Drake, Nelson and Napoleon | Page 4

wish to gain the field and hold it. Having smashed his antagonist,

he regarded it as a plain duty in the name of God to live on his beaten
foes and seize their treasures of gold, silver, diamonds, works of art,
etc., wherever these could be laid hold of. The First Lady of the Land
was abashed at the gallant sailor's bold piratical efforts. She would not
touch the dirty, ill-gotten stuff until the noble fellow had told her the
fascinating story of his matchless adventures and slashing successes.
Doubtless the astute Admiral had learned that his blameless Queen was
only averse to sharing with him the plunder of a risky voyage until he
had assured her again and again that her cousin, Philip of Spain, had his
voracious eye on her life, her throne, and all her British possessions,
wherever they might be.
The valiant seaman appears to have played daintily and to good effect
with the diabolical acts of the Spaniards, such as the burning of English
seamen, until they roused in Elizabeth the spirit of covetousness and
retaliation. It was easy then for her incorruptible integrity (!) to
surrender to temptation. A division of what had been taken from
Philip's subjects was forthwith piously made. Elizabeth, being the chief
of the contracting parties, took with her accustomed grace the queenly
share. On one occasion she walked in the parks with Drake, held a
royal banquet on board the notorious _Pelican_, and knighted him;
while he, in return for these little attentions, lavished on his Queen
presents of diamonds, emeralds, etc. The accounts which have been
handed down to us seem, in these days, amazing in their cold-blooded
defiance of honourable dealing. But we must face the hard facts of the
necessity of retaliation against the revolting deeds of the Inquisition
and the determined, intriguing policy of worming Popery into the
hearts of a Protestant nation, and then we realize that Drake's methods
were the "invention" of an inevitable alternative either to fight this
hideous despotism with more desperate weapons and greater vigour
than the languid, luxury-loving Spaniards had taken the trouble to
create or succumb to their tremendous power of wealth and wickedness.
Drake was the chosen instrument of an inscrutable destiny, and we owe
it to him that the divided England of that day was saved from
annihilation. He broke the power of Spain at sea, and established
England as the first naval and mercantile Power in the world. He was
the real founder of generations of seamen, and his undying fame will
inspire generations yet unborn to maintain the supremacy of the seas.

The callous, brutal attitude of Elizabeth towards a race of men who had
given their lives and souls so freely in every form of danger and
patriotic adventure because they believed it to be a holy duty is one of
the blackest pages of human history. The cruelties of the Spanish
Inquisition and the treatment of sailors in the galleys were only
different in degree, and while there are sound reasons for condemning
the Queen and the ruling classes of that time for conduct that would not
be tolerated in these days, it is unquestionably true that it was a difficult
task to keep under control the spirit of rebellion of that period, as it is
to-day. Doubtless those in authority were, in their judgment, compelled
to rule with a heavy hand in order to keep in check wilful breaches of
discipline.
Attempts to mutiny and acts of treason were incidents in the wonderful
career of Francis Drake which frequently caused him to act with
severity. Doughty, the Spanish spy, who was at one time a personal
friend of Drake's, resolved to betray his commander. Doughty was
caught in the act, tried by a court composed of men serving under
Drake, found guilty, and after dining with the Admiral, chatting
cheerfully as in their friendly days, they drank each other's health and
had some private conversation not recorded; then Doughty was led to
the place of execution and had his head chopped off, Drake exclaiming
as it fell, "Lo, this is the end of traitors!" Then Drake relieved Fletcher
of his duties as chaplain by telling him softly that he would "preach this
day." The ship's company was called together and he exhorted them to
harmony, warning them of the danger of discord. Then in his breezy
phraseology he exclaims, "By the life of God, it doth even take my wits
from me to think of it." The crew, it appears, was composed of
gentlemen, who were obviously putting on airs, and sailors, who
resented their swank as much as did the great captain. So Drake
proceeds to lay the law down vehemently. "Let us show ourselves,"
said he, "all to be of one