To describe minutely the magnificent force a.s.sembled at Tilbury, and the camp there, would be both a tedious and a twice-told tale. My Lord of Leicester (who had the ordering of all matters thereunto appertaining) had arranged things not altogether so unskilfully. It was at his instigation, and invitation too, that the Queen herself paid a visit to her troops there; for, says his letter to her on this occasion, "If it may please your Majesty, your army being about London, as at Stratford, East Ham, Hackney, and the villages thereabout, shall be not only a defence, but a ready supply to Ess.e.x and Kent, if need be. In the meantime your Majesty, to comfort this army, and the people of both these counties, may (if it so please you) spend some days to see both camps and forts." And so the bold Tudor, in martial array, visited the camp; and never, perhaps, did the world witness a more heroic sight. The glorious sun of a summer's day poured its rays upon a glittering host.

Line beyond line they stood enranked on either side, and beyond the blockhouse, as the Queen landed; and as the drums rattled, and the cannon roared, when she stepped from her barge, down went ensign, and pike, and caliver.

The Earl of Leicester and his officers received her on landing; and two thousand horse, dividing into two brigades, together with two thousand infantry, formed her immediate guard.

The next day she reviewed her troops on the hill near Tilbury church, attended by the Earls of Leicester and Ormond. She wore a corslet of polished steel upon her breast, (a page bearing her plumed helm,) and thus, bare-headed, and carrying a marshal's truncheon in her hand, she rode through the ranks amidst the most deafening cheers; after which she harangued the host in a speech of considerable length.

The scene was one likely to make a deep and lasting impression upon the minds of all who witnessed it. The a.s.sembled troops were, in themselves, worthy of note; for, besides the regular and trained infantry and cavalry of the period, there stood enranked, and _doing the duty of private volunteers_, some of the n.o.blest in England. The gentry of the various counties had donned their harness, and come forth to do the duty of common soldiers; scarfed, and plumed, and belted, they stood there, resolved to lay down their life, ere they yielded one foot of their native land to the invader. As the Queen pa.s.sed on amidst this steel-clad host, there was one who stood somewhat apart, and in an interval of the lines of infantry; he raised his voice amidst the general enthusiasm, as the royal Tudor rode along the rank near which he was posted; and then he lowered his weapon, and as he leaned upon it, keenly observed the whole scene.

He saw that lion-hearted woman, and who had then borne the sceptre for thirty years; her body cleped in steel; her high pale forehead furrowed with care; her bright and piercing eye, and her majestic form unbent by the pressure of years. He saw her thus, mounted upon her magnificent steed, like a true daughter of the Plantagenet, vindicating the honour of her kingdom. He saw her thus, undismayed by the tremendous armament threatening her coast, pa.s.s on from rank to rank, "with cheerful semblance, and sweet majesty;" and as she rode--

"A largess universal, like the sun, Her liberal eye did give to every one."

Those who have stood in the ranks of an English battalion can perhaps best imagine the proud feeling which must have animated the breast of Shakespeare at this moment. His eye pa.s.sed rapidly over the glittering files, and then it dwelt with curiosity upon the stern features of the troops, as each glance was bent upon that one form, "so regal, so majestical;" and, as he looked upon the expression of those bearded men, he felt that no power which the invader could bring would be likely to subdue such a host. The English might be struck dead--blasted--annihilated by some wrathful bolt from the skies, but, unless the power of Heaven fought against them, no foreign force could subdue that _island-host_ upon their own ground. And then, whilst he gazed upon this inspiriting sight, as the Queen pa.s.sed off the ground, and took her way "so strongly guarded" amongst the innumerable white tents, a wild flourish of martial music floated through the air, the firm unbent forms of the soldiery relaxed, the sword point was lowered, the pike trailed, drum and fife sounded, and the various companies wheeled off then-several positions and followed through the camp. As column after column moved past, still that observant eye was rivetted upon them. The musqueteers in the front rank; the pikemen in a dense column behind; then came the cavalry, slow and stately, with a rushing ringing sound, the horses reined back to keep time to the trumpets'

clang. Squadron after squadron, they moved past with stately pace and slow; the several leaders armed in steel, galloping up and down the ranks, and giving the word as they wheeled round and moved off the field. They were led by one scarce two-and-twenty years of age, who seemed, on his magnificent charger, with his beaver raised, "the prince of chivalry," the "arm and burgonet of men." The young Earl of Ess.e.x, just then in the zenith of his fame, and to whom the Queen had given command of the cavalry.

And so the eye of the "poor player" pierced through the camp and witnessed all the "pride, pomp, and circ.u.mstance of glorious war;"

himself, in his humble suit of buff, with buck and breast and helm of a common soldier, the greatest man there. He saw the tented field, so as only a nation's "endeavour for defence" could have shown it him. He mingled amongst tho white tents of the soldiery, and he visited the huts made of boughs of trees and poles, beneath which many of the gentry from the various counties and their followers were sheltered.

At this period of his life his profusion had made him known to many of the n.o.bles and leaders present, and those who fell in with him were pleased to have a word with "the pleasant Willie" amidst the excitement and bustle of the hour. As he turned from the scene, and, with his companions threaded his way amidst the crowd of soldiers, suttlers, and the other accompaniments of a huge army, he was met and accosted by one high in authority amongst the host.

"Ah! Will Shakespeare," said the n.o.ble, "hast thou too put thyself in arms? 'Fore Heaven, man, thou shalt come with me to my tent. See, here is my Lord of Southampton, and other gallants, 'the very elements of the camp,' would fain have a rouse ere they wait upon the Queen. Come, man, a word from thee will spice the cup. No denial," continued the n.o.ble, as Shakespeare endeavoured to excuse himself on the plea of wishing to make on toward Dover that night. "No denial. Come, thou shalt cup us this day in the field. I could better lack the best of my followers on the day of battle than lose thee now we have once met here. What says't thou, my Lord of Southampton, thou canst not excuse the gentle William, eh?" And so it was late in the day ere Shakespeare left the tented field of Tilbury.

When he did so he crossed over a bridge of boats and barges which had been drawn across the Thames at Gravesend. This bridge had been constructed for the purpose of opposing the pa.s.sage of the invading fleet, should any portion of the expedition succeed in crossing the Nore, and to afford a means of communication for supplies of men and munition from Kent and Suss.e.x.

With two or three companions (and who, like himself, were resolved to hasten to the coast and, if possible, get on board some vessel at Dover,) Shakespeare hastened, after leaving Gravesend, along the Old Kent Road, then the most beaten track in England.

Thus then, under circ.u.mstances so peculiar, the players found themselves in the county of Kent, that interesting county, which has been the battle-ground of the English for so many centuries, and which yet retains the ancient name Caesar,[20] conferred upon it upwards of eighteen hundred years before.

[Footnote 20: Caesar denominated this county, Cantium; time, therefore, has made no further alteration than in giving it an English sound.]

Much as was the traffic on this thoroughfare at the period of our story, the road was still in a very primitive state, thickly shadowed by trees on either side, ill kept and full of deep ruts and quagmires, whilst the country on either hand seemed one entire forest, and thus, amidst the bustle of the time, troops marching and counter-marching, "posts tiring on," pack-horses, and wains, and carriers occasionally overtaking them, Shakespeare took his way.

We leave our readers to imagine the feelings of the poet as he pa.s.sed along this, the old Roman road.

As his eye pierced through the gloom, he beheld the road ascending through a leafy tunnel, and as he mounted a steep hill, he looked into the thick shadow on either hand, and then stopped and contemplated the place with a curious eye. It is more than probable, whilst he looked upon this locality, covered as it was with enormous trees, the road darkened by their shadow, the overhanging bank covered with fern, the crow winging to his nest, the moon just beginning to appear, that some pa.s.sages he had perused in one of the old chronicles of England flashed across his brain, for in the scene thus beheld at so sweet an hour Shakespeare looked upon GAD'S HILL.

And now, as the players left the woodlands, and descended the hill on the other side, a magnificent sight was presented to their view,--looking in the pale moonlight like some romantic view exhibited during the scenic hour, the Keep of Rochester, white and spectral, towered above the flanking walls that surrounded it; the rushing waters of the river flowing just beneath; the old picturesque town (then in comparison but a hamlet) lying dark and sombre on the left. 'Twas a scene that spake of former pa.s.sages in Britain's history; and as Shakespeare looked upon it he felt the impression. There beneath him flowed the broad Medway, where the Britons had made their stand against the legions of Rome. On the bank, surrounded with battled towers, frowned the tower of the Norman Gundulph, now, as of yore, filled with glittering troops; the flaming cresset glaring from its walls, and reflected in the stream. The "panoply of war, grim-visaged, but glorious war," once again had revived its thick-ribbed towers. And in the old hostel of the Crown, Shakespeare and his troop slept that night,--a locality since immortalised, for 'tis _the inn-yard at Rochester_, of the scenic hour.

CHAPTER XLVI.

THE INVINCIBLE ARMADA.

At a time when every rank of men in England buried all party distinctions, and prepared with order, as well as vigour, to resist the violence of the invaders, the Catholics throughout the land were not found wanting. Many gentlemen of that sect, conscious that they could not justly expect either trust or authority, entered themselves as volunteers in the fleet or army, whilst many equipped ships at their own charge, and gave the command of them to Protestants; others again bestirred themselves, and animated their tenantry, servants, and neighbours to join in the defence.

Amongst these, Sir Hugh Clopton and Walter Arderne had manfully bestirred themselves. Sir Hugh had mustered his servants and followers, and putting them under conduct of his good friend, Sir Thomas Lucy, marched off as a simple volunteer to Tilbury Camp, whilst Walter Arderne, with no less zeal, and tenfold means, (for be it remembered he was now the possessor of an enormous fortune,) had equipped several ships at his own charge, intending to join Sir Francis Drake.

And thus having brought our readers to this period of general enthusiasm, we now almost lose sight of the individuals more immediately connected with our story in the universal excitement. The huge Armada, after having by a variety of reports seemed to threaten every foot of the coast in turn, was at length first discerned making its approach. A Dutch pirate brought intelligence to Plymouth that the Duke of Medina Sidonia was in reality in the English Channel. The captains and commanders of the English vessels were at the moment of this intelligence being brought playing at bowls at Plymouth; and Sir Francis Drake, with the true spirit of an English seaman, insisted upon playing out the game. "Play it out," my masters all, he said, "play it out. We have plenty of time to win the game first and beat the Spaniards afterwards."

A south-west wind, however, blew so strongly at the moment that the vessels had considerable difficulty in warping out. At length, however, by the tremendous efforts of all hands, (for the anxiety of the troops and sailors to get at the enemy is hardly to be described,) the English ships were fairly at sea, and, with every sail set, bearing up for the enemy.

"And now sits expectant in the air,"

for whilst the sea bears upon its bosom the opposing fleets, the sh.o.r.es of England are bristling with the armed legions watching the event. The islanders standing "like greyhounds in the slips straining upon the start," and thus, whilst "borne by the invisible and creeping wind," the ships neared each other, was to be seen those characteristics of the islanders which furnished forth descriptions like the blast of trumpet to a Briton's ear.

"On! on! you n.o.blest English, Whose blood is set from fathers of war proof!

Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought, And sheathed their swords for lack of argument.

Dishonour not your mothers. Now attest, That those that you call'd fathers, did beget you; Be copy now to men of grosser blood, And teach them how to war."[21]

[Footnote 21: "Henry the Fifth."]

It is not our purpose fully to describe the action with, and the discomfiture of, the Huge Don, only such portions of the engagement as embraces the fate of those connected with our story being necessary.

Suffice it then that the fleet of the mighty Spaniard came on slowly, awfully, and, according to the description given by Camden, so tremendous in appearance that the very winds seemed tired of propelling and the ocean groaned with its weight. That the English ships, dwarfs as they appeared by comparison, and few as they were in number, resolutely encountered, and, like bulldogs, which never leave the animal they are pitted against whilst life lasts, stuck to and worried the bloated Don till they completely pulled down his pride.

The proximity of Plymouth to the Spanish coast had rendered it probable that that part of England would be selected by the enemy for his first attempt, and there accordingly the Queen had appointed as Guardian one of the n.o.blest and most approved soldiers of her realm. That aspiring hero, the gallant Sir Walter Raleigh, in himself a host at such a moment, was appointed Lord-Warden of Plymouth, with office of Lieutenant-General of the county of Cornwall, and 5,000 men under him.

No post or appointment on land, however, could satisfy such a man, when he himself knew the element on which the English ought to meet their foes was the sea. Accordingly, the blast of war and the thunder at the cannon found Sir Walter amidst the foremost, fighting hand to hand like some avenger, and covered with the smoke and blood of the hot encounter.

Sir Walter, indeed, with a brilliant company of n.o.bles and gentlemen, had left Plymouth in a small squadron, and quickly came up with the Spanish fleet. As they sighted the enemy, it was joined by a small force fitted out by Walter Arderne, and the two made into the midst of the fight.

Notwithstanding, however, the desperate valour of Sir Walter Raleigh, and which at times amounted to rashness, in the present instance he displayed his superior seamanship, and used discretion. He was aware that the lighter and less numerous vessels of the English had an advantage over the unwieldy Spanish galleons, provided the former avoided close quarters.

He therefore ran near the floating castles of the enemy, and poured in his broadsides, whilst they found it almost impossible to bring their great ordnance to bear, ere he was off again. This plan of operation was adopted by the whole English fleet. Ever asunder, but always in motion, they took advantage of the wind to tack whenever they could most annoy the foe; pouring in broadside after broadside, and sheering off out of range of the Spanish guns, and then again boldly returning ere the latter could well reload; performing, as Sir Henry Wooton described it, a perfect morris-dance upon the water.[22]

[Footnote 22: Oldy's "Life of Raleigh."]

It was in vain that the Spanish fleet bore down upon their antagonists, anxious, by bringing them to a closer action, at once to destroy them.

The skilful English sailors avoided the contact by continually separating into small divisions. Six of the English ships, however, led by Sir Martin Frobisher and Lord Thomas Howard, were so disjoined from the rest, that the gallea.s.ses of the Armada came close upon them, and continued a desperate engagement for many hours. At the same time, another squadron of the English fiercely a.s.sailed the division of the Armada stationed to the westward; nay, such was the desperation of the English, that they in a short time disabled every ship in the line there.

Amidst the storm of hurling iron, hid from one another by volumes of white smoke which hung upon the waters and enveloped everything around, two individuals sprang from their vessels, and, followed by their crews, sword in hand, clambered with desperate energy up the hull of one of the Spanish ships. The dense smoke on all sides is only relieved by the rapid volume of fire which seemed to pour out of every part of the Spaniard. The tearing of timbers, the shriek of agony, the cry of despair, and the deep curse, is answered by the wild joyous cheer of the jolly Briton. Amidst a storm of blows, the two leaders, the forlorn hope of the boarders, gaining the high deck of the Spanish craft, sprung upon the enemy's deck, where they were instantly followed by their strong-armed countrymen. What can resist, what can front them and live!

Their blows are like the lightning's flash! Their force, strength, and ire, is terrible to look upon! They carve a pa.s.sage; they bear down all before them! The deck of the Spaniard is slippery with blood; the thunder of the cannon is even hushed for the instant; and then is heard the ringing noise of hundreds hand-to-hand,--the cold dull smite of steel upon the body, the deadly curse, the cry of horror, and the shriek of death.

During this terrible encounter, even whilst mounting the side of the Spanish vessel, the two men we have first described caught sight of, and recognised each other. In the face of him who sprang from a small craft called the Falcon, one of the sometime players of the Globe recognized Walter Arderne; and in that countenance beside him, although now with smoke and powder disguised "as if besmeared in h.e.l.l," Arderne has for an instant recognised the features of one known in fair Warwickshire in happier days. They see, they recognized each other, but their thoughts are as the red flash of the artillery around them, and the next moment they are in the midst of blows and death. A contest of this sort, so fought and followed, is seldom of long duration. One side or other must generally be overborne; and, accordingly, the entire crew of the Spanish galleon were either driven to the p.o.o.p of their vessel, or dead upon her decks. So numerous, however, were the Spaniards, that even in this desperate extremity they were formidable; and still the contest raged.

In the midst of the _melee_, the player who we have before seen amongst the first to board the Spaniard, is now fighting hand-to-hand with the Spanish captain.

Hard pressed, (for the rapier of the Englishman bears the _invincible_ Don almost to the planks of his vessel,) the latter turns and flies below. Entering his cabin, he s.n.a.t.c.hes up a pistol, and attempts to fire it into a huge barrel of gunpowder, and so blow up his vessel. Like lightning the Englishman strikes the pistol from his grasp, and calls upon him to yield.

The Spaniard, however, renews the contest like a tiger at bay. Rushing upon his foe, for the moment he bears him backward; he then as suddenly turns towards a youth who, crouched in one corner of the cabin, seemed terrified, and unable to protect himself. Him the Spaniard now rushes upon, and attempts to pierce with his rapier; but the Englishman again antic.i.p.ates him, strikes the weapon aside, and pierces the _invincible_ Don to the heart at the very moment the vessel is captured; and one loud English cheer fills the air. Curiosity and humanity leads the victor to approach the boy whom he had so opportunely saved. He drags from before him the body of the Spanish captain, bids the lad look up and fear nothing; but, overcome with the terrors of the situation, the lad had fainted. At this moment the cabin is filled with the excited captors--they are maddened with rage and blood, and ready to strike down all before them. Anxious for the poor boy, the gallant player lifts him up, throws him across his shoulder, and carries him upon deck, never leaving him till he has placed him in safety in his own vessel.

Amidst the turmoil, confusion, and horror of such a scene, (for, of all battles, perhaps a sea-fight presents the most savage and desperate picture of warfare,) the "poor player," who had thus rescued the youth from death, and borne him to a place of comparative safety, had but small leisure to pay attention to him.