Drake, Nelson and Napoleon | Page 7

Walter Runciman
are usually long intervals between Cæsars and
Napoleons. Nations have, in obedience to some law of Nature, to pass
through periods of mediocre rule, and when men of great genius and
dominating qualities come to clear up the mess, they are only tolerated
possibly by fear, and never for long by appreciation. A capricious
public soon tires of these living heroes. It is after they are dead that
they become abiding examples of human greatness, not so much to
their contemporaries as to those generations that follow them. The
historian has a great deal to do with the manner in which the fame of a
great man is handed down to posterity, and it should never be forgotten
that historians have to depend on evidence which may be faulty, while
their own judgment may not always be sound. It is a most difficult task
to discipline the mind into a perfectly unbiased condition. The great
point is to state honestly what you believe, and not what you may know
those you are speaking to wish you to say. The contemporaries of
Hawkins and Drake unquestionably regarded them with high
admiration, but I question whether they were deified then as they are
now. The same thing applies to Nelson and Collingwood, of whom I
shall speak later on, as the historian has put the stamp upon their great
deeds also.
Drake and Hawkins attracted attention because of their daring voyages
and piratical enterprises on Spanish property on sea and land. Every

obstacle was brushed aside. Danger ever appealed to them. They
dashed into fortified ports filled with warships fully equipped, silenced
the forts, sank and set fire to Philip's vessels, and made everything and
everybody fly before them in the belief that hell had been let loose. To
the superstitious Spanish mind it seemed as though the English must be
under Satanic protection when they slashed their way undaunted into
the midst of dangers which would inevitably spell death for the mere
mortal. These corsairs of ours obviously knew and took advantage of
this superstition, for cannon were never resorted to without good reason,
and never without effect. The deliberate defiance of any written or
unwritten law that forbade their laying hands on the treasure they
sought so diligently, and went far and near to find, merely increased
public admiration. Elizabeth pretended that they were very trying to her
Christian virtues. But leave out of count the foregoing deeds--which no
one can dispute were prodigious, and quite equal to the part these men
played in the destruction of the Armada--what could be more dashingly
brilliant in naval warfare than Drake's raids on San Domingo,
Carthagena, Cadiz, and other ports and cities of old and new Spain, to
which I have already briefly alluded? It was their great successes in
their great undertakings, no matter whether it was "shocking piracy" or
not, that immortalized these terrible creators of England's greatness all
the world over!
Thomas Cobham, a member of a lordly and Protestant family, became
a sailor, and soon became fascinated with the gay life of privateering.
Once when in command of a vessel, eagerly scouring the seas for
Spanish prizes, one was sighted, bound from Antwerp to Cadiz.
Cobham gave chase, easily captured her in the Bay of Biscay, and
discovered there were forty Inquisition prisoners aboard. After rescuing
the prisoners, the captain and crew of the Spanish vessel were then
sewn up in their own mainsail and tossed into the sea, no doubt with
such sententious expressions of godliness as was thought befitting to
sacred occasions of that period. This ceremony having been performed,
the vessel was scuttled, so that she might nevermore be used in trading
with British sailors or any one else for Inquisition purposes. When the
story became known, the case was discreetly inquired into, and very
properly the gallant Cobham was never punished, and was soon
running here and there at his old game.

It may be taken for granted that there was no mincing matters when an
opportunity for reprisals occurred. The Spaniards had carried barbarism
to such a pitch in seizing our ships and condemning their crews to the
galleys, that Queen Elizabeth was never averse to meeting murder and
plunder by more than the equivalent in retaliation, except when she
imagined that Philip was showing signs of overpowering strength; she
then became timid and vacillating. She was never mentally disturbed
by the moral side of the great deeds that brought her vast stores of
plunder. Moreover, she could always find an accommodating bishop to
put her qualms (if she ever had any, except those of consequence to
herself) at rest on points of conscience. One noted personage, who held
high ecclesiastical office, told her that it was a virtue to seize treasure
when she knew
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