called the "yard," or
afterward, perhaps on account of the high pitlike construction
surrounding it, the "pit," whence the poorest and humblest spectators
enjoyed the performances.

Finally, he built a covered "tire-house"--or "tiring-house," as it was
called in those times--for the actors, a place in which also all the
requisites and the so-called "properties" were kept. This tiring-house
stood within the circle, and its roof towered up above the auditorium.

From the tiring-house the stage--a simple wooden platform resting on
rams--was pushed forward, and it might be removed when the arena was to
be used for fights between animals, etc., instead of dramatic
performances.

By this reform of the building--a reform which became epoch-making to
the whole Shakespearean period--James Burbage obtained a threefold
advantage: more comfortable seats for the more distinguished portion of
the audience, where they were sheltered from wind and weather; the use
of the house both for plays and the baiting of animals; and the power to
oblige the public to pay their admission at certain doors of his
building, which spared him the unpleasant and unsafe collection of money
from spectators, who might not always be very willing to pay.

But this result was not obtained without considerable expense.

Though we are not so fortunate as to possess a drawing of the outside or
inside of The Theatre, about the shape of which, therefore, we must
partly draw our conclusions from analogy with other playhouses, we are
comparatively well informed as to its outward history till it was pulled
down, in 1598-1599.

Thus we know that the enterprise cost James Burbage six hundred
sixty-six pounds thirteen shillings fourpence, a considerable sum in
those days, which would be equal to about eightfold that amount in our
own time.

This money Burbage borrowed of his father-in-law, John Braynes, to whom
he had to pay high interest, and it represented only the cost of the
building itself, for he did not buy the ground on which it stood. This
ground belonged to one Giles Allen, and in the contract between him and
Burbage it was settled, among other points, that if, in the course of
the first ten years after the drawing up of the lease, Burbage spent a
sum of two hundred pounds or more on the building, he should have a
right to remove it after the expiration of the lease.

The lease was drawn up in the year 1576, for a period of twenty-one
years. In spite of many pecuniary difficulties, which the heavy rent and
high interest naturally entailed on Burbage--who for some time even
seems to have been obliged to mortgage his entire property--and
innumerable annoyances from the Puritans, Burbage succeeded in keeping
his theatre above water till the expiration of the lease and till his
own death, which occurred in 1597.

But before this date he had been negotiating with the proprietor, Giles
Allen, about a prolongation of the lease. Allen, who was evidently as
grasping as he was difficult to deal with, and who may not unjustly be
suspected of having been an instrument in the hands of the Puritan
authorities, had caused him a good deal of trouble in the course of
years. On seeing how people crowded to the theatre, he had tried, for
one thing, to press Burbage for a higher rent, and partly for religious,
partly for moral reasons, had threatened to forbid the running of a
playhouse on his property. The negotiations about the new lease had not
come to an end when the elder Burbage died, and left his two sons,
Cuthbert, who was a bookseller, and Richard, who was the leading actor
of his time, not only burdened with the playhouse, the long lease of
which had expired, but opposed by a proprietor with whom it was
impossible to come to terms, and by a magistrate who was more eager than
ever to deal a blow at the playhouses.

In the same year, when the two brothers took on The Theatre, the lord
mayor of London actually succeeded in inducing the privy council to
issue an order of suppression against it and other playhouses. The order
begins as follows: "Her Majestie being informed that there are verie
greate disorders committed in the common playhouses both by lewd matters
that are handled on the stages, and by resorte and confluence of bad
people, hathe given direction that not onlie no playes shall be used
within London or about the Citty, or in any public place, during this
tyme of sommer, but that all those playhouses that are erected and built
only for suche purposes shall be plucked downe, namelie The Curtayne and
The Theatre nere to Shorditch, or any other within that county."

It is not known whether the order was withdrawn or whether the disregard
of it was winked at--the court very likely was not particularly inclined
to see the sentence or condemnation carried out. At all events, neither
The Curtain nor The Theatre was pulled down at the time. But the order
shows how much power the Puritans possessed, and what difficulties the
brothers Burbage had to contend with.

They seem, however, to have inherited their father's resolute character.
Since it seemed quite impossible to come to terms with the grasping
proprietor, Allen, the brothers were sensible enough to avail themselves
of the clause in the now expired lease, which permitted them to pull
down and remove the buildings they had erected on the premises, in case
they had spent at least two hundred pounds on them during the first ten
years. This sum had been much exceeded at the time, and one day, to the
great consternation and anger of the astonished Giles Allen, they simply
removed The Theatre.

One of the paragraphs in the account of the subsequent lawsuit between
Allen and the Burbages gives a very vivid idea of this remarkable
removal. Allen accuses Cuthbert Burbage of "unlawfully combininge and
confederatinge himselfe with the sayd Richard Burbage, and one Peter
Streat, William Smyth and divers other persons, to the number of twelve,
to your subject unknowne, did aboute the eight and twentyth daye of
December in the one and fortyth yeere of your Highnes raygne (1598)
ryotouslye assemble themselves together, and then and there armed
themselves with dyvers and manye unlawfull and offensive weapons, as,
namelye, swordes, daggers, billes, axes, and such like, and so armed,
did then repayre unto the sayd Theatre, and then and there, armed as
aforesayd, in verye ryotous, outragious and forcyble manner, and
contrarye to the lawes of your highnes realme, attempted to pull down
the sayd Theatre, whereupon divers of your subjectes, servauntes, and
farmers, there goinge aboute in peaceable manner to procure them to
desist from that their unlawfull enterpryse, they the sayd ryotous
persons aforesayd notwithstanding procured then therein with greate
vyolence, not only then and there forcyblye and ryotouslye resisting
your subjectes, servauntes, and farmers, but also then and there
pulling, breaking, and throwing downe the sayd Theatre in verye
outragious, violent, and riotous sort, to the great disturbance and
terrefyeing not onlye of your subjectes sayd servauntes and farmers, but
of divers others of your Majesties loving subjectes there neere
inhabitinge; and having so done, did then alsoe in most forcible and
ryotous manner take and carrye away from thence all the wood and timber
thereof, unto the Bancksyde in the parishe of St. Marye Overyes, and
there erected a newe playehouse with the sayd timber and wood."

Such was the end of the first short-lived London playhouse. But the new
house, which was built out of its materials on the "Bankside," was the
celebrated "Globe," the name of which is inseparably connected with that
of Shakespeare.

As we said above, James Burbage, the creator of The Theatre, belonged to
the company which played under the patronage of Lord Leicester, and
therefore went under the name of "Lord Leicester's Servants" or "Men."
The four other actors, who in 1574 received a royal license to act from
Queen Elizabeth, were John Perkin, John Lanham, William Jonson, and
Robert Wilson.

While James Burbage was no doubt the leader of the company, Robert
Wilson is supposed to have been its chief actor, at all events of comic
parts, and he was the only one among the five who was also a dramatic
author. Under his name, but after his death, Cuthbert Burbage published,
in 1594, _The Prophecy of the Cobbler_; and among anonymous plays the
following are ascribed to him: _Fair Eve, The Miller's Daughter from
Manchester, The Three Ladies of London_, etc.

Most likely some of Wilson's plays were acted in The Theatre. With this
exception the internal history of this playhouse is rather obscure, and
very little is known of its _répertoire_. A few titles may be found in
contemporary literature, such as _The Blacksmith's Daughter_, mentioned
by the Puritan Gosson in his _School of Abuse_, as "containing the
treachery of Turks, the honorable bounty of a noble mind, the shining of
virtue in distress," _The Conspiracy of Catilina, Cæsar and Pompey_, and
_The Play about the Fabians_.

All these must have belonged to the earliest répertoire of The Theatre,
for Gosson's _School of Abuse_ appeared in 1579.

It is of more interest that Thomas Lodge mentions the original
pre-Shakespearean _Hamlet_ as having been acted in The Theatre. He
speaks of one who "looks as pale as the visard of the ghost which cries
so miserably at The Theatre, like an oister-wife, 'Hamlet revenge.'"

The same company, originally "Lord Leicester's Servants," continued to
act in The Theatre till it was pulled down. But the company several
times changed its patron and consequently its name. In 1588 Lord
Leicester died, and after his death Ferdinando Stanley, Lord Strange,
became the patron of the company; till 1592, therefore, the actors were
called "Lord Strange's Men." But in 1592 Lord Strange was created earl
of Derby; consequently the troupe became for two years "The Earl of
Derby's Men." In 1594 the Earl of Derby died, and Henry Carey, first
Lord Hunsdon and lord chamberlain, undertook to become patron of the
company, which, therefore, adopted the name of "The Lord Chamberlain's
Servants." The son of Lord Hunsdon, George Carey, second Lord Hunsdon,
after his father's death (in 1596) also inherited the patronage of the
actors, and for almost a year they had to content themselves with being
called "Lord Hunsdon's Men," until Lord Hunsdon became lord chamberlain,
like his father, and allowed the company to resume the title of "The
Lord Chamberlain's Servants," 1597. This name the actors retained until
the accession of King James, in 1603, after which they were promoted to
the title of "The King's Players"; this title put them in the first
rank, which, indeed, they had long held in reality, and which they kept
till the suppression of the playhouses in 1642.

It is no slight task for one who desires to study theatrical affairs in
the time of Shakespeare, to make himself acquainted with the varying
names of the companies of actors; but without such knowledge it would be
very difficult to pursue the thread of the history even of the leading
companies.

About the year 1590 our company received an addition in the person of a
young man, who was not only a skilled and useful actor, but who also
possessed the accomplishment of being able to adapt older plays to the
taste of the times, and even proved to have the gift of writing
tolerably good plays himself, though older and jealous colleagues might
hint at their not being altogether original. This young man, whose
capacities became of no slight use to the company and The Theatre, was
named William Shakespeare.

At this time the leading actors of The Theatre were the great tragedian
Richard Burbage, who was then quite a young man, Henry Condell, and John
Heminge, who continued to be the mainstays of the company. There was
also the clown, Augustine Phillips, an excellent comic actor of the old
school. These four became the most intimate friends of Shakespeare, and
to Condell and Heminge posterity owes special gratitude, since it was
they who, after the death of Shakespeare, undertook the publication of
the first printed collection of his plays.

It is impossible to decide definitely which of Shakespeare's plays
belonged to the repertoire of The Theatre. It is probable that his first
plays, _Love's Labor Lost, The Comedy of Errors, The Two Gentlemen of
Verona_, and his first tragedy, _Romeo and Juliet_, saw the light on
this stage between 1589 and 1591. Afterward, between 1594 and 1597,
these were possibly increased by _A Midsummer Night's Dream, Richard the
Second, King John, The Merchant of Venice_, and _Henry IV_.

The repertoire of The Theatre also included the so-called "jigs," merry
after-plays, mostly consisting of songs and dances, with frequent
allusions to the events of the day, sneering at the Puritans, the
magistrates, and other enemies of the playhouses.

It has been briefly mentioned above that not long after the
establishment of The Theatre--at the latest in the following year--this
playhouse gained a companion in The Curtain, which thus became the
second of its kind in London.

The two playhouses were very close to each other, but for this very
reason it seems natural to suppose that they were rather meant to
support than to rival each other. They were like a kind of
double-barrelled gun directed against the corporation, and they seem,
indeed, to an equal extent, to have roused the anger of the Puritans,
for they are generally mentioned together in the Puritan pamphlets
directed against playhouses and all other wickedness.

However, the history of The Curtain is almost unknown to us. While we
know a good deal about the outward circumstances of The Theatre on
account of the constant troubles which the Burbage family had to endure
from the proprietor of the ground and the municipal authorities, and of
the subsequent lawsuit, the reports we find about The Curtain are
extremely meagre. We know neither when nor by whom it was built nor when
it was pulled down.

By a mistake which is natural enough, its name has been connected with
the front curtain of the stage. We shall see later that no such curtain
existed in the time of Shakespeare, and we do not know that the
background draperies of that period had the fixed name of "curtain."

Anyhow, the possibility of this derivation is absolutely excluded by the
fact that the spot on which the second London playhouse was built, for
some unknown reason, bore the name of "Curtayne Close." So the playhouse
was simply named after the spot on which it was built.

As long as The Theatre stood close beside it, the two companies shared
almost the same fate. We have seen that in 1597 an order was issued to
pull down both playhouses; this order, however, was never carried out.
But after the removal of The Theatre to Bankside, The Curtain seems to
have gone its own way. The actors, on the whole, were not afraid of
pleading their cause from the stage, and of retorting on the attacks of
their assailants by lashing them with the whip of caricature, and it
seems that those of The Curtain had gone a little too far in their
Aristophanic parodies of their worthy fellow-citizens and chief
magistrate; for in May, 1601, the justices of the peace for the county
of Middlesex received the following admonition from the privy council:
"We doo understand that certaine players that used to recyte their
playes at the Curtaine in Moorefeilds, do represent upon the stage in
their interludes the persons of some gent of good desert and quality
that are yet alive under obscure manner, but yet in such sorte that all
the hearers may take notice both of the matter and the persons that are
meant thereby. This beinge a thinge verye unfitte, offensive and
contrary, to such direction as have been heretofore taken, that no
plaies should be openly shewed but such as were first perused and
allowed, and that minister no occasion of offence or scandall, wee do
hereby require you that you do forthwith forbidd those players to
whomsoever they appertaine that do play at the Curtaine in Moorefeildes
to represent any such play, and that you will examine them who made that
play and to shew the same unto you, and as you in your discrecions shall
thincke the same unfitte to be publiquely shewed to forbidd them from
henceforth to play the same eyther privately or publiquely; and if upon
veiwe of the said play you shall finde the subject so odious and
inconvenient as is informed, wee require you to take bond of the
chiefest of them to aunswere their rashe and indiscreete dealing before
us."

We know nothing of the result of this prosecution, but we may be allowed
to assume that it did not result in very severe measures. We seem to
read a certain concealed sympathy in the writ of the great lords, and we
cannot help suspecting that it was the Puritan citizens who felt
themselves hit and who brought the complaint. If the lords had been the
butt of the mockery, no doubt the proceeding of the actors would have
appeared to them much worse than "rashe and indiscreete."

Until the Globe theatre was built, the Burbages most likely possessed a
share in The Curtain. At any rate, their company used that building
alternately with their own; no doubt, for instance, during the period
between the pulling down of The Theatre and the building of the Globe.
During this period they played (as "The Lord Chamberlain's Men"), among
other things, no less famous a piece than Ben Jonson's _Every Man in
His Humour_, which, according to old tradition, was accepted on the
recommendation of Shakespeare, after having been put aside contemptuously
by the other leading actors. This splendid play had an enormous success.
Of Shakespeare's plays, _Much Ado about Nothing_ and _The Second Part of
King Henry IV_ were acted.

There is scarcely any reason for assuming, with Halliwell-Phillipps and
Ordish, that the first performance of _Henry V_ took place at The
Curtain. At the appearance of this play, in 1599, the Globe theatre was
built, and we cannot doubt that it was here that this popular play saw
the light. So the frequently mentioned "wooden O" in the prologue does
not allude to The Curtain, but to the Globe.

The outward shape of The Curtain we must imagine to have been, like that
of The Theatre, circular, and unroofed in the centre. It is generally
supposed to have been somewhat smaller than Burbage's first theatre.

The last period of the existence of The Curtain is enveloped in
obscurity. But there is no reason to suppose that it did not continue to
exist till all playhouses were put down, during the civil war,
1642-1647. If The Curtain was preserved as long as that, its life was
longer than that of any other playhouse of the Shakespearean period.




                     COSSACK CONQUEST OF SIBERIA

                              A.D. 1581

                        NIKOLAI M. KARAMZIN[1]


    Siberia, the northern home of the Tartars, was little known, even to
    the Russians, until the latter part of the sixteenth century. The
    Cossack conquest of the western portion of the region now called
    Siberia opened that vast territory to Muscovite occupation, and
    gradually it has become known to the world as part of the Russian
    empire.

      [1] Translated by Chauncey C. Starkweather.

    Nothing certain is known of the origin of the Cossack tribes, and no
    final agreement has been reached as to the derivation of their name.
    According to later supposition, their nucleus was a body of refugees
    from the ancient Russian lands invaded by Tartars in the thirteenth
    century. Some of those refugees settled between the embouchures of
    the Ural River, others near the mouth of the Don. Driven by invasion
    to form themselves into a military organization, the Cossacks of the
    Don became a formidable confederacy. Since 1549 they have been under
    the protection of Russia, and have rendered great service to the
    empire.

    Although they have always, since the time of Ivan IV, called the
    "Terrible" (1547-1584), furnished valorous soldiers to Russia, the
    Cossacks of the Don have often rebelled and disowned her authority.
    Russian troops have frequently been ordered to exterminate them.

    During the last years of Ivan IV these Cossacks entered upon that
    eastern conquest which led to Russian expansion into Asia. Karamzin,
    the Russian historian, is the most eminent authority on this subject.


Among the enterprising leaders of the Cossacks at this time were Iermak
Timofeif, John Koltzo--condemned to death by the Czar--James Mikhailoff,
Necetas Pan, and Matthew Meschteriak, all noted for their rare
intrepidity. The Stroganoffs, having heard of the terror inspired by
their audacity among peaceful travellers, as well as amid the nomad
tribes of the neighborhood, proposed an honorable service to these five
brave men. On April 6, 1579, they sent them presents, accompanied by a
letter in which they urged them to quit an occupation unworthy of
Christian soldiers, to leave the class of brigands, and to become
warriors of the White Czar, the monarch of Muscovy; to seek, in fine,
dangers exempt from dishonor, by making peace with God and Russia. "We
have," they added, "lands and fortresses, but few soldiers; come and
defend great Perm and the Christian countries of the North." At these
propositions Iermak and his companions shed tears of emotion. The hope
of effacing their disgrace by glorious deeds, by services rendered to
the State, the idea of exchanging the title of audacious brigands for
that of brave defenders of their country, caused a keen sensibility in
these men, uncouth, if you will, but with hearts still susceptible of
remorse. Unfurling their standard on the bank of the Volga, they made an
appeal to their comrades, and assembled five hundred fifty bold
partisans, at the head of whom they arrived, burning with zeal, in the
presence of the Stroganoffs, who received them with joy, as the annalist
relates. The desires of the former, the promises of the latter, were
realized. The Cossack leaders became the bucklers of the Christian
country. The infidels trembled at the aspect of death which met them
wherever they dared to show themselves. Indeed, on July 22, 1581, the
Cossacks completely overthrew the mirza Begouly, who at the head of
seven hundred Vogulitches and Ostiaks, had ravaged the colonies founded
upon the Silva and the Tchusovaya. This success was the forerunner of
more considerable advantages.

The Stroganoffs had in view not merely the defence of their cities, in
calling the Cossacks to their service. When they had sufficiently tested
the courage and fidelity of these warriors, and had learned the talent
and boldness of Iermak Timofeif, their principal leader--of obscure
origin, the annals say, but illustrious by his greatness of soul--they
formed a troop especially composed of Tartars subject to Russia, of
Lithuanians and of Germans, ransomed from captivity among the Nogais,
for the latter brought, as a matter of custom in their encampments, the
prisoners whom they made in war, as mercenaries of the Czar. In fine,
after having made provisions of arms and of food, the Stroganoffs openly
announced an expedition, which, under the orders of Iermak, should have
Siberia for its objective point. The number of fighting men amounted to
eight hundred forty, all animated with zeal and transported with joy.
Some dreamed of honor, others thought of the spoils. The hope of
meriting their pardon by the Czar inflamed the Cossacks, and the German
or Polish captives, who sighed for liberty, considering Siberia the road
to their fatherland. Iermak began by organizing his little army. He
named the hetmans, subaltern officers, and appointed the brave John
Koltzo as second in command. Long-boats were laden with munitions of war
and food, light artillery and long arquebuses. He procured guides,
interpreters, priests, had prayers said, and received the final
instructions of the Stroganoffs. The latter were conceived in the
following terms: "Go in peace to scour the country of Siberia and put to
flight the impious Kutchum." After having taken the oath of valor and
chastity, Iermak set out, on September 1, 1581, at the sound of warlike
trumpets, on the Tchusovaya, and directed his march toward the Ural
Mountains, preparing himself for great activity, without counting upon
any assistance. This expedition was even made without the knowledge of
the Czar, for the Stroganoffs, who had obtained the grant of the
countries situated on the other side of the chain of rocky mountains,
thought themselves able to dispense with soliciting of the Czar a new
sanction for their important enterprise. We shall see that Ivan did not
share this opinion.

At the moment when the states of Kutchum were to become the conquest of
the Russian Pizarro--as redoubtable for the savages as he of Spain, but
less terrible for humanity--the Prince of Pelim with the Vogulitches,
the Ostiaks, the Siberian Tartars, and the Bashkirs made a sudden
irruption upon the borders of the Kama. He destroyed the Russian
colonies near Tcherdin, Ussolie, as well as many other new fortresses of
the Stroganoffs, and put to death or dragged into captivity a great
number of Christians who were deprived of defenders. But at the news of
the march of the Cossacks against Siberia he left our frontiers to fly
to the defence of his own states.

The crime of these depredations was laid to the Stroganoffs. Upon a
report of Basile Pilepitsin, Governor of Tcherdin, Ivan wrote him that
he was either unable on unwilling to look after the frontiers. "You have
taken upon yourself," he added, "to recall proscribed Cossacks, true
bandits, whom you have sent to make war upon Siberia. This enterprise,
suited to irritate the Prince of Pelim and the sultan Kutchum, is a
treason worthy of the last punishment! I command you to cause Iermak and
his companions to start without delay for Perm and Ussolie on the Kama,
where they may be able to efface their faults by forcing the Ostiaks and
the Vogulitches to submission. You may retain at the most one hundred
Cossacks for the security of your little towns. In case you shall not
execute my commands to the letter, if in the future Perm has still to
suffer the attacks of the Prince of Pelim or of the Sultan of Siberia, I
shall overwhelm you with the weight of my disgrace and I shall have all
those traitors of Cossacks hanged." This menacing despatch made the
Stroganoffs tremble. Nevertheless, a brilliant, unexpected success
justified their enterprise and changed into favor the wrath of their
sovereign.

In beginning the story of the exploits of Iermak we shall at first say
that, like everything that is extraordinary, they have made a strong
impression upon the imagination of the vulgar, and have given birth to
many fables, which are confused in the traditions with the real facts.
Under the title of "annals" they have led the historians themselves into
error. It is thus, for instance, that some hundreds of warriors, led by
Iermak, have been metamorphosed into an army, and, like the soldiers of
Cortés or Pizarro, have been counted as thousands. The months became
years. A somewhat difficult navigation appeared marvellous. Leaving at
one side the fabulous assertions we shall, for the principal facts, base
our statements upon official documents and on the most truthful
contemporaneous account of a conquest which was, indeed, of a most
surprising character.

In the first place, the Cossacks ascended, for four days, the course of
the Tchusovaya, rapid and sown with rocks, as far as the chain of the
Ural Mountains. The two following days, in the shadow of the masses of
stone with which the interior of these mountains is covered, they
reached, by means of the river Serebrennaia, the passage called the
"Route of Siberia." There they stopped, and, ignorant of what might next
happen to them, they constructed for their safety a kind of redoubt to
which they gave the name of _kokui_. They had so far found only deserts
and a small number of inhabitants. Then they moved, towing their small
crafts as far as the river of Iaravle. These places are, even to this
day, marked by the monuments of Iermak; rocks, caverns, remains of
fortifications, bear his name. It is asserted that the big boats
abandoned by him between the Serebrennaia and the Barantcha are not, in
our time, entirely decayed, and that lofty trees shade their ruins, half
reduced to dust. By the Iaravle and the Taghil the Cossacks, reaching
the Tura, which waters one of the provinces of the empire of Siberia,
for the first time drew the sword of conquerors. At the place where the
city of Turinsk now stands there then existed a little town, the domain
of the prince Yepantcha. He commanded a large number of Tartars and
Vogulitches, and received these audacious strangers with a hail of
arrows, shot from the banks of the river, at the place where is seen the
present village of Usseninovo; but, frightened by a discharge of
artillery, he forthwith took flight. Iermak caused the town to be
destroyed, of which the name alone remains, for the residents still give
to Turinsk the name "Town of Yepantcha." The camps and villages situated
along the Tura were devastated.

The Cossack leaders having taken, at the mouth of the Tavda, an officer
of Kutchum's, named Tausak, he, desirous of saving his life,
communicated to them important information regarding the country. As the
price of his frankness, his liberty was given him, and he hastened to
announce to his master that the predictions of the soothsayers of
Siberia were being realized, for according to some accounts these
pretended sorcerers had for a long time proclaimed the near and
inevitable downfall of this state by an invasion of Christians. Tausak
spoke of the Cossacks as wonderful men and invincible heroes, lancing
fire and thunder which penetrate through the cuirasses. Nevertheless,
Kutchum, although deprived of sight, had a strong soul. He made ready to
defend his country and his faith with courage. He at once gathered all
his subjects, made his nephew Mahmetkul enter the campaign at the head
of a large force of cavalry, and he himself threw up fortifications on
the bank of the Irtisch, at the foot of the Tchuvache mountain, thus
closing to the Cossacks the road to Isker.

The conquest of Siberia resembles, in more than one regard, that of
Mexico and Peru. Here, also, it was a handful of men who, by means of
fire-arms, put to flight thousands of soldiers armed with arrows or
javelins. For the Moguls, like the Tartars of the North, were ignorant
of the use of gunpowder, and toward the end of the sixteenth century
they still used the arms employed in the time of Genghis. Each one of
Iermak's warriors faced a crowd of the enemy. If his bullet only killed
one of them, the frightful detonation of his gun put to flight twenty or
thirty. In the first combat, held on the bank of the Tobol, at a place
called Babassan, Iermak, under shelter of intrenchments, checked by some
discharges of musketry the impetuosity of ten thousand men of
Mahmetkul's cavalry, who rushed forward to crush him. He at once attacks
them himself, carries off a complete victory, and, opened, as far as the
mouth of the Tobol, a route whose perils were not yet all dissipated.
Indeed, from the height of the steep banks of the river called
Dolojai-Yar the natives poured a shower of arrows on the boats of the
Cossacks.

Another less important affair took place sixteen versts from Irtysh, in
a country governed by a tribal chief named Karatcha, situated on the
shore of a lake which up to to-day bears the name of this intimate
counsellor of the sovereign of Siberia. Iermak having made himself
master of the enemy's camp, found rich booty there, consisting of
provisions of all kinds, as well as a large number of tuns of honey,
intended for the consumption of the sovereign.

The third combat, on the Irtysh, was bloody, and stubbornly fought. It
cost some companions of Iermak their lives, and served to prove how dear
even to barbarians is the independence of their fatherland; for the
defenders of Siberia displayed resolution and intrepidity. Nevertheless,
they yielded the victory to the Russians toward the end of the day,
awaiting a new battle, and without losing either courage or hope. The
blind Kutchum left the fortifications in order to camp upon the
Tchuvache mountain. Mahmetkul was intrusted with the guard of the
intrenchments, and the Cossacks, who the same evening captured the
little town of Atik-Murza, dared not take repose for fear of an attack.

Already the troops of Iermak were visibly diminished. Some Cossacks had
been killed and many wounded, and amid constant fatigues a great number
of them had no strength nor valor left. The leaders profited by this
night of unrest to hold a council on the course to take, and in this
consultation the voice of the weaklings was heard.

"We have satiated our vengeance," they said. "It is time to turn back.
New combats will be dangerous for us, since very soon we shall be unable
to conquer any more for lack of fighters."

"Brothers," answered the leaders, "there is left only one road for us,
and that is the one in the front of us. The rivers are already covered
with ice. In turning our backs, we shall perish amid the snows. And if
we were fortunate enough to get home to Russia, we should arrive there
with the tarnish of perjury, for we have pledged ourselves to conquer
Kutchum or to blot out our faults by a generous death. We have lived
long with a dishonored reputation. Let us know how to die after having
acquired a glorious one! It is God who awards the victory, and often to
the weaker, blessed be his name!"

"Amen!" responded the troop. At the first rays of the sun the Cossacks
hurled themselves on the intrenchments through a cloud of arrows,
crying, "God is for us!" The enemy themselves threw down their palisades
at three different points. The Siberians rushed out sabre or lance in
hand, and engaged in a hand-to-hand conflict which was disadvantageous
for the warriors of Iermak, who were too inferior in numbers. Men fell
on all sides: but the Cossacks, Germans, and Poles formed an unshakable
wall, loaded their guns in good order, and, by a sustained attack,
thinned the ranks of the enemy, whom they drove toward their
intrenchments. Iermak and Koltzo, at the first line, accomplished
prodigies of valor, repeating in a loud voice, "God is for us!" while
the blind Kutchum, placed upon the mountain, in the midst of his imams
and his mollahs, invoked Mahomet for the salvation of his true
believers.

Happily for the Russians, Mahmetkul, being wounded, was obliged to quit
the fight, and the mirzas carried him in a skiff to the other bank of
the Irtysh. At this news, consternation spread throughout the hostile
army. Deprived of its leader it despaired of victory. The Ostiak princes
take flight. They are followed by the Tartars. And Kutchum, learning
that the Christian banners are already floating over the intrenchments,
seeks his safety in the deserts of Ischim, having hardly had time to
remove a part of his treasure from his capital city. This general and
bloody battle decided the domination of the Russians from the chain of
Ural Mountains to the shores of the Obi and the Tobol. It cost the
Cossacks one hundred seven of their bravest warriors, and up to the
present day prayers for the repose of their souls are offered in the
Cathedral of Tobolsk.

On October 27th Iermak, already illustrious for history, after returning
thanks to heaven, made his triumphant entry into the town of Isker, or
Sibir, situated on an elevation on the bank of the Irtysh. It was
defended on one side by intrenchments and a deep moat; on the other, by
a triple rampart. According to the annalist, the conquerers found
immense riches in gold, silver, Asiatic cloth of gold, precious stones,
furs, and so forth, which they shared among themselves like brothers.
The town was entirely deserted. These warriors, who had just conquered a
kingdom, did not see a single inhabitant here. They glutted themselves
with gold and sables, and lacked for food. Nevertheless, three days
later, they saw the Ostiaks arrive, led by their prince Bohar, who came
to bring them presents and provisions, to take the oath of fidelity, and
to ask for mercy and protection. Soon there also appeared a great number
of Tartars with their women and children. They were accorded a gracious
reception by Iermak. He quieted them and let them return to their camps,
after demanding from them a small tribute.

This man, recently the leader of a band of brigands, who had just showed
himself to be an intrepid hero and a skilful captain, likewise employed
his extraordinary genius in matters relating to administration and to
military discipline. He inspired rude and savage peoples with an extreme
confidence in a new power. He succeeded by a just severity in curbing
his turbulent companions-in-arms, so that they dared not practise any
vexations in a country conquered by their boldness and through a
thousand dangers, at the extremity of the world. It is related that the
inflexible Iermak, managing the Christian warriors in the combats,
treated them with rigor for the least fault, and that he punished
disobedience and fornication equally with death. He not only exacted
complete submission from his whole troop, but also purity of soul, in
order to render himself agreeable to the master of the earth and to the
Master of heaven, persuaded that God would accord him the victory with a
small number of virtuous warriors, rather than with a large number of
hardened sinners. "His Cossacks," says the annalist of Tobolsk, "led a
chaste life, on the march as well as during their stay in the capital of
Siberia. Their battles were followed by prayer." But they were not yet
at the end of their dangers.

Some time passed without news of Kutchum, and the Cossack leaders, with
no inquietude, gave themselves up to the pleasures of the chase in the
neighborhood of the town. But Kutchum had drawn near, in spite of his
wound, Mahmetkul had already remounted his horse, and on December 5th he
unexpectedly fell on twenty Russians fishing in the Lake of Abalak, and
massacred them all. As soon as Iermak heard of this surprise, he rushed
in pursuit of the enemy, overtook them near Abalak, at the place where
the borough town of Chamehin now stands, attacked and dispersed them.
Then, having removed the bodies of his companions-in-arms, he buried
them, with military honors, on the cope of Sauskan, near Isker, in the
old cemetery of the Khans. The intensity of the cold, the dangerous
snowstorms, the short winter days of these northern countries, did not
permit him to think of new enterprises of any importance before the
return of spring. While waiting, the peaceful submission of two princes
of the Vogulitches, Ichberdei and Suklem, served soon to expand the
possessions of the Cossacks. The first had his domains beyond the marsh
of Eskalbin, on the banks of the Kuda or the Tavda. The second lived in
the vicinity of Tobolsk. Both voluntarily offered to pay the _yassak_,
or tribute in sable-skins, and took the oath of allegiance to Russia.
Ichberdei was able to secure the special friendship of the Cossacks, to
whom he gave his services as counsellor and guide in the unknown places.

So the affairs of internal administration, the collecting of tribute,
hunting and fishing, the returns from which were indispensable in a
country without architecture, occupied Iermak until the month of April.
Then a mirza informed him that the bold Mahmetkul had again approached
the Irtysh and encamped near Vagai with a small band. The occasion was
favorable; but in order to exterminate this indefatigable enemy, secrecy
and celerity were more necessary than force. Consequently the Cossack
leaders, having chosen sixty of their braves, furtively approached the
camp of the Tartars, cut the throats of many in their sleep, took
Mahmetkul prisoner, and led him in triumph to Isker. This capture caused
Iermak great joy, for he was rid of an enemy full of audacity and
courage, whom he might consider as an important hostage in his relations
with the fugitive Kutchum. Although Mahmetkul was covered with the blood
of Iermak's brothers-in-arms, the latter, abjuring all idea of personal
vengeance, treated him with flattering consideration, while yet holding
him under close watch. As Iermak already had his spies in the distant
sections of Isker, he learned that Kutchum, struck with the reverses of
Mahmetkul, was wandering in the deserts beyond the Ischim. This usurper
was about to be attacked by Seidek--son of Bekbulat, Prince of Siberia,
one of his victims--who was marching against him with numerous bands of
Usbeks. Upon another side he found himself weakened by the defection of
the mirza Karatcha, who, abandoning him in his misfortune, had drawn
away a great part of his troops, and was getting ready to encamp in the
country of Lym, near a large lake, above the junction of the Tara with
the Irtysh. The news was of the nature to cause a lively satisfaction to
the leader of the Cossacks, whose new enterprises were to be favored by
the weakness of the principal enemy of Russia, as well as by the
approach of spring.

Iermak, leaving a part of his troop at Isker, embarked with the other
part on the Irtysh, which he descended, navigating toward the north. The
tribes of the neighborhood already recognized his power, so that he
advanced without obstacles as far as the mouth of the Armidzianka, where
he was stopped by Tartars who were still independent, and who, ensconced
in a fortress, refused to surrender. The fortress was taken by assault,
and the Cossack leaders shot or hanged the principal authors of an
obstinacy dangerous for the Russians. Terrified, the rest of the
inhabitants swore submission and fidelity to Russia, kissing a sabre
dipped in blood. The present cantons of Ratzin, Karbin, and Turtass
dared oppose no resistance. Farther on began the encampments of the
Ostiaks and the Vogules of the Kuda. There, on the steep bank of the
Irtysh their prince Demian, who had taken refuge in a fort with two
thousand warriors ready to fight, rejected all Icrmak's propositions.
According to the report of the annalist: "This little town possessed
within its walls a golden idol which was supposed to have been brought
from ancient Russia at the epoch when she embraced Christianity. The
Ostiaks kept it in a vase filled with water which they drank to revive
their courage. The Cossack leaders, having driven away the besieged
forces with their artillery, entered the town, but they could not
discover this precious idol."

The conquerers now continued their navigation. They perceived a crowd of
soothsayers who were offering a sacrifice to their famous idol of
Ratscha, conjuring it to save them from these terrible strangers. The
idol remained mute, the Russians advanced with their "thunder," and the
frightened soothsayers ran to hide themselves in the thickness of the
forests. It is there that the colony of Ratscha is found to-day, above
the Demiansk. Farther on in the canton of Tzingal, at the place where
the Irtysh, contracted by the mountains, precipitates its rapid course,
a multitude of armed men awaited the Cossacks. But a discharge of
musketry put them to flight, and the Cossacks took the little town of
Nazym, where they found only women and children, stricken with terror
and awaiting death. Iermak treated them with so much kindness that their
fathers and husbands did not delay in coming to find him with a tribute.

After reducing the cantons of Tarkhan to submission, the Cossacks
entered the country of the most considerable of the Ostiak princes,
named Samar. Allied with eight hundred other little princes, he was
waiting for the Russians with firmness, in order to decide, by a battle,
the lot of all the ancient country of Yugorie. Samar boasted of his
courage and of his strength, but he forgot prudence, for he, his army
and his guards, were plunged in sleep when at the hour of dawn the
Cossacks attacked his camp. Awakened by the tumult, he rose, seized his
arms, and fell, shot to death at the first volley. In an instant his
troops dispersed, and the inhabitants agreed to pay tribute to Russia.
Already Iermak had reached the shore of the Obi, an important river,
concerning the course of which the ancient Novgorodians had some
notions, but whose source and mouth, according to the Muscovite
travellers of 1567, were hidden in unknown regions. Master of Nazym,
principal town of the Ostiaks, and of many other fortresses, having in
his power the Prince of Siberia, Iermak had to deplore the loss of one
of his brave companions-in-arms, the hetman Necetas Pan, killed in an
assault with some of the most intrepid Cossacks.

He did not desire to penetrate farther into a country which only
presented frozen deserts to him, places of desolation where during the
summer the burning rays of the sun hardly warmed the surface of immense
marshes covered with moss, and where bogs, hardened by the frost and
strewed with the bones of mammoths, presented the aspect of a vast
cemetery. Iermak appointed Alatscha, an Ostiak prince, as chief of the
tribes of the Obi. Then he again took the road of the capital of
Siberia, treated as a conqueror and a sovereign by his tributaries. He
was received everywhere with demonstrations of absolute submission, as a
redoubtable warrior endowed with a supernatural strength of soul. To the
sound of warlike music, the Cossacks ascended the rivers. They
disembarked clad in their finest raiment in order to astonish the
inhabitants by their riches. Having thus assured the domination of
Russia from Berezoff to Tobol, Iermak, satisfied and tranquil, arrived
safely at Isker.

Then only he announced to the Stroganoffs that with the aid of God he
had been able to conquer the Sultan, had taken his capital, his states,
his nephew, and had made his people take the oath of allegiance to
Russia. At the same time he wrote to the Czar that his poor Cossacks,
proscribed, troubled in conscience and given up to repentance, had
braved death to reunite a vast state to Russia, in the name of Christ
and of their great monarch, for ages upon ages and for as long a time as
it might please God to prolong the existence of the universe. "They
awaited," he added, "the orders of the Russian waywodes, to whom they
were ready to deliver over the kingdom of Siberia, without any sort of
condition, disposed to die for glory or upon a scaffold, according as it
should please God and their master." Charged with this missive, the
second of the leaders, John Koltzo, first companion of Iermak in the
combats and in the councils, departed for Moscow, where he had been
condemned to severe punishment as a state criminal, without fearing the
solemn decree which threatened his life.

Here we anticipate a question which seems natural enough. In announcing
so late his successes to the Stroganoffs, did not Iermak, influenced by
the easy conquest of Siberia, think, as some historians suppose, of
reigning independently over that country? Although conqueror, his forces
were diminishing every day, and was not the need of aid the only and
true motive for his bearing toward Ivan? But how can it be imagined that
this prudent leader should not have foreseen, at the beginning of his
expedition, that a handful of rash men, abandoned by Russia, would in
three or four years have been annihilated by battles or diseases; that
in a rigorous climate they would succumb amid deserts and thick forests,
impenetrable refuges of a savage and fierce population, whom fire-arms
only could force to pay tribute to strangers? It is more probable that,
not having been an eye-witness of the facts, the annalist established
upon hypothesis the order in which they succeeded each other. Perhaps
Iermak feared to boast too soon of his success, desiring, above all, to
achieve the conquest of Siberia, which he thought he had done in driving
Kutchum into the deserts and in establishing the limits of the Muscovite
empire on the banks of the Obi.

Transported with joy at the news they had just received from the
hetmans, the Stroganoffs set out at once for Moscow, eager to
communicate to the Czar all the details of this glorious enterprise.
They urged him to finish the reduction of Siberia, simple private
citizens like themselves not possessing the means to preserve so vast a
conquest. The envoys of Iermak, John Koltzo and his companions, also
appeared before the Prince to offer him the realm of Siberia, as well as
the precious furs of sables, black foxes, and castors.

These were, since a long time, the first transports of joy in gloomy
Moscow. The Czar and the nation seemed to wake up. At court, on the
great square, was repeated with intoxication, "God has sent a new empire
to Russia!" Bells were rung, solemn thanks were returned to heaven, as
at the epoch of Kazan and of Astrakhan, the happy time of the Czar's
youth! Rumor exaggerated the glory of this conquest.

There was no talk but of huge armies destroyed by the Cossacks, of a
great number of peoples subjected by their valor, of the immense riches
which they had found. In a word, Siberia seemed to have fallen from the
sky for the Russians, and, to set off still further Iermak's success, it
was forgotten that from time immemorial this country had been known to
the Russians. The disgrace of the Cossacks gave place to honors. John
Koltzo, bowing his head in humility before the Czar and the boyars,
heard nothing but expressions of good-will, and of praise for his
conduct and the name of valiant warrior. Greatly moved, he kissed the
hand of the Czar, who caused to be given to him, as well as to the other
envoys of Siberia, silver, cloth, and stuffs of value. Ivan immediately
sent to Iermak Prince Simeon Bolkovsky and the officer John Glukoff with
five hundred strelitz (infantry). He authorized John Koltzo to raise
volunteers to go and establish himself in the new countries of Tobol,
and ordered the Bishop of Vologda to send ten priests thither for the
purpose of celebrating divine service. Prince Bolkovsky was ordered to
take, in the spring, the boats of the Stroganoffs and embark on the
Tchusovaya (river), to follow the traces of the hero of Siberia. These
illustrious citizens, the real authors of this important acquisition to
Russia, yielded it to the state. But in recompense, and as a reward for
their services and their zeal, Ivan made to Simeon Bolkovsky a
concession of two borough towns, the Great and Little Sol, on the Volga.
Maxime and Necetas obtained the privilege of carrying on commerce in all
their cities without paying any tax or duty.

While awaiting good news from Russia, the conquerors of Siberia did not
give themselves up to a sterile repose. They advanced by the Tavda as
far as the country of the Vogulitches, and near the mouth of that river
where the Tartar princes Labutan and Petschenieg held sway. In a bloody
engagement Iermak put them to flight on the shores of a lake; and the
annalist reports that at his time many human bones were still to be seen
there. But the timid inhabitants of the cantons of Koschutz and of
Tabarin paid the tribute demanded by the Cossack leader without a
murmur. These peaceful savages lived in an absolute independence, having
neither princes nor chiefs. They only gave their respect to certain rich
men, whose wisdom was generally recognized, and took them as judges in
their quarrels. They yielded an equal esteem to some pretended
soothsayers. One of these, gazing upon Iermak with a holy terror,
predicted long glory for him, but kept silence about his approaching
death. Here fable creates new giants among the dwarfs of Vogulie, who
are scarcely two archines in height. According to one of these stories,
the Russians saw with surprise, near the town of Tabarin, a giant two
fathoms tall, who seized a dozen men at a time and smothered them in his
arms. Not being able to take him alive, they killed him with gunshots.

On the whole, the relation of this latter expedition is not very
authentic, and is only found in the supplement to the _Chronicles of
Siberia_. One may also read there that, after having reached the
marshes and forests of Pelim, dispersed the Vogulitches, and made
numerous prisoners, Iermak sought to gather from the latter certain
information regarding the roads which lead from the banks of the Upper
Tavda to Perm, across a chain of rocky mountains, in order to discover a
less dangerous and less difficult communication with Russia, but that it
was impossible to open a road in deserts swampy in summer and buried
under deep snows in winter. Iermak succeeded in increasing the number of
his tributaries, and in extending his domains as far as the shore of
Sosva, in the ancient country of Yugorie. He had enclosed in their
limits the country of Kondinie, little known up to that time, although
long placed among the titles of the Muscovite sovereigns. He then
returned to the capital of Siberia, where he awaited the recompense of
his glorious works.

John Koltzo had arrived at Isker, charged with the bounties of the Czar,
followed by Prince Bolkovsky with his warriors. The former gave rich
presents to the leaders as well as to the soldiers. He was the bearer,
for Iermak, of two cuirasses, a cup of silver, and a cloak which the
Czar had worn himself. In a letter full of goodness, Ivan announced to
the Cossacks his entire forgetfulness of their faults and the eternal
recognition of Russia for their important services. He affirmed that he
appointed Iermak prince of Siberia, commanding him to administer and
govern that country, as he had already done up to that time; to
establish order there, and, in fine, to consolidate there the supreme
power of the Czar. On their side, the Cossacks rendered honors to the
waywodes of Ivan as well as to all the strelitz. They made them presents
of sables and treated them with all the luxury which their position
permitted, preparing together for new enterprises. However, this
happiness of Iermak and his companions was not of long duration; we
touch upon the beginning of their reverses.

In the first place, a fearful scurvy showed itself among the troops, a
disease common to those who arrive in cold and damp climates, in savage
and almost uninhabited countries. The strelitz were attacked first. Soon
it was communicated to the Cossacks, many of whom lost their strength
and their life. Next, winter brought a great dearth of food. The
excessive cold, tempests, snow-storms, hindered the hunting and fishing
as well as the arrival of grain from the neighboring encampments, some
inhabitants of which occupied themselves with a poorly productive
agriculture. Famine began to be felt; disease made progress and
continually took off many victims, among whom was Prince Bolkovsky. They
gave him an honorable funeral at Isker. The general weakness seized the
heart of Iermak also. He feared not death, long accustomed to brave it,
but he was afflicted with the idea of losing his conquest, of betraying
the hopes of the Czar and of Russia. Happily this calamity ceased with
spring. The atmospheric heat helped the cure of the diseases, and
convoys of provisions restored plenty among the Russians. Then Iermak
made Prince Mahmetkul start for Moscow, announcing to the Czar that,
while all was going on well in Siberia, yet he asked immediately for
more considerable aids than the first, in order to preserve his
conquests and to be able to make new ones. Mahmetkul, faithful observer
of the law of Mahomet, served afterward in the Russian armies.

Iermak resolved to intimidate his enemies and to guarantee his safety
for the future. To this effect, although he had but a feeble troop left,
he undertook to pursue Karatcha, ascending the Irtysh in order to extend
the possessions of Russia toward the east. He overthrew Prince Beghiche
and captured his city, of which the ruins may still be seen on the
shores of a sinuous lake, near the mouth of the Vogai. He made himself
master of all the country which stretches as far as the Ischim,
terrifying by his vengeance those who dared resist him, and sparing
those who lay down their arms. In the country of Sargaty there lived an
illustrious old man, a former Tartar chief, a hereditary judge of all
the tribes since the first khan of Siberia. He made the act of
submission as well as Prince Etichai, who governed the city of Tehend.
The latter, bearing tribute to Iermak, presented his young daughter,
betrothed to the son of Kutchum. But the hetman, a rigid observer of the
laws of chastity, sent the young girl home. Near the mouth of the
Ischim, a bloody quarrel arose between the soldiers of Iermak and the
wild inhabitants of that wretched country, in which five brave Cossacks
lost their lives. Their memory is still celebrated in the melancholy
songs of Siberia. The little town of Tachatkan also fell into the power
of the Russians. Their chief did not judge it advisable to attack a more
important place, founded by Kutchum, on the banks of the lake Aussaklu.
He penetrated as far as the shore of Chische, where the deserts begin;
imposed tributes on this new conquest, and returned to take to Isker the
spoils which were to be his last trophies.




                 FIRST COLONY OF ENGLAND BEYOND SEAS

                              A.D. 1583

                             MOSES HARVEY


    In the Elizabethan era, when maritime discovery was being actively
    pursued by England's adventurous spirits, Sir Humphrey Gilbert,
    half-brother of Sir Walter Raleigh, the founder of Virginia, took
    possession of Newfoundland, with feudal ceremony, in the name of the
    Virgin Queen. Sir Humphrey's expedition was barren of results in the
    way of colonization, and even in the way of discovery on the island;
    while it proved fatal to its leader, and those who sailed with him
    on the Squirrel, for on the return voyage to England the vessel
    foundered at sea, and only the companion-ship, the Golden Hind,
    reached the port of Falmouth, Devon. But the formal occupation of
    Newfoundland at that early period makes it the most ancient colony
    of the British crown, English settlement beginning shortly after Sir
    Humphrey Gilbert's visit, though interrupted between the years 1692
    and 1713 by French attempts at conquest.


Up to this time no attempt had been made to colonize Newfoundland or any
of the neighboring lands. The hardy fishermen of various nationalities,
among whom Englishmen were now much more numerous than formerly, were in
the habit of frequenting the shores of the island during the summer and
using the harbors and coves for the cure of their fish, returning home
with the products of their toil on the approach of winter. Eighty-six
years had passed away since Cabot's discovery, and we now arrive at the
year 1583, a memorable date in the history of Newfoundland. On August
5th of that year there were lying in the harbor of St. John's thirty-six
vessels belonging to various nations, Portuguese, Spanish, French, and
English, all employed in fishing. In addition to these there were four
English warships which had arrived the day before. They were the
Delight, the Golden Hind, the Swallow, and the Squirrel. Early on this
morning boats were lowered from the English ships, and the commanders
and officers went on shore. Soon a goodly company had assembled on the
beach, then lined by a few rough wooden huts and "flakes," or stages for
drying cod. The rude inmates of these huts gathered round the company
that landed from the English ships; and the captains and officers of the
other vessels were there by special summons. A very curious and motley
group was that which then stood on the beach of St. John's
harbor--swarthy, bronzed sailors and fishermen of Spain, Portugal, and
France, in the costumes of the sixteenth century. Soon a circle formed
round one commanding figure--a man of noble presence, wearing the richly
slashed and laced doublet, velvet cloak, trunk-hose, and gay hat and
feather which constituted the dress of gentlemen in the days of Queen
Elizabeth. This was no other than Sir Humphrey Gilbert, one of the
gallant knights of Devonshire. He unrolled a parchment scroll, and
proceeded to read the royal patent authorizing him to take possession of
Newfoundland on behalf of his royal mistress, and exercise jurisdiction
over it and all other possessions of the crown in the same quarter. Twig
and sod were presented to him in feudal fashion, and, in the name of
Queen Elizabeth, he solemnly annexed the island to the British Empire.
The banner of England was then twisted on a flag-staff; the royal arms,
cut in lead, were affixed to a wooden pillar, near the water's edge, and
the ceremony was complete. The grant gave Sir Humphrey Gilbert
jurisdiction for two hundred leagues in every direction, so that the
limits included Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, part of Labrador, as well as
the islands of Newfoundland, Cape Breton, and Prince Edward Island--a
right royal principality.

This Sir Humphrey Gilbert, the first settler in Newfoundland, who, with
some two hundred fifty followers from Devonshire, had arrived with the
view of making the western wilderness a home for Englishmen, was a son
of Sir Otho Gilbert, of Compton castle, Torbay. His mother was a
Champernoun of purest Norman descent, and "could probably boast of
having in her veins the blood of Courtneys, Emperors of Byzant." Sir
Otho had three sons by this lady, John, Humphrey, and Adrian, who all
proved to be men of superior abilities. They were all three knighted by
Elizabeth, a distinction which, coming from the hands of the great
Queen, marked its recipient as a gentleman and a brave warrior. Sir Otho
died, and his widow married Walter Raleigh, a gentleman of ancient blood
but impoverished, and at the time living at Hayes, Devon. To her second
husband the fair Champernoun bore a son whose fame was destined to be
world-wide, and who, in a period more prolific of great men and great
events than any before or since, played a gallant part, and was also
knighted, as Sir Walter Raleigh, by Queen Bess. Thus Sir Humphrey
Gilbert and Sir Walter Raleigh were half-brothers, each being trained in
the simple and manly yet high-bred ways of English gentlemen. When
Humphrey Gilbert grew up he embraced the profession of arms, and won
high distinction in Continental and Irish wars. At length, in his mature
manhood, he and his distinguished half-brother Raleigh formed the design
of first colonizing Newfoundland, and then the neighboring islands and
continent. Hence we find him on August 5, 1583, standing on the beach in
the harbor of St. John's. Sir Walter Raleigh had embarked on the same
expedition, but a contagious disease broke out on board his ship which
compelled his return.

The enterprise of Sir Humphrey Gilbert was worthy of a heroic and
patriotic nobleman. It was, nevertheless, doomed to end in disaster and
death. In prosecuting further explorations one of Sir Humphrey's vessels
was wrecked and the whole crew perished. The little fleet had struggled
with contrary winds for many days. Eventually the Delight, the largest
vessel, drifted into the breakers on a lee shore and struck upon a rock.
She went rapidly to pieces. Seventeen of the crew got into the longboat,
and, after seven days, fifteen of them reached port. But the captain,
Morris Browne, refused to leave the ship. "Mounting upon the highest
deck," says the ancient chronicler, "he attained imminent death, so
inevitable." The other vessels stood out to sea and saved themselves. As
winter was approaching and provisions getting low, Sir Humphrey deemed
it wise to steer for England. He had planted his flag on board the
Squirrel, a little cockle-shell of ten tons, and though earnestly
entreated to go on board the larger vessel, the Golden Hind, he refused
to abandon his brave comrades. A great storm overtook them near the
Azores. The Golden Hind kept as near the Squirrel as possible; and when
in the midst of the tempest the crew saw the gallant knight sitting
calmly on deck with a book before him, they heard him cry to his
companions, "Cheer up, lads, we are as near heaven at sea as on land!"
When the curtain of night shrouded the little bark, she and her gallant
crew disappeared beneath the dark billows of the Atlantic. Thus perished
Sir Humphrey Gilbert, scholar, soldier, colonizer, philosopher, one of
the noblest of those brave hearts that sought to extend the dominion of
England in the New World.

To Newfoundland this sad loss was irreparable. Had Sir Humphrey lived to
reach home, no doubt he and Sir Walter Raleigh would have renewed their
efforts at colonization, and, profiting by past errors, would have
settled in the island men of the right stamp. Sir Humphrey Gilbert's
failure was the result of a succession of uncontrollable disasters.
Fully appreciating the immense value of the fisheries of Newfoundland,
he seems to have been thoroughly impressed with the idea that the right
way of prosecuting those fisheries was to colonize the country, and
conduct them on the spot, whereby he would have established a resident
population, who would have combined fishing with the cultivation of the
soil. It was a departure from this policy, and a determination, at the
behest of selfish monopolists, to make the island a mere
fishing-station, that postponed for many weary years the prosperity of
the colony, blighting the national enterprise, and paralyzing the
energies of the people.




                 ASSASSINATION OF WILLIAM OF ORANGE

                     DIVISION OF THE NETHERLANDS

                              A.D. 1584

                         JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY


    Throughout the earlier period of the "heroic age of the Netherlands"
    William of Orange, the natural leader of his people, displayed
    qualities of foresight, prudence, and courage worthy of the position
    which he held. Without great generalship, "he knew how to wait and
    turn his reverses to account." His life was constantly in danger and
    was repeatedly attempted, but his resolution was never disturbed by
    fear. While meriting the surname of the "Silent," he expressed
    himself effectively in the decisive speech of action.

    The Pacification of Ghent (1576)--the union of the seventeen Netherland
    provinces, of which William was at the head--was of short duration.
    The northern provinces were Protestant, the southern mostly Catholic.
    Diverse trade interests also prevented perfect union. Compromise was
    attempted without avail. The Southern provinces acknowledged Philip
    II, while the seven Northern provinces--Holland, Zealand, Utrecht,
    Gelderland, Overyssel, Friesland, and Groningen--formed themselves
    (1579) into the Union of Utrecht, a federal republic, with William
    of Orange as stadtholder.

    A little later the Spanish government published a ban against the
    Prince and set a price upon his head. Many attempts against his life
    were made by assassins eager for the promised reward. How the
    treacherous end was finally compassed is told by Motley with all the
    dramatic realism necessary for a faithful description of the scene.


In March, 1583, one Pietro Dordogno was executed in Antwerp for
endeavoring to assassinate the Prince. Before his death he confessed
that he had come from Spain solely for the purpose, and that he had
conferred with La Motte, Governor of Gravelines, as to the best means of
accomplishing his design. In April, 1584, Hans Hanzoon, a merchant of
Flushing, had been executed for attempting to destroy the Prince by
means of gunpowder concealed under his house in that city and under his
seat in the church. He confessed that he had deliberately formed the
intention of performing the deed, and that he had discussed the details
of the enterprise with the Spanish ambassador in Paris.

At about the same time one Le Goth, a captive French officer, had been
applied to by the Marquis de Richebourg, on the part of Alexander of
Parma, to attempt the murder of the Prince. Le Goth had consented,
saying that nothing could be more easily done, and that he would
undertake to poison him in a dish of eels, of which he knew him to be
particularly fond. The Frenchman was liberated with this understanding,
but, being very much the friend of Orange, straightway told him the
whole story and remained ever afterward a faithful servant of the
states. It is to be presumed that he excused the treachery to which he
owed his escape from prison on the ground that faith was no more to be
kept with murderers than with heretics.

Within two years there had been five distinct attempts to assassinate
the Prince, all of them with the privity of the Spanish government. A
sixth was soon to follow. In the summer of 1584 William of Orange was
residing at Delft, where his wife, Louisa de Coligny, had given birth,
in the preceding winter, to a son, afterward the celebrated stadtholder
Frederick Henry. The child had received these names from his two
godfathers, the kings of Denmark and of Navarre, and his baptism had
been celebrated with much rejoicing on June 12th, in the place of his
birth.

It was a quiet, cheerful, yet somewhat drowsy little city, that ancient
burgh of Delft. The placid canals by which it was intersected in every
direction were all planted with whispering, umbrageous rows of limes and
poplars, and along these watery highways the traffic of the place glided
so noiselessly that the town seemed the abode of silence and
tranquillity. The streets were clean and airy, the houses well built,
the whole aspect of the place thriving.

One of the principal thoroughfares was called the Old Delft Street. It
was shaded on both sides by lime-trees, which in that midsummer season
covered the surface of the canal which flowed between them with their
light and fragrant blossoms. On one side of this street was the "Old
Kirk," a plain, antique structure of brick, with lancet windows, and
with a tall, slender tower, which inclined, at a very considerable
angle, toward a house upon the other side of the canal. That house was
the mansion of William the Silent. It stood directly opposite the
church, being separated by a spacious court-yard from the street, while
the stables and other offices in the rear extended to the city wall. A
narrow lane, opening out of Delft Street, ran along the side of the
house and court in the direction of the ramparts. The house was a plain,
two-storied edifice of brick, with red-tiled roof, and had formerly been
a cloister dedicated to St. Agatha, the last prior of which had been
hanged by the furious Lumey de la Marck.[1]

      [1] Francis, Duke of Anjou, the French accomplice of Catherine de'
      Medici in persecution of the Protestants, is elsewhere described
      by Motley as "the most despicable personage who had ever entered
      the Netherlands."

The news of Anjou's death had been brought to Delft by a special
messenger from the French court. On Sunday morning, July 8, 1584, the
Prince of Orange, having read the despatches before leaving his bed,
caused the man who had brought them to be summoned, that he might give
some particular details by word of mouth concerning the last illness of
the Duke. The courier was accordingly admitted to the Prince's
bedchamber, and proved to be one Francis Guion, as he called himself.
This man had, early in the spring, claimed and received the protection
of Orange, on the ground of being the son of a Protestant at Besançon
who had suffered death for his religion and of his own ardent attachment
to the reformed faith. A pious, psalm-singing, thoroughly Calvinistic
youth he seemed to be, having a Bible or a hymn-book under his arm
whenever he walked the street, and most exemplary in his attendance at
sermon and lecture. For the rest, a singularly unobtrusive personage,
twenty-seven years of age, low of stature, meagre, mean-visaged,
muddy-complexioned, and altogether a man of no account--quite
insignificant in the eyes of all who looked upon him. If there were one
opinion, in which the few who had taken the trouble to think of the
puny, somewhat shambling stranger from Burgundy at all, coincided, it
was that he was inoffensive, but quite incapable of any important
business. He seemed well educated, claimed to be of respectable
parentage, and had considerable facility of speech when any person could
be found who thought it worth while to listen to him; but on the whole
he attracted little attention.

Nevertheless this insignificant frame locked up a desperate and daring
character; this mild and inoffensive nature had gone pregnant seven
years with a terrible crime, whose birth could not much longer be
retarded. Francis Guion, the Calvinist, son of a martyred Calvinist, was
in reality Balthazar Gérard, a fanatical Catholic, whose father and
mother were still living at Villefans in Burgundy. Before reaching man's
estate he had formed the design of murdering the Prince of Orange, "who,
so long as he lived, seemed like to remain a rebel against the Catholic
King, and to make every effort to disturb the repose of the Roman
Catholic apostolic religion."

When but twenty years of age he had struck his dagger with all his might
into a door, exclaiming as he did so, "Would that the blow had been in
the heart of Orange!" For this he was rebuked by a bystander, who told
him it was not for him to kill princes, and that it was not desirable to
destroy so good a captain as the Prince, who, after all, might one day
reconcile himself with the King.

The "inveterate deliberation," thus thoroughly matured, Gérard now
proceeded to carry into effect. He came to Delft, obtained a hearing of
Villers, the clergyman and intimate friend of Orange, and was somewhat
against his will sent to France, to Maréchal Biron, who, it was thought,
was soon to be appointed governor of Cambray. Through Orange's
recommendation the Burgundian was received into the suite of Noel de
Caron, Seigneur de Schoneval, then setting forth on a special mission to
the Duke of Anjou. While in France Gérard could rest neither by day nor
night, so tormented was he by the desire of accomplishing his project,
and at length he obtained permission, upon the death of the Duke, to
carry this important intelligence to the Prince of Orange. The
despatches having been intrusted to him, he travelled post-haste to
Delft, and, to his astonishment, the letters had hardly been delivered
before he was summoned in person to the chamber of the Prince. Here was
an opportunity such as he had never dared to hope for. The arch-enemy to
the Church and to the human race, whose death would confer upon his
destroyer wealth and nobility in this world, besides a crown of glory in
the next, lay unarmed, alone, in bed, before the man who had thirsted
seven long years for his blood.

Balthazar could scarcely control his emotions sufficiently to answer the
questions which the Prince addressed to him concerning the death of
Anjou, but Orange, deeply engaged with the despatches, and with the
reflections which their deeply important contents suggested, did not
observe the countenance of the humble Calvinist exile, who had been
recently recommended to his patronage by Villers. Gérard had, moreover,
made no preparation for an interview so entirely unexpected, had come
unarmed, and had formed no plan for escape. He was obliged to forego his
prey when most within his reach, and, after communicating all the
information which the Prince required, he was dismissed from the
chamber.

It was Sunday morning, and the bells were tolling for church. Upon
leaving the house he loitered about the court-yard, furtively examining
the premises, so that a sergeant of halberdiers asked him why he was
waiting there. Balthazar meekly replied that he was desirous of
attending divine worship in the church opposite, but added, pointing to
his shabby and travel-stained attire, that, without at least a new pair
of shoes and stockings, he was unfit to join the congregation.
Insignificant as ever, the small, pious, dusty stranger excited no
suspicion in the mind of the good-natured sergeant. He forthwith spoke
of the wants of Gérard to an officer, by whom they were communicated to
Orange himself, and the Prince instantly ordered a sum of money to be
given him. Thus Balthazar obtained from William's charity what Parma's
thrift had denied--a fund for carrying out his purpose.

Next morning, with the money thus procured, he purchased a pair of
pistols, or small carabines, from a soldier, chaffering long about the
price because the vender could not supply a particular kind of chopped
bullets or slugs which he desired. Before the sunset of the following
day, that soldier had stabbed himself to the heart, and died despairing,
on hearing for what purpose the pistols had been bought.

On Tuesday, July 10, 1584, at about half-past twelve, the Prince, with
his wife on his arm, and followed by the ladies and gentlemen of his
family, was going to the dining-room. William the Silent was dressed
upon that day, according to his usual custom, in very plain fashion. He
wore a wide-leaved, loosely shaped hat of dark felt, with a silken cord
round the crown--such as had been worn by the Beggars in the early days
of the revolt. A high ruff encircled his neck, from which also depended
one of the Beggars' medals, with the motto, "_Fidèles au roy jusqu'à
la besace_," while a loose surcoat of gray frieze cloth, over a tawny
leather doublet, with wide, slashed underclothes, completed his costume.
Gérard presented himself at the doorway and demanded a passport. The
Princess, struck with the pale and agitated countenance of the man,
anxiously questioned her husband concerning the stranger. The Prince
carelessly observed that "it was merely a person who came for a
passport," ordering, at the same time, a secretary forthwith to prepare
one. The Princess, still not relieved, observed in an undertone that
"she had never seen so villanous a countenance." Orange, however, not at
all impressed with the appearance of Gérard, conducted himself at table
with his usual cheerfulness, conversing much with the burgomaster of
Leewarden, the only guest present at the family dinner, concerning the
political and religious aspects of Friesland.

At two o'clock the company rose from table. The Prince led the way,
intending to pass to his private apartments above. The dining-room,
which was on the ground floor, opened into a little square vestibule,
which communicated, through an arched passageway, with the main entrance
into the court-yard. This vestibule was also directly at the foot of the
wooden staircase leading to the next floor, and was scarcely six feet in
width. Upon its left side, as one approached the stairway, was an
obscure arch, sunk deep in the wall, and completely in the shadow of the
door. Behind this arch a portal opened to the narrow lane at the side of
the house. The stairs themselves were completely lighted by a large
window, half way up the flight. The Prince came from the dining-room,
and began leisurely to ascend. He had only reached the second stair,
when a man emerged from the sunken arch, and, standing within a foot or
two of him, discharged a pistol full at his heart. Three balls entered
his body, one of which, passing quite through him, struck with violence
against the wall beyond. The Prince exclaimed in French, as he felt the
wound: "O my God, have mercy upon my soul! O my God, have mercy upon
this poor people!"

These were the last words he ever spoke, save that, when his sister,
Catherine of Schwarzburg, immediately afterward asked him if he
commended his soul to Jesus Christ, he faintly answered, "Yes." His
master of the horse, Jacob van Maldere, had caught him in his arms as
the fatal shot was fired. The Prince was then placed on the stairs for
an instant, when he immediately began to swoon. He was afterward laid
upon a couch in the dining-room, where in a few minutes he breathed his
last in the arms of his wife and sister.

The murderer succeeded in making his escape through the side door, and
sped swiftly up the narrow lane. He had almost reached the ramparts,
from which he intended to spring into the moat, when he stumbled over a
heap of rubbish. As he rose he was seized by several pages and
halberdiers, who had pursued him from the house. He had dropped his
pistols upon the spot where he had committed the crime, and upon his
person were found a couple of bladders, provided with a piece of pipe,
with which he had intended to assist himself across the moat, beyond
which a horse was waiting for him. He made no effort to deny his
identity, but boldly avowed himself and his deed. He was brought back to
the house, where he immediately underwent a preliminary examination
before the city magistrates. He was afterward subjected to excruciating
tortures; for the fury against the wretch who had destroyed the "father
of the country" was uncontrollable, and William the Silent was no longer
alive to intercede--as he had often done before--in behalf of those who
assailed his life.

The sentence pronounced against the assassin was execrable--a crime
against the memory of the great man whom it professed to avenge. It was
decreed that the right hand of Gérard should be burned off with a
red-hot iron, that his flesh should be torn from his bones with pincers
in six different places, that he should be quartered and disembowelled
alive, that his heart should be torn from his bosom and flung in his
face, and that, finally, his head should be taken off. Not even his
horrible crime, with its endless consequences, not the natural frenzy of
indignation which it had excited, could justify this savage decree, to
rebuke which the murdered hero might have almost risen from the sleep of
death. The sentence was literally executed on July 14th, the criminal
supporting its horrors with the same astonishing fortitude. So calm were
his nerves, crippled and half roasted as he was ere he mounted the
scaffold, that, when one of the executioners was slightly injured in the
ear by the flying from the handle of the hammer with which he was
breaking the fatal pistol in pieces, as the first step in the
execution--a circumstance which produced a general laugh in the crowd--a
smile was observed upon Balthazar's face in sympathy with the general
hilarity. His lips were seen to move up to the moment when his heart was
thrown in his face. "Then," said a looker-on, "he gave up the ghost."

The reward promised by Philip to the man who should murder Orange was
paid to the heirs of Gérard. Parma informed his sovereign that the "poor
man" had been executed, but that his father and mother were still
living, to whom he recommended the payment of that "merced" which "the
laudable and generous deed had so well deserved." This was accordingly
done, and the excellent parents, ennobled and enriched by the crime of
their son, received, instead of the twenty-five thousand crowns promised
in the Ban, the three seigniories of Livermont, Hostal, and Dampmartin,
in the Franche Comté, and took their place at once among the landed
aristocracy. Thus the bounty of the Prince had furnished the weapon by
which his life was destroyed, and his estates supplied the fund out of
which the assassin's family received the price of blood. At a later day,
when the unfortunate eldest son of Orange returned from Spain after
twenty-seven years' absence, a changeling and a Spaniard, the
restoration of those very estates was offered to him by Philip II
provided he would continue to pay a fixed proportion of their rents to
the family of his father's murderer. The education which Philip William
had received, under the King's auspices, had, however, not entirely
destroyed all his human feelings and he rejected the proposal with
scorn. The estates remained with the Gérard family, and the patents of
nobility which they had received were used to justify their exemption
from certain taxes, until the union of Franche-Comté with France, when a
French governor tore the documents in pieces and trampled them under
foot.

The life and labors of Orange had established the emancipated
commonwealth upon a secure foundation, but his death rendered the union
of all the Netherlands into one republic hopeless. The efforts of the
malcontent nobles, the religious discord, the consummate ability, both
political and military, of Parma, all combined with the lamentable loss
of William the Silent to separate forever the Southern and Catholic
provinces from the Northern confederacy. So long as the Prince remained
alive, he was the father of the whole country, the Netherlands--saving
only two Walloon provinces--constituting a whole. Notwithstanding the
spirit of faction and the blight of the long civil war, there was at
least one country, or the hope of a country, one strong heart, one
guiding head, for the patriotic party throughout the land. Philip and
Granvella were right in their estimate of the advantage to be derived
from the Prince's death; in believing that an assassin's hand could
achieve more than all the wiles which Spanish or Italian statesmanship
could teach, or all the armies which Spain or Italy could muster. The
pistol of the insignificant Gérard destroyed the possibility of a united
Netherland state, while during the life of William there was union in
the policy, unity in the history of the country.




          NAMING OF VIRGINIA: FIRST DESCRIPTION OF THE INDIANS

                           THE LOST COLONY

                              A.D. 1584

            ARTHUR BARLOW                    R. R. HOWISON


    At the age of thirty-two Sir Walter Raleigh had already been
    connected with navigating and colonizing expeditions to North
    America. He was associated with the enterprise of his elder
    half-brother, Sir Humphrey Gilbert, who in 1583 established at St.
    John's, Newfoundland, the first English colony beyond seas. Upon the
    death of Gilbert, in that year, Raleigh succeeded to his enterprise,
    and obtained from Queen Elizabeth, whose favorite he was, a charter
    of colonization.

    When next year he sent out his first expedition to find some
    suitable spot for a colony on the North American coast, Raleigh took
    warning from the unfortunate experiences of Gilbert in the northern
    latitudes, and directed his two commanders, Philip Amidas and Arthur
    Barlow, to take another route. They accordingly took the old way by
    the Canary Islands.

    History is fortunate in possessing Barlow's account of this voyage.
    It has, as one writer says, "all the freshness and gayety of an
    idyl. His description of the sweet smell wafted to the voyagers from
    the American shore, as from some delicate garden abounding with all
    kinds of odoriferous flowers, was noticed by Bacon, and utilized by
    Dryden to flatter one of his patrons."

    Howison's story of the ill-starred colony and the conjectural refuge
    of its remnants among the Croatan Indians of Virginia--as Raleigh
    named the whole region, including the present North Carolina--fittingly
    completes the history of Sir Walter's American enterprise. The
    failure of the colony has been freely charged to his own neglect,
    occasioned by the turning of his mind to more brilliant prospects
    presented by the illusory "El Dorado," whereby so many other
    adventurers were misled.


                          ARTHUR BARLOW

The 27. day of April, in the year of our redemption 1584, we departed
the west of England, with two barks well furnished with men and
victuals, having received our last and perfect directions by your
letters, confirming the former instructions and commandments delivered
by yourself at our leaving the river of Thames. And I think it a matter
both unnecessary, for the manifest discovery of the country, as also for
tediousness' sake, to remember unto you the diurnal of our course,
sailing thither and returning; only I have presumed to present unto you
this brief discourse, by which you may judge how profitable this land is
likely to succeed, as well to yourself, by whose direction and charge,
and by whose servants, this our discovery hath been performed, as also
to her highness and the commonwealth. In which we hope your wisdom will
be satisfied, considering that as much by us hath been brought to light
as by those small means and number of men we had could anyway have been
expected or hoped for.

The tenth of May in this present year we arrived at the Canaries, and
the tenth of June we were fallen with the islands of the West Indies,
keeping a more southwesterly course than was needful, because we doubted
about the current of the Bay of Mexico, disboguing between the Cape of
Florida and Havana, had been of greater force than afterward we found it
to be. At which islands we found the air very unwholesome, and our men
grew for the most part ill-disposed: so that having refreshed ourselves
with sweet water and fresh victual, we departed the twelfth day of our
arrival here. These islands, with the rest adjoining, are so well known
to yourself, and to many others, as I will not trouble you with the
remembrance of them.

The second of July we found shoal water, where we smelt so sweet and so
strong a smell, as if we had been in the midst of some delicate garden,
abounding with all kind of odoriferous flowers; by which we were assured
that the land could not be far distant. And keeping good watch and
bearing but slack sail, the fourth of the same month we arrived upon the
coast, which we supposed to be a continent and firm land, and we sailed
along the same one hundred twenty English miles before we could find any
entrance, or river issuing into the sea. The first that appeared unto us
we entered, though not without some difficulty, and cast anchor about
three arquebuse-shot within the haven's mouth, on the left hand of the
same; and after thanks given to God for our safe arrival thither, we
manned our boats, and went to view the land next adjoining, and to take
possession of the same in the right of the Queen's most excellent
majesty, as rightful queen and princess of the same, and after delivered
the same over to your use, according to her majesty's grant and
letters-patent, under her highness' great seal. Which being performed,
according to the ceremonies used in such enterprises, we viewed the land
about us, being, whereas we first landed, very sandy and low toward the
water's side, but so full of grapes as the very beating and surge of the
sea overflowed them. Of which we found such plenty, as well there as in
all places else, both on the sand and on the green soil on the hills as
in the plains, as well on every little shrub as also climbing toward the
tops of high cedars, that I think in all the world the like abundance is
not to be found: and myself having seen those parts of Europe that most
abound, find such difference as were incredible to be written.

We passed from the sea side toward the tops of those hills next
adjoining, being but of mean[1] height; and from thence we beheld the
sea on both sides, to the north and to the south, finding no end any of
both ways.[2] This land lay stretching itself to the west, which after
we found to be but an island of twenty miles long and not above six
miles broad. Under the bank or hill whereon we stood we beheld the
valleys replenished with goodly cedar-trees, and having discharged our
arquebuse-shot such a flock of cranes--the most part white--arose under
us, with such a cry redoubled by many echoes, as if an army of men had
shouted all together.

      [1] Middle.

      [2] Either way.

This island had many goodly woods full of deer, coneys, hares, and fowl,
even in the midst of summer, in incredible abundance. The woods were not
such as you find in Bohemia, Moscovia, or Hercynia, barren and
fruitless, but the highest and reddest cedars of the world, far
bettering the cedars of the Azores, of the Indies, or Libanus; pines,
cypress, sassafras, the lentisk, or the tree that beareth the mastic;
the tree that beareth the rind of black cinnamon, of which Master Winter
brought from the Straits of Magellan; and many other of excellent smell
and quality. We remained by the side of this island two whole days
before we saw any people of the country. The third day we espied one
small boat rowing toward us, having in it three persons. This boat came
to the island side, four arquebuse-shot from our ships; and there two of
the people remaining, the third came along the shore side toward us, and
we being then all within board, he walked up and down upon the point of
the land next unto us.

Then the master and the pilot of the admiral, Simon Ferdinando, and the
captain, Philip Amidas, myself, and others, rowed to the land; whose
coming this fellow attended, never making any shew of fear or doubt. And
after he had spoken of many things, not understood by us, we brought
him, with his own good liking, aboard the ships, and gave him a shirt, a
hat, and some other things, and made him taste of our wine and our meat,
which he liked very well; and after having viewed both barks, he
departed, and went to his own boat again, which he had left in a little
cove or creek adjoining. As soon as he was two bow-shot into the water
he fell to fishing, and in less than half an hour he had laden his boat
as deep as it could swim, with which he came again to the point of the
land, and there he divided his fish into two parts, pointing one part to
the ship and the other to the pinnace. Which, after he had, as much as
he might, requited the former benefits received, departed out of our
sight.

The next day there came unto us divers boats, and in one of them the
King's brother, accompanied with forty or fifty men, very handsome and
goodly people, and in their behavior as mannerly and civil as any of
Europe. His name was Granganimeo, and the King is called Wingina; the
country, Wingandacoa, and now, by her majesty, Virginia. The manner of
his coming was in this sort: he left his boats, altogether as the first
man did, a little from the ships by the shore, and came along to the
place over against the ships, followed with forty men. When he came to
the place, his servants spread a long mat upon the ground, on which he
sat down, and at the other end of the mat four others of his company did
the like; the rest of his men stood round him somewhat afar off. When we
came to the shore to him, with our weapons, he never moved from his
place, nor any of the other four, nor never mistrusted any harm to be
offered from us; but, sitting still, he beckoned us to come and sit by
him, which we performed; and, being set, he made all signs of joy and
welcome, striking on his head and his breast and afterward on ours, to
shew we were all one, smiling and making shew the best he could of all
love and familiarity. After he had made a long speech unto us we
presented him with divers things, which he received very joyfully and
thankfully. None of the company durst speak one word all the time; only
the four which were at the other end spake one in the other's ear very
softly.

The King is greatly obeyed and his brothers and children reverenced. The
King himself in person was at our being there sore wounded in a fight,
which he had with the King of the next country, called "Piemacum," and
was shot in two places through the body, and once clean through the
thigh, but yet he recovered; by reason whereof, and for that he lay at
the chief town of the country, being six days' journey off, we saw him
not at all.

After we had presented this his brother with such things as we thought
he liked, we likewise gave somewhat to the other that sat with him on
the mat. But presently he arose and took all from them and put it into
his own basket, making signs and tokens that all things ought to be
delivered unto him, and the rest were but his servants and followers. A
day or two after this we fell to trading with them, exchanging some
things that we had for chamois, buff, and deer skins. When we shewed him
all our packet of merchandise, of all things that he saw a bright tin
dish most pleased him, which he presently took up and clapped it before
his breast, and after making a hole in the brim thereof and hung it
about his neck, making signs that it would defend him against his
enemies' arrows. For those people maintain a deadly and terrible war
with the people and King adjoining.

We exchanged our tin dish for twenty skins, worth twenty crowns or
twenty nobles; and a copper kettle for fifty skins, worth fifty crowns.
They offered us good exchange for our hatchets and axes, and for knives,
and would have given anything for swords; but we would not depart with
any. After two or three days the King's brother came aboard the ships
and drank wine, and eat of our meat and of our bread, and liked
exceedingly thereof. And after a few days overpassed, he brought his
wife with him to the ships, his daughter, and two or three children. His
wife was very well favored, of mean stature, and very bashful. She had
on her back a long cloak of leather, with the fur side next to her body,
and before her a piece of the same, About her forehead she had a band of
white coral, and so had her husband many times. In her ears she had
bracelets of pearls hanging down to her middle, whereof we delivered
your worship a little bracelet, and those were of the bigness of good
peas. The rest of her women of the better sort had pendants of copper
hanging in either ear, and some of the children of the King's brother
and other noblemen have five or six in either ear; he himself had upon
his head a broad plate of gold, or copper; for, being unpolished, we
knew not what metal it should be, neither would he by any means suffer
us to take it off his head; but feeling it, it would bow very easily.
His apparel was as his wife's, only the women wear their hair long on
both sides, and the men but on one. They are of color yellowish, and
their hair black for the most part; and yet we saw children that had
very fine auburn and chestnut-colored hair.

After that these women had been there, there came down from all parts
great store of people, bringing with them leather, coral, divers kinds
of dyes very excellent, and exchanged with us. But when Granganimeo, the
King's brother, was present, none durst trade but himself, except such
as wear red pieces of copper on their heads like himself; for that is
the difference between the noblemen and the governors of countries, and
the meaner sort. And we both noted there, and you have understood since
by these men which we brought home, that no people in the world carry
more respect to their king, nobility, and governors than these do. The
King's brother's wife, when she came to us--as she did many times--was
followed with forty or fifty women always. And when she came into the
ship she left them all on land, saving her two daughters, her nurse, and
one or two more.

The King's brother always kept this order: as many boats as he would
come withal to the ships, so many fires would he make on the shore afar
off, to the end we might understand with what strength and company he
approached. Their boats are made of one tree, either of pine or of pitch
trees; a wood not commonly known to our people, nor found growing in
England. They have no edge-tools to make them withal; if they have any
they are very few, and those, it seems, they had twenty years since,
which, as those two men declared, was out of a wrack, which happened
upon their coast, of some Christian ship, being beaten that way by some
storm and outrageous weather, whereof none of the people were saved, but
only the ship, or some part of her, being cast upon the sand, out of
whose sides they drew the nails and the spikes, and with those they made
their best instruments. The manner of making their boats is thus: they
burn down some great tree, or take such as are windfallen, and, putting
gum and resin upon one side thereof, they set fire into it, and when it
hath burned it hollow they cut out the coal with their shells, and ever
where they would burn it deeper or wider they lay on gums, which burn
away the timber, and by this means they fashion very fine boats, and
such as will transport twenty men. Their oars are like scoops, and many
times they set with long poles, as the depth serveth.

The King's brother had great liking of our armor, a sword, and divers
other things which we had, and offered to lay a great box of pearl in
gage for them; but we refused it for this time, because we would not
make them know that we esteemed thereof, until we had understood in what
places of the country the pearl grew, which now your worship doth very
well understand. He was very just of his promise: for many times we
delivered him merchandise upon his word, but ever he came within the day
and performed his promise. He sent us every day a brace or two of fat
bucks, coneys, hares, fish the best of the world. He sent us divers
kinds of fruits, melons, walnuts, cucumbers, gourds, pease, and divers
roots, and fruits very excellent good, and of their country corn, which
is very white, fair, and well tasted, and groweth three times in five
months: in May they sow, in July they reap; in June they sow, in August
they reap; in July they sow, in September they reap. Only they cast the
corn into the ground, breaking a little of the soft turf with a wooden
mattock or pick-axe. Ourselves proved the soil, and put some of our peas
in the ground, and in ten days they were of fourteen inches high. They
have also beans very fair, of divers colors, and wonderful plenty, some
growing naturally and some in their gardens; and so have they both wheat
and oats. The soil is the most plentiful, sweet, fruitful, and wholesome
of all the world. There are above fourteen several sweet-smelling
timber-trees, and the most part of their underwoods are bays and such
like. They have those oaks that we have, but far greater and better.

After they had been divers times aboard our ships, myself with seven
more went twenty mile into the river that runneth toward the city of
Skicoak, which river they call Occam; and the evening following we came
to an island which they call Roanoak, distant from the harbor by which
we entered seven leagues; and at the north end thereof was a village of
nine houses built of cedar and fortified round about with sharp trees to
keep out their enemies, and the entrance into it made like a turnpike
very artificially.[3] When we came toward it, standing near unto the
water's side, the wife of Granganimeo, the King's brother, came running
out to meet us very cheerfully and friendly. Her husband was not then in
the village. Some of her people she commanded to draw our boat on shore,
for the beating of the billow. Others she appointed to carry us on their
backs to the dry ground, and others to bring our oars into the house for
fear of stealing.

      [3] The site of the colony established in the following year, 1585.

When we were come into the utter room--having five rooms in her
house--she caused us to sit down by a great fire, and after took off our
clothes and washed them and dried them again. Some of the women plucked
off our stockings and washed them, some washed our feet in warm water,
and she herself took great pains to see all things ordered in the best
manner she could, making great haste to dress some meat for us to eat.
After we had thus dried ourselves, she brought us into the inner room,
where she set on the board standing along the house some wheat like
frumenty, sodden venison and roasted, fish sodden, boiled and roasted,
melons raw and sodden, roots of divers kinds, and divers fruits. Their
drink is commonly water, but while the grape lasteth they drink wine,
and for want of casks to keep it, all the year after they drink water;
but it is sodden with ginger in it, and black cinnamon, and sometimes
sassafras, and divers other wholesome and medicinable herbs and trees.

We were entertained with all love and kindness, and with as much bounty,
after their manner, as they could possibly devise. We found the people
most gentle, loving and faithful, void of all guile and treason, and
such as live after the manner of the golden age. The people only care
how to defend themselves from the cold in their short winter, and to
feed themselves with such meat as the soil affordeth; their meat is very
well sodden, and they make broth very sweet and savory. Their vessels
are earthen pots, very large, white and sweet; their dishes are wooden
platters of sweet timber. Within the place where they feed was their
lodging, and within that their idol, which they worship, of whom they
speak incredible things. While we were at meat, there came in at the
gates two or three men with their bows and arrows from hunting, whom
when we espied we began to look one toward another, and offered to reach
our weapons; but as soon as she espied our mistrust, she was very much
moved, and caused some of her men to run out, and take away their bows
and arrows and break them, and withal beat the poor fellows out of the
gate again.

When we departed in the evening and would not tarry all night, she was
very sorry, and gave us into our boat our supper half-dressed, pots and
all, and brought us to our boat-side, in which we lay all night,
removing the same a pretty distance from the shore. She perceived our
jealousy, was much grieved, and sent divers men and thirty women to sit
all night on the bank-side by us, and sent us into our boats fine mats
to cover us from the rain, using very many words to entreat us to rest
in their houses. But because we were few men, and, if we had miscarried,
the voyage had been in very great danger, we durst not adventure
anything, although there was no cause of doubt; for a more kind and
loving people there cannot be found in the world, as far as we had
hitherto had trial.

Beyond this island there is the mainland, and over against this island
falleth into this spacious water the great river called Occam by the
inhabitants, on which standeth a town called Pomeiock, and six days'
journey from the same is situate their greatest city, called Skicoak,
which this people affirm to be very great; but the savages were never at
it, only they speak of it by the report of their fathers and other men,
whom they have heard affirm it to be above one hour's journey about.
Into this river falleth another great river called Cipo, in which there
is found great store of muscles, in which there are pearls; likewise
there descendeth into this Occam another river called Nomopana, on the
one side whereof standeth a great town called Chawanook, and the lord of
that town and country is called Pooneno. This Pooneno is not subject to
the King of Wingandacoa, but is a free lord.

Beyond this country is there another king, whom they call Menatonon, and
these three kings are in league with each other. Toward the southwest,
four days' journey, is situate a town called Secotan, which is the
southernmost town of Wingandacoa, near unto which six-and-twenty years
past there was a ship cast away, whereof some of the people were saved,
and those were white people, whom the country people preserved. And
after ten days remaining in an out island unhabited, called Wocokon,
they, with the help of some of the dwellers of Secotan, fastened two
boats of the country together, and made masts unto them, and sails of
their shirts, and having taken into them such victuals as the country
yielded, they departed after they had remained in this out island three
weeks. But shortly after, it seemed, they were cast away, for the boats
were found upon the coast, cast a-land in another island adjoining.
Other than these, there was never any people apparelled, or white of
color, either seen or heard of among these people, and these aforesaid
were seen only of the inhabitants of Secotan; which appeared to be very
true, for they wondered marvellously when we were among them at the
whiteness of our skins, ever coveting to touch our breasts and to view
the same.

Besides they had our ships in marvellous admiration, and all things else
were so strange unto them, as it appeared that none of them had ever
seen the like. When we discharged any piece, were it but an arquebuse,
they would tremble thereat for very fear, and for the strangeness of the
same, for the weapons which themselves use are bows and arrows. The
arrows are but of small canes, headed with a sharp shell or tooth of a
fish sufficient enough to kill a naked man. Their swords be of wood
hardened; likewise they use wooden breast-plates for their defence; They
have beside a kind of club, in the end whereof they fasten the sharp
horns of a stag, or other beast. When they go to wars they carry about
with them their idol, of whom they ask counsel, as the Romans were wont
of the oracle of Apollo. They sing songs as they march toward the
battle, instead of drums and trumpets. Their wars are very cruel and
bloody, by reason whereof, and of their civil dissensions which have
happened of late years among them, the people are marvellously wasted,
and in some places the country left desolate.

Adjoining to this country aforesaid, called Secotan, beginneth a country
called Pomovik, belonging to another king, whom they call Piemacum; and
this King is in league with the next King adjoining toward the setting
of the sun, and the country Newsiok, situate upon a goodly river called
Neus. These kings have mortal war with Wingina, King of Wingandacoa; but
about two years past there was a peace made between the king Piemacum
and the Lord of Secotan, as these men which we have brought with us to
England have given us to understand; but there remaineth a mortal malice
in the Secotans, for many injuries and slaughters done upon them by this
Piemacum. They invited divers men, and thirty women of the best of his
country, to their town to a feast, and when they were altogether merry,
and praying before their idol--which is nothing else but a mere delusion
of the devil--the captain or lord of the town came suddenly upon them,
and slew them every one, reserving the women and children; and these two
have oftentimes since persuaded us to surprise Piemacum his town, having
promised and assured us that there will be found in it great store of
commodities. But whether their persuasion be to the end they may be
revenged of their enemies, or for the love they bear to us, we leave
that to the trial hereafter.

Beyond this island called Roanoak are many islands very plentiful of
fruits and other natural increases, together with many towns and
villages along the side of the continent, some bounding upon the
islands, and some stretching up farther into the land.

When we first had sight of this country, some thought the first land we
saw to be the continent; but after we entered into the haven we saw
before us another mighty long sea, for there lieth along the coast a
tract of islands two hundred miles in length, adjoining to the ocean
sea, and between the islands two or three entrances. When you are
entered between them, these islands being very narrow for the most part,
as in some places six miles broad, in some places less, in few more,
then there appeareth another great sea, containing in breadth in some
places forty, in some fifty, in some twenty miles over, before you come
unto the continent; and in this enclosed sea there are above one hundred
islands of divers bignesses, whereof one is sixteen miles long, at which
we were, finding it a most pleasant and fertile ground, replenished with
goodly cedars and divers other sweet woods, full of currants, of flax,
and many other notable commodities which we at that time had no leisure
to view. Besides this island there are many, as I have said, some of
two, of three, of four, of five miles, some more, some less, most
beautiful and pleasant to behold, replenished with deer, coneys, hares,
and divers beasts, and about them the goodliest and best fish in the
world, and in greatest abundance.

Thus, sir, we have acquainted you with the particulars of our discovery
made this present voyage, as far forth as the shortness of the time we
there continued would afford us to take view of; and so contenting
ourselves with this service at this time, which we hope hereafter to
enlarge, as occasion and assistance shall be given, we resolved to leave
the country, and to apply ourselves to return for England, which we did
accordingly, and arrived safely in the west of England about the midst
of September.

And whereas we have above certified you of the country taken in
possession by us to her majesty's use, and so to yours by her majesty's
grant, we thought good for the better assurance thereof to record some
of the particular gentlemen and men of account who then were present, as
witnesses of the same, that thereby all occasion of cavil to the title
of the country, in her majesty's behalf, may be prevented, which
otherwise such as like not the action may use and pretend. Whose names
are, Master Philip Amidas, Master Arthur Barlow, captains; William
Greenville, John Wood, James Bromewich, Henry Greene, Benjamin Wood,
Simon Ferdinando, Nicholas Petman, John Hughes, of the company.

We brought home also two of the savages, being lusty men, whose names
were Wanchese and Manteo.


                            R. R. HOWISON

Arrived in England, Barlow and Amidas immediately sought the Queen, and
laid before her an account of their voyage and of its results. There was
much of truth as a basis for their wondrous descriptions; but the sober
observer will not fail to mark in this narrative the impress of
imaginations heated by the novelty of their performance and the
encouraging hope of their royal mistress. They spake of the land they
had visited as an earthly paradise; its seas were tranquil and gemmed
with green islands, on which the eye delighted to rest; its trees were
lofty, and many of them would rival the odoriferous products of tropical
soil; its fruits were so lavishly supplied by nature that art needed to
do little more than gather them in summer and autumn, for the wants of
the winter; its people were children of another age when virtue
triumphed, and vice was yet unknown. The Court and the Queen were alike
enlisted, and looked to this discovery as one of the brightest spots in
her lustrous reign.

For a land so distinguished in natural charms, and to which England
designed to devote the expanding energies of her people, a name was to
be found worthy of future love. The Queen selected "Virginia," and none
can deplore the graceful choice. She remembered her own unmarried state;
and connecting, it may be, with this the virgin purity which yet seemed
to linger amid this favored region, she bestowed a name which has since
interwoven itself with the most sensitive chords of a million hearts.

Raleigh had now obtained the honor of knighthood and a seat in
parliament; and deriving from this lucrative monopoly means for further
effort, he made diligent preparation for despatching another fleet to
Virginia. The second expedition consisted of seven vessels, large and
small; and that gallant spirit, Sir Richard Grenville, himself was at
its head. The war with Spain was now in progress, and the richly laden
vessel from South America and the West Indies offered tempting prizes to
English bravery. Sir Richard sailed from Plymouth, April 9, passed the
Canaries and West Indies, captured two Spanish ships, ran imminent
hazard of being wrecked on the dangerous headland now known as Cape
Fear, and reached Wocpcon on June 26th. Manteo was brought back to his
native land, and proved an invaluable guide and interpreter to his newly
made friends.

But their amicable relations with the natives were now to receive a rude
shock, from which they never recovered. At Aquascogoc, an Indian stole
from the adventurers a silver cup; and, on being detected, he did not
return it as speedily as was desired (July 16). For this enormous
offence the English burned the town and barbarously destroyed the
growing corn. The affrighted inhabitants fled to the woods, and thus a
poisoned arrow was planted in their bosoms, which rankled unto the end.
A silver cup, in the eyes of European avarice, was a loss which could
only be atoned by ruin and devastation; and had the unhappy savage
stolen the only child of the boldest settler, a more furious vengeance
could not have followed! To such conduct does America owe the undying
hatred of the aboriginal tenants of her land, and the burden of infamy
that she must bear when weighed in the scales of immaculate justice.

A serious attempt was now made to found a colony. One hundred eight men
were left on the island of Roanoke, comprising in their number some of
the boldest hearts and many of the best cultivated minds that had left
the mother-country. Among them was Thomas Heriot, whom Raleigh had sent
out with a full knowledge of his scientific acquirements, his love of
investigation, and his moral worth. Sir Richard Grenville returned to
England, where he arrived in September, bringing with him a rich Spanish
prize.

The settlers, thus left to their own resources, seem to have done little
in the all-important task of clearing the country and planting corn for
future necessities. Ralph Lane had been appointed governor, a man
uniting military knowledge with experience in the sea. He undertook
several voyages of exploration, penetrated north as far as Elizabeth
River and a town on Chesapeake Bay, and south to Secotan, eighty leagues
from Roanoke. But his most famous expedition was up Albemarle Sound and
the Chowan River, of his adventures in which he has himself given us a
description in a letter preserved by Captain Smith. The King of the
Chawanooks was known by the title of Menatonon. He was lame in one of
his lower limbs, but his spirit seems to have been one of uncommon
activity and shrewdness. He told the credulous English of a country,
four days' journey beyond them, where they might hope for abundant
riches.

This country lay on the sea; and its king, from the waters around his
island retreat, drew magnificent pearls in such numbers that they were
commonly used in his garments and household conveniences. Instantly the
fancies of the eager listeners were fired with the hope of attaining
this wealth; and notwithstanding the scarcity of food, and the danger of
an assault by "two or three thousand" savages, they continued to toil up
the river. They labored on until they had nothing for sustenance except
two dogs of the mastiff species and the sassafras leaves which grew in
great abundance around them. Upon this inviting fare they were fain to
nourish their bodies, while their souls were fed upon the hope of
finally entering this region of pearls; but at length, in a state near
to starvation, they returned to Roanoke, having made no discovery even
so valuable as a copper spring high up the Chowan River, concerning
which the Indians had excited their hopes.

Thomas Heriot employed his time in researches more rational than those
which sought for pearls amid the wilderness of America. He intermingled
freely with the Indian tribes, studied their habits, their manners,
their language, and origin. He sought to teach them a theology more
exalted than the fancies of their singular superstition, and to expand
their minds by a display of the instruments of European science. He
acquired a vast fund of information as to the state of the original
country, its people and its products, and to his labors we may yet be
indebted in the progress of this narrative.

But we have reason to believe that a great part of the colonists
contributed nothing to the success of the scheme, and did much to render
it fruitless. The natives, who had received the first adventurers with
unsuspecting hospitality, were now estranged by the certain prospect of
seeing their provisions taken away and their homes wrested from them by
civilized pretenders. Wingina, the King of the country, had never been
cordial, and he now became their implacable foe. Nothing but a
superstitious reverence of the Bible, the fire-arms, and the medicinal
remedies of the colonists restrained his earthly enmity; but at length,
upon the death of his father, Ensenore, who had been the steady friend
of the whites, he prepared for vengeance. In accordance with a custom
common among the Indians, he had changed his name to Pemissapan, and now
drew around him followers to aid in his scheme of death. Twenty or more
were to surround the hut of Lane, drive him forth with fire, and slay
him while thus defenceless. The leader destroyed, the rest of the
colonists were to be gradually exhausted by starving, until they should
fall an easy prey to the savages. But this well-concerted plan was
betrayed to the English--a _rencontre_ occurred, and several Indians
were slain. The settlers considered themselves justifiable in meeting
the treachery of the foe by a stratagem, which drew Pemissapan and eight
of his principal men within their reach, and they were all shot down in
the skirmish (1586).

But this success did not assuage the hunger of the famished colonists.
They were reduced to extremity, when a seasonable relief appeared on
their coasts (June 8th). While despair was taking possession of their
bosoms, the white sails of a distant fleet were seen, and Sir Francis
Drake, with twenty-three ships, was soon in their waters. He had been
cruising in search of the Spaniards in the West Indies and had been
directed by the Queen to visit the Virginia colony. His quick perception
instantly discerned the wants of the settlers, and he provided for them
a ship well stored with provisions and furnished with boats to serve in
emergency. But a violent storm drove his fleet to sea and reduced to
wreck the vessel intended to sustain the settlers. Their resolution gave
way; it seemed as though divine and human power were united against
them, and, in utter despondency, they entreated Drake to receive them in
his fleet and carry them to England. He yielded to their wishes. They
embarked June 18th, and July 27th they landed once more on the shores of
their mother-land.

Thus, after a residence of nearly twelve months in Virginia, the first
colonists deserted the country which had been offered as containing all
that the heart of man could desire. Little was gained by their abortive
attempt beyond an increased knowledge of the New World, and another
lesson in the great book of depraved human nature.

It would be pleasing to the lover of Virginia to be able to record the
final good-fortune of Walter Raleigh, but nothing resulted from his
patent except successive disaster and an appalling consummation. The
determined knight had sent a ship to seek the colony; and this arrived
after the disheartened settlers had sailed with Sir Francis Drake, and,
thus finding the island deserted, it returned to England. Two weeks
afterward Sir Richard Grenville arrived with two ships well-appointed,
but no flourishing settlement greeted his eager eyes. Unwilling to
abandon the semblance of hope, he left fifteen men on the island, well
provided with all things essential to their comfort, and then spread his
sails for England (1587).

In the succeeding year Raleigh prepared for another attempt. Convinced
that the Bay of Chesapeake, which had been discovered by Lane, afforded
greater advantages for a colony, he directed his adventurers to seek its
shores, and gave them a character of corporation for the city of
Raleigh--a name that North Carolina has since, with merited gratitude,
bestowed upon her most favored town. John White assumed command of this
expedition, and they were soon in the waters of Virginia (July 22d). The
cape to which maritime terrors have given an expressive name threatened
them with shipwreck, but at length they arrived in safety at Hatteras,
and immediately despatched a party to Roanoke to seek the settlers left
by Sir Richard Grenville. A melancholy silence pervaded the spot--the
huts were yet standing, but rank weeds and vines had overspread them,
and striven to reclaim to the wilderness the abortive efforts of human
labor. Not one man could be found, but the bones of one unhappy victim
told in gloomy eloquence of conflict and of death. From the reluctant
statements of the natives, they gathered the belief that these men had
either all perished under the attacks of overwhelming numbers, or had
gradually wasted away under the approaches of disease and famine.

A discovery so mournful held out no cheering prospects to the new
adventurers; yet they determined to renew the attempt upon the island
adjoining Hatteras. About one hundred fifteen persons were landed and
prepared for their novel life. The Indians were no longer pacific; the
spirit of Wingina had diffused itself through every bosom, and the
unfortunate mistake, which caused the death of a friendly savage,
contributed much to the general hostility. But amid so much that was
unpropitious, two events occurred to shed a faint light upon their days
(August 13th). Manteo, the faithful friend of the early visitors, was
baptized with the simple though solemn rites of the Christian faith, and
upon him was bestowed the sounding title of Lord of Dessamonpeake, and,
a few days after, the first child of European parentage was born upon
the soil of America. Eleanor, daughter of Governor White, had married
Ananias Dare, and on August 18th she gave birth to a female, upon whom
was immediately bestowed the sweet name of Virginia. It is sad to
reflect that the gentle infant of an English mother, and the first whose
eyes were opened upon the New World, should have been destined to a life
of privation and to a death of early oblivion.

But the colonists needed many things from the motherland, and determined
to send the Governor to procure them. He was unwilling to leave them
under circumstances so strongly appealing to his paternal heart, but
yielded to the general wish and sailed on August 27th. But many causes
now opposed his success in the mother-country. Spain was threatening a
descent with her formidable Armada, and England was alive with
preparations to meet the shock. Raleigh and Grenville entered with
enthusiasm into the interests of their country, and were no longer in a
state to furnish aid for a distant colony. Not until April 22, 1588,
could they prepare two small barks for a voyage to Virginia, and these,
drawn away by their eager thirst for Spanish prizes laden with Mexican
gold, wandered from their route, and were driven back by superior
enemies to their original ports.

Yielding to his disappointment and mortification at these repeated
disasters, and exhausted in money by his enormous outlays, Raleigh no
longer hoped for success from his own exertions. Forty thousand pounds
had been expended and no return had been made. On March 7, 1589, he
assigned his patent to Thomas Smith, Richard Hakluyt, and others, who
had the means and the experience of merchants, or rather he extended to
them the rights enjoyed under his patent and exercised by him in giving
the charter for the "City of Raleigh." With this assignment he gave one
hundred pounds for the propagation of Christian principles among the
savages of Virginia.

But the energetic soul of Raleigh no longer ruled, and doubtful zeal
impelled the assignees. Not until March, 1590, could Governor White
obtain three ships for his purposes; and though their names might have
incited him, by the motives both of earthly hope and religious trust,
yet he preferred an avaricious cruise among the West India Isles to a
speed which might, peradventure, have preserved the life of his
daughter. He arrived at Hatteras August 15th, and sought the settlers
left there three years before. The curling smoke of grass and trees in
flame gave them encouragement, but they sought in vain their
long-neglected friends. On the bark of a tree was found the word
"Croatan," legibly inscribed, and White hoped, from the absence of the
cross, which he himself had suggested as a sign of distress, that the
settlers were still in being; but as they proceeded to Croatan a furious
storm arose and drove them from the coast, and their dismayed spirits
could find no relief except in a return to England.

No lingering trace has ever marked the fate of this unhappy colony. The
generous Raleigh in vain sent five successive messengers to seek and
save. They were gone, and whither no tongue was left to tell. Modern
ingenuity may be indulged in the forlorn suggestion that they were
amalgamated among their savage neighbors, but sober thought will rather
fear that they perished under the mingled weight of famine, of
disappointed hope, and of Indian barbarity.




                       DRAKE CAPTURES CARTAGENA

            HE "SINGES THE KING OF SPAIN'S BEARD" AT CADIZ

                            A.D. 1586-1587

                            JULIAN CORBETT


    Sir Francis Drake (born in Devonshire about 1540; died in 1596),
    greatest of the Elizabethan seamen, has been the subject of perhaps
    equal praise and blame at the hands of the world's historians. So
    famous were his exploits, and so scanty the actual knowledge of them
    in his own time, that "he was not dead before his life became a
    fairy-tale." But history has distinguished fact from legend in the
    life of this naval hero, whose undisputed achievements have kept his
    name conspicuous among his country's foremost sea-fighters.

    He began his career in the coasting-trade, sailed with Sir John
    Hawkins in 1567, and three years later began privateering operations
    against the Spaniards in the New World, by way of making good the
    losses which they had inflicted upon him. These depredations on
    Spanish possessions were continued through many years, with
    occasional attacks upon the coast of Spain itself. "By Spanish
    historians," says an English writer, "these hostilities are
    represented as unprovoked in their origin, and as barbarous in their
    execution, and candor must allow that there is but too much justice
    in the complaint."

    Whether justifiable or not, these aggressive acts of Drake had much
    to do with the desire for revenge upon England which led Philip II
    to prepare for a great invasion of that country. Drake, on his
    return, in 1580, from the first English circumnavigation of the
    globe, was knighted by Queen Elizabeth. She now gave him important
    commands, and from this period at least his career may be regarded
    in connection with the regular service of his sovereign.

    In the autumn of 1585 Drake sailed with twenty-five ships against
    the Spanish Main, harrying the coasts of the West Indies and of
    northern South America. Cartagena, which he captured in 1586, was
    the chief port and stronghold of New Granada (now Colombia). By this
    feat, as also by his "singeing of the beard of the Spanish King" at
    Cadiz next year, he assailed with telling effect the power with
    which England was at once to be brought into more serious conflict.


The mill of Philip's purpose went grinding on relentlessly. He invited a
large fleet of English corn-ships to the relief of his famine-stricken
provinces, and then, as they lay unsuspecting in his ports, he seized
them every one. Never once was the growing armada out of his mind. This
atrocious outrage was but to feed his monster, and swift and sharp was
the retribution it earned. It was in the last days of May, and, ere June
was out, far and near the seas were swarming with English privateers,
and "The Dragon" was unchained.

Fortified with letters of marque to release the embargoed vessels, Drake
hoisted his flag at Plymouth on the Elizabeth Bonaventura, and there, by
the end of July, "in all jollity and with all help and furtherance
himself could wish," a formidable fleet gathered round him. Frobisher
was his vice-admiral, Francis Knollys his rear-admiral, and Thomas
Fenner his flag-captain. Christopher Carleill was there, too, as
lieutenant-general, with a full staff and ten companies under him. No
such privateering squadron had ever been seen before. It consisted of
two battle-ships and eighteen cruisers, with their complement of
store-ships and pinnaces; it was manned with a force of soldiers and
sailors to the number of two thousand three hundred, and it is not
surprising that constant difficulties delayed its departure.

Yet delay was dangerous in the extreme. The Spanish party had again
taken heart, and were whispering caution in the Queen's ear. Even
Burghley grew nervous that she would repent; but at last he got
sailing-orders sent off, and, with a sigh of relief, entered in his
diary that Drake had gone. To his horror came back a letter from the
admiral still dated from Plymouth, instead of from Finisterre, as he had
hoped, and he sent down a warning to urge the immediate departure of the
fleet. August wore away, and the equipment was still incomplete, when
Drake, who was now in constant dread of a countermand, was alarmed by
Sir Philip Sydney's suddenly appearing at Plymouth and announcing his
intention of accompanying the expedition. Determined to have no more to
do with courtiers and amateur soldiers, he secretly sent off a courier
to betray the truant's escapade to the Court. He must even be suspected,
in his desperation, of having set men in wait to intercept and destroy
any orders that were not to his liking. The precaution was unnecessary.
Sydney was peremptorily stopped, and ere any letter came to stay Drake,
too, the wind had shifted northerly, and, all unready as he was, he
cleared for Finisterre.

There he arrived on September 26th. He was clear away, but that was all.
He was short both of water and victuals. There had not even been time to
distribute the stores he had, or to issue his general orders to the
fleet. He smelt foul weather, too; and, determined to complete somewhere
what he had left undone at Plymouth, he boldly ran in under the lee of
the Bayona Islands in Vigo Bay. The old Queen's officers were aghast.
Entirely dominated by the prestige of Spain, they believed that nothing
could be done against her except by surprise, and they trembled to see
their admiral thus recklessly fling his cards upon the table. But he
knew what he was doing. As with sagacious bravado he had sprung ashore
at Santa Marta, and had mocked the Spanish fleet in Cartagena harbor, so
now before he struck he exulted that his unfleshed host should hear him
shout "_En garde!_" to the King of Spain; that they should listen while
he cried that England cared not for spying traitors, for she had nothing
to conceal; that her fleets meant to sail when and where they would, and
Philip might do his worst. It was a stroke of that divine instinct which
marks out a hero from among able captains--the magic touch of a great
leader of men, under which the dead fabric of an army springs into life
and feels every fibre tingling with the strong purpose of its heart.

Two leagues from the town of Bayona the fleet anchored; and resolved at
once to display his whole strength, and exercise his men in their
duties, Drake ordered out his pinnaces and boats for a reconnaissance in
force. His boldness bore immediate fruit. The Governor sent off to
treat, and by nightfall it was arranged that troops should land, and in
the morning be allowed to water and collect what victuals they could.
But at midnight the threatened storm rolled up. The troops were
hurriedly reëmbarked; and, barely in time to escape disaster, the
flotilla regained the ships. For three days the gale continued,
threatening the whole fleet with destruction till it was got safely up
above Vigo. There the whole of the boats in which the panic-stricken
inhabitants had embarked their property were captured, and, though by
this time the Governor of Bayona had arrived with a considerable force,
he was compelled to permit Drake to carry out his purpose in peace.

By October 8th he was out in the Bayona road again, waiting for a wind
to waft him on his way, and it was reported at the Spanish court that he
had gone toward the Indies. The consternation was universal. The Marquis
of Santa Cruz, high admiral of Spain and the most renowned naval officer
in Europe, declared that not only the African islands, but the whole
Pacific coast, the Spanish Main, and the West Indies were at the
corsair's mercy, and told his master that a fleet of forty sail must be
instantly equipped for the pursuit. But though for another fortnight
Drake rode defiantly at the Bayona anchorage, not a limb of Philip's
inert machinery could be moved against him; and, while the chivalry of
Spain chafed under their sovereign's deliberation, the second blow was
struck.

Madeira was passed by and the Canaries spared; for Palma, which Drake
intended should revictual him, showed so bold a front that he would not
waste time in trying to reduce it. It was on another point that his
implacable glance was fixed.

Five years ago at Santiago, the chief town of the Cape Verd Islands,
young William Hawkins, a personal adherent of Drake's, had been made the
victim of some such treachery as his father and captain had suffered
together at Vera Cruz. From that hour it was doomed. In the middle of
November the fleet arrived in the road and the troops landed. Threatened
by Carleill from the heights above the valley where it lies, and from
the sea by Drake, without a blow the town was abandoned to its fate. For
ten days the island was scoured for plunder and provisions, and ere the
month was out the anchorage was desolate and Santiago a heap of ashes.

Drake's vengeance was complete, and, exulting like Gideon in the
devastation that marked his course, he led his ships across the
Atlantic. Is there a moment in history more tragic than that? For the
first time since the ages began, a hostile fleet was passing the
ocean--the pioneer of how many more that have gone and are yet to
go--the forerunner of how much glory and shame and misery! What wonder
if the curse of God seemed upon it? Hardly had it lost sight of land
when it was stricken with sickness. In a few days some three hundred men
were dead, and numbers of others prostrate and useless; but in unshaken
faith, and with reverent wonder at the inscrutable will of Heaven, Drake
never flinched or paused. His only thought was how to check the evil. At
Dominica he got fresh provisions from the natives, and refreshed his
sick with a few days on shore. At St. Christopher he again halted to
spend Christmas and elaborate the details of his next move.

The point where Philip was now to feel the weight of his arm was the
fair city of Santo Domingo in Española. It was by far the most serious
operation Drake had yet undertaken. Hitherto his exploits had been
against places that were little more than struggling settlements, but
Santo Domingo was indeed a city, stone-built and walled, and flanked
with formidable batteries. It was held by a powerful garrison, as Drake
learned from a captured frigate, and a naval force had been concentrated
in the harbor for its defence. As the oldest town in the Indies, its
renown had hitherto secured it from attack, and in Spain it was held the
queen city of the colonial empire. The moral effect of its capture would
be profound, and, besides, from Virginia the governor of Raleigh's new
colony had sent home a fabulous report of its wealth. Drake was fully
alive to the gravity of the task before him. His dispositions had never
been so elaborate, and they evince at least a touch of that military
genius which the strategists of the next century denied him. While the
sick were recruiting he sent forward a squadron to reconnoitre, and, if
possible, to open communications with the maroons who infested the
hills. For three days the garrison was thus exhausted with constant
alarms, and then on January 1, 1586, the whole fleet appeared in the
bay.

Night fell, and, as darkness closed the eyes of the harassed garrison,
with the fleet all was activity. In boats and pinnaces the troops were
being rapidly embarked, and soon Drake in person was piloting the
flotilla for the surf-beaten shore. At a point within the bay, but some
ten miles from the town, a practicable landing-place had been found.
Watch-houses overlooked it, but watchmen there were none. Drake had got
touch with the maroons. By his directions a party of them had stolen
down from the hills, and as the sentries came out from the city in the
evening, swiftly and silently they had been every one despatched. Thus,
unseen and unmolested, the troops were successfully landed, and then,
with pious and cheery farewells to Carleill, Drake returned to the fleet
to prepare the ground for the surprise.

In the morning he anchored in the road, ran out his guns, and proceeded
to threaten a landing at a point close to that side of the town upon
which Carleill was stealthily approaching in two parallel columns. As
the Spaniards saw the fleet preparing the advance of the boats and
pinnaces, the whole of the horse and a large force of foot marched out
of the town to oppose the threatened attack, and took up a position
fronting the sea, with their left resting on the town and the other
flank exposed in the line of Carleill's advance. It was exactly what had
been foreseen, and, ere the Spaniards had discovered that the movement
from the fleet was merely a feint, the horse which were covering their
exposed flank were flying before Carleill's musketeers.

The surprise was complete. Taken in flank by Carleill, and threatened in
the rear by his second column under Powell, the chief of the staff, the
infantry could make no real resistance; and so rapidly was the English
advance pushed home that the struggling mass of friend and foe entered
pell-mell through the open gates of the town. For an hour, alarms of
drum and trumpet mingling confusedly with the sounds of street-fighting
reached the listening fleet as the two columns forced their way to meet
upon the Plaza. But how they fared none could tell, till on a tower a
white staff suddenly appeared, and in another moment the cross of St.
George fluttered gayly out upon the breeze. With a roar of triumph the
ships' guns saluted the signal of victory. The town was won.

Though the garrison fled panic-stricken across the river on the far side
of the city, and the citadel was evacuated in the night, the place was
far too large to be occupied by the force at Drake's command. Following,
therefore, the same tactics that had been successful at Nombre de Dios,
he ordered the troops to intrench themselves in the Plaza and to occupy
the principal batteries. In this way he held the city for a month. The
plunder was disappointing. The city was already a hundred years old, and
its day was done; for the reckless native policy of the colonists had
almost ruined the island. It remained but to treat for a ransom. The
Governor at once declared himself unable to meet the extravagant demands
of the English admiral, and in order to bring him to terms Drake began
to burn the town piecemeal. But so well was it built that little harm
could be done, and every day his impatience increased.

Once, in the course of the negotiations, he sent a boy with a flag of
truce to the Spanish camp. A Spaniard, meeting the lad, so ill-treated
him that he could barely crawl back to die at the admiral's feet. Then
all the fury of Drake's nature burst forth. Two friars who were among
the prisoners were immediately sent ashore and hanged by the
provost-marshal on the scene of the crime. Another was despatched to the
Spanish camp to declare that two more would be executed every morning
until the offender was brought down and hanged on the spot by his own
authorities. In hasty alarm the demand was complied with, and then the
international dinners and the negotiations went on more smoothly.
Convinced at last of the poverty of the colony, Drake accepted a ransom
of twenty-five thousand ducats. The sum, which is equal to about fifty
thousand pounds of our money, though little enough to satisfy the
shareholders, was very serious for the enemy. For besides this loss the
town had been stripped of everything worth carrying away by the troops
and seamen. Two hundred forty guns were taken on board the English
ships; and not only were they thoroughly refurnished from the Spanish
stores, but for a month the whole expedition had lived in free quarters
at the enemy's expense. The entire fleet which lay in the harbor fell
into Drake's hands, and, with the exception of four of the finest
galleons, was given to the flames. Besides the vessels which the
Spaniards themselves had scuttled, two galleys with their tenders,
fifteen frigates, and a galleon were thus destroyed, and hundreds of
galley-slaves set free.

"It was such a cooling to King Philip," said one in Europe as the news
leaked out, "as never happened to him since he was King of Spain." But
as yet Drake was far from done. In the middle of February, with his
force recruited by the English prisoners he had freed, and with a troop
of attendant prizes laden with his spoil, in undiminished strength he
appeared before Cartagena. No city in America was more difficult of
approach, but the memories of the old hard days were still green, when,
storm-beaten, drenched, and chilled, without food or shelter, he had
ridden in the harbor day after day in despite of all the Spaniards could
do, and he knew it all like a pilot. The city was built close to the
shore fronting west, and directly from its southern face an inlet of the
sea stretched many leagues southward along the coast, forming a large
lagoon. The long spit of land which separated this sheet of water from
the sea was pierced by two natural channels. At the far end was the
dangerous Bocca Chica, and some three miles from the city was a larger
entrance known as the Bocca Grande. Between this entrance and the town a
tongue of land ran out at right angles from the spit to the opposite
shore, forming an inner harbor and barring all approach to the city from
the outer part of the lagoon, except by a narrow channel which lay under
the guns of a powerful fort on the mainland.

On its northern and eastern faces the city was encircled by a broad
creek, which ran round it from the inner harbor to the sea in such a way
as to form a wide natural moat, rendering the city unapproachable from
the mainland except by a bridge. This bridge was also commanded by the
harbor fort, nor were land operations possible at any other point except
from that part of the spit which lay between the city and the Bocca
Grande. So finely, however, did this narrow down before the city could
be reached, that between the inner harbor and the sea it was but fifty
paces wide, and here the Spaniards had had time to prepare defences that
looked impregnable. From shore to shore a formidable entrenchment
completely barred the way; and not only was its front so staked and
encumbered as to render a night attack impossible, but its approaches
were swept by the guns and small-arms of a great galeas and two galleys
which lay in the inner harbor.

To a man so tender as Drake ever was for the lives of his men and the
safety of his ships, to attack such a place might well have appeared
hopeless; but the originality of the amphibious corsair at once descried
a hole which had escaped all the science of the Spanish martialists.
Instead of entering by the Bocca Grande, with consummate skill and
daring he piloted the whole fleet through the dangerous channel at the
extreme end of the lagoon. The only impression which so hazardous a
movement could create in the minds of the Spaniards was that he was
about to repeat his Santo Domingo operations, and land his troops there
to attack from the mainland. Such an impression must have been confirmed
as, moving up the lagoon, he anchored opposite the Bocca Grande and
threatened the harbor fort with his boats; but Drake's project was far
different. Instead of being landed on the mainland, Carleill with eight
companies was quietly slipped ashore in the Bocca Grande, with
instructions to make his way diagonally through the woods that covered
the spit till he reached the seashore, and then, instead of advancing on
the front of the intrenchments, to wade along through the wash of the
surf till he was within striking distance of the Spanish position.

Meanwhile Frobisher advanced with the flotilla against the harbor fort,
and as soon as Carleill was heard in contact with the enemy's pickets he
opened fire. The boat-attack was repulsed--indeed, it may only have been
intended as what soldiers then called "a hot alarm"--but Carleill was
completely successful. By the march through the surf he had not only
evaded the obstacles which the enemy had so carefully prepared, but he
had been covered from the fire of the galleys in the harbor, and had
never so much as entered the fire-area of the heavily armed
intrenchments. After a desperate struggle at push of pike, the position
was carried by assault, and once more so hotly was the advantage pursued
that in one rush the whole town was captured. The garrison fled across
the bridge to the hills, and the next day, when Drake brought up the
fleet to bear upon the fort, that also was evacuated.

No success was ever better earned and few more richly rewarded.
Cartagena was the capital of the Spanish Main, and though much younger
than Santo Domingo it was far wealthier. It yielded rich loot for the
men; and for his shareholders Drake, after a long negotiation, succeeded
in exacting a ransom of a hundred ten thousand ducats, besides what he
got for an adjacent monastery. Though to all this plunder Drake could
add the consolation that he had destroyed the galleys and shipping which
crowded the port, and blown up the harbor fort which the Spaniards had
forgotten to include in the convention, he was still unsatisfied. Well
knowing that by an advance up the Chagres River in his boats Panama lay
at his mercy, he was resolved with its capture to crown the campaign;
but as he lay in Cartagena the sickness, which had never really ceased,
broke out again with new virulence, and made such havoc with his force
that he had reluctantly to confess that Panama must wait. To capture it
with the crippled means at his command was impossible, and the only
question was whether Cartagena should be held till he could return with
reënforcements.

The soldiers declared themselves ready to undertake the task; but in a
full council of war it was finally decided that no strategical advantage
would be gained at all proportional to the risk that would be run in
further weakening the fleet, and on the last day of March the signal to
make sail home was flying from the Elizabeth Bonaventura. So severely,
however, did they suffer from the weather and want of water that it was
nearly two months before they reached the coast of Florida. Still Drake
found time and energy to destroy and plunder the Spanish settlement at
St. Augustine, and relieve Raleigh's exhausted colony in Virginia. With
the remnants of the settlers on board, he weighed for England, and on
July 28, 1586, he was writing from Plymouth to Lord Burghley laconically
reporting his return; and, apologizing for having missed the Plate fleet
by only twelve hours' sail--"the reason best known to God"--he declared
that he and his fleet were ready at once to strike again in any
direction the Queen would be pleased to indicate.

"There is a very great gap opened," said Drake in his letter to
Burghley, "very little to the liking of the King of Spain." That, with
the calm request for orders, was his comment on a feat which changed the
destinies of Europe. At its fullest flood he had stemmed the tide of
Spanish empire. It was no less a thing than that.

A few months ago all Europe had been cowering in confused alarm before
the shadow of a new Roman empire. Ever since the first triumph of
Luther, the cause of Reformation had been Steadily losing ground; on
England and the Low Countries hung its only hope, and with the fall of
Antwerp Europe saw itself on the eve of that "last great battle in the
west" which must decide its fate for centuries. In despair of the
result, each trembling power was trying to hide behind the other; each
was thrusting its neighbor forward to break the coming blow; and Philip
led the cheating till his hour should come. He was bent on crushing
Elizabeth; and then, with one foot on the ruins of her kingdom, he meant
to stamp down his rebellious Netherlands into the gloomy Catholicism in
which his own dark soul was sunk. As the fruit of his splendid
deliberation ripened, he strove to cheat Elizabeth into inactivity by a
hope that peace might yet be purchased by the betrayal of the
Netherlands.

Then in laughing gusts came over the Atlantic the rumors of his
exploits, till the full gale they heralded swept over Europe, whirling
into oblivion a hundred intrigues and bending the prestige of Spain like
a reed. The limitless possibilities of the new-born naval warfare had
been demonstrated, and the lesson startled Europe like a revelation. An
unmeasured force was added to statecraft, and a new power had arisen.
The effect was immediate. Men saw the fountain of Spanish trade at
England's mercy; they knew how narrowly the Plate fleet had escaped, and
a panic palsied Philip's finance. The Bank of Seville broke; that of
Venice was in despair; and the King of Spain, pointed at as a bankrupt,
failed to raise a loan of half a million ducats. Parma was appalled.
With his brilliant capture of Antwerp he had seen himself on the brink
of that great exploit with which he hoped to crown his career; and now,
instead of a host armed at all points for the invasion of England, he
saw around him a broken army it was impossible to supply. In Germany the
Protestant princes raised their heads, and, seeing dawn at last, began
to shake off the lethargy into which despair had plunged them. England
was wild with joy. Burghley himself was almost startled from his
caution, and cried out with half a shudder that Drake was a fearful man
to the King of Spain.

For two years Philip had been at work upon his Armada. His ports were
crowded with its details; his storehouses were bursting with its
furniture; and Walsingham at last was able to convince the Queen, by a
paper stolen from the very closet of the Pope, that it was upon her head
the great engine was to crash. Her eyes were opened; and, infected for a
moment with the warlike spirit into which her people and her Parliament
had lashed themselves, she ordered Drake in 1587 to the coast of Spain.

It was no longer as a privateer that he was to act. He held the rank of
her majesty's admiral-at-the-seas, and William Borough, the comptroller
of the navy, was his vice-admiral. Four of the Queen's largest
battle-ships and two of her pinnaces were under his command, and the
London merchants committed to his flag ten fine cruisers, with the
famous Merchant Royal at their head. Besides these, he had six hundred
tons of his own shipping, as well as some of the lord admiral's. In all,
exclusive of tenders, there were twenty-three sail--five battle-ships,
two first-class cruisers, seven of the second class, and nine gunboats
large and small. With this fine force he was instructed to proceed to
Cape St. Vincent, and by every means in his power to prevent the
concentration of the several divisions of the Armada by cutting off
their victuallers, and even destroying them in the ports where they lay.
If the enemy sailed for England or Ireland, he was to hang on their
skirts, cut off stragglers, and prevent a landing; and, finally, he was
given a free hand to act against the East and West India convoys.

Elizabeth was in a resolute mood. Drake's ideas of naval warfare were
developing a step further, and the Queen for the moment listened. He was
beginning dimly to grasp that the command of the sea was the first
object for a naval power to aim at. It was because he had not command of
the seas that he had been unable to retain his hold of Cartagena, for
the troops which should have formed its garrison were wanted to defend
his fleet. Wiser for the lesson, his aim was now to crush the Spanish
navy, and then, in undisputed control of the sea, to gather in his
harvest. The opposition were thoroughly alarmed, and, while Drake in hot
haste was driving on his preparations, they left no stone unturned to
get his orders modified. They tampered with his men, they whispered
slanders in his mistress' ear, they frightened her with threats from
abroad, they tempted her with offers of peace from Parma on the old
disgraceful terms. For Walsingham, who, through thick and thin, was
always at Drake's back, it was an unequal fight; with the stanchest of
his party in disgrace for Mary's premature execution, he was
single-handed against a host, and at last the friends of Spain
prevailed. Early in April a messenger sped down to Plymouth with orders
that operations were to be confined to the high seas. As Philip's ships
were all snug in port, and could well remain there as long as Drake's
stores allowed him to keep the sea, it was a complete triumph for Spain.
But when the messenger dashed into Plymouth with the fatal packet he
found the roadstead empty. Drake was gone.

In vain at the last moment a number of his sailors had been induced to
desert; he had filled their places with soldiers. In vain a swift
pinnace was despatched in pursuit; Drake had taken care no orders should
catch him, and, with his squadron increased by two warships from Lyme,
was already off Finisterre, battling with a gale which drove the pinnace
home. For seven days it raged and forced the fleet far out to sea. Still
Drake held on in its teeth, and so well had he his ships in hand that on
the 16th, within twenty-four hours after the gale had blown itself out,
the whole fleet in perfect order was sailing gayly eastward past Cape
St. Vincent.

Eastward--for he had intelligence that Cadiz harbor was full of
transports and store-ships, and on the afternoon of the 19th, as he
entered the bay, he saw a forest of masts in the road behind the city. A
council of war was summoned at once, and without asking their opinion he
quietly told them he was going to attack. It was his usual manner of
holding a council, but it took Borough's breath away. It shocked the old
Queen's officer, and outraged his sense of what was due to his own
reputation and experience and the time-honored customs of war. He wanted
to talk about it and think about it, and find out first whether it was
too dangerous. And there was certainly some excuse for his caution.
Cadiz stands on a precipitous rock at the end of a low and narrow neck
of land, some five miles in length, running parallel to the coast.
Within this natural breakwater are enclosed an outer and an inner port;
and so cumbered with shoals and rocks was the entrance from the sea that
no ship could get in without passing under the guns of the town
batteries, while access from the outer to the inner port was only to be
gained by the Puntal passage, half a mile wide.

Opposite Cadiz, on the other side of the outer harbor, was Port St.
Mary, and within the Puntal channel, at the extreme end of the inlet,
stood Port Royal. Both places, however, were so protected by shoals as
to be unapproachable except to the port pilots. It was an ideal scene of
action for galleys to develop their full capabilities. Two had already
appeared to reconnoitre, and how many more there were no one could tell.
Galleys, it must be remembered, were then considered the most formidable
warships afloat, and quite invincible in confined waters or calms. By
all the rules of war, on which Borough was the first authority in the
service, to attack was suicide; but Drake had spent his life in breaking
rules. He did not care. The enemy was there, his authority was in his
pocket, the wind was fair, his officers believed in him, and as the sun
sank low behind them the fleet went in.

A scene of terror and confusion followed. Every ship in the harbor cut
its cables and sought safety in flight, some to sea, some across the bay
to St. Mary's, some through the Puntal passage to the inner harbor and
Port Royal. To cover the stampede ten galleys came confidently out from
under the Cadiz batteries. All was useless. While the chartered cruisers
swooped on the fugitives, the Queen's ships stood in, to head off the
advancing galleys, as coolly as though they had fought them a hundred
times before. In a few minutes the English admiral had taught the world
a new lesson in tactics. Galleys could only fire straight ahead; and, as
they came on line abreast, Drake, passing with the Queen's four
battle-ships athwart their course, poured in his heavy broadsides. Never
before had such gunnery been seen. Ere the galleys were within effective
range for their own ordnance they were raked and riddled and confounded,
and to the consternation of the Spaniards they broke for the cover of
the batteries. Two had to be hauled up to prevent their sinking; the
rest were a shambles, and nothing was now thought of but how to protect
the city from the assault which seemed inevitable. Hardly any troops
were there: a panic seized the population; and Drake was left alone to
do the work for which he had come.

Beyond the batteries the fleet anchored with its prizes, plundering and
scuttling with all its might, till the flood came in again. Then all
that remained were fired, and, by the flare of the blazing hulks as they
drifted clear with the tide, Drake moved the fleet into the mouth of the
Puntal channel, out of range of the batteries. He himself took up a
position seaward of the new anchorage, to engage the guns which the
Spaniards were bringing down from the town and to keep off the galleys;
for as yet the work was but half done. In the inner harbor lay the
splendid galleon of the Marquis de Santa Cruz, and a crowd of great
ships too big to seek the refuge of the shoals about Port Royal, and at
daylight the Merchant Royal went boldly in, with all the tenders in
company. Then, in spite of the labors of the past night, the plundering,
scuttling, and burning began again. Outside, the galleys were making
half-hearted demonstrations against the English anchorage, but they were
easily kept at bay. By noon it was all over, and Drake attempted to make
sail. In the past thirty-six hours he had entirely revictualled his
fleet with wine, oil, biscuit, and dried fruits. He had destroyed some
twelve thousand tons of shipping, including some of the finest vessels
afloat, and four ships laden with provisions were in possession of his
prize crews.[1] It was enough and more than enough. But the wind would
not serve, and all day long he lay where he was, in sight of the troops
that were now pouring along the isthmus into Cadiz.

      [1] In the official report the Spaniards admit the loss of
      twenty-four ships valued at one hundred seventy-two thousand
      ducats. This, it would seem, was all they dared tell the King.

Again and again the galleys attempted to approach, and every time
Drake's broadsides swept them back before they reached their effective
range. Vainly, too, the Spaniards strove to post guns near enough to
annoy the fleet. Nor did the struggle cease till at midnight a land-wind
sprang up, and, brushing from his path the galleys that sought to block
the way, Drake made sail. By two o'clock he had cleared the batteries
and was safe outside without losing a single man. Boldly enough then the
galleys gave chase, but, unfortunately, the wind suddenly shifted
completely round. Drake at once went about, and the galleys fled in most
undignified haste, leaving the English fleet to complete its triumph by
anchoring unmolested in full view of the town.

Such an exploit was without precedent. The chivalry of Spain was as
enthusiastic in its admiration of Drake's feat of arms as it was
disgusted at the cumbrous organization which condemned it to inactivity.
A whole day Drake waited where he was, to try and exchange his prisoners
for English galley-slaves, but, getting nothing but high compliments and
dilatory answers for his pains, on the morrow he sailed. There was no
time to lose. By his captures he had discovered the whole of Philip's
plan. Out of the Mediterranean the divisions of Italy, Sicily, and
Andalusia were to come and join the head-quarters at Lisbon, where the
Grand Admiral of Spain, the Marquis de Santa Cruz, was busy with the
bulk of the armada. At Cape St. Vincent was the road where ships coming
out of the Straits waited for a wind to carry them north, and there he
had resolved to take his stand, and fight everything that attempted to
join Santa Cruz's flag in the Tagus.

Such light airs prevailed that it was not till the end of the month that
the fleet reached the road. By that time its water was exhausted, and,
as every headland was crowned with works commanding the anchorage and
the watering-places, Drake at once saw he must take them. In his usual
off-hand way he summoned his council, and told them over the dinner-table
what he was going to do. It was more than the vice-admiral's dignity and
caution could endure. In high dudgeon he returned to his ship, and, in
the midst of a gale which suddenly arose and drove the fleet to the north
of the cape, he indited a long and solemn protest, not only against the
contemplated operation, but against the unprecedented despotism with
which Drake was conducting the whole expedition. Borough, though no
doubt jealous of Drake, certainly believed he was doing nothing beyond
his right and duty. He felt he had been attached to the expedition as
the most complete sailor in the kingdom, and he valued and deserved his
reputation. In the scientific knowledge of his art he was unrivalled,
and he was the only officer in the service who had fought and won a
purely naval action. No one, therefore, can fairly blame him for
resenting the revolutionary manner in which his commander was ignoring
him in contempt of the time-honored privileges of the council of war.

Drake, in his hot self-confidence, thought otherwise. As he rode out the
gale under the lee of St. Vincent, and the tempest howled through his
rigging, once more there fell upon him the shadow of the tragedy which
could never cease to darken his judgment. Already, in Cadiz harbor, he
had thought his vice-admiral too careful of his ship when the shot were
flying; and now he saw in him another Doughty sent by the friends of
Spain to hang on his arm. "In persisting," he told Lord Burleigh, "he
committed a double offence, not only against me, but it toucheth
further." To his embittered sense the querulous protest was a treasonable
attack on his own authority, and in his fury he brutally dismissed the
old admiral from his command and placed him under arrest on his
flag-ship. In vain the astonished veteran protested his innocence,
apologized, and made submission. Drake would not listen. The ring of the
heads-man's sword upon the desolate shores of Patagonia had deafened his
ears to such entreaties forever.

Two days later he was back in Lagos Bay, landing a thousand men for an
attempt upon the town, but in the evening, after vainly endeavoring to
induce the bodies of cavalry which hovered on their line of march to
come within reach, the troops reëmbarked, reporting the place too strong
to be taken by assault. Such reports were not to Drake's liking. It was
no mere cross-raiding on which he was bent, but a sagacious stroke that
was essential to the development of his new ideas. To get the command of
the seas it was necessary that he should be able to keep the seas, and
for this a safe anchorage and watering-places were necessary. In default
of Lagos, strategy and convenience both indicated St. Vincent road for
his purpose. It was commanded by forts, but that did not deter him; and,
resolved to have his way, he next day landed in person near Cape Sagres.

On the summit of the headland was a castle accessible on two sides only.
The English military officers declared that a hundred determined men
could hold it against the whole of Drake's force. But he would not
listen; it commanded the watering-place, and he meant to have it.
Detaching part of his force against a neighboring fort, which was at
once evacuated, he himself advanced against the castle, and at the
summit of the cliff found himself confronted with walls thirty feet
high, bristling with brass guns and crowded with soldiers. The garrison
had just been reënforced by that of the evacuated fort, and to every one
but the admiral the affair was hopeless. He attacked with his
musketeers, and, when they had exhausted their ammunition, in the name
of his queen and mistress he summoned the place to surrender. In the
name of his lord and master the Spanish captain laughed at him.
Whereupon Drake, more obstinate than ever, sent down to the fleet for
fagots, and began piling them against the outer gate to fire it. So
desperate was the resistance that again and again the attempt failed.
For two hours the struggle lasted. As fast as the defenders threw down
the fire, the English piled it up again; and in the midst of the smoke
and the bullets the admiral toiled like a common seaman, with his arms
full of fagots and his face black with soot. How long his obstinacy
would have continued it is impossible to say, but at the end of the two
hours the Spanish commandant sank under his wounds and the garrison
surrendered. Daunted by a feat which every one regarded as little short
of a miracle, the castle and monastery of St. Vincent, together with
another fort near it, capitulated at the magician's first summons, and
left him in complete possession of the anchorage to water the fleet
undisturbed.

Having fired the captured strongholds, and tumbled their guns over the
cliffs into the sea, Drake returned to the fleet to find the sailors had
not been idle. Between St. Vincent and a village some nine miles to the
eastward which they had been ordered to burn, they had taken forty-seven
barks and caravels laden with stores for the Armada, and destroyed
between fifty and sixty fishing-boats with miles of nets. The
tunny-fishery, on which the whole of the adjacent country chiefly
depended for its subsistence, was annihilated. For the time Drake's work
on the Algarve coast was done, and, having watered the fleet and fished
up the captured guns, he sailed for Lisbon.

His own idea had been to land there and smite Philip's preparation at
its heart, but this the Government had expressly forbidden. Still he
hoped that the havoc he had made and the insults he had put on the
Spanish coasts might goad Santa Cruz to come out and fight him. For
three days he lay off Cascaes, in sight of Lisbon, threatening an attack
and sending polished taunts to the Spanish admiral. He offered to convoy
him to England if his course lay that way; he took prizes under his very
nose; with his fleet in loose order he sailed up to the very entrance of
the harbor; but, though seven galleys lay on their oars watching him
from the mouth of the Tagus, Santa Cruz would not move, and Drake
learned at last how deep was the wound he had inflicted.

Philip's organization was now completely dislocated. The fleet at Lisbon
was unmanned. Its crews had been shattered in Cadiz harbor, and the
troops that were intended for it had been thrown into the defenceless
city under the Duke of Medina-Sidonia, with orders that while Drake was
on the coast not a man was to be moved. All thought of an attack on
England was given up. It was even doubted whether by straining every
nerve it would be possible to save the homeward-bound fleets from the
Indies. The Italian squadrons were ordered to land their troops at
Cartagena, and Philip hoped that by forced marches across the peninsula
they might possibly arrive in time for Santa Cruz to sail before it was
too late. Every one else looked on the convoys as doomed. For Drake,
having assured himself that Santa Cruz could not stir, and that England
was safe for a year at least, resolved to make for the Azores and wait
for the prey that had so narrowly escaped him the year before.

On the third day of his stay off the Tagus he took advantage of a
northerly gale to run for the anchorage at St. Vincent, which he had
made his own, and where he intended to water and refresh for the voyage.
There, huddled under the lee of the cape, was found a fresh crowd of
store-ships, which he seized. For nine days he lay there, rummaging the
ships, taking in water, and sending the men ashore in batches to shake
off the sickness with which, as usual, the fleet was attacked. Every day
new prizes fell into his hands, and ere he sailed he had taken and
destroyed forty more vessels and a hundred small craft. On May 22d he
put to sea, and, as the news spread, a panic seized every commercial
centre in the Spanish dominions. Half the merchants in Philip's empire
saw ruin before them: the whole year's produce both of the East and West
Indian trade was at Drake's mercy; and no one knew how Spain, with its
resources already strained to the utmost, would survive the shock.

Whatever might have been the result had these fears been realized,
destiny seemed to have decided that in the Channel should be played the
last great scene. Drake had not been two days out when a storm struck
his fleet and scattered it over the face of the sea. For three days it
raged with extraordinary fury. Drake's own flag-ship was in dire peril,
and, when the heavens cleared, only three of the battle-ships and half a
dozen smaller craft were together. Not a single merchant-ship was to be
seen, and the Lion, Borough's flag-ship, on which he was still a
prisoner, was missing too. Before leaving St. Vincent Drake had told
Walsingham that he ought to have at least six more cruisers to do his
work properly, and now two-thirds of what he had before were gone. Still
he held on, hoping to find some of the missing ships at the rendezvous
in the Azores.

On the morning of June 8th St. Michael's was sighted, but not a sail had
rejoined the flag except the Spy, one of the Queen's gunboats, with the
captain and master of the Lion on board, and they reported that the crew
of Borough's ship had mutinied and carried him home. Then, in the depth
of his disappointment, Drake's fury blazed out anew. His fierce
self-reliance and fanatic patriotism had taught him to see a traitor in
every man that opposed him, and the bitter experience of his lifelong
struggle against the enemies of his country and his creed could bring
him but to one conclusion--Borough was the traitor who had ruined the
greatest chance of his career! A jury was impanelled, the deserter tried
for his life, found guilty, and condemned to death.

It was little good except to relieve the admiral's anger. The splendid
opportunity was gone; the fruit of his brilliant exploit was snatched
from his lips; for, even had the remnant of his fleet been less
shattered than it was, the great convoys were beyond its strength. The
only hope was to hurry back to England and beg for reënforcements to
fight Santa Cruz for the life-blood of Spain.

Yet ere he sailed there was a consolation at hand. As he lay waiting for
his shattered squadron to close up, fuming at traitors, and marvelling
at the inscrutable will of Heaven, the dawn of June 9th lit up the gray
sea and showed him a huge carack in the offing. On a smart breeze he
gave chase. The carack kept her course, but, as Drake drew near, began
displaying her colors nervously. Drake made not a sign in reply, but
held on till he was within range. Then on a sudden, with a blaze of her
ensigns and her broadside, the Elizabeth Bonaventura told the stranger
what she was. Two of Drake's squadron threw themselves resolutely
athwart-hawse of the enemy, and the rest, plying her hard with shot,
prepared to run aboard her towering hull. But, ere they closed, her flag
fluttered sadly down, and the famous San Filippe, the King of Spain's
own East-Indiaman, the largest merchantman afloat, was a prize in
Drake's hands.

Well might he wonder now at God's providence, as with lightened heart
he sailed homeward with his prize. For not only was it the richest ever
seen in England before or since, not only was its cargo valued at over
a million of our money, but in it were papers which disclosed to our
merchants all the mysteries and richness of the East India trade. It
was a revelation to English commerce. It intoxicated the soberest
capitalists; and they knew no rest till they had formed the great East
India Company, to widen the gap which Drake had opened, and to lay the
foundation of our Indian Empire.




                     DEFEAT OF THE SPANISH ARMADA

                              A.D. 1588

                      SIR EDWARD SHEPHERD CREASY


    Two years after the accession of Queen Elizabeth to the throne of
    England, the Geneva Confession of Faith (Calvinistic) was adopted by
    the Scottish nation, which thus formally became Protestant. The aim
    of Mary, Queen of Scots, to restore the Catholic religion in that
    kingdom added many complications to her royal task, as well as to
    her personal fortunes. Her final condemnation and execution, 1587,
    for conspiracy against Elizabeth, occurred at a time when the shadow
    of Spanish supremacy was being cast broadly over Europe. The Spanish
    power was still attempting the subjugation of the Netherlands, and
    it was the ambition of Philip II to bring England also under his own
    sway and that of Rome.

    Elizabeth had given aid to Philip's rebellious subjects in the
    Netherlands, and Sir Francis Drake had committed many depredations
    upon Spain and her colonies. For the purpose of avenging these acts,
    as well as the death of Mary Stuart, and of overthrowing the
    Reformation in Great Britain, Philip gathered up all his strength
    and prepared to hurl a mighty naval force, the "Invincible Armada,"
    against England.

    Creasy's masterly survey of the European situation at this period
    unfolds the Anglo-Spanish complications. His exhaustive account of
    the Armada and its ill-fated enterprise makes clear everything
    important in this famous passage of history.


On the afternoon of July 19, 1588, a group of English captains was
collected at the bowling green on the Hoe, at Plymouth, whose equals
have never before or since been brought together, even at that favorite
mustering-place of the heroes of the British navy. There was Sir Francis
Drake, the first English circumnavigator of the globe, the terror of
every Spanish coast in the Old World and the New; there was Sir John
Hawkins, the rough veteran of many a daring voyage on the African and
American seas and of many a desperate battle; there was Sir Martin
Frobisher, one of the earliest explorers of the Arctic seas in search of
the northwest passage.

There was the high admiral of England, Lord Howard of Effingham,
prodigal of all things in his country's cause, and who had recently had
the noble daring to refuse to dismantle part of the fleet, though the
Queen had sent him orders to do so in consequence of an exaggerated
report that the enemy had been driven back and shattered by a storm.
Lord Howard--whom contemporary writers describe as being of a wise and
noble courage, skilful in sea matters, wary and provident, and of great
esteem among the sailors--resolved to risk his sovereign's anger, and to
keep the ships afloat at his own charge, rather than that England should
run the peril of losing their protection.

Another of our Elizabethan sea-kings, Sir Walter Raleigh, was at that
time commissioned to raise and equip the land forces of Cornwall; but we
may well believe that he must have availed himself of the opportunity of
consulting with the lord admiral and the other high officers, which was
offered by the English fleet putting into Plymouth; and we may look on
Raleigh as one of the group that was assembled at the bowling green on
the Hoe.

Many other brave men and skilful mariners, besides the chiefs whose
names have been mentioned, were there, enjoying, with true sailor-like
merriment, their temporary relaxation from duty. In the harbor lay the
English fleet with which they had just returned from a cruise to Corunna
in search of information respecting the real condition and movements of
the hostile armada. Lord Howard had ascertained that our enemies, though
tempest-tossed, were still formidably strong; and, fearing that part of
their fleet might make for England in his absence, he had hurried back
to the Devonshire coast. He resumed his station at Plymouth, and waited
there for certain tidings of the Spaniards' approach.

A match at bowls was being played, in which Drake and other high
officers of the fleet were engaged, when a small armed vessel was seen
running before the wind into Plymouth harbor with all sails set. Her
commander landed in haste, and eagerly sought the place where the
English lord admiral and his captains were standing. His name was
Fleming; he was the master of a Scotch privateer; and he told the
English officers that he had that morning seen the Spanish Armada off
the Cornish coast. At this exciting information the captains began to
hurry down to the water, and there was a shouting for the ships' boats;
but Drake coolly checked his comrades, and insisted that the match
should be played out. He said that there was plenty of time both to win
the game and beat the Spaniards. The best and bravest match that ever
was scored was resumed accordingly. Drake and his friends aimed their
last bowls with the same steady, calculating coolness with which they
were about to point their guns. The winning cast was made; and then they
went on board and prepared for action, with their hearts as light and
their nerves as firm as they had been on the Hoe bowling green.

Meanwhile the messengers and signals had been despatched fast and far
through England, to warn each town and village that the enemy had come
at last. In every seaport there was instant making ready by land and by
sea; in every shire and every city there was instant mustering of horse
and man. But England's best defence then, as ever, was in her fleet;
and, after warping laboriously out of Plymouth harbor against the wind,
the lord admiral stood westward under easy sail, keeping an anxious
look-out for the armada, the approach of which was soon announced by
Cornish fisher-boats and signals from the Cornish cliffs.

It is not easy, without some reflection and care, to comprehend the full
extent of the peril which England then ran from the power and the
ambition of Spain, or to appreciate the importance of that crisis in the
history of the world. Queen Elizabeth had found at her accession an
encumbered revenue, a divided people, and an unsuccessful foreign war,
in which the last remnant of our possessions in France had been lost;
she had also a formidable pretender to her crown, whose interests were
favored by all the Roman Catholic powers. It is true that, during the
years of her reign which had passed away before the attempted invasion
of 1588, she had revived the commercial prosperity, the national spirit,
and the national loyalty of England. But her resources to cope with the
colossal power of Philip II still seemed most scanty; and she had not a
single foreign ally, except the Dutch, who were themselves struggling
hard, and, as it seemed, hopelessly, to maintain their revolt against
Spain.

On the other hand, Philip II was absolute master of an empire so
superior to the other states of the world in extent, in resources, and
especially in military and naval forces as to make the project of
enlarging that empire into a universal monarchy seem a perfectly
feasible scheme; and Philip had both the ambition to perform that
project and the resolution to devote all his energies and all his means
to its realization. Since the downfall of the Roman Empire no such
preponderating power had existed in the world. During the mediæval
centuries the chief European kingdoms were slowly moulding themselves
out of the feudal chaos; and though the wars with each other were
numerous and desperate, and several of their respective kings figured
for a time as mighty conquerors, none of them in those times acquired
the consistency and perfect organization which are requisite for a
long-sustained career of aggrandizement. After the consolidation of the
great kingdoms they for some time kept each other in mutual check.

During the first half of the sixteenth century the balancing system was
successfully practised by European statesmen. But when Philip II
reigned, France had become so miserably weak through her civil wars that
he had nothing to dread from the rival state which had so long curbed
his father, the Emperor Charles V. In Germany, Italy, and Poland he had
either zealous friends and dependents or weak and divided enemies.
Against the Turks he had gained great and glorious successes; and he
might look round the Continent of Europe without discerning a single
antagonist of whom he could stand in awe. Spain, when he acceded to the
throne, was at the zenith of her power.

The hardihood and spirit which the Aragonese, the Castilians, and the
other nations of the peninsula had acquired during centuries of free
institutions and successful war against the Moors had not yet become
obliterated. Charles V had, indeed, destroyed the liberties of Spain;
but that had been done too recently for its full evil to be felt in
Philip's time. A people cannot be debased in a single generation; and
the Spaniards under Charles V and Philip II proved the truth of the
remark that no nation is ever so formidable to its neighbors, for a
time, as a nation which, after being trained up in self-government,
passes suddenly under a despotic ruler. The energy of democratic
institutions survives for a few generations, and to it are superadded
the decision and certainty which are the attributes of government when
all its powers are directed by a single mind. It is true that this
preter-natural vigor is short-lived: national corruption and debasement
gradually follow the loss of the national liberties; but there is an
interval before their workings are felt, and in that interval the most
ambitious schemes of foreign conquest are often successfully undertaken.

Philip had also the advantage of finding himself at the head of a large
standing army in a perfect state of discipline and equipment, in an age
when, except some few insignificant corps, standing armies were unknown
in Christendom. The renown of the Spanish troops was justly high, and
the infantry in particular was considered the best in the world. His
fleet, also, was far more numerous and better appointed than that of any
other European power; and both his soldiers and his sailors had the
confidence in themselves and their commanders which a long career of
successful warfare alone can create.

Besides the Spanish crown, Philip succeeded to the kingdom of Naples and
Sicily, the duchy of Milan, Franche-Comté, and the Netherlands. In
Africa he possessed Tunis, Oran, the Cape Verd and the Canary islands;
and in Asia, the Philippine and Sunda islands and a part of the
Moluccas. Beyond the Atlantic he was lord of the most splendid portions
of the New World, which Columbus found "for Castile and Leon." The
empires of Peru and Mexico, New Spain, and Chile, with their abundant
mines of the precious metals, Española and Cuba, and many other of the
American islands were provinces of the sovereign of Spain.

Whatever diminution the Spanish empire might have sustained in the
Netherlands seemed to be more than compensated by the acquisition of
Portugal, which Philip had completely conquered in 1580. Not only that
ancient kingdom itself, but all the fruits of the maritime enterprises
of the Portuguese, had fallen into Philip's hands. All the Portuguese
colonies in America, Africa, and the East Indies acknowledged the
sovereignty of the King of Spain, who thus not only united the whole
Iberian peninsula under his single sceptre, but had acquired a
transmarine empire little inferior in wealth and extent to that which he
had inherited at his accession. The splendid victory which his fleet, in
conjunction with the papal and Venetian galleys, had gained at Lepanto
over the Turks, had deservedly exalted the fame of the Spanish marine
throughout Christendom; and when Philip had reigned thirty-five years,
the vigor of his empire seemed unbroken, and the glory of the Spanish
arms had increased, and was increasing throughout the world.

One nation only had been his active, his persevering, and his successful
foe. England had encouraged his revolted subjects in Flanders against
him, and given them the aid, in men and money, without which they must
soon have been humbled in the dust. English ships had plundered his
colonies; had defied his supremacy in the New World as well as the Old;
they had inflicted ignominious defeats on his squadrons; they had
captured his cities and burned his arsenals on the very coasts of Spain.
The English had made Philip himself the object of personal insult. He
was held up to ridicule in their stage plays and masks, and these scoffs
at the man had--as is not unusual in such cases--excited the anger of
the absolute King even more vehemently than the injuries inflicted on
his power. Personal as well as political revenge urged him to attack
England. Were she once subdued, the Dutch must submit; France could not
cope with him; the empire would not oppose him; and universal dominion
seemed sure to be the result of the conquest of that malignant island.

There was yet another and a stronger feeling which armed King Philip
against England. He was one of the sincerest and one of the sternest
bigots of his age. He looked on himself, and was looked on by others, as
the appointed champion to extirpate heresy and reestablish the papal
power throughout Europe.

A powerful reaction against Protestantism had taken place since the
commencement of the second half of the sixteenth century, and he looked
on himself as destined to complete it. The Reformed doctrines had been
thoroughly rooted out from Italy and Spain. Belgium, which had
previously been half Protestant, had been reconquered both in allegiance
and creed by Philip, and had become one of the most Catholic countries
in the world. Half Germany had been won back to the old faith. In Savoy,
in Switzerland, and many other countries the progress of the
Counter-reformation had been rapid and decisive. The Catholic league
seemed victorious in France. The papal court itself had shaken off the
supineness of recent centuries, and, at the head of the Jesuits and the
other new ecclesiastical orders, was displaying a vigor and a boldness
worthy of the days of Hildebrand or Innocent III.

Throughout Continental Europe the Protestants, discomfited and dismayed,
looked to England as their protector and refuge. England was the
acknowledged central point of Protestant power and policy; and to
conquer England was to stab Protestantism to the very heart. Sixtus V,
the then reigning Pope, earnestly exhorted Philip to this enterprise.
And when the tidings reached Italy and Spain that the Protestant Queen
of England had put to death her Catholic prisoner, Mary, Queen of Scots,
the fury of the Vatican and Escurial knew no bounds. Elizabeth was
denounced as the murderous heretic whose destruction was an instant
duty.

A formal treaty was concluded in June, 1587, by which the Pope bound
himself to contribute a million of scudi to the expenses of the war, the
money to be paid as soon as the King had actual possession of an English
port. Philip, on his part, strained the resources of his vast empire to
the utmost. The French Catholic chiefs eagerly coöperated with him. In
the seaports of the Mediterranean and along almost the whole coast from
Gibraltar to Jutland the preparations for the great armament were urged
forward with all the earnestness of religious zeal as well as of angry
ambition.

"Thus," says the German historian of the Popes,[1] "thus did the united
powers of Italy and Spain, from which such mighty influences had gone
forth over the whole world, now rouse themselves for an attack upon
England! The King had already compiled, from the archives of Simancas, a
statement of the claims which he had to the throne of that country on
the extinction of the Stuart line; the most brilliant prospects,
especially that of a universal dominion of the seas, were associated in
his mind with this enterprise. Everything seemed to conspire to such an
end--the predominancy of Catholicism in Germany, the renewed attack upon
the Huguenots in France, the attempt upon Geneva, and the enterprise
against England. At the same moment a thoroughly Catholic prince,
Sigismund III, ascended the throne of Poland, with the prospect also of
future succession to the throne of Sweden. But whenever any principle or
power, be it what it may, aims at unlimited supremacy in Europe, some
vigorous resistance to it, having its origin in the deepest springs of
human nature, invariably arises. Philip II had to encounter newly
awakened powers, braced by the vigor of youth and elevated by a sense of
their future destiny.

      [1] Ranke.

"The intrepid corsairs, who had rendered every sea insecure, now
clustered round the coasts of their native island. The Protestants in a
body--even the Puritans, although they had been subjected to as severe
oppression as the Catholics--rallied round their Queen, who now gave
admirable proof of her masculine courage and her princely talent of
winning the affections and leading the minds and preserving the
allegiance of men."

Ranke should have added that the English Catholics at this crisis proved
themselves as loyal to their Queen and true to their country as were the
most vehement anti-Catholic zealots in the island. Some few traitors
there were, but as a body, the Englishmen who held the ancient faith
stood the trial of their patriotism nobly. The lord admiral himself was
a Catholic, and--to adopt the words of Hallam--"then it was that the
Catholics in every country repaired to the standard of the lord
lieutenant, imploring that they might not be suspected of bartering the
national independence for their religion itself." The Spaniard found no
partisans in the country which he assailed, nor did England, self-wounded,

    "Lie at the proud foot of her enemy."

For upward of a year the Spanish preparations had been actively and
unremittingly urged forward. Negotiations were, during this time,
carried on at Ostend, in which various pretexts were assigned by the
Spanish commissioners for the gathering together of such huge masses of
shipping, and such equipments of troops in all the seaports which their
master ruled; but Philip himself took little care to disguise his
intentions; nor could Elizabeth and her able ministers doubt but that
this island was the real object of the Spanish armament.

The peril that was wisely foreseen was resolutely provided for.
Circular-letters from the Queen were sent round to the lord lieutenants
of the several counties requiring them to "call together the best sort
of gentlemen under their lieutenancy, and to declare unto them these
great preparations and arrogant threatenings, now burst forth in action
upon the seas, wherein every man's particular state, in the highest
degree, could be touched in respect of country, liberty, wives,
children, lands, lives, and--which was specially to be regarded--the
profession of the true and sincere religion of Christ, and to lay before
them the infinite and unspeakable miseries that would fall out upon any
such change, which miseries were evidently seen by the fruits of that
hard and cruel government holden in countries not far distant.

"We do look," said the Queen, "that the most part of them should have,
upon this instant extraordinary occasion, a larger proportion of
furniture, both for horsemen and footmen, but especially horsemen, than
hath been certified thereby to be in their best strength against any
attempt, or to be employed about our own person or otherwise. Hereunto
as we doubt not but by your good endeavors they will be the rather
conformable, so also we assure ourselves that almighty God will so bless
these their loyal hearts borne toward us, their loving sovereign, and
their natural country, that all the attempts of any enemy whatsoever
shall be made void and frustrate, to their confusion, your comfort, and
to God's high glory."[2]

      [2] Strype, cited in Southey: _Naval History_.

Letters of a similar kind were also sent by the council to each of the
nobility and to the great cities. The Primate called on the clergy for
their contributions; and by every class of the community the appeal was
responded to with liberal zeal, that offered more even than the Queen
required. The boasting threats of the Spaniards had roused the spirit of
the nation, and the whole people "were thoroughly irritated to stir up
their whole forces for their defence against such prognosticated
conquests; so that in a very short time all her whole realm, and every
corner, were furnished with armed men, on horseback and on foot; and
those continually trained, exercised, and put into bands in warlike
manner, as in no age ever was before in this realm.

"There was no sparing of money to provide horse, armor, weapons, powder,
and all necessaries; no, nor want of provision of pioneers, carriages,
and victuals, in every county of the realm, without exception, to attend
upon the armies. And to this general furniture every man voluntarily
offered, very many their services personally without wages, others money
for armor and weapons, and to wage soldiers--a matter strange, and never
the like heard of in this realm or elsewhere. And this general reason
moved all men to large contributions: that when a conquest was to be
withstood wherein all should be lost, it was no time to spare a
portion."[3]

      [3] Copy of contemporary letter in the Harleian Collection, quoted
      by Southey.

Our lion-hearted Queen showed herself worthy of such a people. A camp
was formed at Tilbury; and there Elizabeth rode through the ranks,
encouraging her captains and her soldiers by her presence and her words.
One of the speeches which she addressed to them during this crisis has
been preserved; and, though often quoted, it must not be omitted here.

"My loving people," she said, "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 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 am come among 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 among you all, to lay down for my God, for my
kingdom, and for my people, my honor and my blood even in the dust.

"I know I have the body but of a weak and feeble woman, but I have the
heart and stomach of a king, and of a king of England, too, and think it
foul scorn that Parma, of Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to
invade the borders of my realm, to which, rather than any dishonor shall
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, you have deserved rewards and crowns: and
we do assure you, on the word of a prince, they shall be duly paid you.
In the mean time my lieutenant-general shall be in my stead, than whom
never prince commanded a more noble or worthy subject, not doubting but
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 those
enemies of my God, of my kingdom, and of my people."

Some of Elizabeth's advisers recommended that the whole care and
resources of the government should be devoted to the equipment of the
armies, and that the enemy, when he attempted to land, should be
welcomed with a battle on the shore. But the wiser counsels of Raleigh
and others prevailed, who urged the importance of fitting out a fleet
that should encounter the Spaniards at sea, and, if possible, prevent
them from approaching the land at all.

In Raleigh's great work, the _History of the World_, he takes occasion,
when discussing some of the events of the First Punic War, to give his
reasonings on the proper policy of England when menaced with invasion.
Without doubt we have there the substance of the advice which he gave to
Elizabeth's council; and the remarks of such a man on such a subject
have a general and enduring interest beyond the immediate crisis which
called them forth.

Raleigh says: "Surely I hold that the best way is to keep our enemies
from treading upon our ground; wherein if we fail, then must we seek to
make him wish that he had stayed at his own home. In such a case, if it
should happen, our judgments are to weigh many particular circumstances
that belong not unto this discourse. But making the question general,
the positive, _Whether England, without the help of her fleet, be able
to debar an enemy from landing_, I hold that it is unable so to do, and
therefore I think it most dangerous to make the adventure; for the
encouragement of a first victory to an enemy, and the discouragement of
being beaten to the invaded, may draw after it a most perilous
consequence.

"Great difference I know there is, and a diverse consideration to be
had, between such a country as France is, strengthened with many
fortified places, and this of ours, where our ramparts are but the
bodies of men. But I say that an army to be transported over sea, and to
be landed again in an enemy's country, and the place left to the choice
of the invader, cannot be resisted on the coast of England without a
fleet to impeach it; no, nor on the coast of France or any other
country, except every creek, port, or sandy bay had a powerful army in
each of them to make opposition.

"For let the supposition be granted that Kent is able to furnish twelve
thousand foot, and that those twelve thousand be layed in the three best
landing-places within that country, to wit, three thousand at Margat,
three thousand at the Nesse, and six thousand at Foulkstone, that is,
somewhat equally distant from them both, as also that two of these
troops--unless some other order be thought more fit--be directed to
strengthen the third, when they shall see the enemy's fleet to head
toward it: I say, that notwithstanding this provision, if the enemy,
setting sail from the Isle of Wight, in the first watch of the night,
and towing their long boats at their stems, shall arrive by dawn of day
at the Nesse, and thrust their army on shore there, it will be hard for
those three thousand that are at Margat--twenty-and-four long miles from
thence--to come time enough to reënforce their fellows at the Nesse.
Nay, how shall they at Foulkstone be able to do it, who are nearer by
more than half the way? seeing that the enemy, at his first arrival,
will either make his entrance by force, with three or four shot of great
artillery, and quickly put the first three thousand that are intrenched
at the Nesse to run, or else give them so much to do that they shall be
glad to send for help to Foulkstone, and perhaps to Margat, whereby
those places will be left bare.

"Now, let us suppose that all the twelve thousand Kentish soldiers
arrived at the Nesse ere the enemy can be ready to disembark his army,
so that he will find it unsafe to land in the face of so many prepared
to withstand him, yet must we believe that he will play the best of his
own game--having liberty to go which way he list--and, under covert of
the night, set sail toward the east, where what shall hinder him to take
ground either at Margat, the Downes, or elsewhere, before they at the
Nesse can be well aware of his departure?

"Certainly there is nothing more easy than to do it. Yea, the like may
be said of Weymouth, Purbeck, Poole, and of all landing-places on the
southwest; for there is no man ignorant that ships, without putting
themselves out of breath, will easily outrun the soldiers that coast
them. '_Les armeés ne volent point en poste_' ('Armies neither flye
nor run post'), saith a marshal of France. And I know it to be true that
a fleet of ships may be seen at sunset, and after it at the Lizard, yet
by the next morning they may recover Portland, whereas an army of foot
shall not be able to march it in six days.

"Again, when those troops lodged on the sea-shores shall be forced to
run from place to place in vain, after a fleet of ships, they will at
length sit down in the midway and leave all at adventure. But say it
were otherwise, that the invading enemy will offer to land in some such
place where there shall be an army of ours ready to receive him; yet it
cannot be doubted but that when the choice of all our trained bands, and
the choice of our commanders and captains, shall be drawn together--as
they were at Tilbury in the year 1588--to attend the person of the
Prince, and for the defence of the city of London, they that remain to
guard the coast can be of no such force as to encounter an army like
unto that wherewith it was intended that the Prince of Parma should have
landed in England.

"For end of this digression, I hope that this question shall never come
to trial: his majesty's many movable forts will forbid the experience.
And although the English will no less disdain, than any nation under
heaven can do, to be beaten upon their own ground, or elsewhere, by a
foreign enemy, yet to entertain those that shall assail us, with their
own beef in their bellies, and before they eat of our Kentish capons, I
take it to be the wisest way--to do which his majesty, after God, will
employ his good ships on the sea, and not trust in any intrenchment upon
the shore."

The introduction of steam as a propelling power at sea has added tenfold
weight to these arguments of Raleigh. On the other hand, a
well-constructed system of railways, especially of coast-lines, aided by
the operation of the electric telegraph, would give facilities for
concentrating a defensive army to oppose an enemy on landing, and for
moving troops from place to place in observation of the movements of the
hostile fleet, such as would have astonished Sir Walter, even more than
the sight of vessels passing rapidly to and fro without the aid of wind
or tide., The observation of the French marshal whom he quotes is now no
longer correct. Armies can be made to pass from place to place almost
with the speed of wings, and far more rapidly than any post-travelling
that was known in the Elizabethan or any other age. Still, the presence
of a sufficient armed force at the right spot, at the right time, can
never be made a matter of certainty and, even after the changes that
have taken place, no one can doubt but that the policy of Raleigh is
that which England should ever seek to follow in defensive war.

At the time of the armada, that policy certainly saved the country, if
not from conquest, at least from deplorable calamities. If, indeed, the
enemy had landed, we may be sure that he would have been heroically
opposed. But history shows us so many examples of the superiority of
veteran troops over new levies, however numerous and brave, that,
without disparaging our countrymen's soldierly merits, we may well be
thankful that no trial of them was then made on English land. Especially
must we feel this when we contrast the high military genius of the
Prince of Parma, who would have headed the Spaniards, with the
imbecility of the Earl of Leicester, to whom the deplorable spirit of
favoritism, which formed the great blemish on Elizabeth's character, had
then committed the chief command of the English armies.

The ships of the royal navy at this time amounted to no more than
thirty-six; but the most serviceable merchant vessels were collected
from all the ports of the country; and the citizens of London, Bristol,
and the other great seats of commerce showed as liberal a zeal in
equipping and manning vessels as the nobility and gentry displayed in
mustering forces by land. The seafaring population of the coast, of
every rank and station, was animated by the same ready spirit; and the
whole number of seamen who came forward to man the English fleet was
17,472; the number of the ships that were collected was 191; and the
total amount of their tonnage, 31,985. There was one ship in the
fleet--the Triumph--of 1100 tons, one of 1000, one of 900, two of 800
each, three of 600, five of 500, five of 400, six of 300, six of 250,
twenty of 200, and the residue of inferior burden.

Application was made to the Dutch for assistance; and, as Stowe
expresses it: "The Hollanders came roundly in with three-score sail,
brave ships of war, fierce and full of spleen, not so much for England's
aid as in just occasion for their own defence, these men foreseeing the
greatness of the danger that might ensue if the Spaniard should chance
to win the day and get the mastery over them; in due regard whereof,
their manly courage was inferior to none."

We have more minute information of the number and equipment of the
hostile forces than we have of our own. In the first volume of Hakluyt's
_Voyages_, dedicated to Lord Effingham, who commanded against the
armada, there is given--from the contemporary foreign writer Meteran--a
more complete and detailed catalogue than has perhaps ever appeared of a
similar armament:

"A very large and particular description of this navie was put in print
and published by the Spaniards, wherein were set downe the number,
names, and burthens of the shippes, the number of mariners and soldiers
throughout the whole fleete; likewise the quantitie of their ordinance,
of their armor, of bullets, of match, of gun-poulder, of victuals, and
of all their navall furniture was in the saide description
particularized.

"Unto all these were added the names of the governours, captaines,
noblemen, and gentlemen voluntaries, of whom there was so great a
multitude that scarce was there any family of accompt, or any one
principall man throughout all Spaine that had not a brother, sonne, or
kinsman in that fleete; who all of them were in good hope to purchase
unto themselves in that navie--as they termed it--invincible, endless
glory and renown, and to possess themselves of great seigniories and
riches in England and in the Low Countreys. But because the said
description was translated and published out of Spanish into divers
other languages, we will here only make an abridgement or brief
rehearsal thereof.

"Portugall furnished and set foorth under the conduct of the Duke of
Medina Sidonia, generall of the fleete, 10 galeons, 2 zabraes, 1300
mariners, 3300 souldiers, 300 great pieces, with all requisite
furniture.

"Biscay, under the conduct of John Martines de Ricalde, admiral of the
whole fleete, set forth 10 galeons, 4 pataches, 700 mariners, 2000
souldiers, 250 great pieces, etc.

"Guipusco, under the conduct of Michael de Oquendo, 10 galeons, 4
pataches, 700 mariners, 2000 souldiers, 310 great pieces.

"Italy, with the Levant islands, under Maitine de Vertendona, 10
galeons, 800 mariners, 2000 souldiers, 310 great pieces, etc.

"Castile, under Diego Flores de Valdez, 14 galeons, 2 pataches, 1700
mariners, 2400 souldiers, and 380 great pieces, etc.

"Andaluzia, under the conduct of Petro de Valdez, 10 galeons, 1 patache,
800 mariners, 2400 souldiers, 280 great pieces, etc.

"Item, under the conduct of John Lopez de Medina, 23 great Flemish
hulkes, with 700 mariners, 3200 souldiers, and 400 great pieces.

"Item, under Hugo de Moncada, 4 galliasses, containing 1200
gally-slaves, 460 mariners, 870 souldiers, 200 great pieces, etc.

"Item, under Diego de Mandrana, 4 gallies of Portugall, with 888
gally-slaves, 360 mariners, 20 great pieces, and other requisite
furniture.

"Item, under Anthonie de Mendoza, 22 pataches and zabraes, with 574
mariners, 488 souldiers, and 193 great pieces.

"Besides the ships aforementioned, there were 20 caravels rowed with
oares, being appointed to performe necessary services under the greater
ships, insomuch that all the ships appertayning to this navie amounted
unto the summe of 150, eche one being sufficiently provided of furniture
and victuals.

"The number of mariners in the saide fleete were above 8000, of slaves
2088, of souldiers 20,000--besides noblemen and gentlemen voluntaries;
of great cast pieces, 2600. The aforesaid ships were of an huge and
incredible capacitie and receipt, for the whole fleete was large enough
to containe the burthen of 60,000 tunnes.

"The galeons were 64 in number, being of an huge bignesse, and very
flately built, being of marveilous force also, and so high that they
resembled great castles, most fit to defend themselves and to withstand
any assault, but in giving any other ships the encounter fair inferiour
unto the English and Dutch ships, which can with great dexteritie wield
and turne themselves at all assayes. The upper worke of the said galeons
was of thicknesse and strength sufficient to beare off musket-shot. The
lower worke and the timbers thereof were out of measure strong, being
framed of plankes and ribs foure or five foote in thicknesse, insomuch
that no bullets could pierce them but such as were discharged hard at
hand, which afterward prooved true, for a great number of bullets were
founde to sticke fast within the massie substance of those thicke
plankes. Great and well-pitched cables were twined about the masts of
their shippes, to strengthen them against the battery of shot.

"The galliasses were of such bignesse that they contained within them
chambers, chapels, turrets, pulpits, and other commodities of great
houses. The galliasses were rowed with great oares, there being in eche
one of them 300 slaves for the same purpose, and were able to do great
service with the force of their ordinance. All these, together with the
residue aforenamed, were furnished and beautified with trumpets,
streamers, banners, warlike ensignes, and other such like ornaments.

"Their pieces of brazen ordinance were 1600, and of yron a 1000.

"The bullets thereto belonging were 120,000.

"Item of gun-poulder, 5600 quintals; of matche, 1200 quintals; of
muskets and kaleivers, 7000; of haleberts and partisans, 10,000.

"Moreover, they had great stores of canons, double-canons, culverings
and field-pieces for land services.

"Likewise they were provided of all instruments necessary on land to
conveigh and transport their furniture from place to place, as namely of
carts, wheeles, wagons, etc. Also they had spades, mattocks, and baskets
to set pioners on worke. They had in like sort great store of mules and
horses, and whatsoever else was requisite for a land armie. They were so
well stored of biscuit, that for the space of halfe a yeere they might
allow eche person in the whole fleete halfe a quintall every moneth,
whereof the whole summe amounteth unto an hundreth thousand quintals.

"Likewise of wine they had 147,000 pipes, sufficient also for halfe a
yeere's expedition. Of bacon, 6500 quintals. Of cheese, 3000 quintals.
Besides fish, rise, beanes, pease, oile, vinegar, etc.

"Moreover, they had 12,000 pipes of fresh water, and all other necessary
provision, as namely candles, lanternes, lampes, sailes, hempe, oxe-hides,
and lead to stop holes that should be made with the battery of gunshot.
To be short, they brought all things expedient, either for a fleete by
sea, or for an armie by land.

"This navie--as Diego Pimentelli afterward confessed--was esteemed by
the King himselfe to containe 32,000 persons, and to cost him every day
30,000 ducates.

"There were in the said navie five terzaes of Spaniards--which terzaes
the Frenchmen call regiments--under the command of five governours,
termed by the Spaniards masters of the field, and among the rest there
were many olde and expert souldiers chosen out of the garisons of
Sicilie, Naples, and Terçera. Their captaines or colonels were Diego
Pimentelli, Don Francisco de Toledo, Don Alonço de Luçon, Don Nicolas de
Isla, Don Augustin de Mexia, who had eche of them thirty-two companies
under their conduct. Besides the which companies, there were many bands
also of Castilians and Portugals, every one of which had their peculiar
governours, captaines, officers, colors, and weapons."

While this huge armament was making ready in the southern ports of the
Spanish dominions, the Duke of Parma, with almost incredible toil and
skill, collected a squadron of war-ships at Dunkirk, and a large
flotilla of other ships and of flat-bottomed boats for the transport to
England of the picked troops which were designed to be the main
instruments in subduing England. The design of the Spaniards was that
the armada should give them, at least for a time, the command of the
sea, and that it should join the squadron that Parma had collected off
Calais. Then, escorted by an overpowering naval force, Parma and his
army were to embark in their flotilla, and cross the sea to England,
where they were to be landed, together with the troops which the armada
brought from the ports of Spain.

The scheme was not dissimilar to one formed against England a little
more than two centuries afterward. As Napoleon, in 1805, waited with his
army and flotilla at Boulogne, looking for Villeneuve to drive away the
English cruisers and secure him a passage across the Channel, so Parma,
in 1588, waited for Medina Sidonia to drive away the Dutch and English
squadrons that watched his flotilla, and to enable his veterans to cross
the sea to the land that they were to conquer. Thanks to Providence, in
each case England's enemy waited in vain!

Although the numbers of sail which the Queen's government and the
patriotic zeal of volunteers had collected for the defence of England
exceeded the number of sail in the Spanish fleet, the English ships
were, collectively, far inferior in size to their adversaries', their
aggregate tonnage being less by half than that of the enemy. In the
number of guns and weight of metal the disproportion was still greater.
The English admiral was also obliged to subdivide his force; and Lord
Henry Seymour, with forty of the best Dutch and English ships, was
employed in blockading the hostile ports in Flanders, and in preventing
the Duke of Parma from coming out of Dunkirk.

The Invincible Armada, as the Spaniards in the pride of their hearts
named it, set sail from the Tagus on May 29th, but near Corunna met with
a tempest that drove it into port with severe loss. It was the report of
the damage done to the enemy by this storm which had caused the English
Court to suppose that there would be no invasion that year. But, as
already mentioned, the English admiral had sailed to Corunna, and
learned the real state of the case, whence he had returned with his
ships to Plymouth.

The armada sailed again from Corunna on July 12th. The orders of King
Philip to the Duke of Medina Sidonia were that he should, on entering
the Channel, keep near the French coast, and, if attacked by the English
ships, avoid an action and steer on to Calais roads, where the Prince of
Parma's squadron was to join him. The hope of surprising and destroying
the English fleet in Plymouth led the Spanish admiral to deviate from
these orders and to stand across to the English shore; but, on finding
that Lord Howard was coming out to meet him, he resumed the original
plan, and determined to bend his way steadily toward Calais and Dunkirk,
and to keep merely on the defensive against such squadrons of the
English as might come up with him.

It was on Saturday, July 20th, that Lord Effingham came in sight of his
formidable adversaries. The armada was drawn up in form of a crescent,
which from horn to horn measured some seven miles. There was a southwest
wind, and before it the vast vessels sailed slowly on. The English let
them pass by, and then, following in the rear, commenced an attack on
them. A running fight now took place, in which some of the best ships of
the Spaniards were captured; many more received heavy damage, while the
English vessels, which took care not to close with their huge antagonists,
but availed themselves of their superior celerity in tacking and
manoeuvring, suffered little comparative loss.

Each day added not only to the spirit, but to the number, of Effingham's
force. Raleigh, Oxford, Cumberland, and Sheffield joined him; and "the
gentlemen of England hired ships from all parts at their own charge, and
with one accord came flocking thither as to a set field where glory was
to be attained and faithful service performed unto their Prince and
their country."

Raleigh justly praises the English admiral for his skilful tactics:
"Certainly he that will happily perform a fight at sea must be skilful
in making choice of vessels to fight in: he must believe that there is
more belonging to a good man of war upon the waters than great daring,
and must know that there is a great deal of difference between fighting
loose or at large and grappling. The guns of a slow ship pierce as well
and make as great holes as those in a swift. To clap ships together,
without consideration, belongs rather to a madman than to a man of war;
for by such an ignorant bravery was Peter Strossie lost at the Azores
when he fought against the Marquis of Santa Cruza.

"In like sort had the Lord Charles Howard, admiral of England, been lost
in the year 1588, if he had not been better advised than a great many
malignant fools were that found fault with his demeanor. The Spaniards
had an army aboard them, and he had none; they had more ships than he
had, and of higher building and charging; so that, had he entangled
himself with those great and powerful vessels, he had greatly endangered
this kingdom of England; for twenty men upon the defences are equal to a
hundred that board and enter; whereas, then, contrariwise, the Spaniards
had a hundred for twenty of ours, to defend themselves withal. But our
admiral knew his advantage, and held it; which had he not done, he had
not been worthy to have held his head up."

The Spanish admiral also showed great judgment and firmness in following
the line of conduct that had been traced out for him; and on July 27th
he brought his fleet unbroken, though sorely distressed, to anchor in
Calais roads. But the King of Spain had calculated ill the number and
the activity of the English and Dutch fleets. As the old historian
expresses it: "It seemeth that the Duke of Parma and the Spaniards
grounded upon a vain and presumptuous expectation that all the ships of
England and of the Low Countreys would at the first sight of the Spanish
and Dunkerk navie have betaken themselves to flight, yeelding them
sea-room, and endeavoring only to defend themselues, their havens, and
sea-coasts from invasion.

"Wherefore their intent and purpose was, that the Duke of Parma, in his
small and flat-bottomed ships, should, as it were under the shadow and
wings of the Spanish fleet, convey ouer all his troupes, armor, and
war-like provisions, and with their forces so united, should invade
England; or while the English fleet were busied in fight against the
Spanish, should enter upon any part of the coast, which he thought to
be most convenient. Which invasion--as the captives afterward
confessed--the Duke of Parma thought first to have attempted by the
river of Thames; upon the bankes whereof having at the first arrivall
landed twenty or thirty thousand of his principall souldiers, he
supposed that he might easily have wonne the citie of London; both
because his small shippes should have followed and assisted his land
forces and also for that the citie it-selfe was but meanely fortified
and easie to ouercome, by reason of the citizens' delicacie and
discontinuance from the warres, who, with continuall and constant labor,
might be vanquished, if they yielded not at the first assault."[4]

      [4] Hakluyt: _Voyages_.

But the English and Dutch found ships and mariners enough to keep the
armada itself in check, and at the same time to block up Parma's
flotilla. The greater part of Seymour's squadron left its cruising-ground
off Dunkirk to join the English admiral off Calais; but the Dutch manned
about five-and-thirty sail of good ships, with a strong force of soldiers
on board, all well seasoned to the sea-service, and with these they
blockaded the Flemish ports that were in Parma's power. Still it was
resolved by the Spanish admiral and the Prince to endeavor to effect a
junction, which the English seamen were equally resolute to prevent; and
bolder measures on our side now became necessary.

The armada lay off Calais, with its largest ships ranged outside, "like
strong castles fearing no assault, the lesser placed in the middle ward."
The English admiral could not attack them in their position without
great disadvantage, but on the night of the 29th he sent eight fire-ships
among them, with almost equal effect to that of the fire-ships which the
Greeks so often employed against the Turkish fleets in their war of
independence.

The Spaniards cut their cables and put to sea in confusion. One of the
largest galeases ran foul of another vessel and was stranded. The rest
of the fleet was scattered about on the Flemish coast, and when the
morning broke it was with difficulty and delay that they obeyed their
admiral's signal to range themselves round him near Gravelines. Now was
the golden opportunity for the English to assail them, and prevent them
from ever letting loose Palma's flotilla against England, and nobly was
that opportunity used.

Drake and Fenner were the first English captains who attacked the
unwieldy leviathans; then came Fenton, Southwell, Burton, Cross, Raynor,
and then the lord admiral, with Lord Thomas Howard and Lord Sheffield.
The Spaniards only thought of forming and keeping close together, and
were driven by the English past Dunkirk, and far away from the Prince of
Parma, who, in watching their defeat from the coast, must, as Drake
expressed it, have chafed like a bear robbed of her whelps. This was
indeed the last and the decisive battle between the two fleets. It is,
perhaps, best described in the very words of the contemporary writer, as
we may read them in Hakluyt:

"Upon the 29 of July in the morning, the Spanish fleet after the forsayd
tumult, having arranged themselues againe into order, were, within sight
of Greveling, most bravely and furiously encountered by the English,
where they once again got the wind of the Spaniards, who suffered
themselues to be deprived of the commodity of the place in Caleis road,
and of the advantage of the wind neer unto Dunkerk, rather than they
would change their array or separate their forces now conjoyned and
united together, standing only upon their defence.

"And albeit there were many excellent and warlike ships in the English
fleet, yet scarce were there 22 or 23 among them all, which matched 90
of the Spanish ships in the bigness, or could conveniently assault them.
Wherefore the English shippes using their prerogative of nimble
steerage, whereby they could turn and wield themselues with the wind
which way they listed, came often times very near upon the Spaniards,
and charged them so sore that now and then they were but a pike's length
asunder; and so continually giving them one broad side after another,
they discharged all their shot, both great and small, upon them,
spending one whole day, from morning till night, in that violent kind of
conflict, untill such time as powder and bullets failed them.

"In regard of which want they thought it convenient not to pursue the
Spaniards any longer, because they had many great advantages of the
English, namely, for the extraordinary bigness of their shippes, and
also for that they were so neerely conjoyned, and kept together in so
good array, that they could by no meanes be fought withall one to one.
The English thought, therefore, that they had right well acquitted
themselues in chasing the Spaniards first from Caleis, and then from
Dunkerk, and by that means to have hindered them from joyning with the
Duke of Parma his forces, and getting the wind of them, to have driven
them from their own coasts.

"The Spaniards that day sustained great loss and damage, having many of
their shippes shot thorow and thorow, and they discharged likewise great
store of ordinance against the English, who, indeed, sustained some
hinderance, but not comparable to the Spaniards' loss; for they lost not
any one ship or person of account; for very diligent inquisition being
made, the Englishmen all the time wherein the Spanish navy sayled upon
their seas, are not found to haue wanted aboue one hundred of their
people; albeit Sir Francis Drake's ship was pierced with shot aboue
forty times, and his very cabben was twice shot thorow, and about the
conclusion of the fight, the bed of a certaine gentleman lying weary
thereupon, was taken quite from under him with the force of a bullet.

"Likewise, as the Earle of Northumberland and Sir Charles Blunt were at
dinner upon a time, the bullet of a demy-culvering brake thorow the
middest of their cabben, touched their feet, and strooke downe two of
the standers-by. With many such accidents befalling the English shippes,
which it were tedious to rehearse."

It reflects little credit on the English government that the English
fleet was so deficiently supplied with ammunition as to be unable to
complete the destruction of the invaders. But enough was done to insure
it. Many of the largest Spanish ships were sunk or captured in the
action of this day. And at length the Spanish admiral, despairing of
success, fled northward with a southerly wind, in the hope of rounding
Scotland, and so returning to Spain without a further encounter with the
English fleet.

Lord Effingham left a squadron to continue the blockade of the Prince of
Parma's armament; but that wise general soon withdrew his troops to more
promising fields of action. Meanwhile the lord admiral himself, and
Drake, chased the "vincible" armada, as it was now termed, for some
distance northward; and then, when they seemed to bend away from the
Scotch coast toward Norway, it was thought best, in the words of Drake,
"to leave them to those boisterous and uncouth northern seas."

The sufferings and losses which the unhappy Spaniards sustained in their
flight round Scotland and Ireland are well known. Of their whole armada
only fifty-three shattered vessels brought back their beaten and wasted
crews to the Spanish coast, which they had quitted in such pageantry and
pride.

Some passages from the writings of those who took part in the struggle
have been already quoted, and the most spirited description of the
defeat of the armada which ever was penned may perhaps be taken from the
letter which our brave vice-admiral Drake wrote in answer to some
mendacious stories by which the Spaniards strove to hide their shame.
Thus does he describe the scenes in which he played so important a
part:[5]

"They were not ashamed to publish, in sundry languages in print, great
victories in words, which they pretended to have obtained against this
realm, and spread the same in a most false sort over all parts of
France, Italy, and elsewhere; when, shortly afterward, it was happily
manifested in very deed to all nations, how their navy, which they
termed invincible, consisting of one hundred forty sail of ships, not
only of their own kingdom, but strengthened with the greatest argosies,
Portugal carracks, Florentines, and large hulks of other countries, were
by thirty of her majesty's own ships of war, and a few of our own
merchants, by the wise, valiant, and advantageous conduct of the Lord
Charles Howard, high admiral of England, beaten and shuffled together
even from the Lizard in Cornwall, first to Portland, when they
shamefully left Don Pedro de Valdez with his mighty ship; from Portland
to Calais, where they lost Hugh de Moncado, with the galleys of which he
was captain; and from Calais, driven with squibs from their anchors,
were chased out of the sight of England, round about Scotland and
Ireland; where, for the sympathy of their religion, hoping to find
succor and assistance, a great part of them were crushed against the
rocks, and those others that landed, being very many in number, were,
notwithstanding, broken, slain, and taken, and so sent from village to
village, coupled in halters to be shipped into England, where her
majesty, of her princely and invincible disposition, disdaining to put
them to death, and scorning either to retain or to entertain them, they
were all sent back again to their countries, to witness and recount the
worthy achievements of their invincible and dreadful navy. Of which the
number of soldiers, the fearful burden of their ships, the commanders'
names of every squadron, with all others, their magazines of provision,
were put in print, as an army and navy irresistible and disdaining
prevention; with all which their great and terrible ostentation, they
did not in all their sailing round about England so much as sink or take
one ship, barque, pinnace, or cock-boat of ours, or even burn so much as
one sheep-cote on this land."

      [5] Strype, and the notes to the Life of Drake, in the _Biographia
      Britannica_.




                 HENRY OF NAVARRE ACCEPTS CATHOLICISM

                  HE IS ACKNOWLEDGED KING OF FRANCE

                              A.D. 1593

                 MAXIMILIEN DE BÉTHUNE, DUC DE SULLY


    Few periods in French history are of greater interest and importance
    than that of which Sully treats in the following pages. Henry of
    Navarre is regarded by the French people as the most brilliant of
    all their kings in personal qualities and achievements; and his
    great accomplishment of ending the terrible religious wars of his
    country is one of the most conspicuous of the happier results in
    modern annals. Sully, whose account of these matters stands alone
    among those of contemporary narrators, was the friend and companion
    of Henry of Navarre, with whom he served in the wars. He also became
    famous as King Henry's minister of finance.

    After the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, the "Wars of the Huguenots"
    in France continued with fury. In 1573, the year following the
    massacre, by the Peace of La Rochelle Charles IX granted to the
    Protestants partial toleration. By the Peace of Monsieur, in 1576,
    Henry III granted them free exercise of their religion in all France
    except Paris. Among French Roman Catholics this treaty caused deep
    dissatisfaction, and in the same year they formed the Holy
    League--also called the Catholic League--for the purpose of wiping
    out the Huguenot party and raising the Guises to the throne. The
    League made an alliance with Philip II of Spain.

    Henry of Navarre, head of the Huguenot party after the death of
    Condé in 1569, became heir-presumptive to the throne of France in
    1584. The Holy League, refusing to recognize his title, proclaimed
    the cardinal Charles de Bourbon heir-presumptive. On the death of
    Henry III, successor of Charles IX, in 1589, the League proclaimed
    Bourbon as king, under the title of Charles X. In the following year
    Henry of Navarre signally defeated the League at Ivry, but still the
    war went on. Battles and sieges, widespread intrigues, and frequent
    assassinations kept the kingdom in a condition of tumult and alarm.
    Disputes between the contending parties proved futile, debates in
    the States or legislative assembly of Paris availed nothing, and the
    successive "treaties" of the long war period failed to bring lasting
    peace.

    At length Henry decided to abjure the Protestant faith, and his
    abjuration was followed by the surrender to him of the chief cities
    of the kingdom (1593), including Paris.

    Still, although the King secured the general recognition of the
    Roman Catholics, and was crowned, as Henry IV, in July, 1594, war
    was continued by the League and its Spanish allies. In April, 1598,
    Henry issued the famous Edict of Nantes, whereby Huguenots were
    granted the political rights enjoyed by Catholics, and religious,
    military, and judicial concessions were made to the Protestants.
    This edict ended the long religious wars, and in May the Peace of
    Vervins with Spain and the League was concluded. The central event
    selected for this work is the securing by Henry of the sovereign
    power, whereby the end of these prolonged troubles was finally
    reached.


Alternate succession of war and debates lasted all the time that the
States of Paris continued to be held, and even till the day that the
King abjured the Protestant religion. His intention of changing his
religion now became daily more certain: many causes urged him to adopt
this resolution, the principal of which (not to mention his conscience,
of which he alone could be the true judge) were his grief for the
miseries to which the people would still be exposed; his dread of the
Catholics about his person; the powerful and subtle theological
arguments of M. du Perron, added to his sweet and agreeable
conversation; the artful connivance of some of the ministers and
Huguenots in the cabinet, who were willing to profit by the times at any
rate; the faithless ambition of many of the most powerful and
distinguished among the Protestants, at the mercy of whom he dreaded
falling, should the Catholics resolve to abandon him; the contempt which
he had conceived against some of the zealous Catholics (and particularly
M. d'O), on account of the insolent language they had used toward him;
his desire of getting rid of them, and of one day making them suffer for
their temerity; his dread lest the States, still sitting in Paris, might
elect the Cardinal of Bourbon king, and marry him to the Infanta of
Spain; finally, the fatigue and troubles he had endured from his youth,
the hope of enjoying a life of ease and tranquillity for the future,
added to the persuasions of some of his most faithful servants, among
whom may be also reckoned his mistress,[1] the one by tears and
supplications, the other by remonstrances: all these circumstances, I
say, fixed him in his resolution of embracing the Catholic religion.

      [1] The Marchioness de Monceaux, who, D'Aubigné says, acted this
      part in the hope of becoming queen herself if Henry should be
      declared king.

While these things were under consideration a great number of the larger
towns, and Paris in particular, which were in the party of the League,
being no longer able to endure the inconveniences and privations which
the confusion of the times had occasioned--all commerce, internal as
well as external, being at a stand, on account of the prohibitions
against trading with the places in the King's interest--disturbances
broke out among the people, who at last compelled their leaders to send
a deputation to the King to request liberty to trade: M. de Belin was
accordingly appointed for this purpose, and came to the King when he was
either at Mantes or Vernon; but, notwithstanding all his arguments, the
whole council opposed his request. There was not a Protestant there who
appeared willing that he should grant it; and, what is still more
surprising, it met with equal opposition from the Catholics, without
their being able to assign a lawful, or even a plausible, reason for
such a conduct.

All these persons were perplexed in their debates, and perceived plainly
that their opinion would signify nothing, yet could not prevail upon
themselves to alter it. The King looking at me that moment, "Monsieur de
Rosny," said he, "what makes you so thoughtful? Will not you speak your
mind absolutely any more than the others?" I then began, and was not
afraid to declare myself against all those who had voted, by maintaining
that it was necessary not to hesitate a moment, but to endeavor to gain
the affections of the people by kind treatment, as experience had proved
that harsh measures were productive of no good consequences whatever. I
therefore advised the King to grant them not only the liberty of trade,
which they requested, but also a general truce, if, as the Count de
Belin seemed to hint, they should desire it. To these I added many other
reasons; but they only excited against me the hatred or contempt of most
of the council, to whose decision the King was obliged to yield, and the
Count de Belin returned without being able to gain anything.

Henry, reflecting upon this refusal and judging that there wanted but
little more of the same nature to alienate the people's affections from
him without a possibility of regaining them, and to induce them to go
over to the party of his enemies, he resolved to defer his abjuration no
longer. He was now convinced that there was no probability of his subduing
the reluctance of several of the Protestants, or of ever obtaining their
free consent to this proceeding;[2] but that it was necessary to act
independently of them, and hazard some murmurs, which would end in
nothing. As for the Catholics of his party, the King endeavored only to
remove their fears that, looking upon them as persons of whom he was
already secure, he would apply himself wholly to gaining the rest by
bestowing all rewards upon them. He therefore at last declared publicly
that on July 20, 1593, he would perform his abjuration, and named the
Church of St. Denis for this ceremony.

      [2] Henry IV was always sensible that his abjuration would expose
      him to great dangers, which made him write in this manner to
      Mademoiselle d'Estrées: "On Sunday I shall take a dangerous leap.
      While I am writing to you I have a hundred troublesome people
      about me, which makes me detest St. Denis as much as you do
      Mantes," etc.

This declaration threw the League into confusion, and filled the hearts
of the people and the Catholics of the royal party with joy. The
Protestants, although they had expected it, discovered their discontent
by signs and low murmurs, and did, for form's sake, all that such a
juncture required of them, but they did not go beyond the bounds of
obedience. All the ecclesiastics, with Du Perron, intoxicated with his
triumph, at their head, flocked together; everyone was desirous of a
share in this work. Du Perron, for whom I had obtained the bishopric of
Evreux, thought he could not show his gratitude for it in a better manner
than by exercising his functions of converter upon me. He accosted me
with the air of a conqueror, and proposed to me to be present at a
ceremony where he flattered himself he should shine with such powers of
reasoning as would dissipate the profoundest darkness. "Sir," I replied,
"all I have to do by being present at your disputes is to examine which
side produces the strongest and most effectual arguments. The state of
affairs, your number and your riches, require that yours should prevail."
In effect they did. There was a numerous court at St. Denis, and all was
conducted with great pomp and splendor. I may be excused from dwelling
upon the description of this ceremony here, since the Catholic historians
have been so prolix upon the subject.

I did not imagine I could be of any use at this time, therefore kept
myself retired, as one who had no interest in the show that was
preparing, when I was visited by Du Perron, whom the Cardinal of Bourbon
had sent to me to decide a dispute that had arisen on occasion of the
terms in which the King's profession of faith should be conceived. The
Catholic priests and doctors loaded it with all the trifles their heads
were filled with, and were going to make it ridiculous, instead of a
grave and solemn composition. The Protestant ministers, and the King
himself, disapproved of the puerilities and trifles with which they had
stuffed this instrument; and it occasioned debates which had like to have
thrown everything again into confusion. I went immediately with Du Perron
to the Cardinal of Bourbon, with whom it was agreed that those articles
of faith which were disputed by the two churches should be admitted, but
that all the rest should be suppressed as useless. The parties approved
of this regulation; and the instrument was drawn up in such a manner that
the King there acknowledged all the Roman tenets upon the Holy Scripture:
the Church, the number and ceremonies of the sacraments, the sacrifices
of the mass, transubstantiation, the doctrine of justification, the
invocation of saints, the worship of relics and images, purgatory,
indulgences, and the supremacy and power of the pope,[3] after which the
satisfaction was general.[4]

      [3] Another act of equal validity, by which Henry IV acknowledged
      the pope's authority, is the declaration which he made after his
      conversion, that it was necessity and the confusion of affairs
      which obliged him to receive absolution from the prelates of France
      rather than from those of the Holy Father.

      [4] It was Renauld, or Beaune de Samblançai, Archbishop of Bourges,
      who received the King's abjuration; the Cardinal of Bourbon, who
      was not a priest, and nine other bishops assisted at the ceremony.
      Henry IV entering the Chapel of St. Denis, the Archbishop said to
      him, "Who are you?" Henry replied, "I am the King." "What is your
      request?" said the Archbishop. "To be received," said the King,
      "into the pale of the Catholic, Apostolic, and Roman Church." "Do
      you desire it?" added the prelate. "Yes, I do desire it," replied
      the King. Then, kneeling, he said: "I protest and swear, in the
      presence of Almighty God, to live and die in the Catholic,
      Apostolic, and Roman religion; to protect and defend it against all
      its enemies, at the hazard of my blood and life, renouncing all
      heresies contrary to this Catholic, Apostolic, and Roman Church."
      He afterward put this same confession in writing into the hands of
      the Archbishop, who presented him his ring to kiss, giving him
      absolution with a loud voice, during which _Te Deum_ was sung,
      etc.

The ceremony of the King's abjuration was followed by a deputation of the
Duke of Nevers to Rome, who, together with the Cardinal de Gondy and the
Marquis de Pisany, was to offer the Pope the submission usual in such
cases. Although this change was a mortal blow for the League, yet the
Spaniards and the Duke of Mayenne still held out; they endeavored to
persuade their partisans that there still remained resources capable of
making it ineffectual; but they spoke at that time contrary to their own
opinion, and this feigned confidence was only designed to obtain greater
advantages from the King before he was securely fixed on the throne.

This is not a mere conjecture, at least with regard to the King of Spain,
since it is certain that he ordered Taxis and Stuniga to offer the King
forces sufficient to reduce all the chiefs of the League and the
Protestant party, without annexing any other condition to this offer than
a strict alliance between the two crowns, and an agreement that the King
should give no assistance to the rebels in the Low Countries. Philip II
judged of Henry by himself, and considered his conversion only as the
principle of a new political system, which made it necessary for him to
break through his former engagements. It may not, perhaps, be useless to
mention here an observation I have made on the conduct of Spain, which
is, that although before and after the death of Catherine de' Medicis she
had put a thousand different springs in motion, changed parties and
interests as she thought most expedient to draw advantages from the
divisions that shook this kingdom, yet the Protestant party was the only
one to which she never made any application: she had often publicly
protested that she never had the least intention to gain or suffer their
alliance.

It is by an effect of this very antipathy that the Spaniards have
constantly refused the Reformed religion admission into their states--an
antipathy which cannot be attributed to anything but the republican
principles the Protestants are accused of having imbibed. The King being
fully convinced that, to stifle the seeds of schism in his kingdom, it
was necessary to give none of the different factions occasion to boast
that his power was at their disposal, and that to reduce all parties he
must be partial to none, he therefore steadily rejected these offers from
Spain, and those which the Duke of Mayenne made him to the same purpose,
but at that very time appeared willing to treat with any of the chiefs or
cities of the League which would surrender, and to reward them in
proportion to their readiness and services; and it was this prudent
medium that he was resolved to persist in.

Although he now professed the same religion as the League, yet his
aversion to the spirit which actuated that party, and to the maxims by
which they were governed, was not lessened; the very name only of the
League was sufficient to kindle his anger. The Catholic Leaguers,
supposing that his abjuration authorized them to abolish in those cities
which depended upon them the edicts that were favorable to the Huguenots,
the King caused them to be restored; and though in some places the
Leaguers had obtained the consent even of the Huguenots
themselves--determined to purchase peace at any price--for this purpose,
yet, the Protestant party murmuring at it, Henry cancelled all that had
been done to that effect,[5] and showed that it was his design to keep
the balance even.

      [5] The King, on the 12th of December this year, held an assembly
      of the Protestants at Mantes, in which he publicly declared that
      his changing his religion should make no alteration in the affairs
      of the Protestants. And, the Calvinists having asked many things of
      him, he told them he could not comply with their requests, but that
      he would tolerate them.

The Duke of Mayenne, finding that in this last scheme, which he had
believed infallible, he was disappointed as well as in the rest, placed
all his future dependence upon his old friends the Parisians, and
neglected no method by which he might awaken their mutinous disposition;
but so far was he from succeeding in this attempt that he could not
hinder them from discovering their joy at what had just passed at St.
Denis. They talked publicly of peace, and even in his presence; and he
had the mortification to hear a proposal to send deputies to the King to
demand a truce for six months, and they obliged him to give his consent
to it. The truce for three months, which had been granted them at Surêne,
had only inspired them with an inclination for a longer one.

The King gave audience to the deputies in full council. The greatest
number of those who composed it, listening to nothing but their jealousy
of the Duke of Mayenne, whom they feared as a man that had the means in
his power of purchasing favor and rewards, were of the opinion that no
attention ought to be paid to this demand of the deputies, because the
person who sent them persisted in his revolt against the King, even after
his abjuration. Notwithstanding the justice of not confounding the Duke
of Mayenne with the Parisians, I saw this advice was likely to be
followed, and it certainly might have produced some very bad consequence.
I therefore insisted so strongly upon the advantage of letting the
people, already recovered from their first terrors, taste the sweets of a
peace which would interest them still more in the King's favor, that this
Prince declared he would grant the truce they demanded of him, but for
the months of August, September, and October only.

The next day a prodigious concourse of the populace of Paris assembled at
St. Denis. The King showed himself to the people and assisted publicly at
mass; wherever he turned his steps the crowd was so great that it was
sometimes impossible to pierce through it, while every moment a million
of voices cried, "Long live the King!" Everyone returned, charmed with
the gracefulness of his person, his condescension, and that engaging
manner which was natural to him. "God bless him!" said they, with tears
in their eyes, "and grant that he may soon do the same in our Church of
Notre Dame in Paris." I observed to the King this disposition of the
people with regard to him; tender and sensible as he was, he could not
behold this spectacle without strong emotions.

Some months later, while on a mission for the King, I received from his
majesty a letter, which concluded with these words: "Come to me at Senlis
on the 20th of March, or at St. Denis on the 21st, that you may help to
cry, 'Long live the King!' in Paris, and afterward we will do the same at
Rouen."

It was upon some correspondence the King carried on in Paris that he
founded his hopes of being soon admitted there, and he was on his way
thither from St. Denis when I joined him. His party in that city was so
firmly united, and so many persons of equal courage and fidelity had
joined it, that it was almost impossible but that it should succeed. Ever
since the battle of Arques, when the Count of Belin was taken prisoner by
the King's forces, and had an opportunity of discovering the great
qualities of Henry contrasted with the weakness of his enemies, the Duke
of Mayenne perceived the inclinations of the count to lean secretly
toward the King. Full of this suspicion, he did not hesitate a moment
about depriving him of the government of so considerable a city as Paris,
and, seeking for a man whose fidelity to himself and the League could be
depended upon, to whom he might intrust the care of this great city at a
time when the necessity of his affairs obliged him to repair to the
frontier of Picardy, he fixed upon Brissac and made him governor.

Brissac, at first, answered his purposes perfectly well. The study of
Roman history had inspired this officer, who valued himself greatly upon
his penetration and judgment, with a very singular project, which was to
form France into a republic upon the model of ancient Rome, and make
Paris the capital of this new state. Had Brissac descended ever so little
from these lofty ideas to an attention to particular applications, which
in the greatest designs it is necessary to have some regard to, he would
have perceived that there are circumstances under which a scheme, however
happily imagined, may, by the nature of the obstacles which oppose it, by
the difference of the genius and character of the people, by the force of
those laws they have adopted, and by long custom, which, as it were,
stamps a seal upon them, become alike chimerical and impracticable. Time
only and long experience can bring remedies to defects in the customs of
a state whose form is already determined; and this ought always to be
attempted with a view to the plan of its original constitution: this is
so certain that, whenever we see a state conducted by measures contrary
to those made use of in its foundation, we may be assured a great
revolution is at hand; nor does the application of the best remedies
operate upon diseases that resist their force.

Brissac did not go so far; he could not for a long time comprehend from
whence the general opposition his designs met with proceeded, for he had
explained himself freely to the nobles and all the chief partisans of the
League; at last he began to be apprehensive for his own safety lest,
while, without any assistance, he was laboring to bring his project to
perfection, the King should destroy it entirely by seizing his capital.
Possessed with this fear, the Roman ideas quickly gave place to the
French spirit of those times, which was to be solicitous only for his
own advantage. When self-interested motives are strengthened by the
apprehension of any danger, there are few persons who will not be induced
by them to betray even their best friend. Thus Brissac acted: he entered
into the Count of Belin's resolutions, though from a motive far less
noble and generous, and thought of nothing but of making the King
purchase at the highest price the treachery he meditated against the
Duke of Mayenne in his absence. St. Luc, his brother-in-law, undertook
to negotiate with the King in his name, and having procured very
advantageous conditions, Brissac agreed to admit Henry with his army into
Paris in spite of the Spaniards. The troops of the League were absolutely
at his disposal, and there was no reason to apprehend any opposition from
the people.

D'O lost no time in making application for the government of Paris and
the Isle of France, and obtained his request; but now a conflict between
his interest and ambition so perplexed this superintendent that,
notwithstanding his new dignity, the reduction of Paris was among the
number of those things he most feared should happen: he would have had it
believed that the true motive of this fear was, lest the finances should
become a prey to the men of the sword and gown, by whom, he said, the
King, as soon as he was possessed of Paris, would be oppressed for the
payment of pensions, appointments, and rewards. But this discourse
deceived none but those who were ignorant of the advantage he found in
keeping the affairs of the finances in their present state of confusion,
and with what success he had hitherto labored for that purpose.

The King, upon this occasion, put all the friends of the Count of Belin
in motion, on whom he had no less dependence than upon Brissac, and at
nine o'clock in the morning presented himself, at the head of eight
thousand men, before the Porte Neuve, where the Mayor of Paris and the
other magistrates received him in form. He went immediately and took
possession of the Louvre, the Palace, the Great and Little Châtelet, and,
finding no opposition anywhere, he proceeded even to the Church of Notre
Dame, which he entered to return thanks to God for his success. His
soldiers, on their part, fulfilled with such exactness the orders and
intentions of their master that no one throughout this great city
complained of having received any outrage from them. They took possession
of all the squares and crossways in the street, where they drew up in
order of battle. Everything was quiet, and from that day the shops were
opened with all the security which a long-continued peace could have
given.

The Spaniards had now only the Bastille, the Temple, and the quarters of
St. Anthony and St. Martin in their possession; and there they fortified
themselves, being about four thousand in number, with the Duc de Feria
and Don Diego d'Evora at their head, all greatly astonished at such
unexpected news, and firmly resolved to defend themselves to the last
extremity, if any attempts were made to force them from those
advantageous posts. The King relieved them from their perplexity by
sending to tell them that they might leave Paris and retreat in full
security. He treated the Cardinals of Placentia and Pelleve with the same
gentleness, notwithstanding the resentment he still retained for their
conduct with regard to him. Soissons was the place whither these enemies
of the King retired,[6] protected by a strong escort. His majesty then
published a general pardon for all the French who had borne arms against
him. When this sacrifice is not extorted by necessity, but, on the
contrary, made at a time when vengeance has full liberty to satiate
itself, it is not one of the least marks of a truly royal disposition.

      [6]The King had a mind to see them march out, and viewed them from
      a window over St. Denis' gate. They all saluted him with their
      hats off, bowing profoundly low. The King, with great politeness,
      returned the salute to the principal officers, adding these words:
      "Remember me to your master; go, I permit you, but return no
      more." This anecdote agrees with that in the _Memoirs for the
      History of France_, but is contradicted by the _Journal_ written
      by the same author.




            CULMINATION OF DRAMATIC LITERATURE IN "HAMLET"

                              A.D. 1601

                     JAMES O. HALLIWELL-PHILLIPPS


    The tragedy of _Hamlet_ is generally regarded by critics as
    Shakespeare's masterpiece. Hence it is often referred to as the
    highest literary product of human genius. In the following
    discussion of the play, Mr. J. O. Halliwell-Phillipps, the master
    and dean of later Shakespearean scholars, gives 1601 as the probable
    date of its first production. At that time Shakespeare was a London
    actor, and leading shareholder in the Globe Theatre, where his play
    was presumably produced. He had made his first big success some five
    years before with _Romeo and Juliet_, and was, so far as we can
    judge, on the high tide of financial prosperity. The profession of
    an actor carried with it in those days much discredit, but in his
    far-off home at Stratford, Shakespeare had in 1601 already begun to
    seek the repute of a country gentleman, and had purchased the finest
    house and estate in the little village.

    Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps' _Memoranda on Hamlet_ were never thrown
    into final shape by the author. Therefore the editors have taken
    such slight liberties in rearranging the order of his text as were
    necessary to make its discourse consecutive.


The tragedy of _Hamlet_ is unquestionably the highest effort of artistic
literary power yet given to the world. There is nothing to be found in
real competition with it excepting in the other works of Shakespeare,
but all are inferior to this great masterpiece. There is hardly a speech
in the whole play which may not fairly be made the subject of an
elaborate discourse, especially when viewed in connection with its
bearings, however occasionally remote, on the character of Hamlet, the
development of which appears to have been the chief object of the
author, not only in the management of the plot, but in the creation of
the other personages who are introduced. There is contemporary evidence
to this effect in the _Stationers' Register_ of 1602 in the title there
given--_The Revenge of Hamlet_.

There was an old English tragedy on the subject of Hamlet which was in
existence at least as early as the year 1589, in the representation of
which an exclamation of the Ghost--"Hamlet, revenge!"--was a striking
and well-remembered feature. This production is alluded to in some
prefatory matter by Nash in the edition of Greene's _Menaphon_, issued
in that year, here given: "I'le turne backe to my first text, of studies
of delight, and talke a little in friendship with a few of our triuiall
translators. It is a common practise now a daies amongst a sort of
shifting companions that run through euery arte and thriue by none, to
leaue the trade of _Nouerint_ whereto they were borne, and busie
themselues with the indeuors of art, that could scarcelie latinize their
necke-verse if they should haue neede; yet English _Seneca_ read by
candle light yeeldes manie good sentences, as _Bloud is a beggar_, and
so foorth: and if you intreate him faire in a frostie morning, he will
afoord you whole _Hamlets_, I should say hand-fulls of tragical
speeches."

Another allusion occurs in Lodge's _Wits' Miserie_, "and though this
fiend be begotten of his father's own blood, yet is he different from
his nature; and were he not sure that jealousie could not make him a
cuckold, he had long since published him for a bastard: you shall know
him by this, he is a foule lubber, his tongue tipt with lying, his heart
steeled against charity; he walks for the most part in black under color
of gravity, and looks as pale as the visard of the ghost which cried so
miserably at the theator like an oister-wife,' _Hamlet, revenge_'."
Again, in Decker's _Satiromastix_, 1602: "_Asini_. 'Wod I were hang'd,
if I can call you any names but Captaine and Tucca.' _Tuc._ 'No, fye'st,
my name's _Hamlet, revenge_. Thou hast been at Parris Garden, hast not?'
_Hor._ 'Yes, Captaine, I ha plaide Zulziman there'"; with which may be
compared another passage in _Westward Hoe_, 1607--"I, but when light
wives make heavy husbands, let these husbands play mad _Hamlet_ and
crie, _revenge_." So, likewise, in Rowland's _Night Raven_, 1620, a
scrivener, who has his cloak and hat stolen from him, exclaims, "I will
not cry, _Hamlet, revenge_ my greeves." There is also reason to suppose
that another passage in the old tragedy of _Hamlet_ is alluded to in
Armin's _Nest of Ninnies_, 1608: "There are, as Hamlet sayes, things
cald whips in store," a sentence which seems to have been well known and
popular, for it is partially cited in the _Spanish Tragedie_, 1592, and
in the _First Part of the Contention_, 1594.

It seems, however, certain that all the passages above quoted refer to a
drama of Hamlet anterior to that by Shakespeare, and the same which is
recorded in Henslowe's _Diary_ as having been played at Newington in
1594 by "my Lord Admeralle and my lorde Chamberlen men, 9 of June, 1594,
receved at Hamlet, viii, 5," the small sum arising from the performance
showing most probably that the tragedy had then been long on the stage.
As Shakespeare was a member of the Lord Chamberlain's Company at that
time, it is certain that he must have been well acquainted with the older
play of _Hamlet_, one of a series of dramas on the then favorite theme
of revenge, aided by the supernatural intervention of a ghost.

There are a few other early allusions to the first _Hamlet_ which appear
to deserve quotation. "His father's empire and government was but as the
_Poeticall Furie in a Stageaction_, compleat, yet with horrid and wofull
Tragedies: a first, but no second to any _Hamlet_; and that now
_Reuenge_, iust _Reuenge_ was coming with his Sworde drawne against him,
his royall Mother, and dearest Sister to fill up those Murdering
Sceanes."--Sir Thomas Smithe's _Voiage and Entertainment in Rushia_,
1605. "Sometimes would he overtake him and lay hands upon him like a
catch-pole, as if he had arrested him, but furious Hamlet woulde
presently eyther breake loose like a beare from the stake, or else so
set his pawes on this dog that thus bayted him that, with tugging and
tearing one another's frockes off, they both looked like mad Tom of
Bedlam."--Decker's _Dead Terme_, 1608. "If any passenger come by and,
wondering to see such a conjuring circle kept by hel-houndes, demaund
what spirits they raise there, one of the murderers steps to him,
poysons him with sweete wordes and shifts him off with this lye, that
one of the women is falne in labor: but if any mad Hamlet, hearing this,
smell villanie and rush in by violence to see what the tawny divels are
dooing, then they excuse the fact, lay the blame on those that are the
actors, and perhaps, if they see no remedie, deliver them to an officer
to be lead to punishment."--Decker's _Lanthorne and Candle-light, or the
Bellman's Second Nights-Walke_, 1609, a tract which was reprinted under
more than one different title.

Mr. Collier, in his _Farther Particulars_, 1839, cites a very curious
passage--"a trout, Hamlet, with four legs"--which is given as a
proverbial line in Clarke's _Paroemiologia Anglo-Latina_ (or _Proverbs
English and Latin_), 1639. It is unnecessary to be too curious in
searching for the exact meaning of the phrase, but, as Dr. Ingleby
suggested to me, it is in all probability taken from the older play of
_Hamlet_, which does not appear to have been entirely superseded at once
by the new, or at least was long remembered by play-goers.

The preceding notices may fairly authorize us to infer that the ancient
play of _Hamlet_--1. Was written by either an attorney or an attorney's
clerk, who had not received a university education; 2. Was full of
tragical, high-sounding speeches; 3. Contained the passage "There are
things called whips in store," spoken by Hamlet; 4. Included a very
telling brief speech by the Ghost in the two words "Hamlet, revenge!" 5.
Was acted at the theatre in Shoreditch and at the playhouse at Newington
Butts; 6. Had for its principal character a hero exhibiting more general
violence than can be attributed to Shakespeare's creation of Hamlet.

As the older _Hamlet_ was performed by the Lord Chamberlain's Company in
the year 1594, it is possible that Shakespeare might then have undertaken
the part of the Ghost, a character he afterward assumed in his own
tragedy. There is a curious inedited notice of this personage in
Saltonstall's _Picturæ Loquentes_, 1635: "a chamberlaine is as nimble as
Hamlet's ghost, heere and everywhere, and when he has many guests,
stands most upon his pantofles, for hee's then a man of some calling."

There are a number of critics, following the lead of Coleridge, who tells
us that Shakespeare's judgment is commensurate with his genius; but they
speak of the former generally as if it were always unfettered, and
neglect to add that it was continually influenced by the conditions under
which he wrote, and that it was often his task to discover a route to a
successful result through the tortuous angularities of a preconceived
foreground. There is every reason to believe that this was the case with
the tragedy of _Hamlet_ and, if so, it is certain that no genius but
that of Shakespeare could have moulded the inartistic materials of a
rude original into that harmonious composition, which, although it has
certainly been tampered with by the players, and is therefore not the
perfect issue of his free inspiration, is the noblest drama the world is
ever likely to possess.

It must be recollected that in 1602 Shakespeare was in the zenith of his
dramatic power. His tragedy of _Hamlet_ was produced on the stage either
in 1601 or 1602, as appears from the entry of it on the books of the
Stationers' Company on July 26, 1602: "James Robertes--Entered for his
copie under the handes of Mr. Pasfeild and Mr. Waterson, warden, a booke
called the _Revenge of Hamlett, Prince (of) Denmarke_, as yet was
_latelie acted_ by the Lo: Chamberleyne his servantes."

No copy of this date is known to exist, but a surreptitious and imperfect
transcript of portions of the tragedy appeared in the following year
under the title of "_The Tragicall Historie of Hamlet, Prince of
Denmarke_. By William Shakespeare. As it hath been diuerse times acted
by his Highnesse seruants in the Cittie of London: as also in the two
Vniuersities of Cambridge and Oxford, and elsewhere. At London, printed
for N. L. and Iohn Trundell, 1603." In the next year, 1604, N. L., who
was Nicholas Ling, obtained by some means a playhouse copy of the
tragedy, not a copy in the state in which it left the hands of the
author, but representing in the main the genuine words of Shakespeare. It
was published under the following title: "_The Tragicall Historie of
Hamlet, Prince of Denmarke_. By William Shakespeare. Newly imprinted and
enlarged to almost as much againe as it was, according to the true and
perfect coppie. At London, Printed by I. R. for N. L., and are to be sold
at his shoppe under Saint Dunston's Church in Fleetstreet, 1604." This
impression was reissued in the following year, the title-page and a few
leaves at the end, sigs. N. and O., being fresh-printed, the sole
alteration in the former being the substitution of 1605 for 1604.

_Hamlet_ is not mentioned by Meres in 1598, and it could not have been
written before 1599, in which year the Globe was erected, there being a
clear allusion to that theatre in act ii, sc. 2. The tragedy continued to
be acted after Shakespeare's company commenced playing at the Blackfriars
Theatre, it being alluded to in a manuscript list, written in 1660,
of "some of the most ancient plays that were played at Blackfriars."
According to Downes, Sir William Davenant, "having seen Mr. Taylor of the
Black-Fryars Company act it, who, being instructed by the author, Mr.
Shaksepeur, taught Mr. Betterton in every particle of it."--_Roscius
Anglicanus_, 1708. Roberts, in his answer to Mr. Pope's _Preface on
Shakespeare_, 1729, thinks that Lowin was the original Hamlet.

The date of 1601 for the production of _Hamlet_ appears to suit the
internal evidence very well. That evidence decidedly leads to the
conclusion that it could not have been written long before that time,
and, without placing too much reliance on the general opinion that
Shakespeare entirely laid aside his earlier style of composition at some
particular era, that year is probably about the latest in which he would
have written in the strain of the following lines, which, taken by
themselves, might be assigned to the period of the _Two Gentlemen of
Verona_:

    "Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister;
    And keep you in the rear of your affection
    Out of the shot and danger of desire.
    The dearest maid is prodigal enough
    If she unmask her beauty to the moon:
    Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes:
    The canker galls the infants of the spring,
    Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd;
    And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
    Contagious blastments are most imminent.
    Be wary, then; best safety lies in fear;
    Youth to itself rebels, though none else near."

Were it not that the elder play of _Hamlet_ did not belong to Shakespeare's
company, these lines might lead to the conjecture that he had made some
additions to it long before he wrote his own complete tragedy.

There was once in existence a copy of Speght's edition of Chaucer, 1598,
with manuscript notes by Gabriel Harvey, one of those notes being in the
following terms: "The younger sort take much delight in Shakespeare's
_Venus and Adonis_, but his _Lucrece_ and his tragedy of _Hamlet, Prince
of Denmarke_, have it in them to please the wiser sort." This note was
first printed in 1766 by Steevens, who gives the year 1598 as the date of
its insertion in the volume, but, observed Dr. Ingleby, "we are unable to
verify Steevens' note or collate his copy, for the book which contained
Harvey's note passed into the collection of Bishop Percy, and his library
was burned in the fire at Northumberland House." Under these
circumstances one can only add the opinions of those who have had the
opportunity of inspecting the volume. Firstly, from the letter of Percy
to Malone, 1803: "In the passage which extols Shakespeare's tragedy,
Spenser is quoted by name among our flourishing metricians. Now this
edition of Chaucer was published in 1598, and Spenser's death is
ascertained to have been in January, 1598-1599, so that these passages
were all written in 1598, and prove that _Hamlet_ was written before that
year, as you have fixed it." Secondly, from a letter from Malone to
Percy, written also in 1803, in which he gives reasons for controverting
this opinion: "When I was in Dublin I remember you thought that, though
Harvey had written 1598 in his book, it did not follow from thence that
his remarks were then written; whilst, on the other hand, I contended
that, from the mention of Spenser, they should seem to have been written
in that year; so that, like the two Reynoldses, we have changed sides and
each converted the other; for I have now no doubt that these observations
were written in a subsequent year. The words that deceive are 'our now
flourishing metricians,' by which Harvey does not mean 'now living,' but
now admired or in vogue; and what proves this is that in his catalogue he
mixes the living and the dead, for Thomas Watson was dead before 1593.
With respect to Axio Philus, I think you will agree with me hereafter
that not Spenser, but another person, was meant. Having more than once
named Spenser, there could surely be no occasion to use any mysterious
appellation with respect to that poet. My theory is that Harvey bought
the book in 1598 on its publication, and then sat down to read it, and
that his observations were afterward inserted at various times. That
passage, which is at the very end, and subjoined to Lydgate's catalogue,
one may reasonably suppose was not written till after he had perused the
whole volume."

The tragedy of _Hamlet_ is familiarly alluded to more than once in the
play of _Eastward Hoe_, printed in 1605, in a manner which indicates
that the former drama was very well established in the memories of the
audience. There is a parody on one of Ophelia's songs which is of some
interest in regard to the question of the critical value of the quarto of
1604; the occurrence of the word "all" before "flaxen" showing that the
former word was incorrectly omitted in all the early quartos excepting
in that of 1603. One of the subordinate characters in _Eastward Hoe_ is
a running-footman of the name of Hamlet, who enters in great haste to
tell the coachman to be ready for his mistress, whereupon Potkin, a
tankard-bearer, says: "Sfoote, Hamlet, are you madde? Whether run you
nowe? You should brushe up my olde mistresse."

There is an unsupported statement by Oldys to the effect that Shakespeare
received but five pounds for his tragedy of _Hamlet_, but whether from
the company who first acted it or from the publisher is not mentioned.
This is the only information that has reached us respecting the exact
emolument received by Shakespeare for any of his writings, but it cannot
be accepted merely on such an authority. It is, however, worthy of remark
that Greene parted with his _Orlando_ to the Queen's Players for twenty
nobles; so the sum named appears to have been about the usual amount
given for a play sold direct from the author to a company, but in all
probability, when _Hamlet_ was produced, Shakespeare was playing at the
Globe Theatre on shares.

Notwithstanding the extreme length of the tragedy of _Hamlet_, there
is such a marvellously concentrative power displayed in much of the
construction and dialogue that, in respect to a large number of the
incidents and speeches, a wide latitude of interpretation is admissible,
the selection in those cases from possible explanations depending upon
the judgment and temperament of each actor or reader. Hence it may be
confidently predicted that no æsthetic criticisms upon this drama will
ever be entirely and universally accepted, and as certainly that there
will remain problems in connection with it which will be subjects for
discussion to the end of literary time. Among the latter the reason or
reasons which induced Hamlet to defer the fulfilment of his revenge may
perhaps continue to hold a prominent situation, although the solution of
that special mystery does not seem to be attended with difficulties equal
to those surrounding other cognate inquiries which arise in the study of
the tragedy.

In respect to this drama, as to many others by the same author, the
prophetic words of Leonard Digges may be usefully remembered--"Some
second Shakespeare must of Shakespeare write." Until this miracle occurs,
it is not likely that any æsthetic criticism on the tragedy will be
successful; and certainly at present, notwithstanding the numbers of
persons of high talent and genius who have discussed the subject, nothing
has been, nor is likely to be, produced which is altogether satisfactory.
The cause of this may perhaps to some extent arise from the latitude of
interpretation the dramatic form of composition allows, to the
appreciation of the minor details of a character, and the various
plausible reasons that can often be assigned for the same line of action;
something also may be due to the unconscious influence exercised by
individual temperament upon the exposition of that character, and again
much to the defective state of the text; but the reason of the general
failure in _Hamlet_ criticism is no doubt chiefly to be traced to the
want of ability to enter fully into the inspiration of the poet's genius.

It may, however, be safely asserted that the simpler explanations are,
and the less they are biassed by the subtleties of the philosophical
critics, the more likely they are to be in unison with the intentions of
the author. Take, for instance, the well-established fact that immodesty
of expression, the recollection derived, it may often be, accidentally
and unwillingly from oral sources during the previous life, is one of the
numerous phases of insanity; and not only are the song-fragments chanted
by Ophelia, but even the ribaldry addressed to her by Hamlet, in the
play-scene, vindicated, there being little doubt that Shakespeare
intended the simulated madness of the latter through his intellectual
supremacy to be equally true to nature, the manners of his age permitting
the delineation in a form which is now repulsive and inadmissible.

The present favorite idea is that in Hamlet the great dramatist intended
to delineate an irresolute mind depressed by the weight of a mission
which it is unable to accomplish. This is the opinion of Goethe
following, if I have noted rightly, an English writer in the _Mirror_ of
1780. A careful examination of the tragedy will hardly sustain this
hypothesis. So far from Hamlet being indecisive, although the active
principle in his character is strongly influenced by the meditative, he
is really a man of singular determination, and, excepting in occasional
paroxsyms, one of powerful self-control. His rapidity of decision is
strikingly exhibited after his first interview with the Ghost. Perceiving
at once how important it was that Marcellus, at all events, should not
suspect the grave revelations that had been made, although they had been
sufficient to have paralyzed one of less courage and resolution than
himself, he outwits his companions by banter, treating the apparition
with intentional and grotesque disrespect and jocularity at a moment when
an irresolute mind would have been terrified and prostrated.

Then Hamlet's powerful intellect not only enables him to recognize almost
instantaneously the difficulties which beset his path, but immediately to
devise a scheme by which some of them might be overcome. The compliance
with the advice of his father's spirit, in strict unison with his own
natural temperament, that the pursuit of his revenge was to harmonize
with the dictates of his conscience, involving of course his duties to
others, was attended by obstacles apparently insurmountable; yet all were
to be removed before the final catastrophe, however acutely he might feel
the effort of suppressing his desire for vengeance, that obligation the
fulfilment of which was postponed by subtle considerations, and by fear
lest precipitate action might leave him with "a wounded name." But this
duty, it is important to observe, was never sought to be relinquished.
The influences practically render delay a matter of necessity with him,
and leaving a murderer to contend against one who, as he must have felt,
would not have scrupled to design his assassination if at any moment
safety could be in that way secured, his determination to assume the garb
of insanity in the presence of the King and of those likely to divulge
the secret, is easily and naturally explained.

Hamlet is wildly impetuous in moments of excitement, so that his
utterances are not invariably to be accepted as evidences of his general
nature. Much of the difficulty in the interpretation of the tragedy
arises from the oversight of accepting his soliloquies as continuous
illustrations of his character, instead of being, as they mostly are,
transient emanations of his subtle irritability. Even in the midst of his
impetuosity the current of violent thought was subject to a controlling
interruption by a sudden reaction arising from the influence of reason;
but it was natural on occasions that, stirred by his desire for revenge,
he should doubt the validity of his reasons for delay. A wide distinction
also must be drawn in the matter of time for vengeance, between action
resulting from sudden and that from remoter provocation.

There seems to have been in Hamlet, so far as regards the commands of the
apparition, an almost perpetual conflict between impulse and reason, each
in its turn being predominant. The desire for revenge is at times so
great that it is only by the strongest effort of will he resists
precipitate action, then, losing no pretext to find causes for its
exercise, overpowering the dictates of his penetrative genius. It is not
rashness in Hamlet on one occasion and procrastination on another, but a
power of instantaneous action that could be controlled by the very
briefest period of reflection, the great feature in his intellect being a
preternaturally rapid reflective power, and men of genius almost
invariably do meditate before action.

Among the numerous unsupported conjectures respecting this tragedy may be
mentioned that, when Shakespeare drew the characters of, 1. Hamlet; 2.
Horatio; 3. Claudius; 4. The Queen, he had in his mind, 1. The Earl of
Essex or Sir Phillip Sydney or himself; 2. Lord Southampton or Fulke
Greville; 3. The Earl of Leicester; 4. Mary, Queen of Scots. Although
some of these suggestions are ingeniously supported, there is not one of
them which rests on any kind of real evidence or external probability.

Burbage was the first actor of Hamlet in Shakespeare's tragedy. His
performance is spoken of in terms of high commendation, but there is no
record of his treatment of the character, his delineation probably
differing materially from that of modern actors. Stage tradition merely
carries down the tricks of the profession, no actor entirely replacing
another, and, in the case of Hamlet, hardly two of recent times, whose
performances I have had the opportunity of witnessing, but who are or
have been distinct in manner and expression, and even in idea. Few actors
or readers can be found to agree respecting Shakespeare's conception of
the character. This, however, may be safely asserted, that no criticism
on Hamlet will ever be permanent which does not recognize the sublimity
of his nature. Horatio understood Hamlet better than anyone, and his
judgment of him doubtless expressed Shakespeare's own estimate:

    "Now cracks a noble heart--good night, sweet prince;
    And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!"

A "noble heart" that ever shrank from an act that would have resulted in
his own aggrandizement, for, although the monarchy was elective, not
hereditary, the succession of Hamlet had been proclaimed by the King and
tacitly accepted.




                      DOWNFALL OF IRISH LIBERTY

                        "FLIGHT OF THE EARLS"

                              A.D. 1603

                           JUSTIN McCARTHY


    At the accession of Henry VIII to the English throne that portion of
    Ireland mainly colonized from England, the ruling country, was known
    as the English pale--that is, district. It comprised "the four
    shires" or counties of Dublin, Kildare, Meath, and Louth. Beyond this
    district the country was held by various Celtic clans ruled by their
    own chieftains. Early in Henry's reign the English lords began to
    show their independence of royal authority, and also to ally
    themselves with the native chieftains. Henry saw that the Irish, who
    had often before aimed at independence of England, were about to
    renew the struggle. He determined to forestall them, and sent one
    lord deputy after another to Ireland in charge of the royal
    interests.

    Disputes between his own representatives, and their doubtful loyalty,
    caused the King much trouble, and Irish affairs were far from being
    composed when Thomas Fitzgerald, tenth earl of Kildare, renounced his
    allegiance to Henry and headed an unsuccessful rebellion. Fitzgerald
    was executed at Tyburn in 1537.

    Matters were now further complicated by the introduction of the
    Reformation into Ireland. Most of the Irish people were stanch
    adherents of Catholicism, while some of the leading English
    Protestants in Ireland favored Irish nationality as strongly as did
    the Catholics. After the death of Henry VIII the religious troubles
    were intensified. Under Edward VI a severe policy was pursued against
    the Irish Catholics and Nationalists. After a brief reaction under
    Mary, the Catholic sovereign of England, the policy of suppression
    was renewed with still greater severity by Queen Elizabeth, and the
    condition of Ireland became one of chronic rebellion.


This time of trouble called forth some powerful champions of the Irish
national cause. One of these, Shane O'Neil, has been celebrated in many
a popular ballad. The head of the house to which he belonged had
acknowledged allegiance to Henry VIII and received the title of Earl of
Tyrone. The English title carried with it, according to English law, the
principle of hereditary succession; but when the first earl died, the
clan of O'Neil refused to adopt the English practice, and, according to
the Irish principle of tanistry, chose as his successor the member of the
house for whom they had the highest regard.

This was Shane O'Neil, who was a younger and not even a legitimate son
of the Earl of Tyrone, but whose energy, courage, and strong national
sentiments had already made him the hero of his sept. Shane O'Neil at
once proclaimed himself the champion of Irish national independence.
Queen Elizabeth, amid all her troubles with foreign states, had to pour
large numbers of troops into Ireland, and these troops, as all historians
admit, overran the country in the most reckless and merciless manner.
Shane O'Neil, however, held his own, and began to prove himself a
formidable opponent of English power.

The evidence of history leaves little or no doubt that Elizabeth connived
at a plot for the removal of O'Neil by assassination. This project did
not come to anything, and the Queen tried another policy. She was a woman
not merely of high intellect but also of artistic feeling, and it would
seem as if the picturesque figure of Shane O'Neil had aroused some
interest in her. She proposed to enter into terms with the new "Lord
of Ulster," as he now declared himself, and invited him to visit her
court in England. O'Neil seems to have accepted with great good-will
this opportunity of seeing a life hitherto unknown to him, and he soon
appeared at court. We read that O'Neil and his retainers presented
themselves in their saffron-colored shirts and shaggy mantles, bearing
battle-axes as their weapons, amid the stately gentlemen, the
contemporaries of Essex and Raleigh, who thronged the court of the
great Queen. A meeting took place on January 6, 1562.

Froude tells us the effect produced upon the court by the appearance
of O'Neil and his followers: "The council, the peers, the foreign
ambassadors, bishops, aldermen, dignitaries of all kinds, were present in
state, as if at the exhibition of some wild animal of the desert. O'Neil
stalked in, his saffron mantle sweeping round and round him, his hair
curling on his back and clipped short below the eyes, which gleamed from
under it with a gray lustre, frowning, fierce, and cruel. Behind him
followed his gallow-glasses, bareheaded and fair-haired, with shirts of
mail which reached beneath their knees, a wolf's skin flung across their
shoulders, and short, broad battle-axes in their hands." O'Neil made a
formal act of submission to the Queen, and negotiations set in for a
definite and lasting arrangement. Nothing came of it. O'Neil seems to
have understood that he was acting under a promise of safe-conduct, and
was to be confirmed in the ownership of his estates in return for his
submission. But, whatever may have been the misunderstanding, it is
certain that these terms were not carried out according to O'Neil's
expectation. He was detained in London in qualified captivity, and was
informed that he could only be restored to his lands when he had engaged
to make war against his former allies the Scots, had pledged himself not
to make war without the consent of the English government, and to set up
no claim of supremacy over other chiefs in Ireland.

O'Neil seems to have proved himself skilful as a diplomatist, and he
greatly gratified the Queen by paying intense deference to all her
suggestions, and even by modestly requesting that she would choose a wife
for him. He seems to have agreed to what he did not intend to carry out.
Some terms were understood to be arranged at last, and on May 5, 1562,
a royal proclamation was issued declaring that in future he was to be
regarded as a good and loyal subject of the Queen. Shane returned to
Ireland, and made known to his friends that the articles of agreement had
been forced upon him under peril of captivity or death, and that he could
not regard them as binding. He went so far to maintain the terms of the
treaty as to begin a war against the Scots, and sent the Queen a list of
his captives in token of his sincerity. But he still insisted that he had
never made peace with the Queen except by her own seeking; that his
ancestors were kings of Ulster, and that Ulster was his kingdom and
should continue to be his.

He soon after applied to Charles IX, King of France, to send him five
thousand men to assist him in expelling the English from Ireland. Then
war set in again between the English Lord Deputy and Shane O'Neil.
Defeated in many encounters, O'Neil again tried to make terms with the
Queen, and again applied to the King of France for the help of an army to
drive the English from Ireland and restore the Catholic faith. By this
time the Scottish settlers in Ulster, who appear to have once been as
much disliked by the English government as the Irish themselves, had
turned completely against him. His end was not in keeping with his
soldierly picturesque career. After a severe defeat he took refuge with
some old tribal enemies of his, who at first professed to receive him
as a friend and find a shelter for him. A quarrel sprang up at a
drinking-festival during the June of 1567, and Shane and most of his
companions were killed in the affray.

It is not easy to come to a satisfactory estimate of the character of
Shane O'Neil. Some English historians treat him as if he were a mere
monster of treachery and violent crime. Most Irish legends and stories
convert him into a perfect hero and patriot; while other Irish writers of
graver order are inclined to dwell altogether upon the wrongs done to
him, and the perfidies employed to ensnare him by those who acted for the
English government. It is necessary to keep always in mind that, in their
dealings with the Irish native populations, the English government only
too frequently employed deception and treachery, thus giving the Irish
chieftains what they considered warrant enough for playing a similar
game. Shane O'Neil was very unscrupulous in his methods of dealing with
his enemies; he was a man of sensuous passions and fierce hatreds, but he
was gifted with splendid courage, a remarkable capacity for soldiership,
and much of the diplomatist's or statesman's art.

An Irish essayist, who writes with much judgment and moderation on the
subject, describes Shane as "a thorough Celtic chief, not of the
traditional type, but such as centuries of prolonged struggle for
existence had made the chieftains of his nation." This seems the only
fair standard by which to judge his career. No Irish family gave more
trouble in its time to the English conquerors than did the O'Neils, and
Shane O'Neil was in some of his qualities the most extraordinary man of
the family. There were other O'Neils who bequeathed to their country's
history a brighter and purer fame, and of whose characters we can form a
common estimate with less chance of dispute, but in Shane O'Neil we see a
genuine type of the ancestral Irish chieftain brought into dealings and
antagonism with the advances and the emissaries of a newer civilization.

This prolonged period of incessant war brought about the almost complete
devastation of wide tracts of country in Ireland. Historians and poets
tell the same sad story. Holinshed says that except in the cities or
towns the traveller might journey for miles without meeting man, woman,
child, or even beast. Edmund Spenser declared that the story of many
among the inhabitants, and the picture one could see of their miserable
state, was such that "any stony heart would rue the same." Mr. Froude
affirms that in Munster alone there had been so much devastation that
"the lowing of a cow or the sound of a ploughboy's whistle was not to be
heard from Valentia to the Rock of Cashel." It was made a boast by at
least one of those engaged in ruling Ireland on behalf of the Queen that
he had reduced some of the populations so deeply down that they preferred
slaughter in the field to death by starvation. When the supposed
pacification of Munster was accomplished, the province was divided into
separate settlements, to be held under the crown, at hardly more than a
nominal quit-rent, by any loyal settlers who were willing to hold the
land as vassals of the sovereign and fight for their lives. All these
lands were obtained by the confiscation of the estates of the rebellious
chieftains.

A new deputy, Sir John Perrot, convened a parliament in Ireland. There
was something farcical as well as grim in calling together a parliament
under such conditions, when the delegates were supposed to be convened
that they might give frank and sincere advice to the representative of
the sovereign. Some of the Irish chieftains who had given their
allegiance to the English sovereign not only accepted the Deputy's
invitation, but actually presented themselves in full English costume. In
former parliaments, when Irish chieftains were loyal enough to take part
in the sittings, they still wore the costume of their septs; but now,
after so many struggles, some of the Irish nobles thought they would do
better by making a complete submission to the conqueror, and inaugurating
the new season of peace and prosperity by adopting the costume of their
rulers.

This parliament naturally proved most obedient. Whatever the Deputy
wished, it promptly adopted. More estates were confiscated to the Crown,
and the land thus obtained was parcelled out on the cheapest terms of
holding to English nobles, and also to mere English adventurers, who
undertook to colonize it with workmen and traders from England. But it
was soon found that English traders and laborers were not easily to be
persuaded into the risks of a settlement under these conditions, and the
new owners were compelled in most cases either to put up with such labor
as the country afforded or to allow the soil to lie barren for the time.
The scheme which the rulers had in mind--a scheme which meant nothing
less than the substitution of an English for an Irish population--proved
a failure. An English nobleman endowed with the spirit of adventure might
be tempted to accept an estate in Ireland on the chance of making a
brilliant career there, winning the favor of his sovereign, and becoming
a great figure in the eyes of his own court and his own country. A mere
adventurer might be as ready to try his fortunes in Ireland as in some
unexplored part of the New World beyond the Atlantic. But the ordinary
trader or working-man of English birth and ways did not at that time feel
inclined to give up his business and his home to venture on a settlement
in that wild western island, where all reports told him that every man's
hand was against every other man, and that the loyal subjects of the
Queen were hunted like wild game by the uncivilized Irish.

Sir John Perrot was not a man qualified to make the situation any better
than he had found it. A man of quick and violent temper, he succeeded in
making enemies of some of the Irish chieftains who had lately been coming
over to the service of the Crown, and converted some of his friends in
office into his most bitter enemies. Sir John Perrot had to be withdrawn,
and a new deputy appointed in his place. Such a representative of English
government was not likely to encourage many of the Irish chieftains to
accept the advances of an English deputy, or to believe that they could
secure safety for themselves and their lands by submitting to his rule.
The new Deputy, Sir William Russell, had a hard task before him.

One of the most important and famous struggles made during these years
against English dominion was led by Hugh O'Neil. This celebrated Irish
leader was the grandson of that Shane O'Neil whom Henry VIII had created
Earl of Tyrone. He had led thus far a very different life from that
usually led by an Irish chieftain. The ruling powers were at first
inclined to make a favorite of him, and confirmed him in his earldom and
estates. He was brought over when very young to England, and we learn
that even in the brilliant court of Queen Elizabeth he was distinguished
for gifts and graces of body and mind. For a long time Tyrone seemed a
loyal supporter of English rule. He commanded a troop in the Queen's
service, and even took part in the suppression of risings in his own
country, cooperating with the Earl of Essex in the Ulster wars and the
settlement of Antrim. One romantic incident of his life brought him into
personal antagonism with Sir Henry Bagnal, the Lord Marshal of Ireland.
Hugh O'Neil had been left a widower, and he fell in love with Bagnal's
beautiful sister. Bagnal highly disapproved of the match, but, as the
lady was heart and soul in love with the Irish chieftain, her brother's
opposition was vain. She eloped with her lover and married him. Bagnal
became O'Neil's determined enemy. It may be that Sir Henry Bagnal did his
best to prejudice the ruling authorities against O'Neil, and at that time
no very substantial evidence was needed to set up a charge of treason
against an Irish chieftain.

Perhaps when O'Neil returned to his own country he was recalled to
national sentiments by the sight of oppression there, and it is certain
that he was roused to indignation by the arbitrary imprisonment of one of
his kinsmen known as Red Hugh. When Red Hugh succeeded in escaping from
prison he inspired Tyrone with a keen sense of his wrongs, and brought
him into the temper of insurrection. O'Neil threw himself completely into
the new movement for independence. A confederation of Irish chieftains
was organized, and O'Neil took the command. He proved himself possessed
of the most genuine military talents, and he could play the part of the
statesman as well as of the soldier. The confederation of Irish chieftains
soon became an embattled army, and the brothers-in-law met in arms as
hostile commanders on the shores of the northern Blackwater. As one
historian has well remarked, there was something positively Homeric about
this struggle, in which the two men connected by marriage encountered
each other as commanders of opposing armies. Events had been moving on
since the marriage between Tyrone and Bagnal's sister. O'Neil's young
wife had found her early grave before this last engagement between her
husband and her brother. The army of Bagnal was completely defeated, and
Bagnal was killed upon the field.

For a time victory seemed to follow Tyrone. Before long the greater part
of Ireland was in the hands of the Irish forces. The Earl of Essex was
sent to Ireland at the head of the largest army ever despatched from
England for the conquest of the island. But Essex does not seem to have
made any serious effort. He appears to have had some idea of coming to
terms with Tyrone. The two had a meeting, over which many pages of
historical description and conjecture have been spent, but it is certain
that, so far as Essex was concerned, neither peace nor war came of his
intervention. He was recalled to London. His failure in Ireland, and the
trouble it brought upon him in England, only drove him into the wild
movements which led to his condemnation as a traitor and to his death on
the scaffold.

The place which Essex had so unsuccessfully endeavored to hold was given
to Lord Mountjoy, who proved himself a more fitting man for the work.
Mountjoy was a strong man, who made up his mind from the first that he
was sent to Ireland to fight the Irish. He had a great encounter with
Tyrone, and Tyrone was defeated. From that moment the fortunes of the
struggle seem to have turned. The resources of the Irish were very
limited, and it was almost certain that, if the English government
carried on the war long enough, the Irish must sooner or later be
defeated. It was a question of numbers and weapons and money, and in all
these the English had an immense superiority. Tyrone had great hopes that
a Spanish army would come to the aid of the Irish. A large Spanish force
was actually despatched for the purpose, but the news of Tyrone's defeat
reached the Spaniards on their arrival, and they promptly reëmbarked, and
gave up what they considered a lost cause. Some of the Irish chiefs were
compelled to surrender; others fled to Spain, in the hope of stirring up
some movement there against England, or at least of finding a place of
shelter. Ireland was suffering almost everywhere from famine, and in many
districts famine of the most ghastly order. Tyrone found it impossible to
carry on the struggle for independence under such terrible conditions.
There was nothing for it but to surrender and come to terms as best he
could with his conquering enemy.

The times just then might have been regarded as peculiarly favorable for
Tyrone. Queen Elizabeth was dead, and the son of Mary Stuart sat on the
English throne. Tyrone made a complete surrender of his estates, pledged
himself to enter into alliance with no foreign power against England, and
even undertook to promote the introduction of English laws and customs
into any part of Ireland over which he had influence. In return Tyrone
received from the King the restoration of his lands and his title by
letters-patent, and a free pardon for his campaigns against England. He
was brought to London to be presented to King James, and was treated with
great courtesy and hospitality. This aroused much anger among some of the
older soldiers and courtiers in London, who did not understand why an
Irish rebel should be treated as if he were a respectable member of
society. Sir John Harrington expressed his opinions very freely in
letters which are still preserved. "I have lived," he wrote, "to see that
damnable rebel Tyrone brought to England, honored, and well liked. Oh!
what is there that does not prove the inconstancy of worldly matters? I
adventured perils by sea and land, was near starving, ate horseflesh in
Munster, and all to quell that man, who now smileth in peace at those who
did harass their lives to destroy him; and now doth Tyrone dare us, old
commanders, with his presence and protection."

When Tyrone returned to his own country he found that the reign of peace
and reconciliation between England and Ireland was as far off as ever.
Tyrone had believed it was fortunate for him to have made terms of peace
in King James' reign and not in Elizabeth's. But he soon found that his
hopes of a better time coming were premature. James no doubt thought it
good policy to secure the allegiance of a man like Tyrone by apparently
generous concessions. But he had no idea of adopting any policy toward
Ireland other than the old familiar policy of striving to reduce her to
the conditions of an English province, with English laws, customs,
costumes, and religion.

The King appears to have set his mind on the complete suppression of the
national religion by the enforcement of the sternest penal laws against
Catholics. He was determined also to blot out whatever remained of the
old Brehon laws, still dear to the memories of the people, and still
cherished among the sacred traditions of the country. When King James
succeeded to the throne he promised the Irish that they should have the
right of practising their religion, at least in private; but he soon
recalled his promise, and made it clear that those who would retain the
protection of the new ruling system must abjure the faith of their
fathers. Those who were put into the actual government of the country saw
that this policy could not be carried out without much resistance, and
therefore decreed the complete disarmament of all Irish retainers who
still acknowledged the leadership of the chieftains. One of the greatest
of these chieftains, O'Donnell, Earl of Tyrconnel, was called upon to
conform openly to the English Church, under pain of being proceeded
against as a traitor.

The state of things he found existing on his return to Ireland would
naturally have driven Tyrone into rebellion, and the rulers of the
country appear to have made up their minds that he must be planning some
such rising. Tyrconnel was naturally regarded as an enemy of the same
order, and the policy of the ruling powers was to anticipate their
designs and condemn them in advance. Tyrone and Tyrconnel were
accordingly proclaimed traitors to the King. The two earls determined
that, as immediate insurrection had no chance of success, there was no
safety for them but in prompt escape from the country.

Then followed "the flight of the earls." Tyrone and Tyrconnel, with their
families and many of their friends and retainers, nearly a hundred
persons in all, made their escape in one vessel from the Irish shore,
and for twenty-one days were at the mercy of the sea and of the
equinoctial winds, for they sailed about the middle of September. A story
characteristic of the faith which then filled the hearts of Irish
chieftains is told. Tyrone fastened his golden crucifix to a string and
drew it through the sea at the stern of the vessel, in the hope that the
waves might thus be stilled. In the first week of October they landed on
the shore of France and travelled on to Rouen, receiving nothing but
kindness from the French. When King James heard of their flight he at
once demanded from France the surrender of the earls, but Henry IV
refused to surrender them.

Henry received the exiles with gracious and friendly greeting, but it was
not thought prudent by the earls, any more than by the French King, they
should remain in France at the risk of involving the two countries in
war. The earls, with their families and followers, went into Flanders
and then on to Rome. Pope Paul V gave them a cordial welcome, and made
liberal arrangements for their maintenance, while the King of Spain
showed his traditional sympathy with Ireland by settling pensions on
them. Tyrconnel died soon after, in the Franciscan Church of St. Pietro
di Montorio, and was laid in his grave wrapped in the robe of a
Franciscan friar. Tyrone lived for several years. He was filled in this
later time by a passionate longing to see once more the loved country of
his birth, and he appealed to the English government for permission to
return to Ireland and live quietly there until the end came. His request
was not granted. The English authorities, no doubt, felt good reason to
believe that his return to Ireland would be the cause of profound and
dangerous emotion among the people who loved him and whom he loved so
well.

His later years in Rome were literally darkened, because his sight, which
had been for some time failing, soon left him to absolute blindness. He
died on July 20, 1616, having lived a life of seventy-six years. Tyrone's
body was laid to rest in the same church which held the body of his
comrade Tyrconnel. Their graves are side by side. A modern writer tells
us that the church which has become the tomb of the two exiled earls
stands "where the Janiculum overlooks the glory of Rome, the yellow
Tiber and the Alban Hills, the deathless Coliseum, and the stretching
Campagna." "Raphael had painted his Transfiguration for the grand altar;
the hand of Sebastiano del Piombo had colored the walls with the
scourging of the Redeemer." The present writer has seen the graves, and
even the merest stranger to the spirit of Irish history must feel
impressed by the story of the two exiles who found their last
resting-place enclosed by such a scene.




                          THE GUNPOWDER PLOT

                              A.D. 1605

                          SAMUEL R. GARDINER


    The "Gunpowder Plot" acquires importance from the fact that its
    anniversary, November 5th, is still celebrated in England with
    fire-crackers, burnings of "Guy Fawkes" scarecrows, and other
    patriotic manifestations. Historically the plot, being detected
    before its execution, ended in smoke, with no more terrible result
    than the execution of the conspirators.

    James I, son of the ill-starred Mary of Scotland, succeeded Elizabeth
    on the English throne in 1603, and held both England and Scotland
    under his sway. The English Catholics had been led to hope that James
    would be lenient toward their faith, but in this they were
    disappointed, and a few desperate followers of their religion united
    in the Gunpowder Plot. More than one attempt has been made to prove
    that this really amounted to very little, and was exaggerated by
    James' minister, the Earl of Salisbury, to justify the harshness of
    the Government toward Catholics.

    Father Gerard's book, _What was the Gunpowder Plot?_ is the strongest
    argument yet produced in favor of this view; but the fact remains
    undenied and undeniable that some sort of plot existed. We present
    here the latest summarizing of the matter (1897) by the standard
    English historian, Gardiner, confining the account almost wholly to
    Fawkes' own confessions.


Before examining the evidence, it will be well to remind my readers what
the so-called traditional story of the plot is, or, rather, the story
which has been told by writers who have in the present century availed
themselves of the manuscript treasures now at our disposal, and which are
for the most part in the Public Record Office. With this object I cannot
do better than borrow the succinct narrative of the _Edinburgh
Review_.[1]

      [1] January, 1897, p. 192.

    "Early in 1604 the three men, Robert Catesby, John Wright, and Thomas
    Winter, meeting in a house at Lambeth, resolved on a Powder Plot,
    though, of course, only in outline. By April they had added to their
    number Wright's brother-in-law, Thomas Percy, and Guy Fawkes, a
    Yorkshire man of respectable family, but actually a soldier of
    fortune, serving in the Spanish army in the Low Countries, who was
    specially brought over to England as a capable and resolute man.
    Later on they enlisted Wright's brother Christopher, Winter's brother
    Robert, Robert Keyes, and a few more; but all, with the exception of
    Thomas Bates, Catesby's servant, men of family and for the most part
    of competent fortune, though Keyes is said to have been in straitened
    circumstances, and Catesby to have been impoverished by a heavy fine
    levied on him as a recusant.[2]

      [2] This is a mistake. The fine of three thousand pounds was
      imposed for his part in the Essex rebellion.

    "Percy, a second cousin of the Earl of Northumberland, then captain
    of the Gentleman Pensioners, was admitted by him into that body
    in--it is said--an irregular manner, his relationship to the earl
    passing in lieu of the usual oath of fidelity. The position gave him
    some authority and license near the court, and enabled him to hire a
    house, or part of a house, adjoining the House of Lords. From the
    cellar of this house they proposed to burrow under the House of
    Lords; to place there a large quantity of powder, and to blow up the
    whole when the King and his family were there assembled at the
    opening of Parliament. On December 11, 1604, they began to dig in the
    cellar, and after a fortnight's labor, having come to a thick wall,
    they left off work and separated for Christmas.

    "Early in January they began at the wall, which they found to be
    extremely hard, so that, after working for about two months,[3] they
    had not got more than half way through it. They then learned that a
    cellar actually under the House of Lords, and used as a coal cellar,
    was to be let; and as it was most suitable for their design, Percy
    hired it as though for his own use. The digging was stopped, and
    powder, to the amount of thirty-six barrels, was brought into the
    cellar, where it was stowed under heaps of coal or firewood, and so
    remained, under the immediate care of Guy Fawkes,[4] till, on the
    night of November 4, 1605--the opening of Parliament being fixed for
    the next day--Sir Thomas Knyvet, with a party of men, was ordered to
    examine the cellar. He met Fawkes coming out of it, arrested him, and
    on a close search found the powder, of which a mysterious warning had
    been conveyed to Lord Monteagle a few days before. On the news of
    this discovery the conspirators scattered, but by different roads
    rejoined each other in Warwickshire, whence, endeavoring to raise the
    country, they rode through Worcestershire, and were finally shot or
    taken prisoners at Holbeche in Staffordshire."

      [3] Off and on, a fortnight at the end of January and beginning of
      February, and then again probably for a very short time in March.

      [4] Fawkes was absent part of the time.

It is this story that I now propose to compare with the evidence. First
of all, let us restrict ourselves to the story told by Guy Fawkes himself
in the five examinations to which he was subjected previously to his
being put to the torture on November 9th, and to the letters,
proclamations, etc., issued by the Government during the four days
commencing with the 5th. From these we learn, not only that Fawkes'
account of the matter gradually developed, but that the knowledge of
the Government also developed; a fact which fits in very well with the
"traditional story," but which is hardly to be expected if the Government
account of the affair was cut-and-dried from the first.

Fawkes' first examination took place on November 5th, and was conducted
by Chief Justice Popham and Attorney-General Coke. It is true that only a
copy has reached us, but it is a copy taken for Coke's use, as is shown
by the headings of each paragraph inserted in the margin in his own hand.
It is therefore out of the question that Salisbury, if he had been so
minded, would have been able to falsify it. Each page has the signature
(in copy) of "Jhon Jhonson," the name by which Fawkes chose to be known.

The first part of the examination turns upon Fawkes' movements abroad,
showing that the Government had already acquired information that he had
been beyond sea. Fawkes showed no reluctance to speak of his own
proceedings in the Low Countries, or to give the names of persons he had
met there, and who were beyond the reach of his examiners. As to his
movements after his return to England, he was explicit enough so far as
he was himself concerned, and also about Percy, whose servant he
professed himself to be, and whose connection with the hiring of the
house could not be concealed.

Fawkes stated that after coming back to England he "came to the lodging
near the Upper House of Parliament," and "that Percy hired the house of
Whynniard for £12 rent, about a year and a half ago"; that his master,
before his own going abroad, _i.e._, before Easter, 1605, "lay in the
house about three or four times." Further, he confessed "that about
Christmas last," _i.e._, Christmas, 1604, "he brought in the night-time
gunpowder [to the cellar under the Upper House of Parliament]."[5]
Afterward he told how he covered the powder with fagots, intending to
blow up the King and the Lords; and, being pressed how he knew that the
King would be in the House on the 5th, said he knew it only from general
report, and by the making ready of the King's barge; but he would have
"blown up the Upper House whensoever the King was there."

      [5] The words between brackets are inserted in another hand.

He further acknowledged that there was more than one person concerned in
the conspiracy, and said he himself had promised not to reveal it, but
denied that he had taken the sacrament on his promise. Where the promise
was given he could not remember, except that it was in England. He
refused to accuse his partners, saying that he himself had provided the
powder, and defrayed the cost of his journey beyond sea, which was only
undertaken "to see the country, and to pass away the time." When he went,
he locked up the powder and took the key with him, and "one Gibbons'
wife, who dwells thereby, had the charge of the residue of the house."

Such is that part of the story told by Fawkes which concerns us at
present. It is obvious that Fawkes, who, as subsequent experience shows,
was no coward, had made up his mind to shield as far as possible his
confederates, and to take the whole of the blame upon himself. He says,
for instance, that Percy had only lain in the house for three or four
days before Easter, 1605, a statement, as subsequent evidence proved,
quite untrue; he pretends not to know, except from rumor and the
preparation of the barge, that the King was coming to the House of Lords
on the 5th, a statement almost certainly untrue. In order not to
criminate others, and especially any priest, he denies having taken the
sacrament on his promise, which is also untrue.

What is more noticeable is that he makes no mention of the mine, about
which so much was afterward heard, evidently--so at least I read the
evidence--because he did not wish to bring upon the stage those who had
worked at it. If indeed the passage which I have placed in square
brackets be accepted as evidence, Fawkes did more than keep silence upon
the mine. He must have made a positive assertion--soon afterward found to
be untrue--that the cellar was hired several months before it really was.
This passage is, however, inserted in a different hand from the rest of
the document. My own belief is that it gives a correct account of a
statement made by the prisoner, but omitted by the clerk who made the
copy for Coke, and inserted by some other person. Nobody that I can think
of had the slightest interest in adding the words, while they are just
what Fawkes might be expected to say if he wanted to lead his examiners
off the scent. At all events, even if these words be left out of account,
it must be admitted that Fawkes said nothing about the existence of a
mine.

Though Fawkes kept silence as to the mine, he did not keep silence on the
desperate character of the work on which he had been engaged. "And," runs
the record, "he confesseth that when the King had come to the Parliament
House this present day, and the Upper House had been sitting, he meant to
have fired the match and have fled for his own safety before the powder
had taken fire, and confesseth that, if he had not been apprehended this
last night, he had blown up the Upper House when the King, Lords,
Bishops, and others had been there, and saith that he spake for [and
provided][6] those bars and crows of iron, some in one place, some in
another, in London, lest it should be suspected, and saith that he had
some of them in or about Gracious Street."[7] Fawkes here clearly takes
the whole terrible design, with the exception of the mine, on his own
shoulders.

      [6] Inserted in the same hand as that in which the words about the
      cellar were written. It will be observed that the insertion cannot
      serve anyone's purpose.

      [7] Gracechurch Street.

Commissioners were now appointed to conduct the investigation further.
They were: Nottingham, Suffolk, Devonshire, Worcester, Northampton,
Salisbury, Mar, and Popham, with Attorney-General Coke in attendance.
This was hardly a body of men who would knowingly cover an intrigue of
Salisbury's. Worcester is always understood to have been professedly a
Catholic; Northampton was certainly one, though he attended the King's
service, while Suffolk was friendly toward the Catholics; and Nottingham,
if he is no longer to be counted among them,[8] was at least not long
afterward a member of the party which favored an alliance with Spain, and
therefore a policy of toleration toward the Catholics.

      [8] On July 20-30, 1605, Father Creswell writes to Paul V that
      Nottingham showed him every civility "that could be expected from
      one who does not profess our holy religion."

Before five of these commissioners--Nottingham, Suffolk, Devonshire,
Northampton, and Salisbury--Fawkes was examined a second time on the
forenoon of the 6th. In some way the Government had found out that Percy
had had a new door made in the wall leading to the cellar, and they now
drew from Fawkes an untrue statement that it was put in about the middle
of Lent, that is to say, early in March, 1605.[9] They had also
discovered a pair of brewer's slings, by which barrels were usually
carried between two men, and they pressed Fawkes hard to say who was his
partner in removing the barrels of gunpowder. He began by denying that he
had had a partner at all, but finally answered that "he cannot discover
the party, but"--_i.e._, lest--"he shall bring him in question." He also
said that he had forgotten where he slept on Wednesday, Thursday, or
Friday in the week before his arrest.

      [9] The "cellar" was not really hired till a little before Easter,
      March 31st.

Upon this James himself intervened, submitting to the Commissioners a
series of questions with the object of drawing out of the prisoner a true
account of himself, and of his relations to Percy. A letter had been
found on Fawkes when he was taken, directed not to Johnson, but to
Fawkes, and this among other things had raised the King's suspicions. In
his third examination, on the afternoon of the 6th, in the presence of
Northampton, Devonshire, Nottingham, and Salisbury, Fawkes gave a good
deal of information, more or less true, about himself; and, while still
maintaining that his real name was Johnson, said that the letter, which
was written by a Mrs. Bostock in Flanders, was addressed to him by
another name "because he called himself Fawkes," that is to say, because
he had acquired the name of Fawkes as an alias.

"If he will not otherwise confess," the King had ended by saying, "the
gentler tortures are to be first used unto him, _et sic per gradus ad ima
tenditur_." To us, living in the nineteenth century, these words are
simply horrible. As a Scotchman, however, James had long been familiar
with the use of torture as an ordinary means of legal investigation,
while even in England, though unknown to the law, that is to say, to the
practice of the ordinary courts of justice, it had for some generations
been used not infrequently by order of the council to extract evidence
from a recalcitrant witness, though, according to Bacon, not for the
purpose of driving him to incriminate himself. Surely, if the use of
torture was admissible at all, this was a case for its employment. The
prisoner had informed the government that he had been at the bottom of a
plot of the most sanguinary kind, and had acknowledged by implication
that there were fellow-conspirators whom he refused to name.

If, indeed, Father Gerard's view of the case, that the government, or at
least Salisbury, had for some time known all about the conspiracy,
nothing--not even the Gunpowder Plot itself--could be more atrocious than
the infliction of torments on a fellow-creature to make him reveal a
secret already in their possession. If, however, the evidence I have
adduced be worth anything, this was by no means the case. What it shows
is that on the afternoon of the 6th all that the members of the
government were aware of was that an unknown number of conspirators were
at large--they knew not where--and might at that very moment be
appealing--they knew not with what effect--to Catholic land-owners and
their tenants, who were, without doubt, exasperated by the recent
enforcement of the penal laws. We may, if we please, condemn the conduct
of the government which had brought the danger of a general Catholic
rising within sight. We cannot deny that, at that particular moment, they
had real cause of alarm. At all events, no immediate steps were taken to
put this part of the King's orders in execution.

Some little information, indeed, was coming in from other witnesses. In
his first examination, on November 5th, Fawkes had stated that in his
absence he locked up the powder, and "one Gibbons' wife who dwells
thereby had the charge of the residue of the house." An examination of
her husband on the 5th, however, only elicited that he, being a porter,
had with two others carried three thousand billets into the vault. On the
6th, Ellen, the wife of Andrew Bright, stated that Percy's servant had,
about the beginning of March, asked her to let the vault to his master,
and that she had consented to abandon her tenancy of it if Mrs.
Whynniard, from whom she held it, would consent. Mrs. Whynniard's consent
having been obtained, Mrs. Bright, or rather Mrs. Skinner--she being a
widow remarried subsequently to Andrew Bright--received two pounds for
giving up the premises.

The important point in this evidence is that the date of March, 1605,
given as that on which Percy entered into possession of the cellar,
showed that Fawkes' statement that he had brought powder into the cellar
at Christmas, 1604, could not possibly be true. On the 7th Mrs. Whynniard
confirmed Mrs. Bright's statement, and also stated that, a year earlier,
in March, 1604, "Mr. Percy began to labor very earnestly with this
examinate and her husband to have the lodging by the Parliament House,
which one Mr. Henry Ferris, of Warwickshire, had long held before, and,
having obtained the said Mr. Ferris' good-will to part from it after long
suit by himself and great entreaty of Mr. Carleton, Mr. Epsley, and other
gentleman belonging to the Earl of Northumberland, affirming him to be a
very honest gentleman, and that they could not have a better tenant, her
husband and she were contented to let him have the said lodging at the
same rent Mr. Ferris paid for it."

Mrs. Whynniard had plainly never heard of the mine; and that the
Government was in equal ignorance is shown by the indorsement on the
agreement of Ferris--or rather Ferrers--to make over his tenancy to
Percy--"The bargain between Ferris and Percy for the bloody cellar, found
in Winter's lodging." Winter's name had been under consideration for some
little time, and doubtless the discovery of this paper was made on, or
more probably before, the 7th. The Government, having as yet nothing but
Fawkes' evidence to go upon, connected the hiring of the house with the
hiring of the cellar, and at least showed no signs of suspecting anything
more.

On the same day, the 7th, something was definitely heard of the
proceedings of the other plotters, who had either gathered at Dunchurch
for the hunting-match, or had fled from London to join them, and a
proclamation was issued for the arrest of Percy, Catesby, Rokewood,
Thomas Winter, Edward[10] Grant, John and Christopher Wright, and
Catesby's servant, Robert Ashfield. They were charged with assembling in
troops in the counties of Warwick and Worcester, breaking into stables
and seizing horses. Fawkes, too, was on that day subjected to a fourth
examination. Not very much that was new was extracted from him. He
acknowledged that his real name was Guy Fawkes, that--which he had denied
before--he had received the sacrament not to discover any of the
conspirators, and also that there had been at first five persons privy to
the plot, and afterward five or six more "were generally acquainted that
an action was to be performed for the Catholic cause, and saith that he
doth not know that they were acquainted with the whole conspiracy." Being
asked whether Catesby, the two Wrights, Winter, or Tresham, were privy,
he refused to accuse any one.

      [10] Properly "John."

That Fawkes had already been threatened with torture is known, and it may
easily be imagined that the threats had been redoubled after this last
unsatisfactory acknowledgment. On the morning of the 8th, however, Waad,
who was employed to worm out his secrets, reported that little was to be
expected. "I find this fellow," he wrote, "who this day is in a most
stubborn and perverse humour, as dogged as if he were possessed.
Yester-night I had persuaded him to set down a clear narration of all his
wicked plots from the first entering to the same, to the end they
pretended, with the discourses and projects that were thought upon
amongst them, which he undertook [to do] and craved time this night to
bethink him the better; but this morning he hath changed his mind and is
[so] sullen and obstinate as there is no dealing with him."

The sight of the examiners, together with the sight of the rack,[11]
changed Fawkes' mind to some extent. He was resolved that nothing but
actual torture should wring from him the names of his fellow-plotters,
who so far as was known in London were still at large.[12] He prepared
himself, however, to reveal the secrets of the plot so far as was
consistent with the concealment of the names of those concerned in it.
His fifth examination, on the 8th, the last before the one taken under
torture on the 9th, gives to the inquirer into the reality of the plot
all that he wants to know.

      [11] In _The King's Book_ it is stated that Fawkes was shown the
      rack, but never racked. Probably the torture used on the 9th was
      that of the manacles, or hanging up by the wrists or thumbs.

      [12] The principal ones were either killed or taken at Holbeche on
      that very day.

"He confesseth," so the tale begins, "that a practice was first broken
unto him against his majesty for the Catholic cause, and not invented or
propounded by himself, and this was first propounded unto him about
Easter last was twelvemonth, beyond the seas in the Low Countries, by an
English layman,[13] and that Englishman came over with him in his company
into England, and they two and three more[14] were the first five
mentioned in the former examination. And they five resolving to do
somewhat for the Catholic cause (a vow being first taken by all of them
for secrecy), one of the other three[15] propounded to perform it with
powder, and resolved that the place should be (where this action should
be performed and justice done) in or near the place of the sitting of the
Parliament, wherein Religion had been unjustly suppressed. This being
resolved, the manner of it was as followeth:

"First they hired the house at Westminster, of one Ferres, and having
his house they sought then to make a mine under the Upper House of
Parliament, and they began to make the mine in or about the 11 of
December, and they five first entered into the works, and soone after
took an other[16] to them, having first sworn him and taken the sacrament
for secrecy; and when they came to the wall (that was about three yards
thick) and found it a matter of great difficulty, they took to them an
other in like manner, with oath and sacrament as aforesaid;[17] all which
seven were gentlemen of name and blood, and not any was employed in or
about this action (no, not so much as in digging and mining) that was not
a gentleman.

      [13] Thomas Winter.

      [14] Catesby, Percy, and John Wright.

      [15] _I.e._, Catesby. In a copy forwarded to Edmondes by Salisbury
      (Stowe MSS. 168, fol. 223) the copyist had originally written
      "three or four more," which is altered to "three."

      [16] Christopher Wright.

      [17] Robert Winter.

"And having wrought to the wall before Christmas, they ceased until after
the holidays, and the day before Christmas (having a mass of earth that
came out of the mine) they carried it into the garden of the said house,
and after Christmas they wrought the wall till Candlemas, and wrought the
wall half through; and saith that all the time while the other wrought,
he stood as sentinel, to decry any man that came near; and when any man
came near to the place, upon warning given by him they ceased until they
had notice to proceed from him; and sayeth that they seven all lay in the
house, and had shot and powder, and they all resolved to die in that
place, before they yielded or were taken.

"And, as they were working, they heard a rushing in the cellar, which
grew by one Bright's selling of his coals,[18] whereupon this examinant,
fearing they had been discovered, went into the cellar and viewed the
cellar, and perceiving the commodity thereof for their purpose, and
understanding how it would be letten, his master, Mr. Percy, hired the
cellar for a year for £4 rent; and confesseth that after Christmas twenty
barrels of powder were brought by themselves to a house, which they had
on the bank side in hampers, and from that house removed the powder to
the said house near the Upper House of Parliament; and, presently, upon
hiring the cellar they themselves removed the powder into the cellar, and
covered the same with fagots which they had before laid into the cellar.

      [18] This is an obvious mistake, as the widow Skinner was not at
      this time married to Bright, but one just as likely to be made by
      Fawkes himself as by his examiners.

"After, about Easter, he went into the Low Countries (as he before hath
declared in his former examination) and that the true purpose of his
going over was, lest, being a dangerous man, he should be known and
suspected, and in the mean time he left the key of the cellar with Mr.
Percy, who in his absence caused more billets to be laid into the cellar,
as in his former examination he confessed, and returned about the end of
August, or the beginning of September, and went again to the said house,
near to the said cellar, and received the key of the cellar again of one
of the five,[19] and then they brought in five or six barrels of powder
more into the cellar, which also they covered with billets, saving four
little barrels covered with fagots, and then this examinant went into the
country about the end of September.

      [19] Percy.

"It appeareth the powder was in the cellar placed as it was found the 5
of November, when the Lords came to prorogue the Parliament, and sayeth
that he returned again to the said house near the cellar on Wednesday the
30 of October.

"_He confesseth he was at the Earl of Montgomery's marriage, but, as he
sayeth, with no intention of evil, having a sword about him, and was very
near to his Majesty and the Lords there present._[20]

      [20] The words in Italics are marked by pen-strokes across them for
      omission.

"Forasmuch as they knew not well how they should come by the person of
the Duke Charles, being near London, where they had no forces (if he had
not been also blown up), he confesseth that it was resolved among them
that the same day that this detestable act should have been performed,
the same day should other of their confederacy have surprised the person
of the Lady Elizabeth, and presently have proclaimed her Queen, _to
which purpose a proclamation was drawn, as well to avow and justify the
action, as to have protested against the Union, and in no sort to have
meddled with religion therein, and would have protested also against all
strangers_, and this proclamation should have been made in the name of
the Lady Elizabeth.

"Being demanded why they did not surprise the King's person, and draw him
to the effecting of their purpose, sayeth that so many must have been
acquainted with such an action as it would not have been kept secret.

"He confesseth that if their purpose had taken effect, until they had had
power enough, they would not have avowed the deed to be theirs; but if
their power (for their defence and safety) had been sufficient, they
themselves would then have taken it upon them. They meant also to have
sent for the prisoners in the Tower to have come to them, of whom
particularly they had some consultation.

"He confesseth that the place of rendezvous was in Warwickshire, and that
armour was sent thither, but the particular thereof he knows not.

"He confesseth that they had consultation for the taking of the Lady Mary
into their possession, but knew not how to come by her.

"And confesseth that provision was made by some of the conspiracy of some
armour of proof this last summer for this action.

"He confesseth that the powder was bought by the common purse of the
confederates.

    "L. Admiral [Earl of Nottingham]    Earl of Salisbury
    L. Chamberlain [Earl of Suffolk]    Earl of Mar
    Earl of Devonshire                  Lord Chief Justice [Popham][21]
    Earl of Northampton
              "Attended by Mr. Attorney-General [Coke]."

      [21] _G.P.B._, No. 49. In the Stowe copy the names of the
      commissioners are omitted, and a list of fifteen plotters added. As
      the paper was enclosed in a letter to Edmondes of the 14th, these
      might easily be added at any date preceding that.

The 9th, the day on which Fawkes was put to the torture, brought news to
the government that the fear of insurrection need no longer be entertained.
It had been known before this that Fawkes' confederates had met on the
5th at Dunchurch on the pretext of a hunting-match,[22] and had been
breaking open houses in Warwickshire and Worcestershire in order to
collect arms. Yet so indefinite was the knowledge of the council that,
on the 8th, they offered a reward for the apprehension of Percy alone,
without including any of the other conspirators.[23] On the evening of
the 9th[24] they received a letter from Sir Richard Walsh, the Sheriff
of Worcestershire.

      [22] Probably, as Father Gerard suggests, what would now be known
      as a coursing-match.

      [23] _Proclamation Book, R.O._, p. 117.

      [24] A late postscript added to the letter to the ambassadors sent
      off on the 9th (_Winwood_, ii. 173) shows that before the end of
      the day Salisbury had learned even more of the details than were
      comprised in the sheriff's letter.

"We think fit," he wrote, "with all speed to certify your Lordships of
the happy success it hath pleased God to give us against the rebellious
assembly in these parts. After such time as they had taken the horses
from Warwick upon Tuesday night last,[25] they came to Mr. Robert
Winter's house to Huddington upon Wednesday night,[26] where--having
entered--[they] armed themselves at all points in open rebellion. They
passed from thence upon Thursday morning[27] unto Hewell--the Lord
Windsor's house--which they entered and took from thence by force great
store of armour, artillery of the said Lord Windsor's, and passed that
night into the county of Staffordshire unto the house of one Stephen
Littleton, Gentleman, called Holbeche, about two miles distant from
Stourbridge, whither we pursued, with the assistance of Sir John Foliot,
Knight, Francis Ketelsby, Esquire, Humphrey Salway, Gentleman, Edmund
Walsh, and Francis Conyers, Gentlemen, with few other gentlemen and the
power and face of the country.

      [25] November 5th.

      [26] November 6th.

      [27] November 7th.

"We made against them upon Thursday morning,[27] and freshly pursued them
until the next day,[28] at which time, about twelve or one of the clock
in the afternoon, we overtook them at the said Holbeche House--the greatest
part of their retinue and some of the better sort being dispersed and
fled before our coming, whereupon and after summons and warning first
given and proclamation in his Highness's name to yield and submit
themselves--who refusing the same, we fired some part of the house and
assaulted some part of the rebellious persons left in the said house, in
which assault one Mr. Robert Catesby is slain, and three others verily
thought wounded to death whose names--as far as we can learn--are Thomas
Percy, Gentleman, John Wright, and Christopher Wright, Gentlemen; and
these are apprehended and taken: Thomas Winter Gentleman, John Grant
Gentleman, Henry Morgan Gentleman, Ambrose Rokewood Gentleman, Thomas
Ockley carpenter, Edmund Townsend servant to the said John Grant,
Nicholas Pelborrow, servant unto the said Ambrose Rokewood, Edward Ockley
carpenter, Richard Townsend servant to the said Robert Winter, Richard
Day servant to the said Stephen Littleton, which said prisoners are in
safe custody here, and so shall remain until your Honours good pleasures
be further known. The rest of that rebellious assembly is dispersed,
we have caused to be followed with fresh suite and hope of their
speedy apprehension. We have also thought fit to send unto your
Honours--according unto our duties--such letters as we have found about
the parties apprehended; and so resting in all duty at your Honours'
further command, we take leave, from Stourbridge this Saturday morning,
being the ixth of this instant November 1605.

"Your Honours' most humble to be commanded,

"RICH. WALSH."

      [28] November 8th.




             CERVANTES' "DON QUIXOTE" REFORMS LITERATURE

                              A.D. 1605

                          HENRY EDWARD WATTS


    Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra is the most celebrated of Spanish
    authors; but his fame rests upon a far more solid basis than merely
    that of having written the most readable and tender of humorous
    romances. He reformed literature. He tilted at windmills as truly as
    ever his hero did, and overthrew the false taste for wordy pomp and
    emptiness which was characteristic of his times. It was not only
    Spanish literature that felt the impulse of his warm, frank honesty
    and insight into life. All Europe was his debtor.

    Cervantes was an impoverished nobleman, that too common product of
    Spain in those days when her American gold fleets had begun to fail
    her. In his early manhood he was an author and then a soldier of
    fortune in Italy. He fought as a common soldier on one of the Genoese
    galleys in the great sea-fight of Lepanto, distinguished himself
    there by his heroism, and was three times wounded, crippled in one
    arm for life. Later he was captured by Algerian pirates, and was for
    five years a slave, ever planning and attempting escapes, a daring,
    dashing hero, the life and admiration of his fellow-captives.

    After his ransom and return to Spain, Cervantes once more took up
    literature, the amusement of his youth. He became a playwright and
    romancer. The government gave him a small position as a tax-collector,
     but with such good-natured carelessness did he handle this
     uncongenial employ that he had repeatedly to make good from his own
     pocket the losses he entailed upon the government. Even this
     unsatisfactory labor failed the impractical author about the period
     of the death of King Philip II (1598). He was imprisoned for debt,
     and sank into such abject poverty that he depended on his friends
     for bread. How much the gloomy Philip II is satirized in Cervantes'
     masterpiece has always been a disputed question.


The accession of the new King, which had been hailed as "the light after
darkness," had little effect on Cervantes' fortunes. Philip III, though
he had some taste for letters, and was not without sprouts of kindliness
in his heart, had been by education and by an over-strict regimen in
youth debased, so that he was even more completely a slave to the
priestly influence than his father had been, without any of his father's
ability or force of character. The Duke of Lerma was "the Atlas who bore
the burden of the monarchy."[1] He was a man, according to Quevedo,
"alluring and dexterous rather than intelligent; ruled by the interested
cunning of his own creatures but imperious with all others; magnificent,
ostentatious; choosing his men only by considerations of his own special
policy or from personal friendship." Under such a man, who ruled the King
at his will, it was not likely that any portion of the royal benevolence
should light on Miguel de Cervantes. Moreover, the crowd of suppliants at
court was very great, their appetite stimulated doubtless by the
flattering reports of the new King's liberal disposition.

      [1] The phrase was probably used by Cervantes in irony. It had been
      used by others before, and was a common form.

A contemporary writer laments with pathetic zeal and pious indignation
the lot of many famous captains and valiant soldiers, who, after serving
the King all their lives and being riddled with wounds, were not only
pushed aside into corners without any reward, but condemned to see
unworthy men without merit loaded with benefits, merely through enjoying
the favor of some minister or courtier.[2] The Duke of Lerma, as one who
professed a contempt for all letters and learning, was even less likely
to be influenced by Cervantes' literary merits than by his services as a
soldier--services which had now become an old story. Disappointed in his
hopes of preferment, Cervantes had to maintain himself and his family by
the exercise of his pen--writing, as we learn, letters and memorials for
those who needed them,[3] while busy upon his new book.

      [2] Fr. Sepulveda, quoted by Navarrete.

      [3] And "employed in various agencies and businesses," says
      Navarrete, vaguely.

Without the gifts which are in favor at court--unskilled in the arts of
solicitation--we can imagine, with a man of Cervantes' temperament, what
a special hell it must have been--"in suing long to bide." About this
time he seems almost to have dropped out of life. The four years between
1598 and 1602 are the obscurest in his story. We do not know where he
lived or what he did. It was the crisis of the struggle with his
unrelenting evil destiny. The presumption is that he was still in the
South, engaged in his humble occupation of gathering rents, of buying
grain for the use of the fleet, with intervals perhaps of social
enjoyment among such friends as he had made at Seville; among whom is
reckoned the painter Francisco de Pacheco. This was for our hero the
darkest hour before the dawn. For already, according to my calculation,
he must have begun to write _Don Quixote_, being now (1602) in his
fifty-fifth year.[4] He had duly qualified himself, by personal
experience, to tell the story of the adventures of him who sought to
revive the spirit of the ancient chivalry. His own romance was ended. The
pathetic lines of Goethe might seem to be written for his own case:

    "Wer nie sein Brod mit Thränen ass,
      Wer nicht die kummervollen Nächte
    Auf seinem Bette weinend sass,
      Der kennt euch nicht, ihr himmlischen Mächte."[5]

      [4] That _Don Quixote_ could not have been written before 1591 is
      proved by the mention in chapter vi of a book published in that
      year. That it must have been written subsequently to 1596 is proved
      by the reference in chapter xix to an incident which was not ended
      till September, 1596 (see Navarrete). There are other hints and
      allusions in the story which, I think, show that it could scarcely
      have been begun while Philip II was alive.

      [5] From _Wilhelm Meister, Lehrjahre_, chapter xii, thus Englished
      by Thomas Carlyle:

          "Who never ate his bread in sorrow,
            Who never spent the darksome hours
          Weeping and watching for the morrow,
            He knew you not, ye unseen Powers."

Never had any man of letters to go through a severer ordeal. At last his
genius found the true path for which it had been beating about so many
years; but not until his prime of life had passed, when even that brave
heart must have been chilled and that gay spirit deadened.

In 1601 Philip III, at the instance of the Duke of Lerma, removed the
court to the old capital of Castile, Valladolid--by nature far better
situated for a metropolis than Madrid, which had been the choice of his
grandfather, Charles V. Thither Cervantes repaired, in 1603, doubtless
with some hope of gleaning some crumbs of the royal favor. He was no more
fortunate with the new King than he had been with the old. Despairing of
place or patronage, he turned, with his brave spirit unquenched as by the
record sufficiently appears, to completing this new thing among books.

_Don Quixote_ was probably finished by the beginning of 1604, though some
further time elapsed, as it seems, before the author had courage to go to
print. His genius had lain fallow for twenty years. He was now old, and
had written nothing, or at least published nothing, since _Galatea_. What
fame was left to him he had earned as a poet among many poets. As an
author, if he was remembered at all, it was in a line wholly different
from that which he now essayed. There is reason to believe that the
manuscript of the new book was in circulation among those who called
themselves the author's friends, as was the custom of the age, before he
found a patron and a publisher.[6] The publisher was got at last in
Francisco Robles, the King's printer, to whom the copyright was sold for
ten years.[7] The patron appeared in the person of the Duque de Bejar, a
nobleman described by a writer of that age--Cristobal de Mesa--as himself
both a poet and a valiant soldier. The choice was not altogether a happy
one, for the Duke of Bejar might be said to have an ancestral claim to be
regarded as a patron of books of chivalries. It was to his great-grandfather
that one of the silliest and most extravagant of the romances had been
dedicated by the author, Feliciano de Silva, who is the writer specially
ridiculed by Cervantes--the very book which is the subject of a parody in
the opening chapter of _Don Quixote_.[8] The Duke of Bejar was noted,
moreover, for his own uncommon affection for the books of chivalries then
in fashion, and it is probable that he at first understood _Don Quixote_
to be one such as he was in the habit of reading. Learning of his
mistake, he refused, it is said, the dedication, and withdrew his
patronage from the author. Then, according to the pleasant story first
told by Vicente de los Rios, was enacted that scene which has been so
favorite a subject with modern artists. Cervantes begged of the Duke to
give him a hearing before deciding against his book; upon which he was
permitted to read a chapter, which the Duke found so much to his taste
that he graciously readmitted the author into his favor and consented to
receive the dedication. There is another tradition which imputes to the
Duke's confessor--an ecclesiastic who must have had a cleaner nose for
heterodoxy than most of his fellows--the original rejection of the
dedication by the Duke, the alteration in its wording, and the subsequent
neglect of the author.[9] The dedication which now does duty at the
opening of the First Part of _Don Quixote_ I have shown to have been
tampered with by someone bearing no good-will to Cervantes.

      [6] There are two curious pieces of evidence in proof that _Don
      Quixote_ was known before it was printed. In the first edition of
      the _Picara Justina_, composed by Francisco de Ubeda--the license
      to print which is dated August, 1604--there are some truncated
      verses, like those in the beginning of _Don Quixote_, in which _Don
      Quixote_ is mentioned by name as already famous (_Catalogo de
      Salva_, vol. ii, p. 157). Also in a private letter from Lope de
      Vega to his patron, the Duke of Sessa, there is a malignant
      allusion to Cervantes, speaking of poets. "There is none so bad as
      Cervantes, and none so foolish as to praise _Don Quixote_." The
      letter is dated August 4, 1604.

      [7] That seems to have been the usual period for which a book was
      licensed in that age. The sum which Cervantes received for his
      copyright is not recorded.

      [8] The Third Part of _Don Florisel de Niquea_ was dedicated to a
      former Duque de Bejar. See Salva's _Catalogo_, vol. ii, p. 14.

      [9] Cervantes is supposed to reflect on this meddlesome ecclesiastic
      in Part II, chap, xxxi, of _Don Quixote_, where there is a passage
      against those of the religious profession who "govern the houses
      of princes," written with a bitterness most unusual in our author.

The privilege of publication is dated September 26th, and the _Tasa_
December 20,1604. The book itself, the First Part of _Don Quixote_ (it
was not so called in the first edition, of course), was printed by Juan
de la Cuesta during 1604, and published at Madrid in January, 1605.[10]
The impression was very carelessly made, and swarms with blunders,
typographical and otherwise, showing that it was not corrected or revised
by the author. The press-work, however, is quite equal in execution to
that of most books of that age.

      [10] Those who are fond of dwelling on coincidences may find one
      here of singular interest. The year during which _Don Quixote_ was
      being printed was also the year in which, according to the best
      authorities, Shakespeare was producing his perfected _Hamlet_. The
      two noblest works of human wit, their subjects bearing a curious
      affinity one to another, each the story of a mind disordered by the
      burden of setting the world right, were thus born in the same year.

The reception which _Don Quixote_ met with on its first appearance was
cordial beyond all precedent, and such as must have convinced the author,
who was evidently doubtful of his new experiment, that here at last his
genius had found its true field of exercise. The persons of culture,
indeed, received the book coldly. The half-learned sneered at the title
as absurd and at the style as vulgar. Who was this _ingenio lego_--this
lay, unlearned wit--"a poor Latin-less author," which is what they said
of Shakespeare--outside of the _cultos_ proper, of no university
education--who had dared to parody the tastes of the higher circles?
The envy and malice of all his rivals--especially of those who found
themselves included in the satire--even the great Lope himself, the
phoenix of his age, then at the height of his glory--spoke out, with
open mouth, against the author. The chorus of dispraise was swelled by
all those, persons chiefly of high station, whose fashion of reading
had been ridiculed. A book, professing to be of entertainment, in which
knights and knightly exercises were made a jest of--in which peasants,
innkeepers, muleteers, and other vulgar people spoke their own language
and behaved after their own fashion--was a daring innovation, all the
more offensive because the laugh was directed at what was felt to be a
national infirmity. Who was the bold man who, being neither courtier
nor ecclesiastic, made sport for the world out of the weaknesses of
_caballeros_? An old soldier of Lepanto, indeed! Lepanto was a name
outworn. Spain was now in a new world. Crusades against the unbeliever,
even those more popular ones which combined the saving of souls with
the getting of gold, were long out of fashion. Lastly, the entire
ecclesiastical body--the formidable phalanx of the endowed, with their
patrons dependents, and dupes--though they were too dull to perceive
and too dense to feel the shafts aimed at obscurantism and superstition,
had something more than a suspicion that this book called _Don Quixote_
was a book to be discouraged.

In spite of the frowns and sneers of the quality, however, and the
ill-concealed disgust of the learned, _Don Quixote_ was received with
unbounded applause by the common people.[11] Those best critics in
every age and country, the honest readers, who were neither _bourgeois_
nor genteel, neither learned nor ignorant, welcomed the book with a
joyous enthusiasm, as a wholly new delight and source of entertainment.
Nothing like it had ever appeared before. It was an epoch-marking book,
if ever there was one.

      [11] _Con general aplauso de las gentes_--he says in the Second
      Part of _Don Quixote_, speaking through the mouth of the Duchess.
      The legend, revived in the present age, that _Don Quixote_ hung
      fire on the first publication, and that the author wrote
      anonymously a tract called _El Buscapie_ (The Search-foot), in
      order to explain his story and its object, rests only upon the
      evidence of one Ruidiaz, and is contradicted by all the facts of
      the case. No such aid was necessary to push the sale of the book,
      whose purpose had been sufficiently explained by the author in
      his preface. The so-called _Buscapie_, published in 1848 by
      Adolfo de Castro, is an impudent forgery, which has imposed upon
      no one. It is the composition of Señor de Castro himself, who is
      a _farceur_, of some wit and more effrontery. Ticknor is even too
      serious in the attention which he bestows on Señor de Castro and
      his work, which an English publisher has thought worthy of a
      translation.

The proud and happy author himself spoke of his success with a frank
complacency which, in any other man, would savor of vanity. Some seven
or eight editions of _Don Quixote_ are supposed to have been printed in
the first year, of which six are now extant--two of Madrid, two of
Lisbon, and two of Valencia.[12] The number of copies issued from the
press in one year was probably in excess of the number reached by any
book since the invention of printing.[13] But though all Spain talked
of _Don Quixote_ and read _Don Quixote_, and though the book brought
him much fame, some consolation, and a few good friends, it does not
appear to have helped to mend the fortunes of Cervantes in any material
degree. In accordance with the usual dispensation, the author derived
the least benefit from his success. Francisco Robles and Juan de la
Cuesta, doubtless, made a good thing of it; but to Miguel de Cervantes
there must have come but a small share of the profit. The laws of
copyright were, in that age, little regarded; and it may be questioned
whether, in a book published in Madrid, they could be enforced outside
of Castile. The pirates and the wreckers were busy upon _Don Quixote_
from its very earliest appearance; and its quick and plentiful
reproduction in all the chief cities, not only of Spain but of the
outside Spanish dominions, though highly flattering to the author,
could not have greatly helped to lighten his life of toil and penury.

      [12] Señor Gayangos is of opinion that there were other editions
      of 1605 which have wholly perished; one probably at Barcelona,
      the press of which city was very active in that year; one at
      Pamplona, and probably one at Saragossa, which were capitals of
      old kingdoms. See also Señor Asensio's letter to the _Ateneo_,
      No. 23, p. 296; and the Bibliography of _Don Quixote_ at the end
      of this volume.

      [13] The ordinary _obrada_, or impression, of a book at this
      period, I am told by Señor Gayangos--and there can be no better
      authority--was 250 copies. But in the case of a popular book like
      _Don Quixote_ the impression would be larger--probably 500 copies.
      Supposing 8 editions to have been issued in 1605, there would thus
      have been printed 4,000 copies in the first year--a number
      unprecedently large in an age when readers were few and books a
      luxury.

Taking the object of _Don Quixote_ to be, what Cervantes declared
it--"the causing of the false and silly books of chivalries to be
abhorred by mankind"--no book was ever so successful. The doughtiest
knight of romance never achieved an adventure so stupendous as that which
Miguel de Cervantes undertook and accomplished. With his pen, keener than
the lance of Esplandian or Felixmarte, he slew the whole herd of puissant
cavaliers, of very valiant and accomplished lovers. Before him went down
the Florisandros and Florisels, the Lisuartes and Lepolemos, the
Primaleons and the Polindos, and the whole brood of the invincible.
Scarcely a single romance was printed, and not one was written, after the
date of the publication of _Don Quixote_.[14] Such a revolution in
taste was never accomplished by any single writer, in any age or country.

      [14] The last book of the kind written before _Don Quixote_,
      according to Clemencin, was _Policisne de Boecia_, published in
      1602; but _La Toledana Discreta_, which is a romantic poem in
      _ottava rima_, was published in 1604, and a few chap-books and
      religious romances, of the slighter kind, afterward.

A few words only are here needed, in the discussion of that question
which has occupied so largely the ingenuity of writers, native and
foreign, as to what was the object of Cervantes in writing _Don Quixote_.
There are those who insist upon seeking in every work of humor or of wit
some meaning other and deeper than in the book appears, as though it were
impossible that an author should be disinterested or write merely out of
the fulness of his heart or pride in his work. With Cervantes' own
declaration, more than once repeated, of the purpose of his book the
critics will not be content. So good a book must have had a better reason
for being than Cervantes' dislike of the fantastic books of the later
chivalry. Who, then, was the man--the original of Don Quixote? Against
whom was the satire levelled? Of course nothing was then known to the
world outside of poor Don Rodrigo de Pacheco, the Argamasillan _hidalgo_.
Some great man Cervantes must have intended to ridicule. It was Charles
V, said some. It was his son Philip, cried others--ignoring the absurdity
of the Prudent one losing his wits through excessive reading of romances.
It was the Duke of Lerma--or the Duke of Osuna--or some other great man,
or Cervantes' wife's cousin, who opposed his marriage with Catalina. It
was Ignatius Loyola--our own countryman, the good John Bowle, suggested.

Surely these various theories are a little far-fetched and not a little
grotesque and absurd. What there is in either of the two Spanish monarchs
to liken him to the Knight of La Mancha it is difficult to see. Those who
have looked upon that wonderful equestrian picture of Titian's in the
Museo at Madrid, with its weird, weary, far-off expression, are
irresistibly led to think of Don Quixote; but the converse is by no means
so clear that on looking at Don Quixote we are tempted to think of that
most unromantic of monarchs, Carlos Quinto.[15] His son is still more
unlike his supposed portrait. As to the Duke of Lerma, they who can
believe, on the faith of the cock-and-bull stories told by the Abbé
Lenglet du Fresnoy and the Jesuit Rapin, that Cervantes satirized the
all-powerful minister in revenge for personal injuries suffered at
his hands, may be consigned to the same limbo with the believers in
the Bacon-Shakespeare. The theory about Loyola, first mooted by Bowle,
the English commentator, is of all, perhaps, not the least absurd. The
one shred by which it hangs is a passage in _Don Quixote_ where the
angry Biscayan, the adversary of Don Quixote, is made a native of
Azpeitia--this being the name of the obscure village where Loyola was
born.

      [15] The question is reopened in the _España Moderna_ (1894), by
      my good friend Asensio, who quotes from one of the histories of
      Charles V how that as a youth he would draw his sword and lay about
      him at the figures in the tapestry, and how once he was discovered
      teasing a caged lion with a stick. This is slender material on
      which to base the theory of Charles V being the original of Don
      Quixote.

A sufficient answer to all these theories is that contained in the book
itself. Surely no one has read _Don Quixote_ with profit to himself who
has been unable to see that the hero is not one whom the author desired
to revile or to malign. Never was a satire like this, which leaves us
full of love and sympathy for the object. And why cannot we believe the
author when he avers that never did his humble pen stoop to satire? He
meant, of course, the satire of persons as distinguished from the
reprehension and the ridicule of human follies and general vices. As a
lampoon, _Don Quixote_ could hardly have endured to this day. The spirit
which has given it eternal life is love, and not hate.

To estimate the worth of the service performed by Cervantes--not in
abolishing romance, as has been absurdly said, still less in discrediting
chivalry, as with even a more perverse misconception of his purpose has
been suggested, but in purging books of fiction of their grossness and
their extravagance, and restoring romance to truth and to nature--we have
to consider the enormous influence exercised by this pernicious
literature over the minds of the people of Spain in the sixteenth
century.

The ceaseless wars with the Moors had trained the whole manhood of the
nation to soldiership. The trade of fighting was familiar to every man of
good birth, so that the word for "knight" (_caballero_) came to be
synonymous with that for "gentleman." The constant exercise in arms made
of chivalry, in Spain, a more solemn and serious calling than elsewhere.
As a native writer says, with equal point and spirit, there was developed
by the chronic war with the Moor a _caballerismo_--there is none but
a Spanish word for a quality purely indigenous--essentially distinct from
the gay, fantastic chivalry of the North. It extended to all classes of
the people. It was not confined to the aristocracy. "Every Spaniard was
a warrior, every warrior a noble, and every noble a knight of his
country."[16] They had not to go far to seek for adventures. They had the
Paynim at home: Mahound and Termagaunt were at their doors. There was a
constant supply at hand of men of the wrong faith and alien habits--the
delight in fighting whom was enhanced by the fact that they equally were
possessed of the chivalric fervor, and, though Moors and misbelievers,
gentlemen still and cavaliers.[17] The long and desperate struggle for
existence evolved the highest qualities of the race. And small wonder it
was that out of that fruitful soil which had grown the Cid and the
warriors of the heroic age, who should be rightly classed as prechivalric,
there sprung up that ranker produce, the knights-errant. Of these, the
seekers after adventure, the bohemians of the knightly order, Spain, as
her native historians boast, was the teeming mother. No other country in
that age, or in the previous one, could show the world such a scene as
that gravely enacted before King Juan II and his court, when eighty
knights ran a-tilt with each other, and incurred serious loss of limb and
permanent injury to their persons, in order that one of them might fulfil
a fantastic vow made to his mistress.[18]

      [16] See the eloquent and judicious prologue to his _Romancero
      General_ by Don Agustin Duran.

      [17] "Caballeros granadinos,
           Aunque Moros, hijos d'algo."

      [18] See the account of the Paso Honroso, held at the instance of
      Suero de Quiñones, before Juan II, in 1434, at the bridge of
      Orbigo, near Leon, which is contained in Appendix D, vol. i, of my
      translation of _Don Quixote_.

Knight-errantry, which was a caprice in France and in England, in Spain
was a calling. No other country could afford such a field for it, and to
no other society was it so well suited. The grave and wise Fernando de
Pulgar, the counsellor and chronicler of Ferdinand and Isabella, speaks
with complacency of the noblemen he knew who had gone into foreign
countries in search of adventures, "so as to gain honor for themselves,
and the fame of valiant and hardy knights for the gentlemen of
Castile"--boasting that there were more Spanish knights of the errant
sort than of any other nation.

The romance of chivalry was the natural growth of this fashion of
knight-errantry; and, like its parent, flourished nowhere so luxuriantly
as in Spain. _Amadis Of Gaul_ and _Belianis Of Greece_ are, in fact, as
much "racy of the soil" as _Don Quixote_ itself.

There were some simple or devout enough to take the romance for a gospel,
who believed in Amadis as much as in any other hero or saint. In the
_Arte de Galanteria_, written by Francisco de Portugal about the close of
the sixteenth century, it is mentioned that a Portuguese poet, Simon de
Silveira, once swore upon the Evangelists that he believed the whole of
_Amadis_ to be true history. This is capped by another story in the same
book of how a certain knight came home from hunting and found his wife
and daughters dissolved in tears. Asking them what was the matter--whether
any child or relation was dead--they said "No; but Amadis is dead!" They
had come to the 174th chapter of _Lisuarte of Greece_, where the old
Amadis finally dies.

The influence of the _Palmerins_ and of the Carlovingian romances, which
form a class by themselves, was scarcely inferior to that of _Amadis_.
_Palmerin of England_ himself, the patriarch of the family--that "Palm of
England," as Cervantes calls him--may be placed second to his rival in
merit. The difference in spirit is great between the two; for _Amadis_
really is, though in its present form of the fifteenth, of the fourteenth
century, when chivalry was in its early prime; and _Palmerin_ was not
written till the sixteenth century, when the true ideal of knighthood had
already been dimmed by the lust of gold-seeking and religious adventure.
Southey, perhaps, ranks _Palmerin_ too high in the literary scale by
placing it on a level with _Amadis_, and averring that he knew "no
romance and no epic in which suspense is so successfully kept up." Of
their successors, the long line of sons, grandsons and nephews, each more
valiant and puissant than the last, it must be said that they are as
scant of beauty as of grace. In order to keep up the interest of their
readers, the authors of the Primaleons and the Polindos--the Florisels
and the Florisandos--were compelled to put in wonders on an ascending
scale; to pile up adventure upon adventure; to make the dragons fiercer,
the giants huger, the fighting more terrible, and the slaughter more
bloody. The popular appetite, which craved for more and more excitement
with every successive stimulant, could only be fed by inventions so
monstrous that it is a wonder the stomach of the readers of romances of
chivalry did not reject the nauseous aliment. Yet there is no evidence
of any decline in the production of these books up to the date of the
appearance of _Don Quixote_.

It was to do battle with this brood of fabled monsters, against whom the
pulpit and the parliament had preached and legislated in vain, that
Cervantes took up his pen. The adventure was one reserved for his single
arm; and it was achieved with a completeness of success such as must have
astonished our hero himself, as we know by many signs that it disgusted
and irritated many of his literary rivals. The true nature of the service
performed, as well as Cervantes' motive in undertaking it, has been
greatly misrepresented. Nothing can be more certain than that his aim
in _Don Quixote_ was, primarily, to correct the prevailing false taste
in literature. What moral and social results followed were the necessary
consequences of the employment of his rare wit and humor on such a work.
There is no reason to believe that Cervantes, at first, had any more
serious intention than that which he avowed, namely, to give "a pastime
to melancholy souls"[19] in destroying "the authority and influence which
the books of chivalries have in the world and over the vulgar." That he
was not impelled to this work by any antipathy to knightly romances as
such--still less by any ambition to repress the spirit of chivalry, or to
purge the commonwealth of social and political abuses--is abundantly
proved by the whole tenor of his book, if not by the evidence of his
life. His own tastes strongly inclined him to books of romance. Perhaps
no one in that age had read more of those books, or was so deeply imbued
with their spirit.

      [19] See the _Viaje del Parnaso_, chapter iv:

          "Y he dado en _Don Quixote_ pasatiempo
            Al pecho melancolico y mohino
            En cualquiera sazon, en todo tiempo."

          ("And I am he in _Quixote_ who has given
            A pastime for the melancholy soul
            In every age, and all time and season.")

      Why cannot we believe the author, when he thus plainly and candidly
      avows his purpose?

The opinion of an acute Spanish writer, Don Vicente de Salva, on this
point we hold to be a very sensible one--"Cervantes did not intend to
satirize the substance and essence of books of chivalries, but only to
purge away their follies and impossibilities." What is _Don Quixote_
itself, it is shrewdly added, but a romance of chivalry, "which has
ruined the fortunes of its predecessors by being so immensely in advance
of them"?[20] What was Cervantes' own last book, as we shall presently
show, but in some kind a romance of chivalry--not free, alas! from some
of the very errors he had himself burlesqued? Nay, what was Cervantes'
own life but a romance of chivalry?

      [20] See the essay of Salva's in Ochoa, _Apuntes para una
      Biblioteca_, vol. ii, pp. 723-740. I know one great Spanish scholar
      who has never forgiven Cervantes for destroying the books of
      chivalries. But his anger is rather that of the bibliographer than
      of the critic or patriot. He has the best collection of those evil
      books in Europe.

That, after all, the overthrow of the books of chivalries was but a small
part of the good work which Cervantes performed in _Don Quixote_ is only
to say that, like all great writers, he "builded better than he knew."
The pen of the genius, as Heine says, is ever greater than the man
himself. Rejecting all the many subtle and ingenious theories as to what
was Cervantes' object in writing his book; that it was a crusade against
enthusiasm, as even Heine seems to suspect; that it was a missionary
tract, intended to destroy popery and throw down antichrist, as some,
even bearded men, have dared to suggest; that it was a programme of
advanced liberalism artfully veiled under a mask of levity, and, indeed,
the forerunner of that gospel of sentimental cosmopolitanism since
preached by other eminent persons supposed to resemble Cervantes in their
characters or Don Quixote in their careers--I hold that the author wrote
but out of the fulness of his own heart, giving us, by a happy impulse, a
fable in which are transparently figured his own character, his own
experiences, and his own sufferings. What is the key but this to the
mystery which makes this book, on a purely local subject of passing
interest, the book of humanity for all time--as popular out of Spain as
among Spaniards? A mere burlesque would have died with the books which it
killed. A satire survives only so long as the person or the thing
satirized is remembered. But _Don Quixote_ lives, and, by a miracle of
genius, keeps _Amadis_ and _Palmerin_ alive.

The invention is the most simple, as it is the most original, in
literature. From _Don Quixote_ dates an epoch in the art of fiction. For
once Cervantes was happy in his opportunity. And what is the secret of
his success? It is that this "child of his sterile, ill-cultured wit" is
no creature of pure fancy, but fashioned in the very likeness of its
parent, drawn out of his life, shaped after his pattern--an image of its
creator. How could Cervantes' romance fail of holding the field against
all the romances? It was his own life from which he drew--that life which
had been a true knight-errantry. The hero himself, the enthusiast, nursed
on visions of chivalry, who is ever mocked by fortune; the reviver of the
old knighthood, who is buffeted by clowns and made sport of by the baser
sort; who, in spite of the frequent blows, jeers, reverses, and indignities
he receives, never ceases to command our love and sympathy--who is he but
the man of Lepanto himself, whose life is a romance at least as various,
eventful, and arduous; as full of hardships, troubles, and sadness; as
prolific of surprising adventures and strange accidents, as the immortal
story he has written? This is the key to _Don Quixote_, which, unless we
use, we shall not reach to the heart of the mystery.




               EARLIEST POSITIVE DISCOVERY OF AUSTRALIA

                              A.D. 1606

                    LOUIS BECKE AND WALTER JEFFERY


    As shown by the authors of the following account, there is no lack of
    evidence that it was belief in a great southern land which led early
    geographers and sailors to belief in the existence of the Australian
    continent. Notwithstanding this, it is held by some students of the
    subject to be doubtful whether the first navigators who reached the
    shores of Australia set out with any expectation of discovering a
    great land in the south.

    Whether this was the case or not, it is argued that the earliest
    achievements in that quarter were either of no definite consequence
    or were imperfectly estimated by those who made or promoted the
    discoveries in connection with which not even their names have been
    preserved.

    The narrative of Becke and Jeffery, with its references to other
    leading authorities, furnishes the completest and most recent
    information on this subject available within the compass of a
    reasonably brief survey.


Learned geographers have gone back to very remote times, even to the
Middle Ages, and, by the aid of old maps, have set up ingenious theories
showing that the Australian continent was then known to explorers. Some
evidence had been adduced of a French voyage in which the continent was
discovered in the youth of the sixteenth century, and, of course, it has
been asserted that the Chinese were acquainted with the land long before
Europeans ventured to go so far afloat. There is strong evidence that the
west coast of Australia was touched by the Spanish and the Portuguese
during the first half of the sixteenth century, and proof of its
discovery early in the seventeenth century. At the time of these very
early South Sea voyages the search, it should always be remembered, was
for a great antarctic continent. The discovery of islands in the Pacific
was, to the explorers, a matter of minor importance; New Guinea, although
visited by the Portuguese in 1526, up to the time of Captain Cook was
supposed by Englishmen to be a part of the mainland; and the eastern
coast of Australia, though touched upon earlier and roughly outlined upon
maps, remained unknown to them until Cook explored it.

_Early Voyages to Australia_, by R.H. Major, printed by the Hakluyt
Society in 1859, is still the best collection of facts, and contains the
soundest deductions from them on the subject, and although ably written
books have since been published, the industrious authors have added
little or nothing in the way of indisputable evidence to that collected
by Major. The belief in the existence of the Australian continent grew
gradually and naturally out of a belief in a great southern land. G.B.
Barton, in an introduction to his valuable Australian history, traces
this from 1578, when Frobisher wrote:

"Terra Australis seemeth to be a great, firm land, lying under and about
the south pole, being in many places a fruitful soil, and is not yet
thoroughly discovered, but only seen and touched on the north edge
thereof by the travel of the Portiugales and Spaniards in their voyages
to their East and West Indies. It is included almost by a parallel,
passing at 40 degrees in south latitude, yet in some places it reacheth
into the sea with great promontories, even into the tropic Capricornus.
Only these parts are best known, as over against Capo d'buona Speranza
(where the Portiugales see popinjayes commonly of a wonderful greatness),
and again it is known at the south side of the Straight of Magellanies,
and is called Terra del Fuego. It is thought this south land, about the
pole Antarctic, is far bigger than the north land about the pole Arctic;
but whether it be so or not, we have no certain knowledge, for we have no
particular description thereof, as we have of the land under and about
the north pole."

Then Purchas, in 1578, says: "This land about the Straits is not
perfectly discovered, whether it be continent or islands. Some take it
for continent, and extend it more in their imagination than any man's
experience toward those islands of Saloman and New Guinea, esteeming (of
which there is great probability) that Terra Australis, or the Southern
Continent, may for the largeness thereof take a first place in order and
the first in greatness in the division and parting of the Whole World."

The most important of the Spanish voyages was that made by De Quiros, who
left Callao in December, 1605, in charge of an expedition of three ships.
One of these vessels was commanded by Luis Vaez de Torres. De Quiros, who
is believed to have been by birth a Portuguese, discovered several island
groups and many isolated islands, among the former being the New
Hebrides, which he, believing he had found the continent, named Tierra
Australis del Espiritu Santo. Soon after, the ships commanded by De
Quiros became separated from the other vessels, and Torres took charge.
He subsequently found that the land seen was an island group, and so
determined to sail westward in pursuance of the scheme of exploration. In
about the month of August he fell in with a chain of islands--now called
the Louisiade Archipelago and included in the British possession of New
Guinea--which he thought, reasonably enough, was the beginning of New
Guinea, but which really lies a little to the southeast of that great
island. As he could not weather the group, he bore away to the southward,
and his subsequent proceedings are here quoted from Burney's _Voyages_:

    "We went along three hundred leagues of coast, as I have mentioned,
    and diminished the latitude 2-1/2 degrees, which brought us into 9
    degrees. From thence we fell in with a bank of from 3 to 9 fathoms,
    which extends along the coast to 7-1/2 south latitude; and the end of
    it is in 5 degrees. We could go no further on for the many shoals and
    great currents, so we were obliged to sail south-west in that depth
    to 11 degrees south latitude. There is all over it an archipelago of
    islands, without number, by which we passed; and at the end of the
    eleventh degree the bank became shoaler. Here were very large
    islands, and they appeared more to the southward. They were inhabited
    by black people, very corpulent and naked. Their arms were lances,
    arrows, and clubs of stone ill-fashioned. We could not get any of
    their arms. We caught in all this land twenty persons of different
    nations, that with them we might be able to give a better account to
    your Majesty. They give (us) much notice of other people, although as
    yet they do not make themselves well understood. We were upon this
    bank two months, at the end of which time we found ourselves in
    twenty-five fathoms and 5 degrees south latitude and ten leagues from
    the coast; and having gone 480 leagues here, the coast goes to the
    north-east. I did not search it, for the bank became very shallow. So
    we stood to the north."

The "very large islands" seen by Torres were, no doubt, the hills of Cape
York, the northernmost point of Australia, and so he, all unconsciously,
had passed within sight of the continent for which he was searching. A
copy of the report by Torres was lodged in the archives of Manila; and
when the English took that city in 1762, Dalrymple, the celebrated
geographer, discovered it, and gave the name of Torres Straits to what is
now well known as the dangerous passage dividing New Guinea from
Australia. De Quiros, in his ship, made no further discovery. He arrived
on the Mexican coast in October, 1606, and did all he could to induce
Philip III of Spain to sanction further exploration, but without success.

Of the voyages of the Dutch in Australian waters much interesting matter
is available. Major sums up the case in these words: "The entire period
up to the time of Dampier, ranging over two centuries, presents these two
phases of obscurity: that in the sixteenth century--the period of the
Portuguese and Spanish discoveries--there are indications on maps of the
great probability of Australia having already been discovered, but with
no written documents to confirm them; while in the seventeenth century
there is documentary evidence that its coasts were touched upon or
explored by a considerable number of Dutch voyagers, but the documents
immediately describing these voyages have not been found."

The period of known Dutch discovery begins with the establishment of the
Dutch East India Company, and a knowledge of the west coast of Australia
grew with the growth of the Dutch colonies, but grew slowly, for the
Dutchmen were too busy trading to risk ships and spend time and money
upon scientific voyages.

In January, 1644, Commodore Abel Janszoon Tasman was despatched upon his
second voyage of discovery to the South Seas, and his instructions,
signed by the Governor-General of Batavia, Antonio van Diemen, begin with
a recital of all previous Dutch voyages of a similar character. From this
document an interesting summary of Dutch exploration can be made. Tasman,
in his first voyage, had discovered the island of Van Diemen, which he
named after the then Governor of Batavia, but which has since been named
Tasmania, after its discoverer. During this first voyage the navigator
also discovered New Zealand, passed round the east side of Australia
without seeing the land, and on his way home sailed along the northern
shore of New Guinea.

But to come back to the summary of Dutch voyages found in Tasman's
instructions: During 1605 and 1606 the Dutch yacht Duyphen made two
exploring voyages to New Guinea. On one trip, the commander, after
coasting New Guinea, steered southward along the islands on the west side
of Torres Straits to that part of Australia, a little to the west and
south of Cape York, marked on modern maps as Duyphen Point, thus
unconsciously--for he thought himself still on the west coast of New
Guinea--making the first authenticated discovery of the continent.

Dirk Hartog, in command of the Endragt, while on his way from Holland to
the East Indies, put into what Dampier afterward called Shark's Bay, and
on an island, which now bears his name, deposited a tin plate with an
inscription recording his arrival, and dated October 25, 1616. The plate
was afterward found by a Dutch navigator in 1697, and replaced by
another, which, in its turn, was discovered in July, 1801, by Captain
Hamelin, of the Naturaliste, on the well-known French voyage in search of
the ill-fated La Perouse. The Frenchman copied the inscription, and
nailed the plate to a post, with another recording his own voyage. These
inscriptions were a few years later removed by De Freycinet, and
deposited in the museum of the Institute of Paris. Hartog ran along the
coast a few degrees, naming the land after his ship, and was followed by
many other voyagers at frequent intervals down to the year 1727, from
which time Dutch exploration has no more a place in Australian discovery.

During the one hundred twenty-two years of which we have records of their
voyages, although the Dutch navigators' work, compared with that done by
Cook and his successors, was of small account, yet, considering the state
of nautical science, and that the ships were for the most part Dutch East
Indiamen, the Dutch names which still sprinkle the north and the west
coasts of the continent show that from Cape York in the extreme north,
westward of the great Australian Bight in the south, the Dutchmen had
touched at intervals the whole coast line.

But before leaving the Dutch period there are one or two voyages that,
either on account of their interesting or important character, deserve
brief mention. In 1623 Arnhem's Land, now the northern district of the
northern territory of South Australia, was discovered by the Dutch yachts
Pesa and Arnhem. This voyage is also noteworthy on account of the
massacre of the master of the Arnhem and eight of his crew by the natives
while they were exploring the coast of New Guinea. In 1627 the first
discovery of the south coast was made by the Gulde Zeepard, and the land
then explored, extending from Cape Leeuwin to the Nuyts Archipelago, on
the South Australian coast, was named after Peter Nuyts, then on board
the ship on his way to Batavia, whence he was sent to Japan as ambassador
from Holland.

In the year 1628 a colonizing expedition of eleven vessels left Holland
for the Dutch East Indies. Among these ships was the Batavia, commanded
by Francis Pelsart. A terrible storm destroyed ten of the fleet, and on
June 4, 1629, the Batavia was driven ashore on the reef still known as
Houtman's Abrolhos, which had been discovered and named by a Dutch East
Indiaman some years earlier--probably by the commander of the Leeuwin,
who discovered and named after his ship the cape at the southwest point
of the continent. The Batavia, which carried a number of chests of silver
money, went to pieces on the reef. The crew of the ship managed to land
upon the rocks, and saved some food from the wreck, but they were without
water. Pelsart, in one of the ship's boats, spent a couple of weeks in
exploring the inhospitable coast in the neighborhood, in the hope of
discovering water, but found so little that he ultimately determined to
attempt to make Batavia and from there bring succor to his ship's
company. On July 3d he fell in with a Dutch ship off Java and was taken
on to Batavia. From there he obtained help and returned to the wreck,
arriving at the Abrolhos in the middle of September; but during the
absence of the commander the castaways had gone through a terrible
experience, which is related in Therenot's _Recueil de Voyages curieux_,
and translated into English in Major's book, from which the following is
extracted:

    "While Pelsart is soliciting assistance, I will return to those of
    the crew who remained on the island; but I should first inform you
    that the supercargo, named Jerome Cornelis, formerly an apothecary at
    Haarlem, had conspired with the pilot and some others, when off the
    coast of Africa, to obtain possession of the ship and take her to
    Dunkirk, or to avail themselves of her for the purpose of piracy.
    This supercargo remained upon the wreck ten days after the vessel had
    struck, having discovered no means of reaching the shore. He even
    passed two days upon the mainmast, which floated, and, having from
    thence got upon a yard, at length gained the land. In the absence of
    Pelsart, he became commander, and deemed this a suitable occasion for
    putting his original design into execution, concluding that it would
    not be difficult to become master of that which remained of the
    wreck, and to surprise Pelsart when he should arrive with the
    assistance which he had gone to Batavia to seek, and afterward to
    cruise in these seas with his vessel. To accomplish this it was
    necessary to get rid of those of the crew who were not of his party;
    but before inbruing his hands with blood he caused his accomplices to
    sign a species of compact, by which they promised fidelity one to
    another. The entire crew was divided (living upon) between three
    islands; upon that of Cornelis, which they had named the graveyard of
    Batavia, was the greatest number of men.

    "One of them, by name Weybehays, a lieutenant, had been despatched to
    another island to seek for water, and having discovered some after a
    search of twenty days he made the preconcerted signal by lighting
    three fires, but in vain, for they were not noticed by the people of
    Cornelis' company, the conspirators having during that time murdered
    those who were not of their party. Of these they killed thirty or
    forty. Some few saved themselves upon pieces of wood, which they
    joined together, and, going in search of Weybehays, informed him of
    the horrible massacre that had taken place.

    "Having with him forty-five men, he resolved to keep upon his guard,
    and to defend himself from their assassins if they should make an
    attack upon his company, which in effect they designed to do, and to
    treat the other party in the same manner; for they feared lest their
    company, or that which remained upon the third island, should inform
    the commander upon his arrival, and thus prevent the execution of
    their design. They succeeded easily with the party last mentioned,
    which was the weakest, killing the whole of them, excepting seven
    children and some women. They hoped to succeed as easily with
    Weybehays' company, and in the mean while broke open the chests of
    merchandise which had been saved from the vessel. Jerome Cornelis
    caused clothing to be made for his company out of the rich stuffs
    which he found therein, choosing to himself a bodyguard, each of whom
    he clothed in scarlet, embroidered with gold and silver. Regarding
    the women as part of the spoil, he took one for himself, and gave one
    of the daughters of the minister to a principal member of his party,
    abandoning the other three for public use. He drew up also certain
    rules for the future conduct of his men.

    "After these horrible proceedings he caused himself to be elected
    captain-general by a document which he compelled all his companions
    to sign. He afterward sent twenty-two men in two shallops to destroy
    the company of Weybehays, but they met with a repulse. Taking with
    him thirty-seven men, he went himself against Weybehays, who received
    him at the water's edge as he disembarked, and forced him to retire,
    although the lieutenant and his men had no weapons but clubs, the
    ends of which were armed with spikes.

    "Finding force unavailing, the mutineer had recourse to other means.
    He proposed a treaty of peace, the chaplain, who remained with
    Weybehays, drawing up the conditions. It was agreed to with this
    proviso, that Weybehays' company should remain unmolested, and they,
    upon their part, agreed to deliver up a little boat in which one of
    the sailors had escaped from the island where Cornelis was located to
    that of Weybehays, receiving in return some stuffs for clothing his
    people. During his negotiations Cornelis wrote to certain French
    soldiers who belonged to the lieutenant's company, offering to each a
    sum of money to corrupt them, with the hope that with this assistance
    he might easily compass his design. His letters, which were without
    effect, were shown to Weybehays, and Cornelis, who was ignorant of
    their disclosure, having arrived the next day with three or four
    others to find Weybehays and bring him the apparel, the latter caused
    him to be attacked, killed two or three of the company, and took
    Cornelis himself prisoner. One of them, by name Wouterlos, who
    escaped from this rout, returned the following day to renew the
    attack, but with little success.

    "Pelsart arrived during these occurrences in the frigate Sardam. As
    he approached the wreck he observed smoke from a distance, a
    circumstance that afforded him great consolation, since he perceived
    by it that his people were not all dead. He cast anchor, and threw
    himself immediately into a skiff with bread and wine, and proceeded
    to land on one of the islands. Nearly at the same time a boat came
    alongside with four armed men. Weybehays, who was one of the four,
    informed him of the massacre, and advised him to return as speedily
    as possible to his vessel, for that the conspirators designed to
    surprise him, having already murdered twenty-five persons, and to
    attack him with two shallops, adding that he himself had that morning
    been at close quarters with them. Pelsart perceived at the time the
    two shallops coming toward him, and had scarcely got on board his
    vessel before they came alongside.

    "He was surprised to see the people covered with embroidery of gold
    and silver, and weapons in their hands, and demanded of them why they
    approached the vessel armed. They replied that they would inform him
    when they came on board. He commanded them to cast their arms into
    the sea or otherwise he would sink them. Finding themselves compelled
    to submit, they threw away their weapons, and, being ordered on
    board, were immediately placed in irons. One of them, named Jan de
    Bremen, confessed that he had put to death or assisted in the
    assassination of twenty-seven persons. The same evening Weybehays
    brought his prisoner on board.

    "On September 18th the captain and the master pilot, taking with them
    ten men of Weybehays' company, passed over in boats to the island of
    Cornelis. Those who still remained thereon lost all courage as soon
    as they saw them, and allowed themselves to be placed in irons."

Pelsart remained another week at the Abrolhos, endeavoring to recover
some of the Batavia's treasure, and succeeded in finding all but one
chest. The mutineers were tried by the officers of the Sardam, and all
but two were executed before the ship left the scene of their awful
crime. The two men who were not hanged were put on shore on the mainland,
and were probably the first Europeans to end their lives upon the
continent. Dutch vessels for many years afterward sought for traces of
the marooned seamen, but none was ever discovered.

The 1644 voyage of Tasman was made expressly for the purpose of exploring
the north and northwestern shores of the continent, and to prove the
existence or otherwise of straits separating it from New Guinea. Tasman's
instructions show this, and prove that while the existence of the straits
was suspected, and although Torres had unconsciously passed through them,
they were not known. Tasman explored a long length of coast line,
establishing its continuity from the extreme northwestern point, Arnhem
Land, as far as the twenty-second degree of south latitude, Exmouth Gulf.
He failed to prove the existence of Torres Straits; but to him, it is
generally agreed, is due the discovery and naming of the Gulf of
Carpentaria--Carpenter, in Tasman's time, being president at Amsterdam of
the Dutch East India Company--and the naming of a part of North
Australia, as he had previously named the island to the south, after Van
Diemen. From this voyage dates the name "New Holland." The great stretch
of coast lines embracing his discoveries became known to his countrymen
as Hollandia Nova, a name which, in its English form, was adopted for the
whole continent, and remained until it was succeeded by the more
euphonious name of Australia. Tasman continued doing good service for the
Dutch East India Company until his death, about 1659, at Batavia.




                        SETTLEMENT OF VIRGINIA

              CHARTER UNDER WHICH AMERICA WAS COLONIZED

                              A.D. 1607

                            R. R. HOWISON


    As the first of the original English colonies in North America,
    Virginia enjoys a primacy in our history which, however other
    sectional claims may be contested, is beyond dispute. The name
    Virginia, which in 1584 Sir Walter Raleigh gave to his settlement on
    the Carolina coast, at first covered an indefinite extent of the
    great central territory of the continent.

    After the failure and disappearance of Raleigh's colony, no further
    attempts were made to settle the region until 1606, when new interest
    in American colonization had been aroused in England. The credit for
    awakening this interest is given to Bartholomew Gosnold, an English
    navigator who, in 1602, sailed directly west and in May reached Cape
    Cod. Then, coasting along New England, he found and named Martha's
    Vineyard, and in July returned to England.

    English adventurers were so much impressed with his enthusiastic
    reports and his arguments in favor of new endeavors to occupy western
    lands, that they began to urge a fresh undertaking. Gosnold's views
    were strongly supported by the geographer Richard Hakluyt, "to whom
    America owes a heavy debt of gratitude." There were numerous offers
    of money and service, and when application was made to King James I
    he was quite ready to sanction the project. He is said to have
    thought of the profits that might return to him and also of the
    satisfaction to be found in being rid of the "turbulent spirits" sure
    to be drawn into the enterprise.


On April 10, 1606, James I issued a patent to Sir Thomas Gates, Sir
George Somers, Richard Hakluyt, and others with them associated, under
which they proposed to embark upon their eagerly sought scheme. This
royal grant deserves our close attention, as it will explain the nature
of the enterprise and the powers originally enjoyed by those who entered
upon it.

Selecting for the scene of operations the beautiful belt of country lying
between the thirty-fourth and forty-fifth parallels of north latitude,
the King certainly provided an ample field for the success of the
patentees. This tract extends from Cape Fear to Halifax, and embraces all
the lands between its boundaries in North America, except perhaps the
French settlement in Arcadia, which had already been so far matured as to
come under the excluding clause of the patent. For colonizing this
extensive region the King appointed two companies of adventurers--the
first consisting of noblemen, knights, gentlemen, and others in and about
the city of London, which, through all its subsequent modifications, was
known by the title of the London Company; the other consisted of knights,
gentlemen, merchants, and others in and about the town of Plymouth, and
was known as the Plymouth Company, though its operations were never
extensive and were at last utterly fruitless.

To the London adventurers was granted exclusive right to all the
territory lying between the thirty-fourth and thirty-eighth parallels and
running from the ocean to an indefinite extent westward into the wilds of
America, even to the waters of the Pacific. They were also allowed all
the islands, fisheries, and other marine treasures within one hundred
miles directly eastward from their shores and within fifty miles from
their most northern and most southern settlements, following the coast to
the northeast or southwest, as might be necessary. Within these limits
ample jurisdiction was conferred upon them. To the Plymouth Company were
granted in like manner the land and appurtenances between the forty-first
and forty-fifth parallels. Thus the whole region between thirty-eight and
forty-one was left open to the enterprise of both companies; but to
render angry collision impossible, the charter contained the judicious
clause above noted, by which each colony might claim exclusive right
fifty miles north or south of its extreme settlements, and thus neither
could approach within one hundred miles of the other.

The hope of gold and silver from America was yet clinging with tenacity
to the English mind. James grants to the companies unlimited right to dig
and obtain the precious and other metals, but reserves to himself
one-fifth of all the gold and silver and one-fifteenth of all the copper
that might be discovered. Immediately after this clause we find a section
granting to the councils for the colonies authority to coin money and use
it among the settlers and natives. This permission may excite some
surprise when we remember that the right to coin has been always guarded
with peculiar jealousy by English monarchs, and that this constituted one
serious charge against the Massachusetts colony in the unjust proceedings
by which her charter was wrested from her in subsequent years.

To the companies was given power to carry settlers to Virginia and plant
them upon her soil, and no restriction was annexed to this authority
except that none should be taken from the realm upon whom the King should
lay his injunction to remain. The colonists were permitted to have arms
and to resist and repel all intruders from foreign states; and it was
provided that none should trade and traffic within the colonies unless
they should pay or agree to pay to the treasurers of the companies 2½ per
cent, on their stock in trade if they were English subjects, and 5 per
cent, if they were aliens. The sums so paid were to be appropriated to
the company for twenty-one years from the date of the patent, and
afterward were transferred to the crown. James never forgot a prospect
for gain, and could not permit the colonists to enjoy forever the customs
which, as consumers of foreign goods, they must necessarily have paid
from their resources.

The jealous policy which at this time forbade the exportation, without
license, of English products to foreign countries, has left its impress
upon this charter. The colonists were, indeed, allowed to import all
"sufficient shipping and furniture of armour, weapons, ordinance, powder,
victual, and all other things necessary," without burdensome restraint;
but it was provided that if any goods should be shipped from England or
her dependencies "with pretence" to carry them to Virginia, and should
afterward be conveyed to foreign ports, the goods there conveyed and the
vessel containing them should be absolutely forfeited to his majesty, his
heirs and successors.

The lands held in the colonies were to be possessed by their holders
under the most favorable species of tenure known to the laws of the
mother-country. King James had never admired the military tenure entailed
upon England by the feudal system, and he had made a praiseworthy though
unsuccessful effort to reduce them all to the form of "free and common
soccage," a mode of holding land afterward carried into full effect under
Charles II, and which, if less pervaded by the knightly spirit of feudal
ages, was more favorable to the holder and more congenial with the
freedom of the English constitution. This easy tenure was expressly
provided for the lands of the new country; and it is a happy circumstance
that America has been little affected even by the softened bonds thus
early imposed upon her.

But how shall these colonial subjects be governed? and from whom shall
they derive their laws? These were questions to which the vanity and the
arbitrary principles of the King soon found a reply. Two councils were to
be provided, one for each colony, and each consisting of thirteen
members. They were to govern the colonists according to such laws,
ordinances, and instructions as should afterward be given by the King
himself, under his sign manual and the privy seal of the realm of
England; and the members of the council were to be "ordained, made, and
removed from time to time," as the same instructions should direct. In
addition to these provincial bodies a council of thirteen, likewise
appointed by the King, was to be created in England, to which was
committed the general duty of superintending the affairs of both
colonies.

And to prove the pious designs of a monarch whose religion neither
checked the bigotry of his spirit nor the profaneness of his language it
was recited in the preamble of this charter that one leading object of
the enterprise was the propagation of Christianity among "such people as
yet live in darkness and miserable ignorance of the true knowledge and
worship of God, and might in time be brought to human civility and to a
settled and quiet government."

Such was the first charter of James to the colony of Virginia. We will
not now pause to consider it minutely either for praise or for blame.
With some provisions that seem to be judicious, and which afterward
proved themselves to be salutary, it embraces the most destructive
elements of despotism and dissension. The settlers were deprived of the
meanest privilege of self-government, and were subjected to the control
of a council wholly independent of their own action, and of laws
proceeding directly or indirectly from the King himself. The Parliament
of England would have been a much safer depositary of legislative power
for the colonists than the creatures of a monarch who held doctrines
worthy of the Sultan of Turkey or the Czar of the Russian empire.

But all parties seemed well satisfied with this charter, and neither the
King nor the adventurers had before their minds the grand results that
were now giving birth. The patentees diligently urged forward
preparations for the voyage, and James employed his leisure hours in
preparing the instructions and code of laws contemplated by the charter.
His wondrous wisdom rejoiced in the task of acting the modern Solon, and
penning statutes which were to govern the people yet unborn; and neither
his advisers nor the colonists seemed to have reflected upon the enormous
exercise of prerogative herein displayed. The adventurers did not cease
to be Englishmen in becoming settlers of a foreign clime, and the charter
had expressly guaranteed to them "all liberties, franchises, and
immunities" enjoyed by native-born subjects of the realm. Even acts of
full Parliament bind not the colonies unless they be expressly included,
and an English writer of subsequent times has not hesitated to pronounce
this conduct of the royal law-maker in itself illegal (November 20th).
But James proceeded with much eagerness to a task grateful alike to his
vanity and his principles of government.

By these articles of instruction, the King first establishes the general
council, to remain in England, for the superintendence of the colonies.
It consisted originally of thirteen, but was afterward increased to
nearly forty, and a distinction was made in reference to the London and
Plymouth companies. In this body we note many names which were afterward
well known both in the interests of America and the mother-land.

Sir William Wade, lieutenant of the Tower of London; Sir Thomas Smith,
Sir Oliver Cromwell, Sir Herbert Croft, Sir Edwin Sandys, and others
formed a power to whom were intrusted many of the rights of the intended
settlement. They were authorized, at the pleasure and in the name of his
majesty, to give directions for the good government of the settlers in
Virginia, and to appoint the first members of the councils to be resident
in the colonies.

These resident councils thus appointed, or the major part of them, were
required to choose from their own body a member, not being a minister of
God's Word, who was to be president, and to continue in office for a
single year. They were authorized to fill vacancies in their own body,
and, for sufficient cause, to remove the president and elect another in
his stead; but the authority to "increase, alter, or change" these
provincial councils was reserved as a final right to the King.

The Church of England was at once established, and the local powers were
to require that the true word and service of God, according to her
teachings, should be preached, planted, and used, not only among the
settlers, but, as far as possible, among the sons of the forest.

The crimes of the rebellion, tumults, conspiracy, mutiny, and sedition,
as well as murder, incest, rape, and adultery, were to be punished with
death, without benefit of clergy. To manslaughter, clergy was allowed.
These crimes were to be tried by jury, but the president and council were
to preside at the trial--to pass sentence of death--to permit no reprieve
without their order, and no absolute pardon without the sanction of the
King, under the great seal of England.

But with the exception of these capital felonies, the president and
council were authorized to hear and determine all crimes and
misdemeanors, and all civil cases, without the intervention of a jury.
These judicial proceedings were to be summary and verbal, and the
judgment only was to be briefly registered in a book kept for the
purpose.

For five years succeeding the landing of the settlers, all the results of
their labor were to be held in common, and were to be stored in suitable
magazines. The president and the council were to elect a "cape merchant"
to superintend these public houses of deposit, and two clerks to note all
that went into or came out from them, and every colonist was to be
supplied from the magazines by the direction and appointment of these
officers or of the council.

The adventurers of the first colony were to choose from their number one
or more companies, each to consist of at least three persons, to reside
in or near London, and these were to superintend the general course of
trade between the mother-country and her distant daughter, and direct it
into such channels as would be most advantageous to both.

No person was to be admitted to reside in the colonies but such as would
take oath of obedience to the King, in the ample form provided for by a
statute passed early in the reign of James, and any rash offenders who
should attempt to withdraw from allegiance to his majesty was to be
imprisoned until reformation, or else sent to England, there to receive
"condign punishment."

The president and councils, or the major part of them, were empowered,
from time to time, to make, ordain, and constitute laws, ordinances, and
officers for the better government of the colony, provided that none of
these laws affected life or limb in the settlers. Their enactments were
also required to be, in substance, consonant to the jurisprudence of
England, and the King or the council in the mother-country was invested
with absolute power at any time to rescind and make void the acts of the
provincial councils.

As the colonists should increase in population and influence the King
reserves to himself the right to legislate for them; but condescends to
restrict his law-making energies to such action as might be "consonant to
the law of England or the equity thereof."

And to show his tender feelings toward the aborigines, whose lands he was
so deliberately appropriating to the use of his subjects, his majesty
requires that they shall be treated with all kindness and charity and
that all proper means should be used to bring them to "the knowledge of
God and the obedience of the King, his heirs and successors, under such
severe pains and punishments as should be inflicted by the respective
presidents and councils of the several colonies."

On these kindly ordinances the philosophic reader will not fail to
observe the impress of the man. The stern penalty of death visited the
crimes of rebellion and conspiracy, which aimed a blow at sovereign
power, and even the popular tumult, which kings have so much cause to
dread, was stilled by the same bloody monitor; yet arson and burglary
were left to the discretion of the councils. Adultery was punished with
death--a penalty never inflicted even in England, except during a time of
puritanic zeal, which offered God a service without knowledge. In the eye
of divine purity the offender, by this crime, may be the vilest of the
vile, but if the Redeemer of the world refused to denounce the punishment
of death against one taken in the act, it devolved not on this Scottish
Draco to render it a capital crime. The whole legislative power is vested
in the council, without any reference to the interests or the rights of
the people whom they were to govern, and the King retains absolute
control over the present and future laws of the colony, thus rendering
their great distance from his face the best protection they could have
against his tyranny. The trial by jury was required for capital felonies
and manslaughter; but all inferior offences and every civil interest,
however overwhelming in importance to the colonist, were to be summarily
decided upon by the provincial councils. In the same space it would have
been difficult to compress more absurd concession and of ruinous
restraint. The clause requiring all things to be held in common was
destructive of the most powerful stimulus that urges man to labor; the
semblance of mercy which forbade war upon the savages often held the hand
of the settler when raised in self-defence; and the church establishment,
forced by the arm of the law upon reckless adventurers, made religion a
hated bondage and the tithe-gatherer more odious than the author of evil.

But notwithstanding the defects and deformities of a charter which, in
modern times, would have been indignantly rejected as an invasion of the
rights of man, the London Company eagerly prepared for their proposed
scheme of settlement. Sir Thomas Smith was elected treasurer--a gentleman
who had amassed great wealth by merchandise, who was one of the assignees
under Raleigh's patent, and was soon afterward made governor of the East
India Company. Much has been said against him; but he was a man of public
spirit and expanded views, and urged forward the enterprise with his
influence and his contributions. The means of the company were at first
very limited; three ships only were prepared, the largest of which was of
not more than one hundred tons burden, and Christopher Newport was
selected for the command. He was a navigator of some renown, principally
derived from a voyage of destruction against the Spaniards in 1592; but
he was a vain and affected character, little calculated for decisive and
manly action. Instructions were prepared, but the King, with his
accustomed profundity of folly, directed that they should be sealed in a
box, and not opened until the voyagers arrived upon the coasts of
Virginia. In the vessels there embarked, beyond the regular crews, one
hundred five persons, to form the settlement. And it does not seem
extravagant to assert that Virginia has felt, through all her subsequent
history, the influence of these first settlers in giving a peculiar bias
to her population. Besides the six gentlemen intended for the council,
and Mr. Robert Hunt, a minister of the gospel, we find the names of more
than fifty cavaliers, who are carefully reckoned in the shipping list as
"gentlemen," and who were better fitted for the adventures of the
drawing-room than for the rude scenes of the American forest.
Disappointed in hope and reduced in fortune, these restless wanderers
sought the New World with desire for exciting adventure and speedy
wealth. Among them was George Percy, a member of a noble family and
brother to the Earl of Northumberland. In this singular band we note but
eleven professed laborers, four carpenters, one blacksmith, one
bricklayer, and one mason: but we are not surprised to find a barber to
aid in making the toilet of the "gentlemen," a tailor to decorate their
persons, and a drummer to contribute to their martial aspirations!

Thus prepared with the elements of a refined colony, Newport set sail
from Blackwall, December 19, 1606. Adverse winds kept him long upon the
coast of England, and with disappointment came discord and murmuring
among the voyagers. The preacher suffered with weakening disease, but his
soothing counsels alone preserved peace among this wild company. Instead
of following Gosnold's former voyage immediately across the Atlantic,
they sailed by the Canaries and West Indies; and while in full route, the
dissensions among the great men raged so furiously that Captain John
Smith was seized and committed to close confinement on the false charge
that he intended to murder the council and make himself King of Virginia.
Arriving at length near the coast of America, their false reckoning kept
them in suspense so alarming that Ratcliffe, commander of one of the
barks, was anxious to bear away again for England.

But heaven, by its storms, contributed more to the settlements of
Virginia than men by their infatuated counsels (1607). A furious tempest
drove them all night under bare poles, and on April 26th they saw before
them the broad inlet into the Bay of Chesapeake. The cape to the south
they honored with the name of Henry, from the Prince of Wales, a noble
youth, whose character gave the fairest promise of a career of
high-souled action, whose love to Raleigh was only succeeded by his
father's hatred, and whose early death gave England cause for unaffected
mourning. The northern headland was called Charles, from the King's
second son, who afterward succeeded to his throne.

As they passed the first cape a desire for recreation possessed them--and
thirty, without arms, went on shore; but they were soon attacked by five
savages, and two of the English were dangerously hurt. This inhospitable
treatment promised but little for future peace. The sealed box was now
opened, and it was found that Bartholomew Gosnold, John Smith, Edward
Maria Wingfield, Christopher Newport, John Ratcliffe, John Martin, and
George Kendall were named as members of the Provincial Council.

Sailing leisurely up the beautiful expanse of water to which the Indians
had given a name that Europeans have never violated, the voyagers were
charmed with the prospect before them. The season was mild, and nature
had fully assumed that emerald robe of spring. On either side the distant
land presented a scene of tranquil verdure, upon which the eye might
rejoice to repose. The noble bay received into its bosom the waters of
many broad streams, which descended from the highlands faintly visible in
the dim horizon. Green islands saluted them at times as they advanced and
invited their approach by their peaceful loveliness.

At length they reached the mouth of the magnificent river, that tempted
them too strongly to be resisted. This was the "Powhatan" of the Indians;
and no true lover of Virginia can cease to deplore the change which
robbed this graceful stream of a title pregnant with all the associations
of Indian valor and of the departed glory of their empire, and bestowed a
name that can only recall a royal pedant and a timid despot!

Seventeen days were employed in searching for a spot suited to a
settlement (May 13th). At length they selected a peninsula, on the north
side of the river, about forty miles from its mouth, and immediately
commenced the well-known city of Jamestown.

A commendable industry seems at first to have prevailed. The council
contrived a fort, the settlers felled the trees, pitched their tents,
prepared gardens, made nets for the fish which abounded in the river, and
already began to provide clapboards to freight the ships on their return
to England.

But these fair promises of good were destined to a speedy betrayal.
Already discord prevailed in their counsels, and a flagrant act of
injustice had been committed, which soon recoiled upon the heads of its
authors. We have heretofore mentioned the name of John Smith among the
persons nominated for the council, and have spoken of the violent
imprisonment to which he was subjected during the outward voyage.
Jealousy of his merit and commanding talents did not stop at this point.
He was excluded from his place in the council, and an entry was made in
their records detailing the alleged reason for this act.

John Smith is the hero of the romantic destinies that attended the early
life of Virginia; and the historian who would attempt to tell of her
fortunes and yet neglect his story would be recreant to his trust.
Nations have generally owed their brightest days of power or of happiness
to the genius of a single person--directing their energies, subduing
their follies, enlightening their seasons of early ignorance. Assyria has
had her Semiramis, China her Confucius, Arabia her Mahomet, England her
Alfred; and were we required to point to the man to whom America is
principally indebted for the care of her infant years, we would not
hesitate to name the heroic spirit who now appears before us.

His talent for command excited the mean jealousy of inferior souls, only
that his merit might appear brighter by contrast. If we have aught to
urge against him, it is that he met the treachery of the Indians with a
severe spirit, but too much akin to that of the Spaniards in the South.
Yet we cannot reproach him with undeserved cruelty or with deliberate
falsehood, and the stern demands of his circumstances often rendered
inevitable acts which would otherwise have been ungrateful to his soul.

When the council was constituted, Edward Maria Wingfield was elected
president--a man who always proved an inveterate enemy to Smith, and who
speedily attracted the hatred even of his accomplices by his rapacity,
his cowardice, and his selfish extravagance. Smith demanded a trial, but
the council feared to trust their wretched charge to an impartial jury,
and pretended, in mercy to him, to keep him under suspension. But their
own incompetence soon brought his talents into demand. He accompanied
Newport upon an exploring voyage up the river, and ascended to the
residence of King Powhatan, a few miles below the falls, and not far from
the spot now occupied by the city of Richmond. The royal seat consisted
of twelve small houses, pleasantly placed on the north bank of the river,
and immediately in front of three verdant islets. His Indian majesty
received them with becoming hospitality, though his profound
dissimulation corresponded but too well with the treacherous designs of
his followers. He had long ruled with sovereign sway among the most
powerful tribes of Virginia, who had been successively subdued by his
arms, and he now regarded with distrust the event of men whom his
experience taught him to fear and his injuries to detest.

On their return to Jamestown they found that, during their absence, the
Indians had made an attack upon the settlement, had slain one boy, and
wounded seventeen men. The coward spirit of Wingfield had caused this
disaster. Fearful of mutiny he refused to permit the fort to be palisaded
or guns to be mounted within. The assault of the savages might have been
more fatal, but happily a gun from the ships carried a crossbar-shot
among the boughs of a tree above them, and, shaking them down upon their
heads, produced great consternation. The frightened wretches fled in
dismay from an attack too mysterious to be solved, yet too terrible to be
withstood.

After this disaster the fears of Wingfield were overruled--the fort was
defended by palisades, and armed with heavy ordnance, the men were
exercised, and every precaution was used to guard against a sudden attack
or a treacherous ambuscade.

Smith had indignantly rejected every offer held out to him by the
artifices of the council. He now again demanded a trial in a manner that
could not be resisted. The examination took place and resulted in his
full acquittal. So evident was the injustice of the president that he was
adjudged to pay to the accused two hundred pounds, which sum the generous
Smith immediately devoted to the store of the colony. Thus elevated to
his merited place in the council, he immediately devised and commenced
active schemes for the welfare of the settlers, and on June 15th Newport
left the colony, and set forth on his voyage of return to England.

Left to their own resources, the colonists began to look with gloomy
apprehension upon the prospect before them. While the ships remained,
they enjoyed sea-stores, which to them were real luxuries, but now they
had little whereupon to feast, except a miserable compound of wheat and
barley boiled with water, and even to the larger portion of this the
worms successfully laid claim. Crabs and oysters were sought with
indolent greediness, and this unwholesome fare, with the increasing heats
of the season, produced sickness, which preyed rapidly on their strength.
The rank vegetation of the country pleased the eye, but it was fatal to
the health. In ten days hardly ten settlers were able to stand. Before
the month of September fifty of their number were committed to the grave,
and among them we mark, with sorrow, the name of Bartholomew Gosnold. The
gallant seaman might have passed many years upon the stormy coasts of the
continent, but he sank among the first victims who risked their lives for
colonization.

To this scene of distress and appalling mortality the president Wingfield
lived in sumptuous indifference. His gluttony appropriated to itself the
best provisions the colony could afford--"oatmeal, sacke, oyle, aqua
vitae, beefe, egges, or whatnot"--and, in this intemperate feasting, it
seemed as though his valueless life were only spared that he might endure
the disgrace he so richly merited. Seeing the forlorn condition of the
settlement he attempted to seize the pinnace, which had been left for
their use by Newport, and make his escape to England. These outrages so
wrought upon the council that they instantly deposed him, expelled his
accomplice, Kendall, and elected Ratcliffe to the presidency. Thus their
body, consisting originally of seven, was reduced to three. Newport had
sailed, Gosnold was dead, Wingfield and Kendall were in disgraced
seclusion. Martin, Ratcliffe, and Smith alone remained. They seem to have
felt no desire to exercise their right of filling their vacant ranks. The
first had a nominal superiority, but the genius of the last made him the
very soul of the settlement.

It is related by the best authority that in this dark crisis, when their
counsels were distracted, their hopes nearly extinguished, their bodies
enfeebled from famine and disease, the savages around them voluntarily
brought in such quantities of venison, corn, and wholesome fruits that
health and cheerfulness were at once restored. Their condition now
brought them in almost daily contact with the aborigines.

Ratcliffe and Martin were alike incompetent, and Smith assumed the
guidance of affairs. Finding their provisions again nearly exhausted, he
went with a party down the river to Kecoughtan to obtain supplies from
the natives. Savage irony was all they received; a handful of corn and a
piece of bread were offered in exchange for swords and muskets. The
Indians came against them in numbers, frightfully dressed, and bearing
their okee in the form of a monstrous idol, stuffed with moss, and hung
with chains and copper. But they were received with a volley of
pistol-shot. The omnipotent okee fell to the earth, and with him several
of his worshippers. The rest fled to the woods, and, finding resistance
vain, they brought quantities of corn, venison, turkeys, and wild-fowl,
and received in exchange beads, copper, hatchets, and their discomfited
deity.

During the absence of the ruling mind, Wingfield and Kendall seduced a
few sailors and made another attempt to carry off the bark to England. At
the critical moment Smith returned, and, instantly directing the cannon
of the fort against them, commanded submission. A skirmish ensued, and
the seditious Kendall lost his life. A similar effort to the settlement
was soon made by Captain Gabriel Archer and the imbecile President
Ratcliffe, and again the decision of Smith arrested them and forced them
to their duty. He was ever prompt, and hesitated not at any measures
required to govern his turbulent compeers.

And now the winter came on, and with it immense numbers of swans, geese,
and ducks, which covered the rivers and afforded delightful food to the
settlers. They daily feasted upon them, and enjoyed in abundance the
peas, pumpkins, persimmons, and other vegetable treasures which the
season matured. But Smith could not be contented with a life of
inactivity, however plentifully supplied. The council had ungratefully
charged him with negligence, in not searching for the head of the
Chickahominy, and his own adventurous spirit urged him to renewed
enterprise.

He prepared his boat for a voyage, and, in a season of uncommon rigor, he
set forth upon an expedition destined to add greatly to the fame of his
already wonderful career.

The Chickahominy falls into the James not many miles above the site of
Jamestown. It flows through a very fertile region, and upon its banks
were native settlements well supplied with the stores of savage labor.

Up this stream Smith urged his boat with great perseverence, cutting
through trunks of trees and matted underwood which opposed his progress.
At length, finding the obstacles to increase, he left the boat in a broad
bay, where Indian arrows could not reach her, and, strictly forbidding
the crew to leave her, he pressed on, with two Englishmen and two
Indians, eager to penetrate with their canoe the swamps beyond them.
Hardly had he disappeared before the disobedient seamen left the boat and
sought amusement upon the shore. Opecancanough, an Indian chief of great
subtlety and courage, was near with a lurking band of savages, and,
instantly seizing his advantage, he made prisoner George Cassen, one of
this party, and obtained from him full information as to the movements of
Captain Smith. The cowardice of Cassen did not save him. The savages put
him to death with cruel tortures, and then pursued their more dreaded
foe.

Smith had now penetrated twenty miles into the marshes; and, leaving the
two Englishmen in the canoe, he went forward with an Indian guide. The
savages found the two men sunk in stupid slumber by the side of the
canoe, and shot them to death with arrows ere they could escape. But they
had now to encounter a superior being. Two hundred savages, approaching
with fatal intent, caused no dismay in the heart of Smith. Binding the
Indian guide firmly to his arm, he used him as a shield to preserve him
from the arrows of the enemy, and with his musket he brought two of them
dead to the ground. He would perhaps have reached the canoe--the savages
fell back appalled by his courage--but while in full retreat he sunk to
the middle in a swamp from which his utmost efforts could not extricate
him. Excessive cold froze his limbs and deprived him of strength, yet the
Indians dared not approach him until he threw away his arms and made
signals of submission. Then they drew him out, and, chafing his benumbed
body, speedily restored him to activity. His self-possession was never
lost for a moment. Discovering that Opecancanough was the chief, he
presented to him a small magnetic dial, and made the simple savages
wonder at the play of the needle beneath the glass surface.

On this excursion he was made prisoner, and he himself assures us was
saved by the Indian maiden Pocahontas. After a captivity of seven weeks
he returned to Jamestown, with increased knowledge of savage life and
manners. He treated his Indian guides with great kindness and gave them
two heavy guns and a millstone for the monarch. But the present was too
heavy for his strength, and when one of the cannons was discharged among
the boughs of a tree, and crashing of wood and ice was heard, the timid
natives declined any further interference with agents so formidable.

The absence of Smith had caused disorder and insubordination in the
colony. The pinnace had again been seized, and again he was obliged to
level the guns of the fort against her and compel submission. He was now
personally assailed by a charge replete with stupid malignity. Some, who
believed themselves skilled in the Levitical law, accused him of being
the cause of the death of Emry and Robinson, the two unfortunate men whom
the Indians had slain, and, with this pretext, they clamored for capital
punishment. To their insane charge Smith replied by taking the accusers
into custody, and by the first vessel he sent them for trial to England.
By his courage, his address, and his firmness he now wielded great
influence with the Indians, and proved the salvation of the settlement.




                          FOUNDING OF QUEBEC

             CHAMPLAIN ESTABLISHES FRENCH POWER IN CANADA

                              A.D. 1608

                              H. H. MILES


    From the period of Cartier's and Roberval's expeditions nearly fifty
    years elapsed before France renewed her efforts to colonize the New
    World. About the year 1598 the lucrative fur trade began to be
    encouraged by Henry IV, of France, who in the brief respite from
    religious wars was turning his attention to colonization and
    commerce. In 1603 Samuel de Champlain, a French naval officer of high
    character and chivalrous instincts, made his first voyage to Canada
    in company with M. Pontegravé, a merchant of St. Malo, and together
    they pushed their way up the St. Lawrence as far as the rapids above
    Montreal, which Champlain named Lachine (_à la Chine_), for he
    thought he had at last found a waterway to China. In 1608 he
    proceeded to found at Stadacona (Quebec) a fixed trading-post of the
    Merchant Company, in whose service he had again come to the country.
    Champlain brought with him among the colonists a number of artisans,
    who, on the magnificent headland of Quebec, erected a fort which was
    to become the refuge of the sadly menaced little European colony, and
    was long the centre of French influence and dominion in the New
    World.

    The rivalries of various commercial companies and the conflicting
    colonial policy of France seriously retarded settlement and were a
    great vexation to Champlain. Moreover, his quarrels with the powerful
    Iroquois Indians, as here related by Dr. Miles, secretary of the
    Quebec Council of Instruction, long prevented the southward extension
    of French power in America.

    In 1627 Cardinal Richelieu, prime minister to Louis XIII, cancelled
    the old trading-charters, and established the Company of One Hundred
    Associates, with power to trade throughout New France from Florida to
    Hudson Bay. By the terms of the charter the "Hundred Associates" were
    given the sole right to engage in the fur trade, with control over
    the shore and inland fishing and of all commerce with the French
    settlements in the country. In return for this monopoly the company
    agreed to carry out mechanics and tradesmen to the colony, to settle
    within a specified period some six thousand colonists, and to make
    provision for the support of a certain number of Catholic clergy. The
    French King, at the same time, made Champlain governor, so that he
    finished his life in the service of the colony he had founded.


Samuel de Chaplain, who must be regarded as the real founder of the
Canadian colony, was already a noted man when invited by De Chates (or
De Chastes), commandant of Dieppe, to take part in the enterprise for
colonizing New France. He had served in the French marine at the
Antilles, and also in the South of France against the Spaniards, and
De Chates had met him at court. He was a man of noble and virtuous
disposition, chivalrous, and inspired with a deep sense of religion,
and at that time about thirty-six years of age. It will also be seen
that Champlain was gifted with qualities which endeared him both to his
own followers and to the native Indians of Canada. He was of good
address--always able, when he desired it, to render himself acceptable
to the highest personages in France, so as to secure a willing attention
to his representations. Such was the man who, under the auspices of De
Chates and of M. de Monts, first made his appearance in New France, in
whose early annals he figured conspicuously upward of thirty years.

In 1603 Champlain, in conjunction with Pontegravé, made his first voyage
to the St. Lawrence. At Tadoussac they left their ships and ascended the
river in boats to the then farthest attainable point--the Sault St.
Louis, now known as the Rapids, above the city of Montreal. The features
of the country, so far as they could be examined from the river, were
carefully observed. The Indian towns of Carrier's time, Stadacona and
Hochelaga, were no longer in existence; but Champlain regarded with
attention the scenery around their sites. Hochelaga is not even mentioned
by him, although, acting as Carrier had done nearly seventy years before,
he ascended Mount Royal in order to obtain a good view. Returning to
Tadoussac, where their three small vessels had been left, Champlain and
Pontegravé, toward autumn, set sail for France.

De Chates had died during their absence, and the company formed by him
was already almost broken up. Champlain, however, prepared a narrative,
and a map to illustrate what he had seen, and submitted these for the
information of Henry (IV of France), who expressed his willingness to
countenance the resumption of plans for settling the country.

Almost immediately afterward the company was reorganized by M. de Monts.
He also was a Huguenot, patriotic, of great abilities and experience, and
possessing much influence at court, without which he could not have
surmounted impediments that were purposely raised against his designs
from the first. The King, unmoved by the objections to De Monts,
appointed him lieutenant-general of the North American territory between
40° and 46° north latitude, with instructions to establish colonists,
cultivate the soil, search for mines of gold and silver, build forts and
towns, and with power to confer grants of land, as well as the exclusive
right of trading with the natives in furs and all kinds of merchandise.
Although a Protestant, while De Monts and his friends were to enjoy the
free exercise of their religion, he was bound by the charter to provide
for the conversion of the natives, and their training, exclusively, in
the principles and worship of the Church of Rome.

The King was the more willing to grant a charter on these terms, because
De Monts and his company were to bear all the costs that might be
incurred in their enterprise. Preparations were then made for the
despatch of an expedition on a larger scale than any that had yet left
France for America.

Early in the spring of 1604 De Monts set sail with four vessels, well
manned, and equipped with all means requisite both for carrying on the
fur trade and for starting a colony at any place that might be judged
suitable. He had under him Champlain and Pontegravé, also a French
nobleman named Poutrincourt, who was going out to settle with his family
in America, and the subsequently celebrated historian Lescarbot. Two of
the ships were specially intended for the fur traffic, and in the first
instance to scour the coasts and inlets for the purpose of driving away
or capturing all persons found illegally trading with the natives. The
other two ships had on board the intending colonists; among whom were
soldiers and workpeople, priests, ministers, and some gentleman
volunteers. This expedition did not steer for Canada, but for that part
of New France then called Acadia (Nova Scotia), De Monts being under the
impression that he should there find localities more favorable for
settlement than by ascending the St. Lawrence. But it carried with it
those whom Lescarbot justly styled "the hope of Canada"; for besides De
Monts, there were Champlain and Pontegravé, and probably many of inferior
grade, whose participation in this attempt to found an Acadian colony
must have greatly assisted in rendering their future services more
valuable elsewhere.

The effort at colonization in Acadia may be said to have been sustained
under many vicissitudes during about nine years until the year 1613; but
long before this the attention and services of Champlain and Pontegravé
were withdrawn. De Monts lost his charter in 1606, about which time
Champlain having, in conjunction with Pontegravé, made a number of
maritime excursions from Port Royal, and some geographical discoveries,
during the previous two years, became urgent for the renewal of attempts
up the river St. Lawrence, which he never ceased to represent as offering
a more favorable field for enterprise than the shores of Acadia. In 1607,
therefore, De Monts procured the restoration of his charter for the space
of one year; and, following Champlain's suggestions, turned his attention
to Canada. Two vessels were fitted out and despatched in April, 1608.
Arriving at Tadoussac in June, Champlain left his colleague there to
traffic with the natives, while he continued his route up the river,
until he came to the place where Cartier and his companions had wintered
in 1535.

Champlain landed, and having ascended some distance from the mouth of the
St. Charles toward the promontory now called Cape Diamond, judged the
situation favorable for permanent settlement. Artisans, provisions,
merchandise, arms, and tools were brought on shore, and a commencement
made in the work of constructing wooden buildings and defences. At the
same time preparations were made for cultivating the ground and for
testing the productiveness of the soil by sowing various seeds brought
from France. In these operations, begun on July 3, 1608, Champlain had in
view the establishment of a fixed trading-station for the advantage of
the company he represented, as well as the more immediate purpose of
providing for the security and accommodation of his people during the
ensuing winter. But on the site of these rude works the city of Quebec
grew up in after-times. Champlain is, therefore, entitled to be regarded
as its founder, and the date last mentioned as that of its foundation.

During the autumn the works were continued, Champlain himself
superintending them with indefatigable activity. Pontegravé returned to
France with the results of the season's traffic at Tadoussac.

Champlain's experience, previously acquired at Port Royal, doubtless was
of service in giving effect to his forethought and energy as regards
preparations for the winter; for it is recorded that the thirty persons
composing his party were comfortably protected from the ordinary rigors
of the climate.

On the return of spring Champlain's activity of disposition did not
suffer him to await the coming of Pontegravé from France. He set out
at once up the St. Lawrence. Meeting parties of Indians belonging to
Algonquin and Huron tribes, he entered into friendly communication with
them. Between these tribes and the Iroquois, or Five Nations, a state
of warfare subsisted. Champlain, on his part, desired to secure the
friendship of those natives who were to be the more immediate neighbors
of the French on the St. Lawrence, while the Algonquins and Hurons were
equally solicitous about forming an alliance with the Europeans for the
sake of aid against their enemies. An understanding was soon established.
The Indians engaged to visit the French trading-posts with abundance of
furs for the purposes of traffic, and promised to assist Champlain with
facilities for exploring their country westward. On the other hand,
Champlain undertook to help them in their conflicts with the Iroquois. In
pursuance of this agreement the French, under Champlain, first intervened
in Indian warfare. Returning to Quebec, Champlain procured reënforcements
and supplies for his establishment from Pontegravé, who had by this time
arrived at Tadoussac from France. Before the end of May he set out again
on his way up the river to join his Indian allies, and to accompany them
into the country of their enemies, the Iroquois.

During the twenty-seven years following the foundation of Quebec, the
history of the colony consists almost exclusively of the personal history
of Champlain, its founder, upon whose own memoirs we are dependent
chiefly for authentic information. They present details of romantic
incidents, of courage, fortitude, and virtue, of sagacity, and of
indefatigable industry, of self-denial and patience, which will always
entitle him to a high rank among the celebrated in the annals of mankind.

In pursuance of the alliance he had entered into with the aborigines of
Canada, as well as for the purpose of extending his discoveries, he
engaged in three different warlike expeditions into the country of the
Iroquois, viz., in the years 1609, 1611, and 1615.

In his first expedition he passed with a body of Algonquins and
Montagnais up the river Richelieu, which then, and subsequently, was the
principal route followed by the Iroquois when making incursions into
Canada. He discovered that this river formed the outlet of the waters of
a beautiful lake, which he was the first of Europeans to behold, and
which he called "Lake Champlain," after his own name. He was now in parts
frequented by the Iroquois. According to Champlain's description it was a
region abounding in game, fish, beavers, bears, and other wild animals.

Not far from the site upon which, long afterward, Fort Ticonderoga was
constructed, the invaders fell in with a body of two hundred Iroquois,
who were easily beaten and put to flight, chiefly owing to the chivalrous
valor of Champlain, and the terror inspired by fire-arms used by him and
his two attendant Frenchmen.

Here Champlain witnessed for the first time the cruelties and horrors
attendant upon Indian warfare; and he appears to have exerted his utmost
influence vainly in endeavoring to save the wounded and captive Iroquois
from being tortured. To his indignant remonstrances the conquerors turned
a deaf ear, alleging that they were only inflicting upon their enemies
the sufferings which their own people had often endured at their hands,
and which were reserved for themselves should they ever fall into the
power of the Iroquois. After this the allies made their way back to the
St. Lawrence, when the Hurons and Algonquins returned to their
settlements toward the Ottawa region, while Champlain and the Montagnais
descended the river to Quebec.

The battle with the Iroquois took place on July 30, 1609, so that upward
of two and a half months had been occupied in the campaign. In September
following Champlain set sail for France, accompanied by Pontegravé.
Before he left Quebec he made all the arrangements in his power for the
safety of those left to winter there. A trustworthy commander was
appointed; and in order to prevent the necessity of outdoor labor during
the time of severe cold, a supply of fuel was provided in the autumn; for
it was supposed that exposure and hard work combined were among the
causes of the terrible malady which had afflicted Champlain's people in
the winter of 1608.

On his arrival in France he reported his adventures and the condition of
New France to the King, by whom he was treated with the utmost
consideration and kindness. Nevertheless, owing to opposition and clamor,
it was found impossible to bring about the renewal of the charter, which
had expired.

In spite of this, De Monts succeeded in procuring the means of fitting
out two vessels in the spring of 1610, in which Champlain and Pontegravé
set sail from Harfleur about the middle of April, and arrived at
Tadoussac on May 26th. At Quebec Champlain found his people in good
health and undiminished numbers, the winter having been passed through
without the endurance of any particular hardship. His Indian allies,
also, the Hurons, Algonquins, and Montagnais, were eagerly waiting for
him to rejoin them in another attack upon the Iroquois.

In the middle of June Champlain, with a few Frenchmen, left Quebec and
proceeded up the St. Lawrence to the mouth of the river Richelieu. Near
to this, on ascending that river, and employing the services of scouts,
it was found that a body of Iroquois had established themselves in a post
fortified by means of great trees which had been felled, so that their
branches, interlaced with each other, presented a strong wall of defence.
The Algonquins and Montagnais immediately commenced an attack; when,
although assisted by the French, with their arquebuses, it was for a long
time found impossible to force an entrance into the position. In the end,
however, the Iroquois fled, leaving fifteen of their number prisoners.
The conquerors had three killed and about fifty wounded, among whom was
Champlain himself. Again was he compelled to witness the perpetration of
the most revolting cruelties upon the unfortunate Iroquois captured by
his allies, whom he could not restrain, although now regarded by them
with feelings amounting to veneration.

Champlain was now in a position to do something toward forwarding his own
plans through the good-will and assistance of the Hurons and Algonquins.
To extend the knowledge of the country westward, and to find out a
passage through the continent to China, were to him as much objects of
desire as they had been to Cartier before him. The Indian chiefs promised
to furnish all the facilities he required; and they placed in his care a
young Huron, whom he afterward took to Paris. At the same time a young
Frenchman was intrusted to a chief named Iroquet, for the purpose of
learning the Algonquin language, and of visiting the lakes, rivers, and
mines which were stated to exist in the interior of the country. When
these arrangements had been made Champlain and his allies parted. On
arriving at Quebec he learned the sad intelligence of the death of his
powerful friend and patron, King Henry IV, who had been assassinated
three months before in the streets of Paris. Although the season was not
far advanced he immediately took his departure for France, accompanied by
Pontegravé.

In the spring of 1611 Champlain returned to Canada.[1] During the winter,
although it was now impossible to recover the exclusive privileges which
had formerly been accorded to his company, he and Pontegravé had again
succeeded in procuring the means of equipping several vessels. De Monts
still enjoyed the title of "lieutenant-general of New France," but was
greatly crippled in his resources and influence in consequence of the
King's death, and the large expenses attendant on previous undertakings
in connection with the establishments in Acadia, at Tadoussac, and
Quebec. But the most discouraging circumstance, which now cut off all
hope of redeeming his losses, was the virtual throwing open of the peltry
trade in the St. Lawrence, of which the traders belonging to French
maritime ports availed themselves in considerable numbers; for when
Champlain and Pontegravé arrived out at Tadoussac, toward the end of May,
they found traders already there doing business with the savages, and
that others had preceded them in the river above, as far as the rapids
near Hochelaga. Champlain hastened to the latter place, with the
determination of establishing there a trading-station for the benefit of
the company. Temporary structures were begun near the site of the future
city of Montreal; ground was cleared, and seeds sown, in order to test
the fruitfulness of the soil. He proposed to erect a fort on an island,
called by him St. Helen's, after the name of his wife.

      [1] About the end of 1610 or early in 1611 Champlain, in Paris,
      espoused a very youthful lady, named Hélène Boullé, daughter of the
      King's private secretary. She was a Huguenot, though subsequently
      converted by her husband. She visited Canada in 1620, and remained
      about four years.

Champlain went to France before winter, and was there detained nearly two
years by the affairs of the company. Although his zeal and his hopes of
founding a colony never flagged, even De Monts retired from participation
in further undertakings, owing to the uncertainties attendant upon the
peltry traffic, and the losses incurred. It appears that Champlain deemed
it indispensably necessary for the colony, and for the trading company
with which it might be connected, to possess, as chief, some personage in
France who had influence and rank at court; therefore, on the retirement
of De Monts, the Count de Soissons was applied to, and afterward the
Prince Henri de Condé. Condé being created viceroy of New France,
Champlain was appointed his lieutenant.[2] Much time was then occupied in
negotiations, with the object of effecting a compromise with the
merchants and traders of Dieppe, St. Malo, Rochelle, and Rouen. In the
end some kind of arrangement was made, securing for the wants of the
colony at Quebec a certain portion of the results of the fur traffic to
be paid by traders; but it seems that no perfectly satisfactory
arrangement was practicable at that time, owing to the state of affairs
at the court of France, which would not renew the former exclusive
privileges.

      [2] This nomination of Champlain as lieutenant of the Viceroy of
      New France was dated October 15, 1612; hence, in lists of official
      functionaries of Canada, this date is frequently put as that on
      which the rule of governors commenced, Champlain being set down as
      the first.

Early in May, 1613, Champlain arrived at Quebec. The people whom he had
left there in 1611 had passed the two preceding winters without any
notable occurrence and free from suffering or disease. After a short
delay he proceeded up the river to Sault St. Louis, at the foot of the
Rapids, where he expected to find many of his former Indian friends
assembled in readiness for traffic. In fact, his mind was now intent upon
a long journey of exploration westward, in company with some returning
chiefs. But this season few Indians came, which Champlain attributed to
misconduct on the part of the traders the previous year while he was
absent in France. Taking with him two canoes, manned by four Frenchmen
and an Indian guide, he contrived to pass the Rapids and to surmount all
the other difficulties of a first passage up the river Ottawa, until he
arrived at Île Allumettes, where resided a friendly chief named Tessouat,
who received him with cordial hospitality, and celebrated his unexpected
visit by giving a grand entertainment. Champlain requested canoes and
people to conduct him and his attendants on the way to Lake Nipissing,
whence, according to information of Nicolas du Vignau, who had passed the
previous winter with Tessouat, there was a practicable route to the North
Sea, from which, it was believed, the coveted passage to China would be
found. Champlain's hopes rose with this information, but before he could
act upon it Du Vignau was proved to be an impostor. Champlain, therefore,
with reluctance, sorrowfully commenced his journey homeward to Quebec,
whence, toward the latter part of August, he again sailed for France, in
order to promote the interests of the colony, so much dependent on the
course of events in the mother-country.

In April, 1615, Champlain sailed from Harfleur with several vessels
having on board supplies for the colony--artisans and laborers, together
with four persons of the religious order of Franciscans, called
Récollets. The latter took out with them the appliances and ornaments
that might be required for the use of portable chapels and places of
worship in the wilderness, and which had been provided at the cost of
religious persons in France.

Immediately on his arrival in Canada, about the beginning of June, he
took steps for establishing regular religious services at the three
principal trading-posts--Quebec, Three Rivers, and Tadoussac--at the
first of which places a sort of council was held, consisting of himself,
the four Récollets, and "the most intelligent persons in the colony." The
arrangements agreed upon comprised, in addition to dispositions of a
permanent nature at the three principal localities named above, the
sending forward one of the Récollets, Joseph le Caron, into the distant
regions occupied by the Huron tribes, which up to this time had not been
visited by any European.[3] Thus, under Champlain's auspices, were the
first foundations laid for establishing in Canada the faith and services
of the Church of Rome; and especially, in the first instance, for
commencing the "missions to the Indians," which have survived the
vicissitudes of more than two centuries, and subsist to this day in forms
and localities regulated by the progress of civilization on this
continent.

      [3] Henceforward the history of the colony, as well as that of the
      gradual extension of discovery westward, is inseparably associated
      with the proceedings of the religious missionaries, who were the
      real pioneers of French influence among the tribes of the interior.

During the winter of 1618 the colony was reduced to the verge of
extinction through the defection of its fickle allies, the Indians. The
station at Three Rivers had become to them a great place of resort; and
while many hundreds of savages were assembled there a quarrel occurred at
Quebec between some Indians and colonists, the particulars of which have
not been very clearly transmitted. But the result was similar to that
which had been experienced in the time of Jacques Cartier, for the
Indians became discontented and hostile, manifesting a disposition to
take advantage of the helplessness of the handful of Europeans
established in their midst. Two Frenchmen were murdered, and this outrage
was followed by a conspiracy, which was entered into by the Indians at
Three Rivers, with the object of consummating the destruction of the
entire colony. The Récollet brother Duplessis discovered the plot, and,
while the French at Quebec remained closely shut up in their fort,
contrived to disconcert it. In the end the savages, who seem to have had
originally no very serious cause of offence, proposed a reconciliation,
which was acceded to by the French, on condition that the case of the
murderers should be decided on Champlain's return, and that in the mean
time hostages should be given.

Champlain's absence continued for the space of about three years, as he
did not return to Quebec until July, 1620. By this time the course of
events had taken a favorable turn. The Viceroy Condé regained his
liberty, and, in consideration of a sum of money, surrendered his
viceroyalty in favor of the Duke of Montmorency, a godson of the late
King. Montmorency confirmed Champlain in his post of lieutenant-general,
and the King himself, Louis XIII, favored him with royal letters
expressing his recognition of the appointment and of his services. Thus
fortified, and charged by the new viceroy to return to Quebec and improve
the defences of the colony, Champlain induced a number of persons to
embark with him for the purpose of settling in the country. He himself
arranged all his private affairs and took out with him his wife and
several relations.

The return of Champlain, accompanied by Madame Champlain, then only
twenty-two years of age, was celebrated at Quebec with all the
manifestations of rejoicing and of respect that it was possible for the
people to evince. It was an epoch in the history of the colony. The
Indian savages were especially delighted with the amiable demeanor and
the beauty of Madame Champlain,[4] who at once set about learning their
language, and in many ways testified her concern in their welfare. She
soon became able to instruct their children, using their native tongue,
in the principles of the Catholic religion; for, though formerly a
Huguenot, she was now a devout adherent of the church to which her
husband belonged. Champlain found the edifices at Quebec in a dilapidated
condition, so that his first care was to effect repairs on the magazine,
the old fort, and other buildings, as well as to provide temporary
quarters for his family. Steps were also taken for commencing a structure
extensive enough to afford protection to all the inhabitants and the
interests of the company, in case of serious attack from any enemy, and
so situated as to command the harbor. The site chosen was that now known
as "Durham Terrace," where, subsequently, when Champlain's design was
practically carried out, the famous Fort St. Louis stood--the residence
and official head-quarters of many governors of Canada.

      [4] According to the custom of the ladies of that time, Madame
      Champlain wore a small mirror suspended from her girdle. The
      untutored natives who approached her were astonished at perceiving
      themselves reflected from the glass, and circulated among
      themselves the innocent conceit that she cherished in her heart
      the recollection of each one of them.

Champlain might have now enjoyed a period of comparative repose but for
two causes of anxiety which soon pressed themselves upon his attention.
The first of these was his knowledge of the cruel state of war subsisting
between the Iroquois and the natives of Canada. In 1620 the former made
incursions in considerable force, and, although few or none of them at
that time approached Quebec, they pressed hard upon the Algonquins higher
up the river, and lay in wait for his former allies, the Hurons, whom
they slaughtered without mercy as they descended with the products of the
chase for the purpose of trading with the French at Three Rivers, Quebec,
and Tadoussac. The injury to French interests, apart from the necessity
for being always on the alert to defend themselves in case of attack from
these barbarians, may be imagined. Champlain, as the only recourse open
to him, made appeals to the company and to the court of France for
succor.

In the course of 1622 and the following year several additional priests
and brothers of the order of Récollets came out to Canada, among whom was
Gabriel Sagard, the historian, who, along with Le Caron, departed as
missionaries into the Huron settlements beyond Lake Simcoe. These two
priests rendered most valuable services to the colony in becoming the
influential promoters of peace with the Iroquois in 1624. They had
labored to confirm in the minds of the Huron people a disposition to come
to terms with their fierce adversaries, between whom and themselves
unceasing hostilities had been waged ever since the period of Champlain's
third and unsuccessful expedition against the cantons. The war had proved
harassing to all the parties concerned--the French, the Iroquois, the
Hurons, the Algonquins, and minor tribes--and all were more or less
inclined to accede to proposals for a general cessation of strife. Caron
and Sagard accompanied a flotilla of sixty Huron canoes down the Ottawa
and St. Lawrence to Three Rivers, at which place, in the presence of
Champlain, it was intended to agree upon and ratify a general treaty. On
the way to this rendezvous they were joined by twenty-five canoes bearing
the Iroquois deputies and thirteen of the Algonquins. The preliminaries
having been arranged, happily without the occurrence of quarrels so
likely to take place in such a concourse of individuals belonging to
different nations, the ceremonies and customary distribution of presents
were followed by a mutual interchange of stipulations, rendered
intelligible to all by means of interpreters. The final result was a
treaty of peace, to which the chief contracting parties were the French,
the Hurons, the Algonquins, and the Iroquois, who agreed thenceforward to
remain on peaceable terms with each other. The peace thus established was
not of long duration.

In the mean time the improvements projected by Champlain in 1620 were
steadily prosecuted. Very extensive repairs and additions to former
structures, and a number of new ones, were completed or in progress. The
De Caëns and the Governor, notwithstanding the difference of their
religious views, continued throughout to discharge their respective
functions in a manner that denoted mutual respect and personal
friendship. Yet, from whatever cause, the number of inhabitants,
exclusive of a few factors or agents at the trading-posts, and the
Frenchmen who from choice had taken up their abodes among the Indian
tribes, remained less than sixty. In fact, every person who bestowed a
transient thought upon Canada placed a very low estimate upon it as a
country fit for settlement, excepting Champlain himself, whose faith in
the future of his colony seems never to have wavered.

In August, 1624, Champlain made arrangements for revisiting France, where
fresh dissensions had arisen in regard to the company's rights and
privileges. His chief purpose was to again urge at home an appeal for a
more generous support in behalf of his undertakings. The Récollets, also,
having found themselves utterly unequal to the occupation of their
immense and constantly increasing field of missionary work, had
determined to appeal for aid to some of the religious communities of
France, and, with this view, deputed Sagard and a priest to sail for
Europe in the suite of the Governor.

Before his departure Champlain nominated the younger De Caën commandant
at Quebec during his absence, and gave instructions that the works in
progress should be prosecuted with the utmost vigor, especially the
completion of the Fort St. Louis.

These preparations being made, he set sail on August 15, 1624,
accompanied by his wife and the two Récollet deputies.

Champlain, having accomplished all that seemed at that time attainable in
France, returned to Quebec in the summer of 1626, accompanied by the
priest Le Caron, and his brother-in-law, Boullé, as his lieutenant.

He found the works scarcely advanced beyond the condition in which he had
left them two years before. His people also were in a somewhat enfeebled
condition. They had been ill-supplied with necessaries the preceding
season, owing to the neglect of the company to furnish what was requisite
for their comfort and plentiful support during the winter of 1625.

Notwithstanding the exertions which had been made by Champlain to prevent
a recurrence of the former sufferings of the colony owing to the neglect
of the company, he and his people were doomed to struggle on precisely as
heretofore. Scarcely any land had been cleared, so that it was impossible
by means of agriculture alone to provide against famine in the winter.
Nevertheless, the requisite supplies were furnished by the company's
agents in the most niggardly manner. Its neglect became worse and worse,
until, in the winter of 1626, there was an actual dearth of provisions at
Quebec. In the spring of 1627 De Caën's vessels brought out, as usual, a
certain supply of necessaries. But when the summer had passed away, and
autumn came, although the season of traffic had been very profitable, the
ships departed, leaving the establishments in the colony very
insufficiently provisioned. The colony contained but one farmer--Louis
Hebert[5]--who could maintain himself and those dependent on him by the
cultivation of the ground. But about fifty persons had to endure the
rigors of the winter of 1627 on short allowance; and such became their
plight that even Champlain's patience and powers of endurance were
severely exercised. When at length the arrival of spring afforded some
sources of relief, derived from hunting and fishing, Champlain and his
unfortunate colonists at Quebec were amazed to find that De Caën's ships
came not as usual with succors. With infinite anxiety they contrived to
subsist until the month of July, when it became known that the river
below the Island of Orleans was in possession of the English, at that
time enemies to France. In fact, on July 10, 1628, Champlain received a
summons from Sir David Kirke, then at Tadoussac, with several ships under
his command, to surrender the fort and station of Quebec. Notwithstanding
his weakness, which would have prevented him from offering any effectual
resistance had Kirke followed up his summons by an attack upon the place,
Champlain responded with dignity and firmness, declaring that he would
defend his post. Kirke, therefore, for the present, deferred his hostile
intentions upon Quebec, and contented himself with adopting measures to
intercept supplies and succor from France.

      [5] He died in the course of this season. Champlain, in his
      memoirs, mentions him with approbation and respect.

Cut off from communication with France, Champlain exhorted his now
isolated band of priests, colonists, and laborers to follow his own
example of patience and courage. A single small ship, with very scanty
supplies, succeeded in making its passage good through the English
vessels to Quebec, with intelligence that at least ten months must elapse
before adequate succor from France could be expected to reach the harbor.
To cope with the present emergency, and to prevent absolute starvation,
measures were taken to crop all the cleared ground in the neighborhood.
At the same time recourse was had to hunting and fishing for the purpose
of collecting food for the ensuing winter, and Champlain's
brother-in-law, Eustache Boullé, was despatched with a small vessel and
twelve men down to Gaspé, in the hope of falling in with French
fishing-vessels and procuring intelligence and assistance. Some steps
were also taken for obtaining aid from the Abnaquis. These responded
favorably, promising to furnish maintenance sufficient for about
three-fifths of Champlain's people until succor should arrive. The other
Indians, however, the Montagnais and Algonquins, took advantage of the
emergency, and manifested, both in demeanor and hostile acts, their
enmity to the French.

Having contrived to sustain a precarious existence up to the middle of
July, 1629, the French witnessed, instead of the expected fleet from
France, the English, under Louis and Thomas Kirke, brothers of Sir David,
who remained at Tadoussac, making their appearance off Point Levi.
Provisions were very scarce, as well as ammunition and all other means of
defence; and there seemed to be no prospect of immediate succor. He had
with him only sixteen persons who could in any sense be styled
combatants. An officer landed, bringing with him very liberal terms, upon
which Champlain and his followers might honorably surrender a post which,
in their circumstances, was utterly untenable. Champlain and Pontegravé,
who was present, acceded, and the conditions having been ratified by Sir
David Kirke at Tadoussac, the English, without resistance, took
possession of the fort, magazine, and habitations of Quebec. Before
actually yielding up his post, the high-minded Champlain went on board
the vessel of Captain Louis Kirke, and stipulated for the security of the
place of worship and quarters of the Jesuits and Récollets, as well as
for the protection of the property of the widow Hebert and her
son-in-law, Couillard. On July 24, 1629, Champlain and the priests,
together with all who chose to depart, embarked on board the vessel of
Thomas Kirke, and after some delay at Tadoussac, were carried to England,
and thence suffered to pass into France.[6]

      [6] When Champlain, accompanied by Pontegravé, went on board Louis
      Kirke's vessel, on the 20th, he demanded to be shown the commission
      from the King of England in virtue of which the seizure of the
      country was made. The two, as being persons whose reputation had
      spread throughout Europe, were received with profound respect; and
      after Champlain's request relative to the commission had been
      complied with, it was stipulated that the inhabitants should leave
      with their arms and baggage, and be supplied with provisions and
      means of transport to France. About four days were needed to
      procure the sanction of the admiral, David Kirke, at Tadoussac, and
      then Champlain, with a heavy heart, attended by his followers,
      embarked in the English ship. He says in his memoirs--"Since the
      surrender every day seems to me a month." On the way down the St.
      Lawrence, Emery de Caën was met, above Tadoussac, in a vessel with
      supplies for Quebec. Kirke is said to have desired Champlain to use
      his influence with De Caën to induce him to surrender without
      resistance, which, however, the noble-minded man declined. Bazilli
      was reported to be in the gulf with a French fleet, but
      nevertheless De Caën felt obliged to surrender, as the Kirkes had
      two ships to oppose his one. De Caën told Champlain that he
      believed peace was already signed between the two crowns.

Thus ended, for the time, Champlain's effort to found and establish a
colony at Quebec--an attempt persevered in during twenty years, in spite
of discouragement and obstacles which would have conquered the zeal of
any man of that age excepting Champlain, who alone, even now, when taken
prisoner and carried out of the country, did not despair of ultimate
success.[7]

      [7] A few, by Champlain's advice, accepted the offers of the
      English to remain under their protection in the possession of their
      habitations and clearings. They were to enjoy the same privileges
      as the English themselves. A number of the French traders also
      remained, but betook themselves to the west and into the Huron
      country, where they lived with the Indians until the country was
      restored to France, about three years subsequently. Louis Kirke was
      left in command at Quebec.

Cardinal Richelieu, the prime minister of Louis XIII, founded the society
called the "Company of the One Hundred Associates." It was established,
not merely to put an end to the various obstacles and evils under which
the colony languished, but also to place its future upon a strong and
durable basis. Its organization was completed in the year 1627, and the
first expedition under its auspices was entered upon in 1628, but proved
an entire failure, owing to the English having then the control of the
St. Lawrence, and capturing or destroying the vessels sent out under M.
de Roguemont. Then occurred, as we have described, the surrender of
Quebec and the other stations, and their occupation by the English under
the Kirkes. The existence of the new company, and its government of the
affairs of the colony can scarcely be said to have commenced,
practically, until the year 1632, when New France was, by treaty with
England, restored to the French authorities.

Pursuant to arrangements, Emery de Caën, furnished with instructions from
the Government of France, and with an order signed by the King of
England, superseded Thomas Kirke at Quebec on July 13,1632. On landing
with the priests who were sent out on board De Caën's vessels, it was
found that much injury had been done in the place. Fire, violence, and
wilful neglect had been instrumental in destroying nearly all the
buildings, including those of the Jesuits and Récollets. It was also
found that the old friends of the French--the Montagnais and other
Indians--had been much corrupted by the traders with whom they had held
intercourse during the three preceding years. The fort itself remained
uninjured, and afforded shelter to all while the work of reconstructing
habitations and a place of worship was carried on.

In the mean time Champlain made preparations in France for carrying out
colonists, merchandise, ammunition, and provisions. The company furnished
him with three vessels, well equipped, and armed with cannon. With these,
having on board about two hundred persons, he arrived at Quebec on May
23, 1633, and landed amid manifestations of great joy on the part of the
French inhabitants, more especially of those who had remained in the
country after his forced departure.

From the moment of his return to Canada until his decease, Champlain
occupied himself diligently in providing for the material progress of the
colony, and at the same time coöperated heartily in all measures for
securing its religious welfare, and for converting the savages. While
occupied with various duties appertaining to his position, about October
10, 1635, Champlain was laid prostrate by a stroke of paralysis. In his
last illness, he was attended by his friend and spiritual adviser,
Charles Lalemant, the author of the _Relation of 1626_, and, during the
previous ten years, a most efficient coadjutor in his work. At length, on
Christmas Day, 1635, the pious and amiable founder of Quebec breathed his
last, bequeathing his blessing to his bereaved people, together with the
memory of his virtues and of his great services.




                   CHRONOLOGY OF UNIVERSAL HISTORY

             EMBRACING THE PERIOD COVERED IN THIS VOLUME

                            A.D. 1558-1608

                           JOHN RUDD, LL.D.


Events treated at length are here indicated in large type; the numerals
following give volume and page.

Separate chronologies of the various nations, and of the careers of
famous persons, will be found in the Index Volume, with volume and page
references showing where the several events are fully treated.


A.D.

1558. Calais, the last English possession in France, taken by De Guise.
See "ENGLAND LOSES HER LAST FRENCH TERRITORY," X, 1.

Death of Bloody Queen Mary; accession of Elizabeth in England. See
"REIGN OF ELIZABETH," X, 8.

Marriage of the Dauphin, Francis, with Mary Stuart, Queen of the Scots.

Battle of Gravelines; victory of the Spaniards, under Egmont, over the
French.


1559. A new act of supremacy passed in England, firmly establishing
Protestantism.

Treaty of peace (Cateau-Cambrécis) between England, France, and Spain.

Iconoclastic outbreaks in Scotland, due to the teachings of John Knox.
See "JOHN KNOX HEADS THE SCOTTISH REFORMERS," X, 21.

Institution of the papal _Index Librorum Prohibitorum_.


1560. Conspiracy of Amboise, by the Huguenots, for the overthrow of the
Guises, in France; death of Francis II, Charles IX succeeds; Catherine
de' Medici controls the government as regent. Arrest of Condé.

Queen Elizabeth of England and the Scottish Reformers conclude a pact
of alliance. Death of the Regent, Mary of Guise; Mary Stuart and her
husband, Francis II, arrange the treaty of Edinburgh with Elizabeth
and the Reformers. Passing by the Scotch Parliament of the Statutes of
Reformation.


1561. Queen Mary Stuart returns to Scotland. See "MARY STUART: HER REIGN
AND EXECUTION," X, 51.

Rebellion of Shane O'Neil in Ireland.

Edict against the Reformers, now called Huguenots; Condé and Coligny
prepare to take up arms.


1562. Submission and pardon of Shane O'Neil.

Edict of St. Germain; it grants toleration to the Huguenots; massacre of
Huguenots at Vassy and other cities; defeat of the Huguenot army under
Condé and Coligny.

Attempted settlement of the Huguenots on the coast of South Carolina.


1563. Assassination of the Duc de Guise at the siege of Orléans.

Publication of the Thirty-nine Articles in England.[1]

      [1] See 1552.

Publication by the Calvinists of the Heidelberg Catechism.

Beginning of the construction of the Escurial, Spain, by Philip II.


1564. Death of Ferdinand I; Maximilian II succeeds in the German empire,
the archduchy of Austria, Hungary, and Bohemia.

Settlement of a Huguenot colony on the St. John's River, Florida. See
"FOUNDING OF ST. AUGUSTINE," X, 70.

Birth of Shakespeare.


1565. Marriage of Queen Mary Stuart with Darnley. See "MARY STUART: HER
REIGN AND EXECUTION," X, 51.

Brilliant defence of Malta by La Valette against the Turks, led by
Mustapha Pacha.

Massacre of the Huguenots in Florida. See "FOUNDING OF ST. AUGUSTINE,"
X, 70.


1566. A petition of rights presented to the Regent by nobles of the
Netherlands. See "REVOLT OF THE NETHERLANDS AGAINST SPAIN," X, 81.

Moscow sacked by the Crim Tartars.

Murder of Rizzio by Darnley. See "MARY STUART: HER REIGN AND EXECUTION,"
X, 51.


1567. Defeat and assassination of Shane O'Neil.

Renewal of the civil-religious war in France; Battle of St. Denis.

Murder of Darnley; Mary marries Bothwell; she is imprisoned and
compelled to resign the crown. See "MARY STUART: HER REIGN AND
EXECUTION," X, 51.

Organization of the "Council of Blood" by the Duke of Alva, on his
arrival in the Netherlands as Spanish governor.

Founding of the Royal Exchange, London.


1568. Peace of Longjumeau with the Huguenots; assembling of Protestant
leaders at La Rochelle.

Thousands of the better classes of the Netherlands take refuge in
England from the persecutions of the Spaniards.

Execution of Egmont and Horn at Brussels; arms taken against the
Spaniards by Louis of Nassau and William of Orange, his brother.


1569. Insurrection of Roman Catholics in England.

Battle of Jarnac; defeat of the Huguenots; Condé taken and shot; Coligny
defeated at Moncontour.

Under the sovereignty of the Medici is created the grand duchy of
Tuscany out of the Florentine dominions.


1570. Murra, Regent of Scotland, assassinated; the English invade that
country; Earl Lennox made regent.

Revolt of the Moors in Spain crushed by John of Austria.


1571. Battle of Lepanto; the Holy League, consisting of Spain, Venice,
and the Pope, wins a great victory over the Turks. See "BATTLE OF
LEPANTO," X, 100.

Dumbarton, the main stronghold of the adherents of Mary Stuart, falls
into the possession of the Earl of Lennox.

The Thirty-nine Articles are made binding on the clergy of the Church of
England.


1572. Trial, condemnation, and execution of the Duke of Norfolk for
conspiracy, in England.

Marriage of Margaret of Valois, sister of Charles IX, with Henry of
Navarre; Massacre of St. Bartholomew. See "MASSACRE OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW,"
X, 119.

Rising of the Dutch against their Spanish oppressors; recognition of the
authority of William of Orange.


1573. Successful defence of La Rochelle; the treaty of La Rochelle
grants toleration to the Huguenots.

Haarlem reduced by the Spaniards; they besiege Leyden. See "HEROIC AGE
OF THE NETHERLANDS," X, 145.

Building of Manila which is made the seat of the Spanish viceroy in the
Philippines.


1574. Coronation of Henry, Duke of Anjou, as King of Poland; he becomes
King of France on the death of his brother, Charles IX; he abandons
Poland.


1575. Queen Elizabeth of England is offered the sovereignty of the
Netherlands.

Foundation of the University of Leyden, in commemoration of the siege
and relief of that city.

Stephen Bathori, Prince of Transylvania, elected king of Portugal.


1576. Devastation of Italy by the plague; Titian, the painter, is one of
the victims.

First voyage of Frobisher in search of a northwest passage. See "SEARCH
FOR THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE BY FROBISHER," X, 156.

Organization by Henry, Duke of Guise, of the Catholic League against the
Huguenots.

Appointment of Don John of Austria as governor of the Netherlands, by
his half-brother, Philip II of Spain.

"BUILDING OF THE FIRST THEATRE IN ENGLAND." See X, 163.


1577. Peace of Bergerac, the sixth one between Henry III and the
Huguenots.

Many of Titian's finest works destroyed in a great fire at Venice.

Sailing of Sir Francis Drake on his circumnavigation of the globe.


1578. Treaty of alliance concluded between England and the Netherlands.

Invasion of Morocco by King Sebastian of Portugal; he is defeated and
slain at Alcazar-Quivir.

Battle of Gembloux; great victory of Don John; on his death the Duke of
Parma succeeds as Spanish governor of the Netherlands.

Attempt of the Norwegians to interrupt the English commerce with
Archangel; Queen Elizabeth asserts the right freely to navigate all
seas.


1579. Union of Utrecht; foundation of the Dutch Republic.

A force of Spaniards invade Ireland.

Confinement of Tasso as a lunatic by the Duke of Ferrara.


1580. Persecution by the Protestants of Jesuits and seminary priests in
England.

Outlawry of William of Orange, by Philip II of Spain, inviting his
assassination.

Seizure of Portugal by Philip II.


1581. Conquest of Siberia by the Cossacks. See "COSSACK CONQUEST OF
SIBERIA," x, 181.

Declaration of independence formally issued by the Seven United
Provinces of the Netherlands.

Founding of the University of Edinburgh, Scotland.


1582. Reformation of the calendar by Gregory XIII. October 5th of this
year is made October 15th.


1583. Gilbert takes possession of Newfoundland for Queen Elizabeth. See
"FIRST COLONY OF ENGLAND BEYOND SEAS," x, 198.

Failing in his treacherous attempt on Antwerp the Duke of Anjou retires
into France, covered with disgrace.


1584. Assassination of William, Prince of Orange, at the instigation of
Philip II of Spain. See "ASSASSINATION OF WILLIAM OF ORANGE," x, 202.

Alliance between Philip II and the Catholic League.

Queen Elizabeth dismisses the Spanish ambassador Mendoza.

Having embraced Protestantism the Archbishop of Cologne is expelled his
territories.

Visit of Sir Walter Raleigh's men to South Carolina; the name Virginia
given to the district. See "NAMING OF VIRGINIA: FIRST DESCRIPTION OF THE
INDIANS," x, 211.


1585. Renewal of the war against the Huguenots, the "War of the Three
Henrys."

Capture of Antwerp by Parma; an English army sent to aid the Dutch.

Attack on the Spanish settlements in the West Indies by a powerful
English fleet under Drake and Frobisher.

Ambassadors from Japan received at Rome by Pope Gregory XIII.

Coaches first used in England.


1586. An unsuccessful settlement made by Raleigh's men on Roanoke
Island.

Trial and condemnation of Mary Stuart. See "MARY STUART: HER REIGN AND
EXECUTION," X, 51.

Conspiracy of Babbington against Queen Elizabeth.

Drake returns with an immense booty; he takes back the Virginian
colonists; they introduce potatoes and tobacco into England.


1587. Henry of Navarre defeats the army of Henry III at Coutras.

Sigismund Vasa elected King of Poland.

Expedition of Drake against the Spanish harbors. See "DRAKE CAPTURES
CARTAGENA," X, 230.

Cabal of "the Sixteen" in Paris.


1588. Publication of the first English newspaper, by Lord Burghley,
_The English Mercury_. It announced the defeat of the Invincible
Armada. See "DEFEAT OF THE SPANISH ARMADA," X, 251.

Revolt against Henry III in Paris; "Day of the Barricades."


1589. End of the Valois line in France; inauguration of the Bourbon
dynasty.

Invention of the stocking-knitting frame by Lee, of Cambridge, England.


1590. Battle of Ivry; Henry IV defeats the Catholic League; he lays
siege to Paris, which is relieved by the Duke of Parma.

Establishment of the first paper-mill in England.

Publication of three books of Spenser's _Faerie Queene_, the
_Arcadia_ of Sidney, and part of Marlowe's _Tamburlane_.


1591. Elizabeth sends an army to assist Henry IV in France; it besieges
Rouen; it is relieved by Parma.


1592. Introduction of the sale of books at the fair of Leipsic.

Building of the Théâtre Français at Paris.

Abolishment of Episcopacy and establishment of Presbyterianism in
Scotland.


1593. "HENRY OF NAVARRE ACCEPTS CATHOLICISM." See X, 276.

Severe enactments against the recusants in England.

Conformation to Catholicism by Henry IV; Pope Clement VIII refuses to
absolve him. The Parliament of Paris declares against foreign
interference and female succession.

Publication of Shakespeare's _Venus and Adonis_.


1594. Jesuits expelled Paris.

Coronation of Henry IV at Chartres; Paris opens its gates to him.


1595. Declaration of war against Spain by Henry IV.


1596. Crushing defeat of the Austrians by the Turks in Hungary.

Writing of _Romeo and Juliet_ by Shakespeare.

Capture of Cadiz by Essex and Howard.


1597. Rebellion in Ireland of Tyrone.

Abolition of the Hanseatic League's privileges in England.


1598. Toleration granted to the Huguenots.

Treaty of Vervins, securing peace between France and Spain.

Founding of the Bodleian Library at Oxford, England.

Shakespeare performs in his own plays at the new Globe theatre, London.


1599. Essex sent to Ireland to crush the rebellion there; he treats with
the rebel leader.

Attempt of Sigismund Vasa to establish Catholicism in Sweden; he loses
the crown.


1600. Establishment of the English East India Company.

Invasion and occupation of Savoy by the French; marriage of Henry IV
with Marie de' Medici.

Giordano Bruno burned in Rome as an obstinate heretic.


1601. Suppression of the rebellion in Ireland; complete tranquillity
restored by Mountjoy, Elizabeth's general.

Commencement of the siege of Ostend by Archduke Albert of Austria.

Enactment of the earliest "poor law in England."


1602. Beheading of the Due de Biron for conspiring against King Henry
IV.

Failure of the Duke of Savoy in an attempt to seize Geneva.

Attempted settlement of Bartholomew Gosnold on the coast of
Massachusetts.


1603. Death of Queen Elizabeth; James VI of Scotland succeeds as James
I, King of Great Britain.

"DOWNFALL OF IRISH LIBERTY." See X, 299.

Committal to the Tower of Sir Walter Raleigh, on a charge of conspiring
to place Arabella Stuart on the English throne.

Publication of Shakespeare's _Hamlet_. See "CULMINATION OF DRAMATIC
LITERATURE IN 'HAMLET,'" X, 287.

A French colony founded at Port Royal, Acadia; now Nova Scotia.


1604. Conference at Hampton Court between English prelates and Puritans,
James I presiding.

Ostend surrenders to the Spanish general, Spinola.


1605. Detection of the Gunpowder Plot. See "THE GUNPOWDER PLOT," X, 310.

Publication of Bacon's _Advancement of Learning_.

Cervantes' _Don Quixote_, Part I, published. See "CERVANTES' 'DON
QUIXOTE' REFORMS LITERATURE," X, 325.

Death of the Russian Czar, Boris Godunoff; Fedor, his son, is dethroned;
his successor being the first Pseudo-Demetrius. This impostor pretended
to be Demetrius, a son of Ivan IV, who was put to death by Boris
Godunoff in 1591.

Battle of Bassorah; defeat of the Turks by Abbas the Great, of Persia.


1606. A patent granted to the London and Plymouth companies for the
purpose of American colonization.

Dethronement of the first Pseudo-Demetrius; he is slain; Shinski
succeeds as Basil V.

Discovery of Australia by the Portuguese. See "EARLIEST POSITIVE
DISCOVERY OF AUSTRALIA," X, 340.


1607. Naval victory of the Hollanders over the Spaniards off Cape St.
Vincent.

Foundation of Jamestown, Virginia. See "SETTLEMENT OF VIRGINIA," X, 350.


1608. Ireland secures an improved government from James I; the forfeited
lands in Ulster are offered to Protestant settlers.

Foundation of Quebec by the French. See "FOUNDING OF QUEBEC," X, 366.

Formation of the Evangelical Union by the Protestant German states.


                           END OF VOLUME X