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Title: Drake - or the Transfer of the Trident: A National Drama
Author: Oubrey, William Mac
Language: English
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Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

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Transcribed from the 1876 Arliss Andrews edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org



                                  DRAKE:


                         TRANSFER OF THE TRIDENT

                             A National Drama

                                    BY

                           WILLIAM MAC OUBREY,

                     OF THE MIDDLE TEMPLE, BARRISTER.

                                * * * * *

    “_Thus saith the_ LORD _which maketh a_ WAY _in the_ SEA, _and a path
    in the mighty_ WATERS.”

    “_The_ ISLES _shall wait upon me_, _and on mine arm shall they
    trust_.”—_Isaiah_ xliii., 16, _and_ li., 5.

                                * * * * *

                                * * * * *

                                 LONDON:
         PRINTED AND PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR BY ARLISS ANDREWS,
                   31, MUSEUM STREET, BLOOMSBURY, W.C.

                                  1876.



Dramatis Personæ.


  Drake (Sir Francis).

  Earl of Leicester.

  Lord William Howard, Earl of Effingham.

  Cecil, afterwards Lord Burleigh.

  Don Bernardino de Mendoza, Spanish Ambassador.

  Sir Edward Killigrew.

  Sir Edward Horsey.

  Thomas Cobham, son of Lord Cobham.

  Sir John Hawkins, Bolton, and Hampton, his Captains.

  William Hawkins, Bill Carvell, &c.

  John Oxenham, Thomas Moone, Sayers.

  Comagre (Indian Cacique).

  Chiruca (his son).

  English and Foreign Spies.

  Joe Jolly (Landlord of the Blue Anchor).

  Lord — (General of the El Dorado).

  Poet, (who sings the National Ode).

  Sailors, Spaniards, Indians, Attendants, Page.

  Queen Elizabeth.

  Mrs. Ashley (her Chamberwoman).



TO THE ANGLO-SAXON RACE.


BRETHREN,

The first great object which I have had in view, in the construction of
this Drama, was to bear my humble acknowledgment to an ALLWISE
PROVIDENCE, who alone could have developed the unprecedented might of the
Anglo-Saxon Race—and who alone could have laid the foundations, or
builded up, the giant structure of the British Empire—so vast, so rich,
so powerful—unparalleled in extent, or wealth, or population—in arts and
arms, in manufactures, in literature and laws, in civilization and
commerce, in the history of mankind.  Great have been the four preceding
Empires of PROPHECY! each, for its allotted period, having dominion over
the Earth; but of none of them, as of England, could it be said “The
abundance of the sea shall be converted unto thee.”—(Isaiah lx, 5)

Whilst I would put on record my own conviction, I would invite the
attention of my countrymen to the assured fact, that no enlarged views of
policy of our statesmen, no magnitude of our armaments, no superior
science of our Generals, have wrought this wonder, for our race and
country.  The PECULIAR GLORY of England is, that her greatness is the
work of GOD! to whom is known from the beginning the destiny of his world
and the means of carrying it out—when to put forth the fury of his anger
and the strength of battle.  Indeed! on taking a summary view over the
wondrous past—over the steps in her career—the evidence is striking, that
her success and conquests have been gained, without the aid or
counsel—not seldom, in defiance of her statesmen, by inexperienced
generals, and with totally inadequate means.  That often her leading men
and government have favoured to their utmost her enemies, and poured
ignominy and vituperation, injustice and persecution, on those that
served her, the valiant and the wise who have _achieved_ her triumphs and
her greatness.  This has been peculiarly the case with regard to the
great Actors with whom we are at present concerned, whose transactions
and virtues we would illustrate, and of the age of which we have
endeavoured to give “the form and pressure.”

It is impossible to doubt that the strength of England lies in her
Navy—that her Navy results from her commerce—her vast and unequalled
commerce from her manufactures; therefore that we cannot err in selecting
the reign of Elizabeth, as the starting point in her progress.  And
examining closely the transactions and opinions, the struggles and
changes during that reign, we may clearly discover, not only the truth of
the statement, but the manner and the agency by which her success was
achieved.  It certainly was not by the statesmen—of these most, steeped
in baseness and corruption, were ready to sell their services for direct
bribes to the enemies of their Queen and country.  Some were in the
interest; of Spain, some in that of France, or the Queen of Scots.  Those
that were for their Queen were entirely wrong in their views and policy,
which, if carried out, would have frustrated forever the prosperity of
England.

All were at variance among themselves.  The Queen differed with them all
in her principles and policy.  She loved her country, its glory and
independence; and to secure these, pursued her own eccentric and
mysterious path, urged on by impulse, instinctive, spiritual or Angelic,
maintaining it with apparent self-will and unreasonableness, perverseness
and irresolution, vacillation and caprice.  But still, in proud and
lonely grandeur, with unflinching courage and firmness, undeterred by the
fear of war or assassination, “_Semper Eadem_,” against all opposition.
She foiled with unexampled and unfailing skill, traitors and spies, and
false advisers, and every species of secret or open foe, constrained to
fence, deceive, betray, even to coquet, to save her country, her throne,
and her life!  She came through it all in triumph with the TRIDENT of the
OCEAN in her grasp, acknowledged by the Nations, as the “QUEEN OF THE
SEA, the Restorer of Naval glory.”  Even the Pope (Sixtus V.) forgetting
the policy of his faith, was struck with admiration of “this valiant and
noble woman.”  The name of her great hero, Drake (Il Draco) was
constantly in his mouth, who, he said, “took the King of Spain by the
beard,” and he ascribed the exploits which filled Europe with their fame
to the high spirit of the Queen who sent him out.

The reign of Elizabeth is one of the most glorious epochs in the history
of our Nation—a most important CRISIS in the Destiny of the World.

The Feudal system, which, with brute force, had trampled down humanity in
its own blood, had spent its fury.  That Iron Age was fast fading away.
A brilliant dawn had unexpectedly appeared, of that Intelligence, which
with the power of Science and Manufactures, Commerce, and the rights of
Man, was to rule the world.  Our great race, having “renewed its strength
in the Islands” with the “abundance of the sea converted” to it, was now
to go forth on its mission, and push its people to the utmost bounds of
the everlasting hills.

The Wars of the Roses, battle and the block, had consumed the Barons, the
Knights, and the Men-at-arms.  The Church, which had endeavoured to
strangle Liberty and Thought itself, was now a crumbling and bloody ruin,
shorn of its pomp, its authority, and its land.

A NEW POWER was rising from the Sea, before which the Earth was to quail,
and its despotisms to succumb.  Elizabeth was the head, the Elect of
Providence, to lead it forth into action, and the noble Spirits who were
driven by the bigotry and persecution of the Marian faction to the
liberty of the wild waves, as freebooters, were the accomplished
instruments to effect its purpose.  Light and Darkness, Liberty and
Despotism, had once more entered on a mortal struggle, and the Ocean was
the arena on which they were to fight it out—Spain and the Pope on one
side, England on the other.  That STRUGGLE it is the PURPOSE of the
present Drama to represent, its Nature, its Conduct, its Agents, and its
Issue.

We shall just make a sketch, take a view of the combatants who were to
enter the lists for this great contest—as of yore, Rome and Carthage, for
the possession of the world.  Not to take into account the Pope, whose
influence on any side was so vast over the minds of men; and which was
entirely against England, Spain, whose own people were then the foremost
military nation by sea and land, had also under her command the whole of
the princes of Italy, the House of Austria with its vast connexions, the
Low Countries, the seat of Arts, Manufactures, trade and Commerce;
America—a New World!—pouring the wonderful wealth of its mines into her
lap; lastly Portugal, and with it the Commerce of the East.

England stood alone against a giant that bestrode the world! and what was
she at that moment?  Weakened by civil war in many a bloody
field—disorganized by misgovernment, divided by religion, and rival
claims to the Crown—without a regular army, or her ancient discipline,
without much of a Royal Navy, or the finances to create one.  A girl of
twenty-five, her presiding genius, by her own singular wisdom, without
Statesmen whose advice she could follow—her very Cabinet Council in
receipt of bribes from her enemies—war in Ireland aided by Spain—France
threatening her through Scotland—thus DISTRACTED, to be invaded by the
whole power of Spain!

Where were the Iron men who, a few years ago, swept France before them in
every battle, though outnumbered by twenty to one, until they made it an
appanage to the Crown of England?  They were sleeping in their bloody
shrouds on many a field like that of Touton and Barnet, or their bones
had been stuck to moulder on City gates and Castle walls.  In their days
no one dreamt of invasion.  But now! although the spirit of the men of a
later day, who chased the Chivalry of France at the battle of the SPURS,
and smote down the might of Scotland on red Flodden, was still burning in
the bosoms of their descendants, from many causes—such as the confusion
in the succession to the crown, the decay of the Feudal system, the total
change in military science, England without an Army, or sufficient Navy,
or finances to create one, was quite unprepared for war.

Considering the vast odds, the success of Spain seemed certain—the
ultimate triumph of England by herself, a thing absolutely impossible.
The rational mind is constrained to the conclusion that it was the work
of God for the purpose of developing the Anglo-Saxon race, a new ordering
of the nations, and a new disposal of the possession of the Earth.  All
which directly followed, or is still in progress.

It is necessary for our purpose to take note also of the mode or means by
which this mighty duel was carried on.  Philip aspired to universal
dominion; England was the great obstacle that stood in his way.  His
first endeavour was to obtain the hand of Elizabeth, and thus to become
its king as he had been before.  Failing in this, he tried to flatter and
cajole her, by his Ambassadors and hirelings, into a belief that he was
her friend, without whom she could not reign; whilst all the time he was
labouring to have her assassinated—organizing rebellion against her by
Jesuit spies—Then he tried more openly to ruin her Commerce and her Naval
power, by seizing English ships in his ports, confiscating them and their
cargoes, delivering over their crews to the Inquisition to be burned at
the stake, or consumed by cruel treatment in his dungeons.  Finally, he
slily invaded Ireland, in order to wrest it from England.  All this
without a declaration of war.  Nay! whilst his Ambassadors were
pretending peace and amity.  The English Government was paralysed, and it
would seem as if our Commerce was to have been suppressed, and our very
maritime existence stamped out in blood.  England, however, was not left
to a weak, divided, or corrupt Government for defence.  The proud fierce
Briton of that day was not slow to take his own part, or that of his
county against any odds.  The ships of Commerce went armed for war, and
fearlessly flouted their saucy flag in the face of the foe, whose Royal
Navy, in terror, gave them generally what Sailors call a wide berth!

Patriotic Nobles, Gentlemen, Merchants, and Adventurers, rallying to
their standard the bold fishermen and sailors of the Western Counties, at
their own expence, fitted out a Volunteer Navy.  They covered the Channel
and the Ocean with a swarm of Privateers, which not only securely
defended England, but preyed fearlessly on the Coast and Commerce of
Spain, plundering Churches, sacking towns, burning or sinking ships,
crews and all, making prize of whatever was worth carrying away, and
audaciously putting up to open auction in our seaports any Great Officer,
Noble, or Merchant, who could find money or friends to pay his ransom.
The tide of blood if not of battle was turned.  Philip was not only
frustrated in his object of Conquest, but became alarmed for his own.
His losses were enormous, and even his military operations in the Low
Countries were seriously embarrassed.

Drake, by his wonderful achievements in the West Indies and the Pacific,
gave the finishing blow.  His seizure of three millions completely
crippled Spain.  Alva’s army was in mutiny for their pay, and had Drake
been allowed to pursue his own BOLD PLAN, Philip would have been driven
from the Sea in a month.

These are the men who have founded the greatness of their Country, and
base and ungenerous is the Englishman who, reaping the fruits of their
valour, would withhold from them his tribute of grateful fame.  Instead
of that, they have been loaded with reproach and vituperation—called
pirates! cutthroats! robbers!—whilst the atrocities of the Spaniards are
entirely overlooked as if they were legitimate warfare, whereas our
Volunteers with their cruizers were the only DEFENCE of their Country,
and their acts, inadequate, but most justifiable RETALIATION.  I have
endeavoured to do them justice, I have summoned them from the dead to
speak their own sentiments, and plead their own cause.

I have essayed also, as a most important task, to remove a vulgar
prejudice, very general on the minds of both parties, and to do justice
to the Catholic Nobility of England, who framed, and have in every age
upheld her liberties and CONSTITUTION against encroaching Popes and
tyrannical kings.  It is a common, almost universal, political error that
the age of Mary and Elizabeth was a mere struggle between Protestants and
Roman Catholics for ascendancy.  Gardiner, the uncompromising persecutor
of the Protestants, who desired to set up the Inquisition, and to
extirpate heresy with fire and sword, was “FIERCELY JEALOUS” of the
independence of England, and when the Spanish Ambassador urged the
marriage of Mary with Philip, he told him that Nobles and people were
against the Pope, and against foreign interference of all sorts, that
Mary could not marry Philip without a dispensation from the Pope, which
must be kept secret.  The COUNTRY would not TOLERATE it.—(_Froude_, vi,
119.)

Queen Mary herself told Commendone, the Pope’s messenger, that for the
present she was in the power of the People, of whom the majority mortally
detested the Holy See, and that the Lords of the Council were in
possession of vast estates which had been alienated from the Church, and
they feared their titles might be called in question.—(_Froude_ vi, 89.
Citing letter of Pope Julius III, to Pole).  Yet certainly there was not
one Protestant on her Council.  Paget, and he was not a Protestant, was
the only man who favoured the Spanish match.  But he was opposed to
persecution, and would not permit the Queen to alter the succession.  He
told Gardiner that if she should send Elizabeth to the Tower her own life
would not be safe for a single day.—(_Froude_ vi., 120.)

The nation was unanimous in the dread of a marriage between their Queen
and Philip.  They feared that England might then sink into a Spanish
dependency, and have to endure the horrors inflicted on the Low
Countries.  They wished to keep their country isolated and not entangled
in the wars of the continent.  They therefore desired that their Queens
should marry with the English Nobility (_Froude_ vi, 92), who were then
as they are now, every way superior in family fortune, the eminent
qualifications of mind or body—above all in social and political
importance, to any rank or class of men in the world, many of the great
Houses of the Aristocracy being allied to our Plantagenet kings, the
greatest heroes, legislators, and rulers that ever governed men.

It is true that Protestantism, the right of private judgment, is
favourable to Civil Liberty, as was evident in the struggle of our
Puritan Fathers with the Stuarts.  But the principles of the English
Constitution were laid before Protestantism had a being or a name.  Who
were the men that wrung from the tyrant John the GREAT CHARTER at
Runnemede, and many another after it, and maintained them in defiance of
all the thunders of Rome?—Who passed the Statutes of Premunire, of
Provisors, of Mortmain, and all the other Acts for restraining the
illegitimate authority of the Pope and the Clergy, and defending their
estates and country against both Regal and Ecclesiastical Despotism?  The
Catholic Nobility of England, who knew well how to distinguish between
their Creed and their Civil Polity, between their duty to their Church
and their duty to their Country, to themselves—to Posterity!  And so long
as that Posterity are worthy of the great inheritance they have
bequeathed to them, so long as Englishmen shall be capable of
appreciating Civil Liberty and the value of their Constitution, the
founders of that Constitution shall receive their just reward, IMMORTAL
GLORY!

Where is that Constitution now?  Let the Protestant Parliaments that have
legislated during late years, and regardless of our ANCIENT CONSTITUTION,
have delivered over Englishmen to be TAXED by boards, without the consent
of Parliament, and to be fined! imprisoned! degraded! ruined! in their
persons, characters, and fortunes, by arbitrary Magistrates, Councils,
and Officials, without TRIAL BY JURY, and who but for the timely protest
and warning of the Judges, would have ABOLISHED that great BULWARK of
CIVIL LIBERTY altogether.  Let them answer!  Let the great THAUMATURGISTS
who pulled the strings of these parliamentary puppets, and before whom
they danced, answer!  England may some day awake from her torpor, to
examine that legislation, and to ask the QUESTION—WHERE?—Then—What then?

Some people not sufficiently read in the history of those times, may be
startled at the extraordinary nature of the facts which constitute the
action of the Drama; and may consider them exaggerated, if not altogether
improbable.  I intended a National Drama, and I have adhered to history.
I shall be borne out by authority.  Those who are well informed, will
recognise in the first Act the actual picture our seaboard presented at
the time.  The pious Catholic may feel scandalized at the treatment of
the Pope, and the sack of Rome by the generals of Charles the Fifth at
the head of a Spanish army.  I have not invented the transaction.  It
would be impossible to exaggerate its atrocity.  And Philip with all his
zeal for his professed religion, so long as it subserved his ambition,
was quite ready to repeat his father’s lesson, if the Pope had trespassed
on his dominion.  Further, though he was anxious to have Elizabeth
assassinated, he was entirely opposed to the Bull of Excommunication, or
the Pope’s interference in the temporal government of her kingdom.

With respect to myself and the literary merits of my work, I am very
sensible of the little fame (as small as the emolument) that can accrue
to me.  It was not my aim to contest the palm of genius and eloquence
with the great Dramatists of the age, who with so much talent and
success, minister to the amusement of the Public.  My humble effort must
be regarded as a literary experiment—I was anxious to TEST whether TRUTH
was not stronger than FICTION, and if so, whether the Drama might not, in
abler hands, become the great Pioneer, if not the exponent and teacher of
history.  Secondly, whether it could not be conducted on PRINCIPLES free
from the OBJECTIONS which Moralists now raise against it.  I have
therefore carefully excluded everything having a tendency to excite those
emotions, which the wisdom of Philosophers, and the guides of society in
every age have agreed ought to be kept in abeyance.

The Greeks, in timid foresight of the abuse, forbade that women should
appear upon the stage.  Without going so far I have shunned the evil they
feared.  There is not a love scene in my Drama, nor anything which could
minister to that dangerous passion.  I had a HIGHER AIM! to call the
attention of my country to the origin and principles of her greatness; to
hold up to her view the valour, the achievements, the glory of our
ancestors; to excite in their descendants a generous rivalry, and to
rouse again the national pride: the spirit and the patriotism of England.
If I shall have succeeded in this, I shall have attained the summit of my
ambition—I shall have reaped the priceless reward—the satisfaction of
having done my DUTY!

I cannot conclude without my humble acknowledgment of the public debt to
Mr. Froude, who has done so much to vindicate the character of Elizabeth
and the glory of his country from the foul aspersions of a party alike
hostile to England and humanity; and my personal obligation, for through
his great History, suggesting the subject, and so much of the material
for the construction of my Drama.

                                                       WILLIAM MAC OUBREY.



DRAKE:
OR THE
TRANSFER OF THE TRIDENT.


ACT I.


SCENE I.—PLYMOUTH—A STREET ALONG THE QUAY.


_The harbour and ships_, _sailors swaggering about with a bold_, _saucy_,
_defiant air_, _richly dressed_, _displaying a profusion of silks_,
_gold_, _and jewelry_; _their women also flaunting in rich
dresses_.—_Enter an English spy_.

ENGLISH SPY, (_In a serious musing attitude_)—I have watched this game
from its beginning, when Mary married Philip.  With all the might of
Spain and Rome to back her she failed to crush a seeming helpless girl.
The young Nobility, the proud hold chivalry of England took her part!  On
high paced steeds they rode her escort, or thronged her house with levies
which shamed the deserted Court.  Where’er she moved abroad, the roaring
multitude surged round her, unbonneted to their idol as she passed.  I
saw that Church and Spain must lose!  Elizabeth would be Queen at last!
(_He walks a few steps with a satisfied air_.)  When Mary’s reign was
closed, what shouts of joy broke from emancipated London!  A pall as
black as death seemed lifted off men’s souls.  What tables of rejoicing
lined the streets!  What blazing bonfires reddened all the walls!
Catholic and Protestant forgot their creeds to hail the rising sun of
Liberty!  I said Priests and Monks may plot.  There is one only party in
the State.  England for herself against the WORLD!  So hath it been of
yore, so let it be for ever.  No foreign Despot will she ever brook.
(_He walks proudly_).  What experience has been mine?  Poverty!  Power!
Influence! rare companions! meeting only in the Monk—and he a Jesuit, a
Missionary; what lands I have visited, what dangers and hardships
encountered! hunger, thirst, travel, fatigue; frozen in the snows of
Siberia, burnt to a living cinder in the Torrid Zone; perils by sea and
land, the barbarous savage with open violence or poisoned weapon; still
worse the pestilence that walketh in darkness.  All have I endured.
(_His reverie is interrupted_—_startled by tremendous shouts and cheers
of a violent crowd rapidly approaching_).

CROWD, (_behind the scenes_).  Hurrah for England!  Down with Spain and
her inquisition!  Hurrah for the El Dorado!  Hurrah for the General!

(_Startled_) What terrible hurly, burly now?  Another gust of the rising
tempest that is to shake the nations!

_Enter a turbulent crowd of sailors_, _bursting in with a great banner on
which is blazoned a ship in gold_, _and in similar letters the name_ “_El
Dorado_,” _cheering and shouting with violent gestures and confusion_.

CROWD.  Hurrah for the Virgin Queen!  Down with Spain and her
Inquisition.

1st SAILOR.  The Queen!  God bless her, and give her a good English
husband.  No foreign rule here!

2nd SAILOR.  Confusion to Philip and all Foreigners!  England for the
English!

3rd SAILOR.  Aye! Aye! lads.  We’ll keep them out!  No landing of the foe
on our coasts.  Our cruizers will keep the channel clear.

4th SAILOR (_with energy_).  The Channel’s ours!

SPY (_aside_) No doubt, they will clear it of everything that carries
gold, or other foreign valuables, without being over particular about
their nationality.

_The chief or general_, _standing beside the banner_, _a tall powerful
man_, _though young_, _sunburnt_, _and weather-beaten_, _gaudily dressed
as silk_, _velvet_, _gold and jewels can make him_.  _In his broad belt
plaited with gold_, _are stuck a brace of heavy pistols_, _richly chased
with silver_, _and a long dagger hafted with gold and diamonds_.  _On his
head a blue velvet cap with a gold band_.  _On the velvet_, _emblazoned
with jewels_, _a ship with the words_ “_El Dorado_.”  _He holds forth in
his left hand a large ingot_, _or bar of gold_.

CHIEF.  Look ye here, ye sons of the Ocean Queen, ye storm-birds that
have the daring spirit of your sea-king race, that love the raging surf,
and the mountain wave when it rolls the highest!  Ye of the forward step,
and the ready fist, who wish for a little of this! (_holding out the
ingot_).  (_Cheers_).  Who’ll volunteer for the good ship El Dorado?  We
don’t want every lubber that may offer, only roaring boys that are not
afraid to board a Spanish galleon without counting the square feet of her
lumbering hull, or the hundreds of her cowardly crew.  The El Dorado has
a speedy forefoot, I can tell you; she can run the Caribs in about a
fortnight, and we don’t care who knows the WHEN and the WHITHER, not as
much as one!—Copper!—Maravedi! (_snapping his fingers_).

CROWD, (_cheering_), Hurrah!  That’s the talk and no bunkum!  We know
you, General.  We’ll follow you to the death.

1st BYSTANDER.  Who is he?  A gallant bearing and tall!  He looks a hero
born for command.

2nd BYSTANDER.  So he ought to look; Don’t you know him?  That’s young
Lord —.  (_He whispers the name_), one of Elizabeth’s early lovers.  One
of the five hundred young nobles who rode beside her in defiance of
Mary’s wrath.  When his idol was insulted at Court, he behaved so
violently that he became a marked man, and the persecution growing hot,
he took to the sea for vengeance on the Spanish party.  Now he sticks to
it, you perceive, for something else, (_with a knowing look_).

CHIEF.  Now then! who’s for the free flag and the gold coast?  We have
already seventy hands, and want a few to make up a hundred.  That’s
enough of Englishmen to carry any of their goldships, or any Spanish town
in the world.  We want especially the sons of our brave men who have died
in Spanish dungeons, or by fire and faggot!  (_Shouts of indignation and
hurrah for the General_).

CROWD.  Here we are, General!  We’ll man your guns for you!  Hurrah!
We’ll pay them off all old scores!

1st SAILOR, (_in a swaggering tone_.)  I have searched the whole coast,
from Rio de la Hacha to San Juan, have been up the Darien and the Bocco
del Torro, I know every creek where a Cruizer can lie like an Alligator
for her prey.

2nd SAILOR.  And I every coral-reef, from the Windward islands to Bahama.
I’ll pilot you, General.

CHIEF.  Come on then, my Bullies!—To the brave ship El-Dorado!  March!

_They advance with the Standard singing and stamping in time as sailors
do when weighing anchor_; _the crowd following and joining in with
excitement_, _as they chant the following doggerel_.

   Our free born comrades languish.
   In dungeons, and in pain:
   We’ll tear them from their anguish,
   Or take revenge on Spain.  (_Cheers_.)

   Come on ye Tars! we’ll all go,
   With hearts both true and bold:
   We’re bound for El-Dorado,
   And we will have the gold!  (_Cheers_.  _Exeunt singing_.)

   We’re bound for El-Dorado
   And we will have the gold!

SPY, (_looking after them_.)  A tempting offer! had I not a deeper game
upon the die of Fate, and a loftier stake to play for than all the gold
of the Indies—the liberty of the world!  How many parts I have filled in
social life!  A bigot and inquisitor in Despotic Rome, I saw fierce
Bourbon, called the Constable, rush with hot valour on her wall; I fired
the death-shot! saw the Apostate fall!  ’Twas vain!  The mighty wave
swept on resistless.  The City of the Caesars and the Popes—the twice
Mistress of the world—lay helpless under the ruffian foe, defiling what
fierce Vandal and noble Goth majestic in strength and courage spared.  No
place was sacred.  No party safe.  The sanctuaries of religion, the
sepulchres of the dead, the very tomb of St. Peter rifled for their
wealth; Guelph and Ghibeline, Priest and Layman, the vilest trades and
callings taxed for contributions when plunder failed;—and when the
blood-hound scent for gold came to fault, torture was applied, without
respect to rank, or sex, or age, to wring the last scudo from the
prostrate people.  There was a spoil! ten millions of gold! the garnered
harvest of centuries of corruption, the imposts of a taxed world gathered
in one stagnant pool.  Offerings of pilgrims, gifts of the dying; the
orphan’s patrimony; the widow’s dower; extortions of Ecclesiastical
Courts; INDULGENCES; the liquidated value of every vice, lust and crime!
BRIBES for which Heaven had bartered its joys, and HELL had commuted its
torments of the damned!  The sack of Imperial Rome! (_holding up his
hands in dismay_) Satanic Bourbon!  Infernal Tempter!  Thou knew’st the
mystic Solder which alone could weld that Rebel Host, mad with lust and
hunger, discordant, dissolute, through battle, fatigue, and famine!  And
hurl the blazing Meteor on the goal of thy Vengeance and Ambition!  I
beheld the Holy Father himself a prisoner in his castle of St. Angelo;
his jailors! the Catholics of Spain.  My eyes were opened!  I fled from
the Desolation.  Before me spread an Earthquake of Republics, a wreck of
Nations.  France and Spain had torn the land.  I took refuge in the fleet
of Dorea with the Spirits that were left.  Genoa rose at his heroic
summons.  We proclaimed the Republic.  Yes!  I saw that last flame of
Italian Glory!  It flickered and went out for ever.  Through the once
free cities of Italy I harangued the Infidel—in democratic clubs on the
RIGHTS of Nature—the Republicans on their LAWS—to gather up the broken
fragments of their liberties, and arm against the spoilers of the land.
In Holland I preached freedom through the grim creed of Calvin, and urged
the dull Flemmings to defend their Constitutions.  I have been ALL things
to ALL men.  My single foe—Despotic Spain—My creed, its overthrow.  In
England two characters by turns.  A conspirator to assassinate the Queen
with fanatics who would deluge the land with blood, destroy their own and
other’s freedom, and yield our glorious Island to a foreign tyrant—the
execrable Philip.  And now I am an agent of the unselfish Patriot,
Walsingham (I would trust none other!)—to foil this foul conspiracy, and
save my native country from slavery and ruin.  I must to the “Blue
Anchor” to meet this Arch-plotter for the Church and Philip.  I’ll search
his inmost thoughts.  I’ll sound the very depths of all his treason!
(_Exit_.)


SCENE II.—“THE BLUE ANCHOR”—THE TAP ROOM.


_Ornamented with model ships of every form and rig_; _all of a warlike
character_.  _Here and there are hung up arms_, _chiefly those used at
sea_, _with Parrots and curious birds_, _shells and other productions of
foreign climes_, _all indicating that the owner and his friends are
familiar with distant lands_, _in fact_, _all maritime contributions_.
_The room is filled with sailors and their women_, _profusely decorated
with gold_, _reckless of expenditure_, _playing at dice for gold pieces_,
_and displaying masses of gold and silver articles_, _chalices and cups_,
_the fruit of plunder by land and sea_.  _Their bold dashing air shows a
character not likely to hesitate about what they would attack_, _and
themselves ready to take their own part_, _or that of England_, _against
the world_.  _They call for wines of the most expensive sorts like men
habituated to wealth_.  _The two spies at a table_, _served with a flagon
of wine and cups of silver_, _by the landlord_.  _The foreigner is much
surprised at the scene_.

1st SAILOR.  Mine Host there!  Some Hippocras for the ladies!
and—and—more Gascony!

2nd SAILOR (_saucily_).  Bear a hand, Joe Jolly! or Jolly Joe! another
measure of that old Sack.  You’re an old sack yourself.  Ho! here he
comes, rolling like a dismasted ship in the trough of the sea
(_laughter_).  Ha! Ha! Ha!

_Enter Host_, _scowling fiercely and holding out in his right hand
menacingly a great tankard of Wine_.

HOST.  I say, Cut-throat!  Belay your damned tongue!  Don’t you think to
make a butt of me for your gibes, or I’ll give you this (_holding out the
tankard_) on your head!

_The sailor laughs and holds out by the muzzle his heavy pistol as if to
show its weight_.

2nd SAILOR.  If you did, Joe, I would, and that quickly too, make a butt
of yours.  Look you!  Butt to Butt.  This has cracked many a skull as
thick as Joe Jolly’s.

ALL (_interfering_).  Avast there!  Enough of that messmates!  Here,
Jolly, drink with me!  Here, Joe (_says another party_), drink with us!
Hurrah! old chap!

ENGLISH SPY (_to his companion_).  I made our appointment here, Brother,
to give you an idea of what is going on in the world—a mighty
revolution—which I think neither His Majesty of Spain nor His Holiness
yet comprehends, and to show you the character of our people.  You will
thus understand with whom you have to deal.

FOREIGN SPY.  They surprise and almost frighten me with their fierce
demeanour and warlike defiant air.

ENGLISH SPY.  Of that anon.  Now, Brother what of the Great Cause in the
Low Countries?  There the struggle is at present.

FOREIGN SPY, (_Slowly and with emphasis_), And there, brother, it is
almost ended.  William the silent is silent for ever!  (_The English spy
starts with surprise_).  That Arch-Heretic, the Prince of Orange, is no
more!

ENGLISH SPY.  What?  The Prince of Orange dead!

FOREIGN SPY, (_With bitter emphasis_), Three poisoned bullets did for
him, spite of all his caution!  Parma outmanœuvred him.  Philip is at the
right game of war now!

ENGLISH SPY, (_Interested to excitement_), How?  How was this, brother?
It will be a thunder clap to Europe!

FOREIGN SPY.  It was difficult; William was so closely guarded; so many
attempts had failed.  He seemed unapproachable.  We found the fitting
tool!  (_He pauses_, _watching his startled companion with exultation_,
_then continues_).  Balthazzar Gerard, an enthusiast from Burgundy.  We
fanned the Bigot-flame, and armed his fiery soul with all the panoply of
Faith the church could give, a Martyr’s Crown!  Immediate bliss in
Heaven.  Philip added earthly honours, nobility and estates in Spain.
Balthazzar swallowed the baited hook, and counted not the cost!  (_He
pauses_, _looking at his deeply interested and astounded companion_.)

ENGLISH SPY, (_Eagerly_), Pray go on, Brother!  He was seized of course!
how did he proceed, or obtain access?

FOREIGN SPY.  He repaired to the palace at Delft, petitioned for
protection and aid, he pretended to be a Calvinist whose father was
executed, and himself a fugitive for his religion.  The mask was
sufficient, he obtained employment, and was at length received into the
palace.  There he watched his opportunity, and as the Prince was passing
through his hall to dinner fired into him three poisoned bullets.  The
victim dropped, “William the Silent” was no more.

ENGLISH SPY, (_with emotion_), Villain!  He was cut down, or seized,
tortured, hung!

FOREIGN SPY.  Quick as his bullets he bounded from the hall, crossed the
court-yard, and gained the city wall, where aid was ready.

ENGLISH SPY, (_Hurriedly_), Good God!  The perfidious traitor escaped.

FOREIGN SPY.  There, just as the tiger was about to spring, a strong hand
arrested him.  His Spanish title, his broad lands, his order of St. Jago
vanished, and the dread spectre of rack and dungeon rose before his eyes,
but Balthazzar was a hero and accepted death.  They dragged him to the
rack, ’twas vain!  They tried every torture ingenuity could invent, or
the wickedness of Heretics employ to tear from this soldier of the church
a confession of his employees.  Balthazzar fixed his eye upon his
Martyr’s crown, and pointing to his dislocated limbs, with grim but
triumphant smile, heaved his last breath, said “_Ecce Homo_,” and
expired.

ENGLISH SPY, (_Shocked and excited_), Oh!  Brother, this is horrible!

FOREIGN SPY, (_Rather Surprised_), But the end, Brother, justifies the
means.  You see the good cause advances!  ’Tis Philip’s most successful
warfare; thus Murray in Scotland, Coligny at Paris, and now the Prince of
Orange at Delft have paid the penalty of heresy.  These were only the
horns Brother, the head itself shall be cut off.  In England is the very
head of Heresy!  She must fall next, and then the Church’s triumph is
complete.  Philip himself, great as he is, must bow as kings of yore, and
hold the stirrup.

ENGLISH SPY, (_Aside_), This will do for Walsingham, he’ll trap the
wolves!  (_To his companion_), We’ll talk of this anon, Brother.

_Cheers and shouts without_, _tumult_, _rushing_, _and cheers_.  _Shouts
of_ “_To the Market-place_.”  _The cheers taken up by the sailors
within_, _who brandish their gold goblets and shout_, “_Hurrah for old
Plymouth_,” “_Hurrah for the Craft_!”

1st SAILOR.  What’s up messmates?

2nd SAILOR.  Some Spanish prize, I’ll warrant; It’s no mere row that, I
know the heavy tread of a Rover’s crew.  That’s the game for me.  Let’s
out and join the fray.  (_Exeunt sailors_, _rushing in confusion_).

ENGLISH SPY, (_hurriedly_), Come!  Brother come, there is much that you
must see here before you make up your horoscope of the future.  (_Exeunt
spies_).


SCENE III.—THE MARKET PLACE.


_A great crowd surging along_, _pushing_, _fighting_, _and hallooing in
the rear of a compact body of Rovers or freebooters_, _well armed_,
_bringing with them a band of Spanish prisoners_, _captured in a ship in
the channel_, _bound from Cadiz to the Low Countries_, _with a rich cargo
of Silks_, _Wines_, _and other such articles of value_, _besides a
quantity of money_, _for the payment of the Troops there_.  _Among the
captives_, _Soldiers of rank, Noblemen_, _Great Merchants_.  _Some are
hauled along in irons_, _screaming for mercy_, _to be kept prisoners till
ransomed_.  _A group of three_, _the assumed property of one party_, _are
about being put up to auction_.  _A Sailor stands upon a barrel with an
axe in his hand for a hammer_, _as auctioneer_.  _Jews and Spectators in
front_, _ready to bid_, _and chaffing the extemporized Auctioneer_.

SEVERAL VOICES.  Why don’t you go on, Bill Sayers! go on! go on! put one
of the Hidalgos up.  (_Laughter_.)

_Whilst the chief is bargaining with a rich Jew aside_, _a Ruffian grasps
at one of the Spanish Captives_.

RUFFIAN.  I should like one of those gold buttons.

_The leader_, TOM COBHAM, _turning from the Jew_, _brandishes his axe not
very particular whether or not it lopped off an arm_.

TOM COBHAM, (_fiercely_.)  Back varlet! on your life, I’ll cleave the
first man, to the brisket, who dares to lay hand on one of them!
(_Sweeps round him with his terrible weapon_, _the crowd fall back_.
_Turning to the Jew again_) I’ll tell you what, Isaac!  We cannot deal!

ISAAC.  They’re not worth an Angel more.  There’s not an Hidalgo among
them.  Only traders like myself.

TOM COBHAM.  You Jews can jabber all the languages in the world.  But I
have robbed Churches, sacked towns along the coast of Spain, from Cadiz
to Finisterra, have plundered her gold ships, and seized her Merchantmen
(_he pauses musing_) ever since the execution of Sir Thomas Wyatt, and I
can talk Spanish as well as you.  They are Nobles, every one of them.

ISAAC (_whispering in his ear_.)  There now!  I will do no more.

TOM COBHAM (_turning away indignant_.)  Two thousands Rials!  Not even
Sovereigns!  We only count in Sovereigns, you old screw!  You mean to
rob.  It’s not the price of the gold lace and buttons on their coats, not
to speak of the jewels, silk, and velvet.  Speak up, or be off!  I know
what to do with them.

ISAAC (_again whispering_).  There now!  That’s because you are a friend,
Tom.  By the Holy Moses and all the Prophets, I’ll not advance another
Rose Noble.

TOM COBHAM (_considering_).  Well! I’ll take your note of hand.  I know
you, Isaac.  I’m in haste.  I want to get to sea.  There’s something
coming down the wind that far beats this.  I say, old hard fist, you’ll
clear a good fire hundred out of this job.  Well! well! business!
business!  I’m in a hurry.  (_Exeunt Sailors_, _Jews and Captives_, _the
latter apparently pleased with the arrangement_.  _The Market Place and
its frequenters_, _Booths_, _Stalls for Gold and Silver_, _Casks of Wine
being measured out for sale_.)

ENGLISH SPY.  There’s a sight for you!  Booths where richest silks are
sold as basest stuffs to peasants at a rustic fair.  Casks of Gascony
drawn for the mob like Common Beer.

FOREIGN SPY (_amazed_).  Gold and Silver weighed on open stalls.

ENGLISH SPY.  Our Seaboard is the Mart of Precious Metals, debased in
price by quantity.  Merchants come here to buy.  It costs the vendors
nothing.  Our Seamen take it as their right from Spain.

FOREIGN SPY (_in deep refection_).  What waste of luxury!  Masses of
wealth surpassing proudest Capitals.

ENGLISH SPY (_scrutinizing his amazed companion_).  You seem bewildered,
Brother, I thought you should be.  Engaged about this serious business,
’tis well, you see, to understand the Drama that’s being acted in the
world.  These are the Actors, not Priests and Politicians, blind with
their own cobwebs, self-wove before their eyes.  What think you of the
scene?

FOREIGN SPY.  Horror-struck—amazed—such lawless violence—such heaps of
Gold and Silver—altar-plate made common traffic!  Grandees of Spain put
up to open auction!  It passes comprehension.

ENGLISH SPY (_smiling_).  Philip knows it all, and cannot help himself.
He sees his Gold-ships captured, or sunk, crews and all—his merchants
plundered; Cities sacked and churches rifled on his own coast; His
Officers and Nobles sold like slaves by public auction; kept in chains
till ransomed; shuts his eyes and must endure the affront.  (_He walks
aside with a grim smile_, _and triumphant air_.  _Then returns and
continues solemnly_.)  There is a Crisis now in the affairs of mankind.
Providence re-adjusts his plan to open another chapter in the course of
Destiny.   ’Tis a New Power that rises from the sea, and has its source
at Plymouth; to rule the world, and set the nations free!  (_He walks
aside eyeing his companion exultingly_.)  I’ve seen it for some time, and
in my waking dreams, this little Isle expands and fills the Globe, whilst
Spain recoils, and shrinks before it like a burning scroll.  (_He walks
with triumph_—_then slowly_, _with emphasis_).  Here’s food for thought,
Brother! (_aside_)  Now for proud Spain’s Ambassador, and learn his plans
to murder Queen Elizabeth.

FOREIGN SPY (_serious but firm_).  The prospect for the Church is ominous
and gloomy.  Still, Brother, we must cut off the Head of Heresy!  Let us
be moving, (_going_).

ENGLISH SPY (_aside as they go off_).  Cut off the Head!  Still the power
remains to crush thy Despotism—the stone to strike the Image, and crumble
it to dust!  (_Exeunt_).


SCENE IV.—A ROOM IN THE PALACE.


              _Enter the_ QUEEN _and the_ EARL OF LEICESTER.

LEICESTER (_laughing_).  Ha-Ha-Ha!  I cannot see it.  Excommunicated!
How is it possible?  Even the Pope cannot put one out of his house who
never was in it.  Ha! Ha! Ha!  It’s a joke.  Excommunicated indeed!
Because a fellow like a thief in the night nails a paper on the Bishop of
London’s door, your Majesty is to be deprived of your throne and life.
All the world knows the Statue of Premunire.—(_with emphasis and
deliberation_) No Bull can be published here without the licence of the
Crown.  This is poor thunder from the Vatican.  Not thus did Leo roar,
and yet a German Monk laughed him to scorn, burned his Bull in the open
Market-place, and challenged him to prove his title before the Christian
world.  Ha! Ha! Ha!  (_He walks about laughing_—_then comes up to the_
QUEEN _sarcastically_) Pius the Fifth is no Hildebrand, his wretched
missive thus stolen into the kingdom is no more than waste paper.  The
thunder of the Seven Hills has lost the bolt.  Ha! Ha! Ha!

QUEEN.  By the Rood, Robin, I agree with you; It is an insolent joke
(_She laughs to herself grimly_).  The world begins to see it too.
France contemptuously suppressed his Bull, Philip forbade him to issue it
and refuses to permit its publication in his dominions, (_with proud
defiance_) I have answered his insolence in my own way, by hanging up his
messenger at the very door where he committed the offence.  Ha! Ha!
Ha!—He’ll carry no more messages.

LEICESTER.  Well!  Is there one Catholic Nobleman in England who did not
acquiesce in the execution of Felton?  Parliament too gave a quick and
substantial reply, by passing an immediate act, without a dissentient
voice.  “That to affirm by word or writing that the Queen is not Queen,
or not entitled to the Crown, or that any other person ought to be Queen,
even without an overt act, shall be High Treason.”

QUEEN.  And the Nation indignant, shouted its assent.  I plant my throne,
Leicester in the hearts of my people!  They are the true foundation of
all Political right.—They are my Guards!  My bulwark! my support!—I did
not wait for an Act of Parliament to hang Felton.

LEICESTER (_rubbing his hands and laughing_).  No!  No!  Your father’s
daughter for that!  It was a masterly counter-thrust for him.  I should
like to see the Pope’s face when he considers your position.  (_He walks
musing_, _then confronts the_ QUEEN) Here you stand an excommunicated
Princess; entirely unscathed by his thunder.  Your throne is as firm as
the primeval rock.  You hold prisoner Mary, that was Queen of Scotland,
the Dowager Queen of France, the Representative of Papal claims upon the
throne.  Yet not one member of the Catholic Nobility is ready to do the
behests of the Pope in regard to your life or title.

QUEEN.  And the people! the Great English people! the fearless! the free!
Are they not more enthusiastic than ever?  When do I show myself among
them that they do not crowd around me with the idolatry of devotion,
proud to kiss the hem of my robe, or touch the horse that bears me.  Woe
to the assassin who should lift a finger!  He would be torn limb from
limb.  Yes! Yes! Leicester, I am safe among my People (_she walks about
confidently then stands and passionately continues_)  They know I love
them, and will never betray their liberties or their honour (_walking
aside with emotion_).

LEICESTER.  You are the only Sovereign in the world that can freely move
abroad without other guards than the people.

QUEEN.  The Catholics of England never did, and never will, acknowledge
the power of the Pope to annul their liberties, or to interfere in the
government of their country.  They will hear the Mass, but they will have
none of his Bulls.  They have had too much of Ecclesiastical Courts, and
Appeals to Rome.  That question was decided long ago, when the Clergy
tried to substitute the Canon for the Common Law, and Parliament and
People proclaimed with one voice “We will not have the Laws of England
changed” (_she walks with a triumphant air_).

LEICESTER.  The Court of Rome takes credit for great cunning and deep
policy.  Their present folly does surprise me; to threat without the
power to strike.  On whom does it rely?  On France or Spain?  Neither
could permit the other to attack us, and concert is impossible ’twixt
elements ajar.

QUEEN.  They both are suing me for favours and alliance.  Nay! every
Power in Europe.—I am the Arbitress of Nations.

LEICESTER (_fiercely_).  Besides!  Our Naval heroes boldly say, their
fleets combined could never land an army on our shores, and if they
could, England like one man would rise and dash invasion from her!  (_He
walks exultingly aside_).

QUEEN.  I believe it all, Leicester.  My faith is in my country!  In my
people!  Nor would their Queen in such an hour be wanting.  Elizabeth
would lead the van with them to conquer, or with them to fall.  (_She
walks with a fierce and triumphant air_)  Yet, Leicester!  Though with
thoughts like these my Lion spirit rises to the occasion, there are times
when sadness sits brooding o’er me, and in the lone, darkness of my soul,
kindred and goblin forms arise, the brood of melancholy to fright my
woman weakness.  William, Prince of Orange, butchered in his Palace! the
loaded pistol! the assassin’s knife! ever at one’s defenceless breast—Ah!
Leicester (_she shudders with horror_) ’tis too much to bear! too much!
too much! (_she weeps and turns aside with great emotion_, LEICESTER
_approaching her with deep sympathy_, _and kneeling_, _kisses her robe_,
_to which he timidly ventures to apply his lips_).

LEICESTER.  My honoured Mistress!  My beloved Queen!  God, who raised you
up His chosen instrument, has hitherto supported, and will preserve you.
(_The_ QUEEN _turns abruptly and surprised_).

QUEEN.  What, Robin!  This from thee?  Art thou turned Puritan, man?

LEICESTER.  Of late, my Queen, I have had dreams!  Visions of Prophetic
import, which seem to touch the times.

QUEEN.  Dreams!  Dreams that touch the times, belong to anxious brains
like mine, troublous as my checkered life, with danger and alarm.  Thine
are of thyself, of love and selfish gain, intrigues with traitor wenches
of my Court that pay me hollow homage, and take the pay of France, or
Philip, or the Queen of Scots, or even thyself!  (_Looking at him
piercingly_).

LEICESTER, (_attempting to speak_).  Oh!  My loved Mistress!

QUEEN (_interrupting him_), Nay!  Nay!  Ne’er deny it, Leicester.  I
watch the games of all, and play my own! (_with a grim smile_).

LEICESTER (_earnestly_, _as to repel the insinuation_).  My Liege, my
thoughts are capable of proof.  The vision long hath left my brain, and
found material body.  Art hath moulded it in jewelled gold, and given it
tongue prophetic!  Futurity will unfold the truth; but it would be
presented to you on the throne.  May it please your Majesty to be seated.

QUEEN.  What mean you, man?  Robin!  No mummery now, my mood is serious!
(LEICESTER _bows solemnly_), Well!  Well!  I will indulge you.  (_She
gives him her hand and he leads her to the throne_).

LEICESTER.  My Liege!  It is behind the arras, permit me to introduce it.

QUEEN (_impatiently_).  Do as thou listest and be quick.  (_He goes for
the intended present_).  There’s something in it, else he’s acting well.
What can it be?

_He returns with a splendidly gilt and ornamented box_, _lays it down_,
_and opening it_, _withdraws a group of statuary of jewelled gold_.
_Approaching the throne_, _he kneels on one knee_, _and presents it to
the_ QUEEN, _who all the time watches the proceeding with intense
interest_, _then takes the present with great surprise and curiosity_.

LEICESTER.  Behold, my Liege!  The symboled future!  May the God of
England verify it soon.

_He buries his face in his hands and continues kneeling_.  _The_ QUEEN
_eyeing it for a moment_, _on all sides_, _in deep abstraction_, _rushes
from the throne_, _and placing it on a highly ornamented table under the
light_, _examines it curiously_, _not without awe_, _as if something
supernatural_.  LEICESTER, _still kneeling_, _watches her askance_.

QUEEN (_slowly_).  Magnificent! sublime!  Art indeed, which can embody
thought in gold, and almost shape the lips to speech.  Prophetic Vision!
Symboled future, humph!  The future still to me is mystic, dark, and
awful.  (_She looks around for_ LEICESTER, _who is still kneeling before
the throne and watching the_ QUEEN _with great anxiety askance_).  No
more of that play-acting; up man, and expound thy riddle.  (LEICESTER
_comes forward_, _and taking up the group in one hand_, _whilst he points
with the other to the figures_, _thus explains their meaning_, _the_
QUEEN, _anxiously awaiting the result_).

LEICESTER.  The central figure, seated on a throne, with features so
beautiful, the express image of Majesty itself, is the Queen of England!
the likeness unmistakeable.  At her feet kneeling, is the so-called Queen
of Scots.  Around the stormy ocean your bulwark, strength, and power.  On
either side, figures of France and Spain overwhelmed in the waves, whilst
Neptune, rising in front, presents to you the globe, and does homage to
the true Sovereign of the seas.

QUEEN.  Oh Leicester!  Leicester!  (_The_ QUEEN _sinks upon a chair_,
_overcome by the weight of thought and the tumult of her ideas_).
Prophetic Vision!  Symboled Future!  I am lost in a tumult of thoughts,
and hopes, and fears.  Call Ashley!  Be quick!  Quick, my Lord!
Exhausted!  Overcome!  (_Exit_ LEICESTER.  _She leans sobbing on the
chair_, _her face buried in her hands_).

_Re-enter the_ EARL OF LEICESTER _with_ MRS. ASHLEY, _who rush to her
assistance_.

                                                          _Curtain falls_.



ACT II.


SCENE I.—THE HARBOUR OF SAN JUAN DE ULLOA.


_It is surrounded by high cliffs with batteries_.  _An Island at the
mouth_.  _Spanish and English ships_.  _The town_.  _Deck of the_
“_Jesus_” _of Lubeck_.—SIR JOHN HAWKINS, DRAKE, HAMPTON, BOLTON.  _A
Council of War_.  _Thunder_!  _Lightning_!  _Tempest_!

HAWKINS.  Comrades, we may well thank God for this refuge.  We had a
narrow escape in that gale.  I thought the “Jesus” of Lubeck would never
weather it.  Our voyage has been prosperous beyond expectations.  Above a
million and a half netted, with four hundred Negroes still on hands.  To
have left it all behind, with our bodies to the sharks, in the Gulf of
Mexico, would have been a calamity.  Now with our freight of enormous
value, even if we were rid of our remaining Negroes, we could not move
till we refit.  This old hulk in her present condition, would never float
to England.  Besides, the possibility of falling in with a Spanish
fleet—our canvas in rags, and spars in this state.  Weigh it well,
comrades!—Weigh it well.

BOLTON.  This is the very spot for us; we ride here in safety.  Neither
wind nor sea can touch us.  And we are masters of the place.  Our guns on
the island command the entrance, the town is at our own mercy, the
fortified heights are in our hands; we could sink the whole Navy of Spain
in five minutes.

DRAKE.  I should be very sorry to see the whole Navy of Spain for the
present.  There are twelve first-rate ships here, and two hundred
thousand pounds worth of gold and silver in them, which with what we have
already made, and our pearls, emeralds, and precious metals, would be a
goodly return—say something like two millions.  It would give us some
weight in our native country!  Heh!  (_He walks about with a smile_, _as
they stare at him excited_) Why Old England has not seen the like.  How
jolly Plymouth would shout with all her Tars.  By St. George, I think I
see the uproar when they should behold our Gallant Navy riding in the
Sound.  (_He looks at them as they gaze in excitement_—_even_ HAWKINS _is
surprised_)  It is a great temptation!  Philip might threaten.  Cecil
might grumble and make notes; the Jesuits might plot; but England and our
noble Queen would look at us with other eyes.  I say, take the treasure
and the ships; put the town to ransom; and let us be off!  I don’t like
the look of the place.  Delays are dangerous.  Action! action! for me.  I
hate Spain and her people.  Treachery, perfidy, and cruelty make up the
mind and character of a Spaniard.

HAWKINS.  Hitherto we have acted within law, and under treaty, solemnly
made between Spain and England.

DRAKE.  I have no faith in and treaty or peace subsisting between the
nations (_He comes up to_ HAWKINS, _looks at him archly in the face_.
_All observing with great interest_) Why man, you forget the small
exchange of national amenities just before our departure.

HAWKINS (_laughing_) Oh! you allude to that Spanish ship which—

DRAKE (_interrupting with comical seriousness_) I mean the Spanish
man-of-war, with Flemish prisoners, who came for shelter into Plymouth
Harbour.  You fired upon her with the Castillian flag at her main; made
her haul down her colours, and deliver up her prisoners, which you sent
home to fight against Spain.  You remember the stir Philip made about it,
and when the Queen sent you an angry message (Lord, she never meant it—a
mere blind) you audaciously told her that you deserved her thanks for
maintaining the honour of the country (_laughter_).  You know we sailed
under the protest of De Silva and have carried on our trade by force of
arms.

BOLTON.  We could not venture to sea without repairs.  We want at least a
week.

HAMPTON.  Oh! we could soon victual—seize the ships, levy contributions,
put the town to ransom, and make sail.

HAWKINS.  But then, you see the Treaty.  What would the Council say?
What would Cecil say?  He is against us as it is.  Besides, the
legitimate trade we are carrying on—a million! in a single voyage.  This
in my opinion is better than booty and open war.

DRAKE.  Treaty!—Peace!—Legitimate trade!—Hawkins don’t deceive yourself;
bits of paper cannot disguise the virulent hostility subsisting between
Spain and England.  The legitimate trade we are carrying on in ships
armed to the teeth!  It is nothing but open war—a defiance of Philip and
his power.  Talk of the Council being against us, and what Cecil may say.
(_Contemptuously_).  Cecil! who can see no other way to keep up our Navy
than an Act of Parliament to compel the Protestant People of England to
eat fish.  Ha! Ha! Ha! (_laughter in which the crews join_.  _With
emphasis_).  Bluff King Hal and his Parliament, thought Beef at a
farthing a pound was the right way to keep up the stout hearts and strong
arms of Englishmen, who themselves have ever been the true and only
defence of their Country and Freedom.  (_He walks aside indignant_.
_Laughter_—_caught up and echoed back with tremendous cheers by the
sailors around and below decks_).  Whenever Britons, in sloth and
ignorance shall delegate their duty to a Council, or a Government, they
will forfeit their high Destiny—their Commission from on High!—Their
safety and their Liberties will sink together in the dust of Rottenness,
and the proud Island of the Brave and Free, remain only a bleak,
deserted, and ruined rock amid the breakers, a monument of the past; a
warning to the future, like Tyre and Carthage, and Great Rome herself.
England can only fall through treason and corruption.  (_Cheers from the
sailors and shouts_).

SAILORS.  May God defend us from that.  We can defend us from our enemies
ourselves, Hurrah!

HAWKINS.  The Jesus is a wreck, can scarcely float, her mainmast
sprung—she could not go to sea.

DRAKE.  Abandon her then.—Here are plenty of ships fit for a voyage, with
treasure in them.  Take your choice, burn the rest, and make sail with
what we have.  Put no faith in Spaniards.  They will consider the treaty
as so much waste paper, when it serves their ends to do so.  They fear
and hate us, and neither bonds nor treaties will stop them in their
vengeance.  Our only treaty to rely on is in ourselves when we are too
strong for them—God grant it may ever be so—or woe to Merry England.

HAWKINS.  Abandon the Jesus!  You forget that she is the Queen’s ship—the
only one in the expedition.  Do you know the temper of our good Queen?
She will expect her ship back, and also her share of the profit.  What
if, instead, I should bring the Kingdom under heavy demands from Philip
for our infraction of the Treaty; I ask you, do you know her temper, or
what her Royal and gentle Majesty would say?  Heh!

DRAKE (_laughing as at a joke_).  Fire and Steel!  I should think I did,
Ha! Ha! Ha!  I know our Royal Mistress well.  Her Majesty is a good
Protestant, but she has two idols set up in her heart, whose worship she
will never abandon for any other creed, “ambition and avarice;” the love
of power, and the love of gold.  Give her these, what cares she for an
old hulk.  Let her know that her heroes can sweep the seas, that we defy,
and soon shall break the force of haughty Spain.  Above all, drench her
with gold and show me the power on earth that can drag it from her.  (_He
walks aside with his hands up_).  She will swallow man the gold of the
Indies, but believe me, disgorge it, never.  Temper!  Fire and Steel!  I
think I see her temper on the receipt of a dispatch from Philip, that
clerk king, whose sceptre is his pen with which he dooms brave men to
death, and nations to slavery, whilst he himself, the veriest slave to
Monks and Priests, delegates the authority of his high office to what he
calls the Holy House of the inquisition.  Restitution forsooth!  What she
would say!  “God’s death,” she would exclaim, “Is the fellow a fool, to
ask me for money?  Let him catch Hawkins and Drake, and the rest of the
freebooters himself, and take what satisfaction he can out of them.”
That is pretty much what she would say.  But if he should come himself to
demand it, I think she would be very likely to box his Royal ears for
him, and tell him to go and be hanged, as she did the stout Earl of
Essex, when he had the impudence to turn his back upon her.
(_Laughter_.)

HAWKINS.  This is bold advice, Drake, but I do not like the
responsibility.

DRAKE.  Responsibility!  To whom?  To our Queen?  She will hold us
responsible, only for failure in our enterprise.  In plain words, for
bringing home no money.  Besides, she has no jurisdiction here, nor are
we sailing under her flag, or the authority of a Lord High Admiral, or
his Court.  We Rovers sail under our own red bunting, acknowledging no
Courts; and fight our way, not palter about Treaties.  Law cannot defend
us; should the Spaniards but get us into their clutches, would they
vouchsafe to us, trial in a lawful court?  No!  We should have neither
law nor mercy.  The Inquisition!  Torture! the Auto-de-fe, that is fire
and faggot, would be our lot.  For my part, I will acknowledge no
responsibility, but to God, upon His own ocean!  So long as I live, I
shall consider it my best duty to him, to make war upon Spaniards, who
are alike his enemies and ours.  Is that monster Philip without other
motive than the impulse of a cruel nature, to sit unopposed in his
cabinet like a spider weaving his webs of slavery for mankind, to
monopolise the earth’s surface with all the gold in its bosom, and the
whole ocean as well?  Why not its circumambient air, that we may ask his
leave to breathe?  I tell you, Hawkins, that whilst I can muster a keel,
and men and Britons to man it, I shall ask no licence from mortal man; I
shall boldly take my share of its wild waves, in spite of all the Despots
in the world, and claim it as my patrimony from God!  (_He turns away in
great excitement_.)

_The report of a solitary gun booms along the water_, _and cuts short the
debate_.  _They are all startled_, _but before there is time for
utterance_, _it is followed by a discharge from the batteries on the
island_, _and successive volleys from a number of Ships in the offing_.

HAWKINS, (_in alarm_), What can this mean?  Those are no signal guns, no
friendly salutes.

HAMPTON.  No, General, no blank cartridges there!  The report is too
sharp; it has the ring of metal.  We are surprised.  It is time to get
ready, and stand by our guns; it must be a Spanish fleet!

HAWKINS.  God grant it be not the outward bound fleet of Spain, we must
keep them out.  Get ready my pinnace!  Bear a hand!  We must be off to
the island, and see to this.  Get your ships under weigh, and stand by,
to dispute the mouth of the harbour.  (_Exeunt_.)


SCENE II.—AN ISLAND WITH BATTERIES COMMANDING THE MOUTH OF THE HARBOUR.


_The Spanish fleet of thirteen sail_, _sent out expressly to look for_
HAWKINS, _and to treat him as a pirate_.  _The English forbid entrance_.
_A party of Spaniards_, _with the Spanish Ambassador and the new Viceroy
of Spain_, _under a flag of truce_, _await the arrival of the English
Commander to treat_.

       Enter Sir JOHN HAWKINS, DRAKE, HAMPTON, BOLTON, and others.

SPANISH AMBASSADOR.  Have I the honour to address the great, invincible
and renowned, Sir John Hawkins, whose fame is throughout the world?

HAWKINS.  Your excellency has before you the Admiral and the gallant
Captains of a small English fleet, bound on a trading voyage, put in
under stress of weather, to victual and re-fit; and for our own security,
during the time we find it necessary to occupy the harbour, we intend to
prevent the entry of armed vessels.

AMBASSADOR (_amazed_).  But we are the fleet of His Majesty the King of
Spain, carrying a thousand soldiers, thirteen galleons with others their
consorts and tenders.  I have the honour to be his Ambassador, and this
is his viceroy, with authority to govern his possessions in the New
World.  Allow me to present to you Don Martini Henriqnez, viceroy of all
the Indies.  (_Hawkins bows_.)  This is His Majesty’s town and dominions,
and we claim not only free entrance, but entire jurisdiction.  The
nations are at peace, and we concede to you the right freely to occupy it
as friends, to trade and re-fit, with freedom of departure.  What would
you more?

HAWKINS.  True, your Excellency, the nations are nominally at peace, but
we Englishmen have been in these times of peace treated as worse than
enemies in war.  We have been attacked by ships carrying the Castillian
flag, thrown into prison, tortured, famished in dungeons, given over to
the inquisition, to fire and faggot, contrary to the law of nations, and
to actual treaty.  We must take care of ourselves.  Either you shall
force an entrance at the cannon’s mouth, which you will not find a very
easy matter, or you enter on such conditions as I shall dictate.  That we
have liberty to trade, victual, and re-fit, and to depart without
hindrance or molestation, that the fortifications remain in our hands,
and that you give hostages, as a guarantee for their fulfillment.

AMBASSADOR.  This, Senor, is a very serious matter.  It is against law,
reason, and justice that we should be under conditions imposed by a
foreigner who has no claim or authority here, to enter our own
possessions.  I do not know how I should answer to my Royal Master,
should I so far compromise his authority and right, conceding to a
stranger, the privilege of dictating conditions to our ships in our own
waters.

HAWKINS.  Nor I to answer to my Royal Mistress for the loss of her ships
and men by any laxity or cowardice on my part in not defending them.  We
Englishmen are accustomed to consider our duty to our country paramount
over all else, to fight under the national flag till Death or Victory;
never to yield a point in debate or battle, but to stick to our guns, and
No Surrender!

ENGLISH ALL.  No Surrender!  No Surrender!

HAWKINS.  Your Excellencies, and you Senores, you see your choice.
Either you fight or depart, or enter on our conditions.

AMBASSADOR.  I shall retire if you please, and consult with his
Excellency.  (_Exeunt Spaniards_.  _English laughing_).

HAWKINS (_laughing_).  Well, Comrades, I think I have settled their
Excellencies; what think you?  They must be off.  If they meant fighting,
they would have boldly entered like men, and asked no one’s leave.  They
dare not enter into conditions.  Philip would execute them all, and
rightly too, the poltrons.  It would be complete surrender of his
authority.

HAMPTON.  It is not long you would have hesitated with such a fleet,
General!  I think with you, they will be off if the gale will allow them
to weather the headlands.  Lord! you frightened them; they turned pale at
your very look.  That’s the way to talk to them.  No backing and filling;
no hauling of tacks and sheets with Spaniards.  A straight course, good
headway; with half a gale blowing.  That’s what they can’t stand.  (_He
walks aside haughtily_).

BOLTON.  General, you have spoken like a Tar, and an Englishman.  I call
that sailing to half a point of the compass.  (_Turning to_ HAMPTON).  I
am like you, Hampton, for carrying all sail, and keeping the red flag
flying.  Damn their thirteen ships and their new Viceroy Don Martini
Henriquez, too, with his thousand soldiers.  What’s all that to us?  We
can soon settle accounts with them, and their odds.—I never once thought
of counting the number of Spaniards or Frenchmen, or of their ships
either.  Before we shall have sunk or burned the half of them, it will be
very difficult to find the other half.  We are not only a match for them
on the open sea, but here they are at our mercy, keep them out, and then
the gale will do for them.

DRAKE.  Well said, Old Rough and Ready, you know how to deal with
Spaniards.  If you trust them, Hawkins, you will rue it all your life.
(_Exeunt_).


SCENE III.—HARBOUR OF SAN JUAN DE ULLOA.


_The Spaniards during the night have got possession of the batteries on
the heights_, _filled with men a hulk close to the Minion_, _in order to
board her_.  _Their fleet of thirteen large ships arranged for action_;
_their guns brought to bear on the English_, _who are unprepared_; _many
of their men having been decoyed into the town_, _the battle commences
with an attack on these_.  _The English fight their way to their boats_,
_and pull for their ships_.  _The Council of War on the deck of the Jesus
see it and get ready for action_.

               _Enter_ HAWKINS, DRAKE, BOLTON, and HAMPTON.

HAWKINS.  Comrades!  This harbour of San Juan de Ulloa wears a different
face this morning from that it bore when we last surveyed its beauties
from this deck; and doubtless inspires you all with altered feelings.
With what hope we entered it, as the last waves of the angry sea broke
vainly in our wake, and when we dropped anchor, our shattered barks rode
easy as seagulls on the waters of the peaceful bay.  We congratulated
ourselves on our escape from danger—on the profits of a successful
voyage—and we surveyed the beauteous landscape in comfort and security.
How vain the dream!  How changed the reality!

BOLTON.  Glad as I was then, General, of its friendly shelter, I would
rather the fiercest gale that ever howled its threats in the open ocean,
than behold that thunder-cloud gathering over our heads (_he points to
the batteries_).  How did they get possession of these forts?

HAWKINS.  Our men, deceived by pretended friendship, cajoled by favour,
and seduced by the fascinations of the Creole women, have been allured
into the town.  During the night the enemy seized the batteries.

DRAKE (_looking towards the town_).  They are reaping the bitter fruits
of disobedience now, or I am much mistaken.  (_Shouts_, _tumult_, _and
confusion of a multitude intermingled with shots and cheers come from the
shore_.)  Hark to that!  It is an English cheer and an angry one!  It
cuts sharp and clear like the tone of a fife through the roar of battle.

_Shouts of_ SAILORS ON SHORE.  Hurrah for Moone!  Stick to them boys!
Hurrah!

DRAKE.  That’s Moone in the front; how he wields his axe!  He cleaves
them like sheep in the slaughter house.  That’s big Jack Winter, with the
boat-hook; he handles it as if it were a quarterstaff.  How he scatters
the little Spaniards!  Brave boys, lay on!

BOLTON.  The crowd falls back before these two men, (_great excitement on
board the Jesus_).  Our fellows have the best of it.  They have gained
their boats and are pulling for their ships.  (_Shouts continue_, _the
sailors in the boats hail_).

SAILORS IN THE BOATS.  “Jesus a-hoy.”  (_The sailors on board begin to
crowd the deck in great excitement and prepare to cheer_).

HAWKINS.  Hush!  No cheers as you value our safety.  Silence!  Silence in
the ship!  Boatswain, all hands to quarters in silence.  Men to the guns,
deck watch, stand by to get under weigh.  (_He rushes about to restore
order_).

HAMPTON.  Could not our fellows by a sudden charge surprise the forts?

HAWKINS (_With assumed confidence_).  It is too late, alas!  But I signed
the treaty with an Ambassador of Spain, and with Philip’s Viceroy of all
the Indies.  We have their honour and the credit of their nation for its
fulfilment.  Upon its conditions I gave them entry into the harbour, and
saved them from destruction.  Suppose they have got possession of the
batteries, they are bound to give us safe and peaceable right to victual
and re-fit, with freedom of departure.

DRAKE.  Oh Hawkins, delusion, mere delusion!  A treaty when you have not
the means to enforce it.  There is not a moment to waste.  Action!
Action!  (_With energy_) Prepare for instant battle, or it will be every
way too late.

HAMPTON.  They are getting into line with springs on their cables, so
that every gun may bear.

DRAKE.  And the batteries, they are pointing the guns on us.  Look there
Hawkins.  You have the weather gage, make for them under all sail; with
the command of the wind, you can give a double broadside.  Set your ship
on fire, and run her aboard the Admiral.  In the confusion take to your
boats and pull for the Minion.  We shall pepper away, and get to sea.  On
the blue water our legs will be too long for them, should they dare to
follow us.  Goodbye, God bless you, Hawkins, should we not meet again,
(_they shake hands_).  No surrender.  Victory or death.  (_Exeunt_ DRAKE,
HAMPTON, _and_ BOLTON.)   (_Scene changes_.)


SCENE IV.—THE BATTLE OF SAN JUAN DE ULLOA.


_The harbour filled with burning ships_.  _The Jesus is aboard the
Spanish Admiral_, _both in flames_, _yet still fighting broadside to
broadside_.  _Three hundred Spaniards attempting to board the Minion from
a hulk are being repulsed_.  _The Jesus and the Minion in font_.  _The
Spanish fleet at the back_.  _Deck of the Jesus_.

HAWKINS.  Blaze away, my sea-dogs, stick to the Admiral.  Don’t let him
out clear.  Hurrah! upon bows and guns.  (_He turns towards the Minion_.)
See!  They are on the deck of the Minion.  Hurrah for Hampton!  Stick to
them gallant tars.  Pike, axe, and cutlass, follow me.  (_He rushes at
their head through the pinnace on to the deck of the Minion_, _shouts and
cheers as they clamber over the bulwarks_).  Hah!  Minion to the rescue!
Down with the traitors!  Down with the villains, Hah! the axe of Moone!
Great Winter, hurl them overboard with a run.  Brave men, strong men,
hurrah for merry England, the day is ours, God gives us the victory;
Hurrah!  Hurrah! (_with great eagerness_).  Look to the deck of the
Jesus, Hampton.  How well our men behave.  Fire upon the Admiral, ply
shot and shaft.  (_They shoot_) Hah!  The long bow of England against the
world.  These are the scorpions that sting our foes.  My gallant fellows
have done their work, they are both blazing.  It’s all up there, keep the
Spaniards in confusion and let our men get away.  (_They are crowding
into their pinnace and leaping overboard_).  Boats and spars for those
that are in the water.  (_Men run about with spars_).

HAMPTON.  Out with the sweeps and try to crawl ahead, we shall fall in
with a cap-full of wind, once clear of the vibration of the guns.

HAWKINS.  Now serve out the ale.  (_Leaning exhausted against the
main-mast_, _he calls to his cupbearer for Ale_).  Samuel, fill me a cup
of ale, for my very soul is exhausted, but I thank God for this
deliverance, (_his cupbearer hands him a silver goblet_, _he comes
forward and poises it in the air_).  Here’s to our Noble Queen and her
heroic Tars!  (_He quaffs the Ale and lays down the goblet_, _which a
cannon shot dashes to pieces the moment his hand quits it_, CAPTAIN
HAMPTON _rushing forward to assist him_).

HAMPTON.  Are you hurt, General?  That was a narrow escape, but we are
accustomed to such chances.

HAWKINS.  It was the will of God, Hampton—a warning voice to give him the
glory.  There is no such thing as chance.  He has not done with me yet.
(_Look_, _he looks around._)  But we are all right now.  Avast rowing,
let us have a view of the battle-field.  Heavens! what a wreck, they are
utterly disabled.  (_The harbour is strewn with wreck_.  _The Spanish
fleet is blazing_; _some driven ashore_, _some sunk_, _the masts and
flags appearing above water_).

HAMPTON.  The Jesus is burned to the water-mark, but she has done her
work.  She has set fire to the Admiral, the flame has spread.  They are
all either destroyed by fire, shot to pieces, or driven ashore.  It is
truly marvellous how so small a force should destroy a powerful fleet
like that.  You ought to have taken Drake’s advice to seize them with all
their arms, ships, treasure, and batteries of the place; then we should
have been masters of Spain and the Ocean.

HAWKINS.  Let us be satisfied.  You see I was hampered with the Treaty,
and our undetermined, perhaps divided Government.

HAMPTON.  Say the traitors in the Government!—Damn the Government!—Damn
the Treaty!—But as you have said, General, perhaps we should be satisfied
with our lives.  There is Drake and the Judith ahead.  Pull away my boys,
there is not a breath.—What a lull the storm of battle leaves, as if the
very Ocean quailed.  Hurrah upon the starboard sweeps!  Hurrah! (_the
ship is drawn off_, _the Orchestra striking up_ “_Rule Britannia_.”)

                                                          _Curtain falls_.



ACT III.


SCENE I.—PLYMOUTH.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

       _They all burst into laughter_, _with a hearty recognition_.

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

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

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

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

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

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

KILLIGREW.  Well, but it is under negociation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                 _Enter_ SIR EDWARD HORSEY _from behind_.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


SCENE II.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CROWD, Hurrah!  A Cobham!  A Cobham.

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

HAWKINS.  What of him, and the rest?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                        (_Scene changes_).


SCENE III.—THE TERRACE OF GREENWICH PALACE.


         (_Enter_ QUEEN ELIZABETH _and the_ SPANISH AMBASSADOR).

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

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

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

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

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

                                                                 (_Exit_.)

        (_Enter_ SIR HENRY KILLIGREW _and the_ EARL OF LEICESTER)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


SCENE IV.—A ROOM IN THE PALACE.


                        _Enter_ QUEEN _and_ CECIL.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                          _Curtain falls_.



ACT IV.


SCENE I.—DECK OF THE PACHA.


_Nombre de Dios_.  _Moonlight_.  _The bright Caribean sea and luminous
sky_.  _The islands with their picturesque forms and foliage_.  _The
ample bay with its rivers_.  _The land covered with forest_.  _The
mountains in the far distance_, _with snow-clad summits_, _above the
range of the highest clouds_.

DRAKE.  Land of wonder!  Beauty!  Richness!  Abundance! which poets in
their wildest flights of fancy never dreamed of.—Beyond!—The vast
continent, stretching one knows not whither.  Whose bowels teem with
gold.  The appanage of a single crown.  Such is the greatness and the
wealth of Philip—enough to conquer or to bribe the world wasted in his
feeble hand.  Our cockle-shells have sailed these summer seas without
control.  Spain’s giant frame asleep—incapable—or paralysed.  How easy to
sweep her from the sea.  That looms in the future.  It flits before me
like distant land—now seen in sunshine—now lost in haze—a shapeless form.
Still the vision never leaves me.  Even in my sleep my country grapples
her; always triumphant—fiercer—stronger every time.  The death struggle
wakes me—I see it clearly—Spain falls—and England takes her place.  Here
comes our canoe of observation, her low black outline scarce
distinguishable from a ripple of the ocean (_the boat comes alongside_,
JOHN DRAKE _and_ OXENHAM, _with an Indian_, _climb upon the deck_) Well
Brother, I trust a good report?

JOHN DRAKE.  The course is clear.  Seize the batteries and take what you
like.—There’s not an armed ship in the harbour.

DRAKE.  I’ll give them a lesson for the one they taught me at San Juan de
Ulloa.  Therefore cut down, burn, destroy—save only gold, silver, jewels,
and things worth carrying away.  I’ll teach them to leave off their
bloody work.

OXENHAM.  Well, General, we have done pretty fair, to put our hands in
practice.  For months we have sailed through these parts—sacking towns,
burning houses, sinking ships, crews and all, plundering and taking
prizes, without being over scrupulous as to kind or quantity.  Has there
been a church, within our reach, where we have left a chalice, or a
crucifix, worth carrying away?

DRAKE.  The real work is now beginning.  This Nombre de Dios is the
shipping port for Spain—the store house of her treasure.  Gold abounds
here.  Men, women, children—the proud Castillian—the feeble Creole—the
wild Indian, are covered with it.  Who is this you have brought with you?

OXENHAM.  Oh!  We have found a treasure worth the whole plunder of the
town.  This is one of the noble Symerons, who defend their country
against the invader.  He will tell you all, and introduce you to his
countrymen, at war with the Spaniards.

DRAKE.  Oh, excellent! (_he turns to the Indian_) I am glad to be
acquainted with one of the oppressed children of the land.  We English
hate Spaniards like you, and have come here to make war upon them.  What
is your name?

INDIAN.  Chiruca.—I am son of the Great Cacique who after the massacre of
our people by the cruel Alonzo de Ojeda and the robber Enciso, rallied
our nations against the invaders.  We have heard of the brave Inglesos,
and the terrible Drake.  I came to seek you with an offer of friendship.
Five great Caciques, with all their warriors, will join you against the
foe.  I will be your guide to them.  You must go up the rivers of
Panama—fight them in the woods, and seize the Racoes with the treasure.
Our nation will assist you.  I shall send Symerons by land to bring them
to meet us.

DRAKE.  The thing I most desire is to cross the Isthmus and catch a
glimpse of the great ocean on the other side.

CHIRUCA.  Nothing can be easier.  We shall conduct you through
fruit-laden forests, which yet a Spanish foot hath never cursed.

DRAKE.  Good!  When we shall have surprised and plundered Nombre de Dios.
(_The men are bustling into the boats and making ready for the
attack_.—MOON _salutes_ DRAKE _and eagerly observes_).

MOON.  That galleon at anchor, General!—Would’nt it be as well to cut
away her rigging and send adrift her boats, as we go in?  She might make
sail whilst we are engaged.

DRAKE.  Well said, my boy.  You’ll see to that.  Clip her wings and make
her wait our pleasure.  We can ease her of her precious burden at our
leisure.  Now, my men, for action!  Nombre de Dios is a victim bound for
slaughter, and delivered into our hands.

MOON (_saluting_).  The Pinnaces and boats, General, are manned and
ready.

             _Officers are bustling about and giving orders_.

DRAKE.  Well done, Moon!  You wait for orders.  (_To_ OXENHAM.)  A word
before we start, Oxenham.  You land on the left—lead your corps round to
the back.

OXENHAM.  And that high ground on the east, General.  There might be
cannon there?

DRAKE.  Take it in your way.  Then push for the eastern gate; it leads to
the royal treasure house.  Wait there the signal.  Here is a plan of the
place (_he points to it with his finger as he gives it to him_,
_explaining it_).  You see the course is clear and simple.  When you hear
the first volley, rush in with tremendous shouting, and meet me in the
market-place.

OXENHAM.  I shall be there, if alive.

              _Exit_ OXENHAM _with his corps in a pinnace_.

DRAKE.  Now then pull for the Quay.  Away, my men, away!  (_Exeunt_).

                                                          _Scene changes_.


SCENE II.—THE MARKET PLACE.


_With the main street leading down to the harbour_, _crowded with
English_, _shouting and firing_.  _In the distance the bay_, _with the
ships_.  DRAKE _enters at one side with his men_, _charging_.  _As they
enter a volley is fired at them by the enemy who immediately fly in
confusion_.

DRAKE.  Where are the longbows now?  Give them your bolts, scourge them
with English hail!  Brave Oxenham!  Here he comes true to promise.
(_Enter_ OXENHAM _with his men from the other side_, _shouting_).

OXENHAM.  Hurrah my boys! (_the bowmen shoot cheering_).  Hah!  They
can’t stand that sort of storm blast, in these latitudes, general.  We
have carried all before us.

DRAKE.  The town is ours.  Now to secure the treasure.  (_Confusion_—_The
English mustering and charging about with their axes and longbows_).

  _Enter_ MOON _with two Spaniards_, _prisoners_.  _The men cheer him_.

MOON.  Here are two prisoners, general.  I have granted them their lives
on condition that they lead us to the treasure store.

DRAKE (_in much delight and surprise_).  Lucky Moon!  To the treasure
store!  (_Confusion and rushing about_).

ENGLISH (_shouting_).  To the treasure store!  To the treasure store!

1st SPANIARD.  Here is the king’s treasure house at hand!  (_He turns to
another side of the Market-place_, _and points to a wide door open_,
_with lights burning_, _exposing piles of gold and silver bars_, _with
quantities of precious stones_).  How strange!  The great doors open, and
lights burning! (_aside_), some traitor—an Indian perhaps.  There is
treasure for you, enough to freight a fleet.

OXENHAM.  We don’t want so much at present.  Only about fifty tons of
gold, and a few cases of the largest pearls and emeralds, (_cheers and
laughter_).  That’s what I call moderation.  But we shall pay you another
visit, (_he points to the heaps_).  I say Moon, there’s something to look
at.

2nd SPANIARD.  I have been a merchant, accustomed to the wealth of Spain,
in the East, and in the West, and can say the world has never seen such a
mass of treasure.  That single pile of silver bars is seventy feet long,
ten wide, and twelve feet deep; I have measured it.

DRAKE, _who has been badly wounded in the action_, _is seized with
weakness and staggers for support_, _leaning on his sword_.

DRAKE.  Oxenham, you and Moon will see to all this.  I am faint with loss
of blood.  (_He falls down fainting_, _alarm about him and running to his
assistance_.)

OXENHAM.  Look to the General, men.  Give him some wine; bear a hand.
Come on with your flasks!  Has no one a flask?

MOON.  All’s right, he revives.  Here comes a supply?

_Enter_ JOHN DRAKE _helping along_ BILL SAUNDERS _loaded with wine_,
_almost drunk and brandishing a great silver tankard_.

SAUNDERS (_singing_).

   Good wines the stuff
   Just drink enough,
   You’ll never, never die.

Holy Neptune!  The General’s down.  Here’s the drug to revive him.  Here
General’s the genuine sherries, the true philosophers stone (_laughter_).
No that’s not it—the elixir of life.  Why it would raise the dead.  See
how it has revived me.  (_He staggers_.  _Laughter_.  MOON, _interrupting
him_, _seizes the bottle_.)

MOON.  Now we have neither corkscrew nor drinking cup, what is to be
done?

SAUNDERS.  Do you think you lubber, Bill Saunders would forget that, and
the General so bad?  Here’s a bit of pewter will do what’s wanted, if
handsomely used.  Show me the bottle, (_he seizes the bottle_, _knocks
off the neck with the tankard_, _and filing it presents it to the General
with much applause_).  Drink, General!  (DRAKE _takes the cup_, _drinks
and laughs_).  That’s the medicine—the true agua vitæ, as a murdering
Spaniard would call it.  Damn them!  The thieves know what’s good, it has
the strength of Samson in it.  Look at me that was killed dead, and am
alive again, and all from that blessed liquor.

SAILOR.  If you were dead Bill, you were dead drunk.

SAUNDERS.  You lie like a doctor or a lawyer.  I was only looking after
something to revive the General.  (_Laughter_.  _He is dragged aside by
the __sailors_, _who make fun with him_.  DRAKE _sitting up with some
gathered round him assisting and persuading him to go aboard_).

OXENHAM.  Now General, we must have you carried aboard.  You require rest
and repose and your wounds seen to.

ALL (_crying out confusedly_).  Aye!  Aye!  That’s it.  Take care of the
General, England can’t spare him.  Let’s get him aboard.

OXENHAM.  Besides, your presence is unnecessary.  The town is in our
hands, not a tongue durst wag, not a dog durst bark.  They know their
masters.

DRAKE.  Well! brave friends and comrades, as you will.

       DRAKE _is carried away amidst cheers from his devoted crew_.

OXENHAM.  Now, about getting our stuff aboard.  Lord we could not stow
the tenth part of it.

MOON.  Our Spanish friend here is right, it would freight a fleet.

JOHN DRAKE.  It would sink ours.

OXENHAM.  What a thundering shame! to send us out on such an expedition
with two or three cockle shells, when with proper outfit and English
hearts to back us, we could enrich the nation.  But it is always the way
with our government.  They care more for her enemies than for England!
(_He walks aside with his hands up in great indignation_).

JOHN DRAKE.  What would please you in the way of Government, Jack?

OXENHAM (_with great energy_).  To get up a fleet, man it with true
British tars, rovers and volunteers I mean; give the command to Hawkins
or Drake, then let Philip see how long his galleons could keep the sea,
(_exultingly_).  We would soon transfer the Indies with all their wealth
to the crown of England.

MOON.  Suppose Jack you were in authority, as King of England.  What
then?

OXENHAM.  By all the stars in heaven I would begin with stringing to the
yards arm, every Jack in office.  But come let us go ahead with this
little job.  First, where’s our transport?  Take a guard Moon, scour the
town for horses, mules—everything that can carry.  (_Exit_ MOON _and
others with him_).  Now men, with a will.  Muster your gangs.  (_Pointing
to the great silver pile_).  Hurrah! upon these silver bars!  (_They rush
about with bars of gold and silver_, _preparing to load them_.)

JOHN DRAKE.  Avast there!  Serve out the wine now.  I’m sure we are all
ready for it.  Where’s Bill Saunders?  He’s the man for that.  (_Laughter
and cheers_).

ALL.  Hurrah for the wine!  Hurrah for Drake!  Hurrah for the Queen!

OXENHAM (_looking out_).  Oh!  I see MOON coming with a crowd of horses,
mules and people.  In the meantime, Saunders, you may as well enliven us
with a stave—One of your moralities you know, just to let these Spaniards
see how little we care for them.

ALL.  Hurrah for the song.  Now Bill!  (SAUNDERS _hesitates_).

OXENHAM.  He’s backward.  It’s his modesty, (_laughter_), lend a hand
there, heave him ahead!

_They gather round_ SAUNDERS _laughing and push him forward to the
front_.  _Hitching up his breeches sailor fashion_, _he prepares himself
to sing_.

SAUNDERS (_looking round at them_).  Come on then, boys, and chime in all
hands, keeping time with the stroke oar, like jolly tars.

                                     I.

   The Greeks in dreams of Paradise
      Did golden apples try
   To make thy trees Hesperides
      Their immortality,
            But wine’s the stuff
            Just drink enough,
            The Nectar of the sky.

                                     II.

   Our father Noe knew the way,
      He planted us the vine,
   And Poets sing, and Prophets say,
      His knowledge was divine.
            For wine’s the stuff,
            Then drink enough,
            You’ll Never!  Never die!

                                    III.

      When fevers, plagues, or blows are near.
   Or surging seas run high,
      We fearless Britons drink and cheer.  (_They cheer_).
   And face our destiny!
            Oh Wine’s the stuff,
            Just drink enough,
            And never fear to die.

                                     IV.

   Be sure you don’t the Doctor call
      Pill draught, and Bolus fly,
   For if you take them, one or all!
      Just bid your friends good bye!
            Good wine’s the stuff,
            Then drink enough,
            And never say you’ll die!  (_Laughter and cheers_).

ALL.  NEVER SAY DIE!  Hurrah!  Hurrah!

                                                        (_Scene changes_).


SCENE III.—CREEK IN THE RIVER CHAGRES.


_The deep forest around_.  _Distant mountains_.  _Deck of the_ “_Pacha_.”
DRAKE _and_ CHIRUCA.

DRAKE.  This seems a hiding-place retired enough.  Yet! should the
Spaniards come here, and so many of us absent?

CHIRUCA.  There is no danger.  They know nothing of this region.  Five
nations of warriors are in arms against them.  Our homes will be your
homes; our food will be your food; the beautiful daughters of the land
will be your wives; we will love you like brothers; we will join with
your great nation; your great Queen shall be our Queen.  This affair of
Nombre de Dios will fly through our people; now we know you can give us
vengeance and drive these robbers away.  England shall have all the gold.

DRAKE.  The more I see of this river the better I like it—the very haven
for a pirate ship.

CHIRUCA.  Here, then, I leave you, noble Drake.  To morrow (_pointing to
the mountains_) before those mountain tops are red with the rising sun,
we shall meet at the junction of the streams.  Adieu! (_he prepares to
leap_)

DRAKE.  Stop!  Won’t you have a boat?

CHIRUCA (_waving his hand declining_).  Adieu!  Adieu! (_he leaps
overboard and swims ashore_)

DRAKE.  Marvellous speed.  These Indians are amphibious.  They can swim
like beavers.

                                                          _Scene changes_.


SCENE IV.—TWO STREAMS MEETING AT A POINT OF LAND,


_On which grows a tall solitary Palm_, _its feathered branches waving in
the morning air_.  _The densely wooded banks reflected in the still
water_.  _The horizon in the background_, _a Sierra of lofty mountains_.
_The sun rising and illumening their tops and sending his rays along one
of the streams_.  _A canoe coming down the shining river_.

 _Enter_ DRAKE, OXENHAM, MOON _the carpenter_, _and others in a boat from
                                the side_.

DRAKE (_after a pause looking round_).  I don’t see our dark-visaged
friends; I hope there is no mistake.  One cannot exactly apprehend
treason.  These Symerons hate as well as fear the Spaniards, and would
neither aid nor trust them.

OXENHAM.  True, General, our foes are theirs.  From them they have
nothing to expect but the slavery of their race or death.  Gold they
value not—thus cruelty and treachery defeat themselves.  Spain can never
be trusted.  To us they look as friends to aid them in their vengeance.

DRAKE.  What a tide of Spanish blood is due to them—a nation crushed,
tortured, massacred, enslaved, driven from such a paradise as this, or
seeing it blasted before their eyes.  Such is conquest; such a foreign
yoke, (_aside_) England, look well to it!  There are men, and Englishmen,
who would thus degrade their native land, the glorious and the free!

OXENHAM.  It seems not like the wickedness of man—not to speak of
Policy—Spain clothes herself with hate and terror.  Her soldiers have the
air of fiends from hell; their mission to destroy.

MOON.  There is no danger, General.  This is the spot—the junction of the
two streams, and the solitary cocoanut tree on the point.

OXENHAM.  Right, Moon, all right.  There it is rearing aloft its head
like a mighty standard—its giant plumes just waving in the morning air—no
mistake!

DRAKE.  What a picture!  How strangely beautiful!  An there were here
some limner of Nature’s Physiognomy, with cunning to throw her wondrous
effigy on his magic canvas; that dark still water, noiseless and deep,
stealing snakelike through the monstrous foliage, mirrored in its glassy
surface; that proud Sierra; the distant horizon, and the rising sun,
tinging with purple glory its snowy tops, sending the sheen of silver
along the opening river.

OXENHAM (_abruptly_).  Here comes the canoe, like a regiment of men in
single file.  What a length of side! and made out of a single trunks.

MOON.  It would puzzle a fellow like me, with only a little arithmetic,
to count them.  Lord! it shoots like an arrow.  As we speak it is at the
bank.  Hurrah! there is our friend Chiruca in the bow.  He is now you see
an Indian Chief, and waves his eagle plume to us.

_The canoe with the Indians arrives_, _loaded with fruits and other
provisions_, _and drinks of the country_.

DRAKE.  Brave Chiruca, welcome! (_they embrace_)

CHIRUCA.  Welcome to the land of our fathers, noble Drake.  (_He points
to his companions_.)  These are the sons of Caciques, who have come to
welcome you; the Chiefs who will gather round you; the valiant of their
tribes (_they prostrate themselves before_ DRAKE, _who by the instruction
of_ CHIRUCA _raises and embraces them_).

OXENHAM (_to_ DRAKE _aside_).  This is the best move yet, General.  We
are now at the very throat of Spain.  I have long had this in my eye, and
kept it to myself.  Make a nation of these Symerons, but the gold and
pearls first.

DRAKE.  I can see farther, John.  I mean to ascend the heights and behold
the other ocean—what Spain is doing.  The source of all her wealth lies
there.

_Indians_, _loaded with provisions_, _proceed up the precipitous rock at
the side_; _others armed with lances and bows mingle with the English_,
_and prepare to accompany them_.  CHIRUCA _approaches_ DRAKE.

CHIRUCA.  Friend Drake!  We wait for you; the sun is above the mountains,
and warns us that time passes (DRAKE _takes him by the arm and points
forward_).

DRAKE.  On then, Chiruca.  Looking at these precipitous rocks—those
tangled forests—those foaming cataracts—the stern outline of that high
Sierra—the task would seem hopeless.

CHIRUCA.  Gold and silver, in loads, traverse these heights on mules and
llamas.  We will show you the Recoes and their Spanish escort.  With your
men of iron, we shall make short work of the guard, and carry off the
treasure.  We will ambuscade them for you, and mow them down with
poisoned arrows.  You shall see them fly, as from a pestilence, or the
scourge of the evil one.

DRAKE.  Lead on.

CHIRUCA.  This is the way.  Follow me.

    _The Indians bound up the face of the rock and disappear under the
                             hanging shrubs_.

MOON.  That’s what I call a flying leap.  Body o’ me!  They’re birds or
antilopes—not men.

DRAKE (_he calls up to_ CHIRUCA).  Call you this a path?  To get up there
would require the wings of one of those Condors that have scented death
from the Sierra, and are sailing over our heads, ready to pick our bones,
should we break our necks.

MOON (_with a heavy axe_, _and several other things_, _produces a rope_,
_which he has coiled round him_, _and throws one end up the rock_).  I’ll
show them a trick, General, that will beat all their jumping.  (_He
prepares to throw the rope_)  Look out there aloft! (_he throws_)  Now
make fast Chiruca (_he runs up the rope amid much laughter_).

DRAKE.  Well done, Moon!  Always prepared; he’s loaded like one of
Llamas.

          MOON _slides down again and holds the rope for_ DRAKE.

MOON.  There, General, I have tried it for you.

DRAKE.  That was a bright and seamanlike thought, Moon.

                 DRAKE, OXENHAM, _and the others ascend_.

MOON.  I wish I had brought a kedge anchor and a block or two with me, I
think we shall need a whole running gear and tackle before we shall have
warped through all these shoals and narrows (_he secures about him his
axe and various implements_, _and ascends the rope_, _amid cheers from
the top of the rock_.  _They are seen crossing over a deep craggy
ravine_, _on a bridge of ropes twisted of fibres of trees_, _and so
disappear in the distance at the other side_).  _Scene changes_.


SCENE VI.—PALACE OF THE INDIAN CACIQUE.


_First_, _the hedge of Prickly Pear_—_the outer defence_.  _Secondly_,
_the Moat with the drawbridge_.  _The ground in front of the Palace_.
_The surrounding country of rich and fertile plain_.  _Further off the
wooded heights_, _and winding Savannahs_, _with Lakes_, _Streams_, _and
waterfalls terminating in the Sierra of lofty mountains_.

      _Enter_ DRAKE, CHIRUCA, _and the party across the drawbridge_.

CHIRUCA (_he points to the Palace_).  Behold the home of my Fathers! the
Palace of the Great Comagre! (_they hold up their hands in astonishment_)

DRAKE.  Grand! rich! sublime!  Nature has sown thick her gifts and
broadcast.  On earth and sky every element of the picturesque is here;
the horizon of that Majestic Sierra, with its streams and waterfalls! the
lake sleeping in the gorgeous light of evening; those fertile vales;
those cultivated fields and gardens of productive industry; the tall
forest teeming with fruits and flowers, loading the breeze with spicy
odours, and which the declining sun paints in the tints of Heaven.  Who
would not fight for such a country?

CHIRUCA (_he points to the defences_).  This hedge is our outermost
defence.

DRAKE.  Neither horse nor man could enter it without death.

CHIRUCA.  Behind it you see the moat.  The only entrance, the Bamboo
swinging bridge, can be defended with a thousand bows, whose poisoned
arrows carry certain death.  The Palace, enclosed in a stone wall,
contains beside the dwelling apartments, accomodation for warriors to
defend it, stores for provisions, and cellars for making and keeping our
various liquors.  But here comes the Great Cacique to welcome and honour
you.

_Advance of Indian Warriors whose banners are the blood-stained shirts of
Spaniards slain in battle_.  _Their musicians sound shells and beat
drums_.  COMAGRE _appears at a little distance_.  _His dress is a white
cotton robe fantastically embroidered_, _confined at the waist with a
belt of gold_, _bearing a dagger_; _which as well as his arms_, _is
studded with precious stones_.  _His limbs otherwise naked_, _similarly
encircled_.  _On his head a crown consisting of a band of gold curiously
wrought_, _with points on which were enormous pearls_, _and studded with
emeralds_, _and other stones of lustre_.  _This over a cap of scarlet_.
_From this crown he was called by the Spaniards_ “_Bonete d’ Oro_” “_Gold
Cap_.”  _He prostrates himself on the ground thus to await_ DRAKE.

DRAKE (_astonished_).  Haste, Chiruca! your father has fallen!

CHIRUCA.  No! this is our ceremony of welcome to an honoured guest.  He
thus shows his devotion to you.  It is for you to advance and raise him
up.  (DRAKE _advances and raises the_ CACIQUE, _who then warmly embraces
him_.)

COMAGRE (_embracing_ DRAKE).  Welcome, welcome, noble Englishman!  The
terror of your great name—your matchless exploits, have struck our foes
with panic.  We hail you as a deliverer.

DRAKE.  Thanks!  Great Comagre, I have heard of your valorous deeds also.

COMAGRE (_holding him by the arm_, _leads him towards the Palace_).
Come!  Come!  (_Exeunt into the Palace_.)

                                                          _Scene changes_.


SCENE VII.—INTERIOR OF THE PALACE.


_The_ CACIQUE’S _family ranged on a dais_.  _The women are clothed with a
short white cotton petticoat round their middle_, _elaborately
embroidered_, _their limbs __naked save for the bands or circles of
gold_.  _Their heads decorated with chaplets of flowers and jewels_,
_their necks with ropes of enormous pearls_.  _Rings of gold and jewels
in their noses and ears_.

COMAGRE.  I will show you over my Palace, noble Drake, whilst a repast is
being prepared for you.  (_Exeunt_ DRAKE _and_ COMAGRE.)

                                                          _Scene changes_.


SCENE VIII.—THE HALL OF THE DEAD.


_A retired and sacred part of the building devoted to the purpose_,
_richly decorated and stored with masses of gold and silver_.  _A long
line of mummied dead_, _dressed in robes of cotton_, _elaborately
embroidered_, _and covered with jewels_, _are suspended to silver bars_,
_and vibrating strangely with the gentle air through the open casements_.

     _Enter_ COMAGRE _and_ DRAKE, _who_, _startled and amazed at the
                  unexpected scene_, _recoils with awe_.

COMAGRE.  This, noble Drake, is the Hall of my Ancestors—the sacred
mansion of the dead.  There they are! (_he points to them_).  In hours of
sorrow or danger I visit them.  Their spirits come from the happy land to
sympathise with mine.

DRAKE (_much interested_).  Are these the real bodies of the dead?  How
have they been preserved?

COMAGRE.  The art is of ancient time, and came from beyond the great sea
with the first fathers of the land.  They are dried by fire, then wrapped
in cloth of cotton with potent spices.  Their robes are embroidered by
the hands of our women, skilled in a secret language, which perpetuates
to their descendants the memory of their deeds.

DRAKE.  They are covered with gold and precious stones, which you would
do well to conceal from the Spaniards.  These diamonds and emeralds,
these rubies and pearls are of priceless value.  Not all the Royal Crowns
and robes of Europe could show the like.  They are safe from us; but if
they were the property of Spain, I would tear them from convent, church,
or altar.

COMAGRE.  Noble Englishman, ’tis for this I love you, and have sought
your friendship.  I have opened my home—my treasures—my heart to you.
Give us vengeance! if not protection.  Friend hear the wrongs of our
country in the presence of these noble dead.  It is now a few years,
since two Spaniards, sinking under fatigue and hunger, were captured in
the forest having fled for their lives from their own cruel countrymen.
They should have been put to death at once, being Spaniards, but the
kindness of our nature prevailed.  They were saved, brought home to the
village, protected, nourished, treated as brothers.

DRAKE (_deeply interested_).  How kind!  How good!  Well, friend?

COMAGRE (_with bitter indignation_).  Well!  They held secret intercourse
with our foes.

DRAKE.  Treacherous villains!

COMAGRE.  With the very men who had doomed them to ignominious death as
traitors.

DRAKE.  Which they deserved.

COMAGRE.  Betrayed the homes, the wealth, the secret paths of those who
had sheltered—saved them.

DRAKE (_greatly excited_).  Wretches!

COMAGRE.  Well! without preparation or notice, in the darkness of the
night we were attacked—robbed—massacred.  The village was set on fire,
men, women, and children were hurled into the flames.

DRAKE.  Inhuman monsters!

COMAGRE.  The morning sun rose upon calcined bones, and blackened ruins,
where before was pleasure, loveliness and peace!

DRAKE (_holding up his hands and walking about in great excitement_).
Horrible recital!  Barbarous, unprovoked!  Brutal cruelty!  This is worse
than the ravening of wild beasts.

COMAGRE (_with intensified rage_).  Wild beasts!  The rage of the most
savage beast of the forest is gentleness compared with it!  The boa will
gorge himself and go to sleep.  The ferocious puma will pounce upon a
single victim and his appetite for blood will be appeased.  But the
ruthless fury of the Spaniard, when exhausted with slaughter, calls upon
the devouring flames to aid him, and commits to senseless havoc, what his
licentious appetite cannot enjoy, or his insatiate avarice carry away!
(_He pauses breathless_.  _Then walks about with hurried step_, _gasping
and frantic with rage_.)

DRAKE.  The same everywhere—Spain wars upon mankind, like fiends.  The
object, slavery or desolation.

COMAGRE.  Give us revenge—Smite!  Kill!  Destroy the accursed foe!  On
with your devastating thunder, those iron mouths that wing their viewless
death from far, that dauntless heart, that powerful arm.  Come on
Brother; come, Revenge.  Revenge!  Revenge!  (_Dragging_ DRAKE _along_,
_exeunt_).

                                                          _Scene changes_.


SCENE IX.—THE FOREST.


  _Ascent of Panama_.  _The party scattered about_.  _Enter_ DRAKE _and_
                                 CHIRUCA.

DRAKE.  We have heard of wonderful treasure among your people, which has
escaped the rapacity of the Spaniards.

CHIRUCA.  There are whole provinces, where they have never set a foot,
and where every mountain stream runs gold.  It may be gathered in nets
and baskets.  The greatest collection of such riches was in the temple of
the Goddess Dobeba.  Vasco Nunez projected its plunder.

DRAKE.  The name of the Deity, and her temple is new to me.

CHIRUCA.  It is known and sacred, through all the Indian races.  Our
traditions tell us of the beginning of things, and a mighty female—the
mother of the God that made the sun and moon, and the good things of the
earth.  She has the controul of the elements, and directs the thunder and
lightning.  A temple of gold, with the rarest gems and woods, was erected
to her.  Here pilgrims flocked from far and near, bearing rich offerings.
Caciques of the most distant territories paid annually costly tribute to
her worship.  The temple was filled with treasure, walls and gates were
gems and gold.  The whole land abounds with these as plentifully as iron
with you.  The great Caciques furnish their tables, nay cook their
viands, in vessels constructed of gold and silver, behold that great
cattle trough at the fountain—It is of silver.

DRAKE (_eagerly interrupting_).  But the golden temple and its treasures,
I hope the villains did not get them?

CHIRUCA.  No, friend Drake.  The goddess took care of that—Zemaco, Lord
of Darien, got wind of their purpose.  Repairing thither with the Cacique
of Dobeba, he despoiled the temple, and carried off the wealth of the
Province.  Our enemies ere they reached the spot, found a land of
desolation.  Led into a region of swamp and morass, with a deserted
village, he looked round and was without a guide.  Still he picked up
some thousand ounces of gold, which the flying inhabitants had left.
Despatching it down the river in two canoes he began his retreat.  Before
him yawned the morass, or spread the wilderness.  Comagre had joined
Zemaco, and hovered round with thousands of Indian warriors.  His march
was through showers of poisoned arrows, through starvation and
pestilence: for the goddess had blasted the soil!  When the remnant of
his wretched band arrived at the coast, it was to behold his brigantines
wrecked, his canoes with their precious freights swallowed up in the
raging sea.  The goddess moved the elements and stirred the briny deep to
avenge her on her foes.

                                                          _Scene changes_.


SCENE X.—THE MOUNTAIN TOPS.


_With precipitous crags and a great cataract with river running down a
deep gorge at the side_, _lined with rocks like walls_.  _They have
arrived at the last peak and stand at the foot of the precipice_,
_looking up in despair_.  _The Indian observing them a little amused_.

DRAKE (_looks up with surprise and doubt_, _aside_).  Does our way lead
up that wall, of alternate cliff and forest? (_turning to_ CHIRUCA)  Must
we climb that bald peak, just kissed by the rising sun, and glowing in
his beams like molten silver.  Whilst night still holds possession of
hill and valley?

MOON.  It seems to me, General, a mighty barrier to mark the limits of
the world.

CHIRUCA (_amused at their dismay_).  Vasco Nunez climbed the very top, on
the same errand, and a band of followers loaded with their heavy armour.
They struggled over rock and precipice—through river and torrent—through
morass and forest—and had to fight their way through hostile nations at
every step.  One half their Lion-dogs (_Leonicos_) as they call their
bloodhounds, and a vast number of the band, perished by fatigue, hunger,
and poisoned arrows.  With difficulty he regained his ships with a mere
handful of his followers.  I shall, however, conduct you by easy paths
and pleasant valleys, to a plateau, from which you shall behold the great
Pacific reposing at your feet: and gangs of treasure-laden mules and
llamas, with their escorts, worming their difficult way across the
Isthmus.

DRAKE (_with interest_, _surprise_, _and doubt_).  Lead on my friend!

CHIRUCA _turns and points_, _smiling maliciously_, _to the right_, _where
there is deep chasm or gorge_, _with high cliffed sides like walls_,
_through which rushes a foaming torrent from a cascade at the top_,
_thundering over a shelf_.  _Wild beasts playing about_; _a tiger
watching the party on the opposite bank_.  _A curious bridge_, _or rather
rope_, _at a little distance_, _extended across with a sort of chair on
it_—_all of bark_, _twisted and wrought_; _an Indian means of transit_.

CHIRUCA (_pointing to the chasm_).  Our way lies over here.

_They all look with amazement and dismay at the yawning gulf_.  _They
confer and gaze again and again with various emotions_; _some jeering_;
_some angry_; _some laughing_.  CHIRUCA _smiling observes them_.

DRAKE (_aside_).  Easy paths!  Pleasant valleys!  Humph!  You jest with
us, Chiruca.

MOON.  By all the host of heaven Indian, you might as well tell us to
jump from the verge of the earth into Jupiter or Saturn or our nearest
neighbour among the stars, or as we should be then lunatics, into the
moon.  (_Laughter in which they all join_).

CHIRUCA (_archly_).  I must go foremost I see, and show you the way.

MOON.  Take my advice, and put on a pair of wings and then have a care.
I remember hearing a Friar reading about some ancient philosopher who
made wings, and thought he could fly; but the sun melted the wax with
which they were stuck together, and he fell into the sea, and was
drowned.  (_Laughter_).  The open sea and an oak plank for Thomas Moon.
(_Laughter_).

SEVERAL VOICES.  Aye!  Aye!  Moon!  That’s your element.  You’re at home
there.  (_Laughter_).

CHIRUCA (_Not heading the observations_).  I must first settle with that
tiger, who is preparing to seize the first who crosses, and that will
show you the power of a poisoned arrow.

_The Indian bends his bow and shoots_.  _The tiger tumbles over the cliff
into the roaring torrent below_.  _They all look surprised at one
another_, _conferring on the marvellous effect_.  _The Indian ascends the
rock a few paces_, _enters into the car or chair and as by magic appears
to fly across the ravine_, _upon the rope_.  _He immediately returns_,
_and whilst he is dispatching them over_, _one by one_, _the scene
changes_.


SCENE XI.—THE PLATEAU AND THE GREAT COTTON TREE.


_Before them the high bold peak or summit of Panama_, _on either side the
two oceans_.  _On the South_, _the pacific with the city of Panama_, _and
the Isle of Pearls in its bay_.  _On the other side the Atlantic_, _with
Nombre de Dios on the Coast_, _and the Caribean sea_, _with its islands_.
_The Isthmus_, _with a Reco or transport of treasure winding through
defiles_.

CHIRUCA.  We stand upon the Plateau, noble Drake.  The ocean you desire
is spread before you—an endless waste of waters, dark, fathomless,
unknown!  How say you—is it enough?  If not, there’s the bold peak (_he
points to the summit_).  We can ascend like Vasco Nunez.  But the labour
would be vain—the danger something, and time inexorable flies.  The sun
has half performed his course.  Here is the Atlantic.  (_He turns to the
North_, _pointing_).  You see the islands where the Carib dwelt—now
desolate—the race extinct! or slaves! (_with bitterness and passion_).
Spain plants her foot upon a land, and sows the soil with death.  (_He
turns with aversion to the South_).  On the South, behold the ocean,
which they say is boundless, save for the islands far away, from which
Tradition tells our fathers came—and where our spirits go.  Spain’s proud
ships pollute its waters now, and carry gold in safety.  There! (_he
points_).  Just below, is Panama, where they collect the treasure, and
out in its beauteous bay, the Isle of Pearls, famous for these gems,
which even our Indian women prize so highly.

DRAKE (_much interested_).  I noted their magnificence and profusion on
the family of the Cacique.

CHIRUCA (_eagerly seizing_ DRAKE _and directing his attention_).  See!
See! in the far distance that long line of beasts, and men straggling
along the edge of a deep gorge, some labour up the mountain pass and see!
(_with energy_) how others slide down rocks.  Poor beasts like men,
enslaved.  (_Turning to_ DRAKE _who is much interested_).  That is a
reco—a transport of treasure, (_with triumph_).  That treasure shall be
yours!  (DRAKE _looks at him with surprise_).  I have sent a spy to dog
their movements.  He will meet us at the place of ambuscade to night!
Let me see.  (_He counts the number of the beasts forming the transport
to himself_).  Mules!  Llamas!  It is a great one!  Tons of treasure!

DRAKE.  Noble Chiruca, you have fulfilled your promise.  The Globe’s wide
surface presents not such another sight.  (_Aside._)  The Atlantic
seaboard I have already taxed for vengeance.  My interest now lies here!
(_He extends his hand towards the Pacific_).  An inward impulse knits me
to this ocean.  The very sun upon its surface pours peculiar lustre.  It
waves seem gold—tinged with the loads they carry.  They shall bear a
nobler freight!  Wondrous prospect.  Two oceans that embrace the earth!
But do I look with mortal eye on real things—or rapt in Prophet frenzy,
gaze on vision?  I feel my soul expand, o’er time and space, with energy
divine and newborn hope.  Two hostile fleets contend upon the flood, and
dye its waters red for mastery.  ’Tis Spain and England!  The World! the
prize between them!  (_He looks up_).  Give me, O Heaven, to sail that
sea; proclaiming to every longitude thy law.  That man is free.
Down-trodden slave of Ignorance, look up, thy God is nigh!  Look up and
break thy fetters!  Thy charter from on high, is Liberty.

CHIRUCA (_he comes to_ DRAKE _who absorbed his own thoughts had wandered
aside_).  Friend Drake (DRAKE _is startled out of his reverie_).

DRAKE.  Pardon me, noble Chiruca, I was lost in deep reflection.

CHIRUCA.  Well, how like you our observatory?  Our enemies know it not.
Yet by land and sea their game is played before us.  Nor is it new—our
fathers chose it.  Mark you this tree?  It is of ancient growth and is
our watch tower (_he leads_ DRAKE _towards it_).

DRAKE.  It looks as if ’twere planted at creation.  When things were
giants all! (_eight men are standing round it fathoming_).  Measure the
circumference, Moon.

MOON (_pointing to the men for answer_).  Eight fathom, good, General.

CHIRUCA.  There is an arbour in its branches which holds a dozen people.
Let us ascend.  (_He leads_ DRAKE _to the tree who examines it_).  You
see these steps cut in the trunk of yore?  Follow me.  (_The Indian
ascends followed by_ DRAKE _and others_.  _As they are seated in the
arbour_, _they break into loud cheers above_, _taken up by those below_.
_The Indians joining in it dancing and clashing their arms_.)

MOON.  Three cheers for the Queen! (_cheers_)

OXENHAM.  Confusion to Philip! (_cheers_)

                                                          _Scene changes_.


SCENE XII.—THE FOREST.


                     _Cocoa nut trees with monkeys_.

              _Enter_ CHIRUCA _and_ DRAKE _with the others_.

CHIRUCA.  Above a hundred mules and as many llamas loaded! tons of gold,
silver, and, precious stones.  You must form your own idea of their
value.  We wonder at your desire for such useless stuff.

DRAKE.  And you consider that we can intercept and take them?

CHIRUCA.  Of course!  We are eighteen English, and thirty Symerons, and
you know that one Englishman is equal to ten of them.  We shall trap them
like wolves or buffaloes; in fact, the Spaniards will show us their heels
at the first volley from our bows; and the attendants who hate their
tyrants will lead the beasts wherever we order.  The ambuscade is just
below us—close at hand.  We can rest, and refresh ourselves here till the
hour.

DRAKE.  This is a rich and beautiful valley, but toiling through it under
a burning sun, is dry work, and then to be tantalized with these
delicious fruits!

_He and_ CHIRUCA _throw themselves on a bank to one side_.  _The rest
gather themselves into the centre_, _and are engaged talking and
laughing_, _when Bang_! _Bang_! _Bang_!  _Down comes a shower of cocoa
nuts from a mob of monkeys_, _who thus commence petting their invaders
and scamper through the branches screaming and hurling their missiles_.
MOON _is knocked down_, _and scrambles up in alarm_, DRAKE _and_ CHIRUCA
_laughing at the sport_.

MOON (_running off_).  Holloa there, messmates!  Look out for squalls,
what the devil’s up?  A legion of Devils, I think.  (_He peeps from
behind a free_, _laughing with all the others_, _who have betaken
themselves to shelter_.)  I call that Panama hail, boys, (_laughter and
cheers from all_.  _The monkeys also chattering in triumph_.)  Hark to
the devils, how they chatter and triumph.  Hand me your longbow, Oxenham,
and I’ll spoil the sport of that long-tailed rascal, (_looking up_), I’ll
change your grinning.

DRAKE.  Never mind, comrade!  Let the poor things have their triumph.  We
shall enjoy the fruits of victory.  Bear a hand with your axe, and open
some of these nuts.  Give us a drink of the juice.  (_Moon falls to
opening the nuts with a gimlet and his axe_, _whilst Indians hold
Calabashes for the liquor_.  _The rest having gathered melons_,
_plantains_, _bananas and other juicy fruits into a heap_, _are eating
and enjoying themselves_.)

OXENHAM (_eating a banana_).  Why Tom, you have brought your whole chest
of tools.

MOON (_laughing_).  Yes, John, so have you; but you carry yours in your
mouth.

CHIRUCA (_to_ DRAKE).  We are at no loss for refreshing drinks, friend
Drake, in our forest (_he points to a large tree_).  Here, friend Tom,
just notch this tall trunk, and get ready your calabashes.  (DRAKE _comes
forward to see_.)  This is one of our largest and most valuable trees.
The Spaniards call it Palo de Vacca (the Cow Tree).  Now friend Tom!

MOON _gashes the great trunk and out rushes a stream of milk_, _which the
Indians catch in calabashes and hand round_.  _They all begin to drink_,
_exclaiming_.  _Excellent_!  _Wonderful_!

DRAKE.  This is marvellous!  In the hands of a monk it would pass for a
miracle.  It scarcely differs from real milk, and will not be believed in
England.

MOON.  It beats cow-keeping, as far as a dolphin does a flying-fish.  I
bethink me of bringing home some slips and setting up a dairy in old
Plymouth! (_laughter_)

VOICES.  Your cows would all die of the cold, Tom.

MOON.  Belike, General, if I should cut off a junk and put it to the
fire, we might have a joint of roast beef.  Heh!

ALL (_with burst of laughter_).  Try it, Tom!  Try it, Tom!  You’ll find
it hard to digest (_cheers_).  You’ll need a marlin spike next to pick
your teeth, Tom (_cheers_).  Ha! Ha!  The roast beef of Old England
growing on a tree! (_cheers and laughter_).

_The Curtain falls_.  _The Orchestra striking up_ “_The Roast Beef of Old
                                England_.”



ACT V.


SCENE I.—PORT ST. JULIAN, PATAGONIA.


_Rugged rocks of the coast_.  _Small plain with scanty vegetation_.
_Black snow-clad hills around_.  _Gibbets and gallows_, _with skeletons
suspended to them_, _the remains of Magellan’s sailors executed for
mutiny_.  DOUGHTY, with FLETCHER _the Chaplain_, _sitting on a rock_.
DOUGHTY _pensive and melancholy looks down upon the ground_.

 _Enter_ DRAKE, WINTER, _and the other members of the Court Martial with
   crews of the different vessels_.  _They range themselves in order_.

    CAPTAIN WINTER _holding a paper_, _is about to read the sentence_.

DOUGHTY (_starting up with energy and emotion_).  You need not read!
(_surprise on all_) already sentence is pronounced.  Conscience in her
own court—Herself the judge—who only knows the deep-dyed guilt of dark
sedition, hath decreed my doom!  (_Abruptly_).  You’ll bear me witness!
I die thus self-condemned.  I dare not live!  Life would be a Hell! where
worms unseen, the viper tooth of fell remorse would ceaseless gnaw the
ever waking mind.  I could not face my country brave men’s contempt, the
multitudes ferocious scowl.  Death is my sole relief and refuge.  Thus
would I whet your vengeance, or your justice.  I have conspired your
ruin, worse than death, to foil your project, give you up to
Spain—(_Great excitement and indignation_).  To fire and faggot, tortures
inflicted on the brave before you! the Cadiz galleys, dungeons of
Seville—burnings in the plazas of Mexico and Madrid—the yelling crowd—the
vengeful monks gloating over the writhings of your agony.  In self
defence you have the right to slay me!  Sentence is idle form.  Self
doomed I choose to die: I only ask that unrecorded I may pass away, and
SILENCE be my epitaph! (a _conference between_ DRAKE _and_ WINTER
_aside_)

WINTER (_turning to_ DOUGHTY).  Thus then let it be.  To morrow we have
fixed for execution.

CREW.  So say we all!

WINTER.  Till then, Mr. Fletcher, he is in your charge.  The task of
preparation for his end be thine.  (_Exeunt the court._)

DOUGHTY.  Here my life must end, where I thought it had but well begun!
Ambition’s bright mirage with hope deceitful lured.  Its distant plains
glowed in the sunshine of a feigned success.  Success!—by what
instruments?  The base, the dastards—traitors to treason’s self.—The
means?  Murder of brave companions, with whom I vowed to live or die.
Dethronement of a noble Queen, to whom I swore allegiance.  For what end?
To set a foreign tyrant on her throne—thus to enslave my country, which I
love.  Foul!  Faithless!  Traitor! (_he rushes about in distraction_,
_beating his head with his fists_).  Crime against nature!—against
God!—’gainst England—’gainst myself!—for I am, or was, an Englishman!
Reason!  Judgement!  Honour!  Great nature’s guardians of the heart and
conduct.  Where were you, when I was tempted thus?  Like drunken
sentinels—deserters from your duly when needed most.  Oh guilt! beyond
all law to constitute a crime, or court to punish! (_writhing under
remorse_, _looking upward_) Doughty, I try you here.  (_Striking his
heart._)  Thou shall not live—Doughty decrees your death!  Could I but
die outright, and leave no name! (_he looks at the dismal prospect
distractedly_) Place—suggestive of eternal death!—Where life itself in
cold obstruction!—Icy apathy!—Ye rugged rocks, and snow-clad hills,
bleak, barren plains—where nature sleeps in frost.  Waste, howling,
wilderness—a living tomb!  Huge walls of mountain—strange birds—strange
beasts—wild men, more savage still, than the sterility that bounds their
lives.  Ye savage winds—fierce angry gusts to howl one’s requiem.  All
looks like silence and forgetfulness! (_his eye catches sight of the
skeletons_)  Hah!  Magellan’s Traitors!  There swing your mouldering
bones.  Fit place for execution.  Ye paid your debt.  Would the penalty
had blotted treason from the world!  Now, death, I welcome thee!  (_He
takes a bottle from his bosom_—_holds it up_—_drinks the contents and
throws the bottle away_.  _The Chaplain rushes forward to arrest his
hand_.)  Fletcher, I was prepared for this.  Who plots should count the
cost.  So perish treason!  The tyrant’s tool—the curse of liberty—that
foils the patriot in his hour of might!—And.  This poison’s
quick!—Fletcher, thou art my friend!  (_He looks at him imploringly_.)
You’ll see me decently interred and let my crime be buried with my bones.
England thou art avenged.  Be free and happy!  (_He begins to
stagger_—FLETCHER _supports him_.)  Friend—the end is near.—Oh! I have
much to say; and speech deserts me!  (_He totters_.)  I—I—(_he sinks down
holding_ FLETCHER—_and making an effort to speak dies_—.)

                                                          _Scene changes_.


SCENE II.—THE QUEEN’S PRIVATE CHAMBER.


_The_ QUEEN _walking about in deep thought_, _with anxious uneasy
gestures_, _and hesitating step_, MRS. ASHLEY, _her waiting woman
watching her intently_.  _The_ QUEEN _stops in front of a marble table_,
_backed by a large steel mirror in which is reflected_ LEICESTER’S
_symbolic present_, _scarcely less vividly represented in the polished
surface on which it reposes_.

QUEEN.  Marvellous production!  What art thou?  How camest thou forth,
thus full of fearful meaning, and whence this atmosphere of thought,
surrounding thee, arresting attention for thyself, bearing the rapt soul
beyond the present, with prophecy sublime and breathing power to tell
without a tongue, of coming greatness!  Beneath the frenzied eye thou
dost assume proportions grand, looming its giant abstract, through dim
futurity.  No creature of Leicester’s paltry brain art thou.  No
workman’s unreflecting labour, no design of common art assembled those
ideas, above the mortal mind.  Conception vast!  Some angels prompting
through an artist’s skill, fathomless to me.  I’ll try the common mind!
(_She turns to her waiting woman_).  Ashley, you know how high I hold
your tact and judgment, in the subtle, tortuous ways of life, your clear
opinion of men and things.  How many changes you have seen! a rare
experience yours, through the late bloody reigns.  Mine has been sad, but
you have lived longer.

MRS. ASHLEY.  Yes, my dear mistress and still of most concern to me, was
what concerned your Royal Majesty.  They knew well how truly I loved you,
when, on your return to Ashridge after your release from Woodstock, you
sent for me; and they committed me to the Fleet.

QUEEN.  Ashley, that was a terrible time—rather say, the end of terror.
One can bear to recall its memory.  It was a trumpery malice, to send my
faithful servants to prison.  They dared not any longer molest me,
personally, for the shadow of Lord Howard fell, like a blight, upon the
Court.  Even in his absence, his form stalked ever before the eyes of
Philip and his Spaniards.

MRS. ASHLEY.  God bless the noble Howard, the noblest of his name.  He is
the hero of England.

QUEEN.  God bless him, I say again, Ashley.  (_Aside_).  He has not seen
this yet.  (_She lays her hand upon the emblematic device_.  _Then
stepping backward a few paces_, _deeply ponders on it_.)  I wonder what
he will say.  But his mind and bent runs in that groove, like Drake,
Hawkins, and Killigrew, the Tremaines, all that fighting band.  They have
the one dominant idea.  “England must rule the sea,” and that they can do
it.  Look well at that Ashley and tell me what your common sense can make
of it.  (_The waiting-woman looks at the figures_, _then at the_ QUEEN
_scrutinizingly_, _as if to find out her secret_.)

MRS. ASHLEY (_with hesitation_).  It is a beautiful thing and means
something.  More than it seems.  It is a riddle for Dr. Dee to read.
(_Again she looks_, _with half malice at the_ QUEEN, _who is too intent
to observe her_).  Belike it is a love present—belike your Majesty is
coming to the point at last.  (_The_ QUEEN _starting out of her reverie_,
_and looking at her companion sharply_).

QUEEN (_impatiently_).  What point, Ashley?  Dost thou understand it?
Can’st thou read the future of thy country?

MRS. ASHLEY (_peering inquisitively at the_ QUEEN).  Belike your Majesty
will now marry the beautiful Earl?

_The_ QUEEN _starts as if electrified_—_her eye flashing_—_every feature
twitching with disappointment and rage at the unlooked for
answer_—_clenching her hands_, _and stamping with her feet_, _she
exclaims_.

QUEEN.  Blood of my kingly father!  What damned wench in the corrupt
court.  Hirelings and traitors, in his pay, or some one’s else, has got
up that foul scandal?  And thy old head to prompt it at such a time!
Surrounded with treason—threatened with invasion—without Counsel on which
I can rely—drifting along on a tempestuous sea, with no other pilot than
my own isolated wisdom—my tortured mind sought in glowing visions of the
future for comfort, and repose! (_she walks about excited_, _then comes
in front of her companion_, _who trembles for the consequence_).  Dost
thou thus misthink me, woman?—that I will act so unlike myself—so far
below majesty—I, that have refused the greatest of princes—as to lower my
dignity (_then raising herself do a loftier tone_) and the crown which my
heroic people put on my head because they deemed me worthy to wear it,
and to defend their glory and their rights, as to share it with a thing
like Leicester?  And that thou—thou above all—who hast known me.

MRS. ASHLEY (_on her knees_, _in an imploring attitude_) My beloved
mistress I—I—I only meant it—

QUEEN (_in great agitation_).  Away!  Away—Ashley!  Leave me to myself to
calm this raging madness.

MRS. ASHLEY (_clinging to her robe_).  My beloved mistress! do not drive
me from you in anger—It would break my heart (_sobbing_).

QUEEN (_soothingly raises and kisses her_).  There then!  My faithful
Ashley!  There! (_kissing her again_)  There now!  Leave me for a little
and come again.  (_Exit_ MRS. ASHLEY _sobbing_.  _Looking after_ MRS.
ASHLEY.)   My true, devoted, faithful friend—tried in affliction—that has
known my inmost nature, as I thought—and yet, to misthink me thus!  Well
might the venal creatures of a corrupt court—gnawed by the constant
worms.—Envy, malice, and all uncharitableness!  (_She bursts into
tears_—_sobs convulsively_.—_Then recovering her pride and dignity_,
_comes forward_).  No! marriage is not for me.  The lily or the gentle
violet may take root and bloom in fertile valley and peaceful shade.
(_fiercely_)  The oak shall brave the storm!  It is the will of God!
(_She pauses_—_then firmly continues_.)  I will fulfil my destiny!  Nor
throne, nor duty shall be e’er divided.  My duty is my
country’s—entire—exclusive—none to spare for husband.  I consecrate
myself to England!  No stain shall sully the lustre of the offering.  Let
foes calumniate, and vipers spit their venom.  Providence, that foils the
assassin’s knife, will yet unmask the falsehoods!  (_Walking with proud
step and uplifted arm she exclaims with exultation_) Time, the revealer,
will avenge me!  Yes, History! History! thou wilt be just at last!  (_She
pauses in great emotion and excitement_.)  A lonely orphan—in cruelty and
oppression—your generous spirit rose my bulwark.—The roar of an indignant
people thundered their resolve that I should be their Queen!  That
earthquake shook the land!  Murder, with axe and poison, slunk back in
terror.  Perish my name; when I forget my
country!—England!—Proud!—Generous!—Brave!—Land of hospitality and
freedom!—Thy glory!—Thy happiness be mine!—Thee only will I wed!—Thee
only!—Thee only! (_exit_)

                                                          _Scene changes_.


SCENE III.—CENTRE OF THE PACIFIC.


_The deck of the_ “_Golden Hind_” _dashing along under full sail_.
_Sailors carelessly lounging_.  _Night_.  _The full moon_.

                        THOMAS MOON, HIXOM, NOBLE.

MOON (_at the helm_).  I say, Hixom—Is not our craft a seaboat and no
mistake?  She steers herself.  See how she answers to the least touch of
the helm, and cuts the water like a dolphin.  Never did I see her in
better trim.  Sometimes she seems to me a thing of life, that knows the
value of her precious freight, and anxious to see its effect on merry
England.  How she plunges forward in the fall of the swell, like a
racehorse at the winning post.

HIXOM.  We may well be proud of her.  We have never chased a thing of any
size or rig, we did not overhaul.  Lord! we could sail round any ship of
Spain, or through the very midst of her Navy.  But this was a wary dodge
of our General, to take the round of the Globe.  We are safe to bring our
prize home now.  What think you, Bill Noble?

NOBLE.  As for the little craft herself, I never trod the deck of the
like of her.  She was well named the “Pelican.”  And now, in respect of
what she carries—a freight as never was entrusted to a wooden plank
before, fitly benamed the “Golden Hind.”  As to landing it safe at
Hamoaz—for the matter of speed or fighting, I should not much mind.  But
it was never my experience to see the canvas all spread in an unknown
sea, at night.  I have been to China with the Portuguese and I know these
channels are dangerous!

MOON.  Lord, I am anxious to see Old Plymouth, and hear the shouting when
the Rovers salute us sailing up the Sound, with our bunting all
abroad.—It would be a pity to shorten sail.

HIXOM.  There’s no danger messmates.  We have open sea room—the moon is
up.—How brilliant she rises, and rapid, in these latitudes!  It’s all
fair weather with us now.  (_Bump_! _bump_!)

ALL (_crying out in alarm_).  What’s that?  Did you hear?  What’s that?

              _Another bump_; _and the Vessel sticks fast_.

NOBLE.  Oh!—My God!  I expected this!  My wife!—my children!  I shall
never see them more (_wringing his hands in distraction_).

_Screams of alarm among the deck watch_: “_We are sinking_”—“_We are
lost_”—“_She’s on a rock_”—“_Get out the boats_”—“_Call the
General_—_Call all hands_.”  _The crew is rushing up on deck_.  _Great
confusion_.

DRAKE.  Silence in the ship!  Get out an anchor astern, and heave her
off!  Boatswain!  All hands to quarters!

_The Boatswain pipes and cries to quarters_.  _They are rushing about
pulling ropes_, _and launching the boats_.

                                                          _Scene changes_.


SCENE IV.


_Deck of the Golden Hind_—_Midnight_, _the moon behind a cloud_,
_constellations of the southern hemisphere brilliant in the deep blue
firmament_.  _The ship Argo amid the waves_, _the dove_, _bird of hope_.
_The raven on the back of the sea serpent_.  NOAH _sacrificing at the
altar_.

DRAKE (_solus_, _looking at the stars_).  Yes!  Yes!  This is no fancy,
no vain imagination, no conceit of poesy—visible to sight and evident to
sense.  It is, it must be—The ark of promise, the greatest fact of
history—The deluge, writ by God himself in his own firmament, eternal
monument of wrath and justice.  I never questioned sacred truth, but if I
had that constellation were itself enough to anchor my soul to reason,
and bid the baseless doubt begone!  (_A figure appears in the air with a
book under one arm_, _whilst the other points to the Constellation Argo_.
_The figure is turbaned and otherwise brilliant with the hues of an
oriental costume_.  _His long white hair and beard float like a streamer
on the deep blue of the sky_.  DRAKE _starts and staggers back with
uplifted hands_).  Hah!  Wherefore now?  Is this the end?  Art come to
see my horoscope fulfilled?  Zill-Allah!  Shadow of God, Arab Astrologer,
or Jew of Fez, or whatsoe’er thou art that visitest me so oft, in
sleeping, aye, and in waking dreams, since first I learned the stars from
thee under the clear sky of burning Africa, still as now before me.  Thy
beard of snow floats like a meteor, under thine arm a book, the other
pointing to thy early lesson.  (_The Spirit gradually
disappears_—_dissolving into a brilliant white cloud which suddenly
becomes dark_, _whilst the dove on the ark becomes brilliantly
illumined_.  _A voice says_, “_Have faith_, _look up_.”  DRAKE _starting
in horror looks around_).  Who speaks?  (_No answer_.)  I do not surely
dream!  I heard a voice which said, “Have faith, look up.”  I look, (_a
pause of wonder_).  Bright bird of hope, I take thy luminous omen, I will
have faith.  My God, the work is Thine, Thy servant in thy hand is but
the staff, the wood cannot lift itself.  Let it not glory, have faith.
(_He falls down upon one knee_, _his face buried in his hands in deep
thought_).

                           _Enter_ JOHN DRAKE.

JOHN DRAKE.  My brother, did you call?  You look troubled.  Ah!  This is
the last of us.  Our stirring lives are now near acted out.  The first
slight swell will dash our bark to pieces.

DRAKE.  I fear not death, how often have I braved it—I trust in him who
hitherto has shaped my course.  What I have seemed to do with means
inadequate is evidence of power beyond me.  My destiny is not my own to
deal with.  He who made me has the right to end me.  And now I know
deliverance is at hand, though human skill do nothing towards it.  See
you this southern vault of heaven, ’tis one great oceanic record of the
past, (_he points to the Constellation Argo_.)

JOHN DRAKE.  You mean the Constellation Argo, the famous ship of Jason
and the Golden Fleece.  The dove that sits upon it!  What a strange light
it flashes.

DRAKE.  Ship of Jason, humph!  Tradition grand, perverted to a Grecian
fable.  That is the ark of Noah!  I never told you how at Fez, a sage
once took strange fancy to me, and taught me knowledge of the spheres.  A
man of wonderment and awe, he came and went unquestioned and unknown,
without a friend or country, yet with boundless wealth.  Some thought he
was an Indian necromancer, some a Jew, some said he was an Arab, and
practised Alchemy.  He cast my horoscope, and told my destiny.  “Born,”
he said, “for great adventures, strange revolutions on the sea, a pebble
in the sling of God to smite the power of Spain, and raise thy country to
her place.”  (_He walks musing_).

JOHN DRAKE (_with emotion_).  The story, brother, is full of wonder,
strange being this!

DRAKE.  He showed me by the stars—that the celestial sphere was made at
Babel—a record of the deluge when the great event was new.  Zill-Allah,
so he called himself, “Shadow of God,” knew all languages, the sacred
tongues of India, Egypt, Juda.  The story of the flood is in them all,
because they came from Babel.  The dispersed who formed the nations
brought them thence, who else had all been dumb, for language is beyond
invention, ’tis the gift of God.  In that high tower of rebel pride were
lodged the sciences.  The heavens were charted, the celestial sphere was
formed, and when the awful deluge filled their minds, they wrote its
tragic memory in the stars.  Argha, Arg, Ark, the same in every tongue.
The ship of Noah.  (_He looks at his companion who is deeply absorbed_,
_then points up_).  Behold the raven on the serpents back, there is the
dove—Bright bird of hope—its symbol, there the great Father of mankind,
the victim and the altar, around the monsters of the deep and the wild
waves—(_Both are earnest and absorbed when the ship rocks and slides_,
_they are startled and agitated_.)

DRAKE (_startled but calm_).  Thy will be done.

JOHN DRAKE (_much excited_).  God of mercy!  She is breaking up!  All
hands on deck!  (_He runs about alarmed and screaming_) she is breaking
up, all hands on deck.

(_The crew rush upon deck in alarm_, _the ship rolls to one side_, _then
falls off the rock into the sea with a heavy plunge_, _as if
overwhelmed_—_a loud scream from the sailors_, _she suddenly rights and
glides off uninjured_, _the crew recovering from their alarm break into a
loud cheer_).

CREW.  Hurrah!  Hurrah!

DRAKE.  Down on your knees and give thanks for your deliverance!

(_The ship is hauled off_).

                                                          _Scene changes_.


SCENE V.—ROOM IN HAMPTON COURT.


_The_ QUEEN _alone waiting for_ LORD WILLIAM HOWARD, EARL OF EFFINGHAM.
_She walks back and forward in deep abstraction past a large steel
mirror_.  _She is startled and arrested by catching sight of the
reflection of herself_.

QUEEN.  Hah!  What aged companion thou, abruptly thrust upon me?
Unflattering mirror!  Thou art no courtier!  Care!—subtle poison—sure if
slow.—I see thy working.—Remembrancer I thank thee.  Still!  Providence,
I wait thy pleasure—though what a life!  An atmosphere of terror—my vital
air—to school me, doubtless, for thy purpose—to teach me cautious
circumspection.  Mysterious awe hung o’er my childhood—the latent
influence of my mother’s fate, though then to me unknown.  Nordic!  I
seem alone in this.  The taint was upon all around—a wrinkle on every
brow—a sorrow unexpressed in midst of joy and show, and brave
festivity.—Danger and insecurity seemed to sit on all!  England was
merry—loud the roar of wassail.—But thoughtful people stopped short in
laughter as if chid; and swaggering, warlike Britons, though in peace,
held themselves erect for fight.  The social heavens were black with
clouds—surcharged with thunder in the midst of sunshine.  Such! my
earliest—undefined impression.  Ever present—ever coming danger!  Yet I
feared not—rather longed to meet it face to face (_she walks musing_).
When Edward died, and during Mary’s reign, what portents scared mankind!
Unnatural frost bound the Earth, stifled vegetation dried up rivers.  The
Thames was solid till the month of May!  Showers of red hail, like drops
of gore congealed, sign of coming strife—a nation’s blood! and, as it lay
around the roses in their gardens, men thought of York and Lancaster, and
grew pale.  Births of hideous monsters; frighted women; bodies with
double heads and limbs.—Storms rent the welkin with unheard of fury, tore
trees of ancient growth up by the roots, and hurled them in wild passion
through the air!  The summer’s sun in hot July, as putting mourning on,
grew black as winter night.  Rain, a second deluge! flooded the houses of
terror-stricken London, and changed its streets to torrents.  (_Her
soliloquy is broken off by the entrance of the_ EARL OF EFFINGHAM.
_Enter_ LORD WILLIAM HOWARD, EARL OF EFFINGHAM.  _The_ QUEEN _rushes to
him_, _throws her arms round his neck and kisses him_, _with a transport
of affection_, _and tears of filial fondness_.)  My loved!  My honoured
kinsman!  My more than father!—that with heroic greatness stood to the
lone girl, through danger, death, and tyranny! (_she is overcome with
emotion_).

LORD WILLIAM HOWARD (_tenderly looking at her whilst he still
affectionately holds her_).  Thy sweet face is sad!  What clouds thy
queenly brow?

QUEEN.  At sight of thee, noble kinsman, the Tower and Woodstock, and the
hostile court, rise like hideous goblins—and the base courtiers tendering
their cold salutes, almost contempt.  Wretches!  I see them in vision,
cowering at the thunder of thy step and voice.  “Down on your knees to
her, and kiss her hand” you shouted.  Oh! the dismay of Philip and his
Spaniards!—the scowl of Mary!—Alva alone was firm.—Some one muttered
“Treason!—Tower!”

HOWARD (_with a proud and bitter laugh_).  Ha! Ha! Ha!  The Lord High
Admiral of England, to the Tower!—with the mariners of the Royal Navy—the
fifty privateers that kept our coasts—the best blood of England at my
back—a righteous cause—and the whole people agitated like a seething
pot—ready at a word to rise and tear your foes to pieces!  Philip and
Alva knew better.  Their heads were surety for yours!  I had let them
know that your father’s “deep ditch,” as he called the channel, lay
between them and Spain, and that I was the man who held the key of it to
send them to the bottom.  Gardiner too, and that dark villain, Renard,
were plainly told that one move more should cost their lives!  (_The_
QUEEN _in great emotion_.)  That was a revolution for them!  (_He walks
aside_.)  Philip, himself, then thought it prudent to take your part.
(_With sarcasm_) Treason!—the Tower!—Humph!  There were other
murmurs—Outside!—So that when Arundel, the very head of the Catholic
party, left the palace with me, he whispered in my ear, “I see
Elizabeth’s foot upon the steps of the throne.”  (_He walks aside
proudly_.)  My Royal Mistress, you were safe (_the_ QUEEN _in great
emotion flings herself upon him_).

QUEEN.  Uncle mine!  Uncle mine!  Call me your dear child as you did! at
Woodstock!  Father!  Friend!  Under God, my Saviour!  ’Twas you that
chained the Lions.

HOWARD (_solemnly_).  I was, perhaps, an instrument!—one of the raised
up—like yourself—blind led and passive—Nor words, nor actions, were my
own!—The dictates of mysterious power—unseen—and irresistible—ever forced
me on—that guardian angel which upheld you, and will uphold you—long as
you fulfil your purpose, and obey—

QUEEN.  Yes! yes!  Noble kinsman.  I have reason to thank God who all my
life has led me—often by devious paths—I knew not.—The end is his!

HOWARD.  Never was Monarch in greater danger than when in your progress
you stopped short at Richmond, to sift out of his cowardice and
vacillation the secret of Norfolk’s treason.  What foiled the foul
conspiracy at once?  No human light.  The impulse was divine!  No secret
spy; no base accomplice; no false domestic; no unfaithful friend betrayed
him.  Your own discerning eye unveiled his thoughts behind the flimsy
shield of shuffling falsehood and evasion.

QUEEN (_abruptly_).  And when he left the court without taking leave, I
saw he dared not face me—I had probed his heart—’twas confession of his
guilt.

HOWARD.  On such occasions, you are all yourself.  Your character breaks
forth in all its majesty of force—your resolution was electric.  As eagle
to her eyrie, you flew to Windsor, that seat of regal pomp and power.
You called no councils; lost no time discussing plans—You took the helm
yourself, and instinct pointed to the port of safety.  To seize the
prize, the very object of rebellion, was to cut it short at a stroke!
(_He walks aside_).  It was a masterly resolve to send Hunsdon without
notice or delay to carry the Queen of Scots to Tutbury, and there to
surround himself and his quarry with five hundred men.  The she-devil
stormed, and wept, and threatened; but Hunsdon was just the man to go
through with his work.  She understood it all—the game was up with her.
How I should have laughed to see Shrewsbury’s stupid stare, when your
order was presented to him.  Well, it was a marvellous conception, and
marvellously executed, but the instinct was not human; it was the dictate
of that guardian angel, which I maintain attends you through every
difficulty.

QUEEN.  Noble kinsman, it is strange, now that I reflect, I did it all
without a moment’s thought, without reason, fear or motive.  In fact, I
knew not why, but that I was constrained, and it was done.

HOWARD (_hurriedly_).  Then without an hour’s delay, to order the
greatest men in England, Pembroke, Arundel, Lumley, and Throgmorton—to
appear at court, and there to put them under arrest.

QUEEN.  They were men and patriots—friends at heart—and instantly obeyed.
They knew their heads were safe enough at Windsor.

HOWARD.  Insurrection, without leader or object was snuffed out.  But
these are not the men to put their country under a foreign yoke, whether
of Pope or Spain.

QUEEN.  Norfolk, too, I summoned to return.  His courage failed him, his
shaking fit came on and laid him up at Howard House to write his lying
sneaking letter, (_she shows him a latter_.)  See!  This from a Howard,
and great Surrey’s sun.

HOWARD.  I am ashamed of him.  That ague should have taken his life, and
saved his head.

QUEEN.  Yet I loved him, uncle.  How hard to sign his execution!  I would
have mourned his death.  How much his fall from loyalty and honour.
Howards should fall on fields of fame—Champions of England’s freedom and
independence—a wailing country follow to their tomb, and public monuments
attest their virtue.  Norfolk! minion to her foe! traitor to enslave her!
sinks to his doom, disgracing his proud name.  His friends must loathe
him—rebel, felon, slave and coward.

HOWARD.  He dies the worst of traitors—his treason against his country,
his religion—against mankind.  Perish rebellion with him!  England now is
safe, and marches on apace, to greatness of her own—the empire of the
ocean.—Wherefore doubt your fortune?

QUEEN (_sadly_).  Kinsman, my lot is cast in loneliness, a solitary rock
amid the breakers; danger, doubt and treason ever round me, knowing not
whom to trust.  My very council, blind to their country’s welfare,
squabble about foreign policy, and even if honest are divided.  Some are
for marrying me, in the interest of Spain, some in that of France.  Or
that I’m lost—Even Cecil.

HOWARD (_impassioned and abrupt_).  Sheer madness, either! to end in
civil war, and then in nothingness.  Was it for the good of England that
Philip sought your hand? and now would marry you to his minion, Austria?
Or that France would impose her wretched ape upon you?  No!  England
must, and can stand alone, against the world.  (_He walks aside proudly
agitated_).

QUEEN (_with decision_).  Fear not, noble kinsman; never will I divide my
crown with mortal man, nor barter the glory and independence of my
country.  Rather war! or death!  But I am harrassed—worried.  My court’s
a very comedy.  Here are at least a dozen Ambassadors intriguing, lying,
bribing among my maids of honour as if the hand of Elizabeth could be
thus obtained.  And (_laughing_) I am afraid they will cut one another’s
throats in my presence.

HOWARD (_laughing_).  Ha! Ha! Ha!  Comedy!  By my halidame, a good one
(_rubbing his hands_).  Lord, what fun to see the fools draw, and go at
it.

QUEEN (_laughing with affected surprise_).  By the soul of King Harry,
Uncle, you would make a Roman Amphitheatre in Greenwich Park, and fight
them there in pairs, like gladiators.

HOWARD (_laughing_).  Ha! Ha! Ha!  Capital!  Pitch them into the arena,
Leicester and Hatton with them, all armed with French rapiers to skewer
one another like Woodcocks.  We should look on as umpires.  But Cecil,
Sussex, and Walsingham—what do they mean with such nonsense?  ’Tis well!?
’Tis well!  The proudest boast that woman e’er possessed.  Philip
himself—every prince in Europe, that dares aspire, has sought your hand,
ready to throw himself at your feet.  A fact to blaze upon the face of
history—a testimony to character and greatness, to silence base
detraction and endure for ever.  Where’s our weakness?  Our danger,
where?  Our only danger, low intrigues, mixing with foreign quarrels, and
false allies.—England must dwell apart—her power—her path to glory lies
on the deep!  Her great sons must carry out her policy alone (_he walks
thoughtfully and returns_).  I ever hated doctrine-mongers—men of one
idea and crooked ways—dubious! indirect! unsafe!  The man who loves his
country, cannot mistake her interest, shoots straight at his mark and
rarely misses.  Danger!—Your Fleet—the daring spirits who man it—are the
envy of the nations who have already proclaimed you “Queen of the
Sea—Restorer of Naval Glory.”  Another thing, my Queen, England’s
Commercial Navy is a power unknown before.  Her merchants, enriched by
growing commerce, rival each other in the ships they build—all fit for
war—with English pluck to fight their own way upon the waves.  These,
with the Royal Navy, present a force of twenty thousand fighting men—a
match for ten times their number any day.  What foe will face them?  Ha!
Ha! Ha!  (_He walks aside in triumph_).  Philip could never bring his
Spaniards to that.

QUEEN (_with an expression of joy_).  Noble kinsman, still the same, to
comfort and encourage me.

HOWARD (_earnestly_).  One thing perhaps you may want—a little money to
build more ships, and keep for difficulties.  (_With an enquiring look_.)
What of Drake?  Have they no news at Plymouth?

QUEEN.  No!  But through Spain, notwithstanding efforts to conceal it, we
know his plunder is immense, and though every one else thinks he has gone
down, Philip, sleepless, and alarmed, is astounded, not knowing what next
may happen.  But Drake! poor fellow! I fear is gone for ever!  Magellan’s
Straits are guarded—return impossible, if alive.

HOWARD.  Alive!  What would kill them?  If the Spaniards should kill
these devils, there would be a noise the whole world would ring with.  As
to the straits being closed—Frobisher says there are other passages, and
that Drake’s the man to find them.  Drake’s the man!  He’ll find his way,
my life upon him.

QUEEN.  But, come, Uncle mine!  You’re out of breath with this
excitement, and I have had a smart ride from London, and need
refreshment.  I ordered my maids to horse right early.

HOWARD.  Ah!  You require your favorite beverage—a cup of good ale.
Ale’s the restorer.

QUEEN.  You know my mind upon that, Uncle.  It’s the natural drink of the
nation.

HOWARD.  I know I have ever seen the men fight best upon it, but I have
heard that some fool proposes a tax upon ale.

QUEEN (_laughing_).  What?  Tax an Englishman’s ale!  That would be the
next thing to foreign rule.  Come, kinsman!  (_She takes his arm_).

HOWARD (_aside as they go out_).  Marry a French frog! like that
pock-marred Alençon.  (_Grumbling angrily_).  I must have a talk with
Cecil.

                                                               (_Exeunt_).
                                                          _Scene changes_.


SCENE VI.—THE TERRACE OF GREENWICH PALACE.


                      _Enter the_ QUEEN _and_ DRAKE.

QUEEN (_laughing_).  Abajo Perro!  Down dog!  Brave boy!  I must see him
Drake, Ha! Ha! Ha!  Abajo Perro!  So he leaped foremost aboard, felled
the first Spaniard with his fist, shouting Abajo Perro.  God’s death!
How I should like to have seen the Spaniard sprawling on the deck.  Ha!
Ha! Ha!  A Plymouth boy you say.  His name, Drake?

DRAKE.  Thomas Moon, an it please Your Majesty.

QUEEN.  Humph!  Fellows have been knighted for less; he’s a hero!

DRAKE.  Such are the men that England wants, my Liege.

QUEEN.  And has, Drake, I am proud to say.  (_With eagerness_) Come!
Tell me about the great gold ship.

DRAKE.  As we neared, one broadside brought down her masts, a volley from
our longbows mowed her deck, like the scythe in standing corn; we shot up
alongside of her, our men rushed aboard, Thomas Moon foremost.

QUEEN (_laughing_).  Ha! Ha!  The Plymouth boy, Abajo Perro!  I shall
never forget that.  Ha! Ha! Ha!  Well, well!  Go on.

DRAKE.  Well, my Liege!  We cut away the wreck, towed her out to sea and
took charge of the precious freight at our leisure.

QUEEN.  That’s the way that British sailors do their work.  You
astonished the Spaniards.

DRAKE.  Your Majesty knows the rest.  Magellan’s straits were secured
against me, and I was not going to surrender what I had got.

QUEEN.  No, Drake was not the man for that.

DRAKE.  So I decided to take my chance, on the great unknown ocean, and
by the Cape of Good Hope.

QUEEN (_thoughtfully_).  The great unknown ocean, without chart or pilot!

DRAKE (_with an air of confidence_).  My Liege, I had the stars of
Heaven, and Him who set them in their courses, whose law I proclaimed
from my deck to every line of longitude on His globe!  (_Looking up with
reverence_).  Thus, Your Majesty’s little ship, having ploughed a furrow
round the earth, arrived safe in Plymouth with a nation’s wealth in her
hold.

QUEEN (_eagerly_).  Tell me all!  Tell me all.  Strange sights, strange
men, strange lands, a tale of wonder; (_she muses thoughtfully_).

DRAKE.  Your Majesty will have much to hear.  The story is long as well
as full of wonder.  Strange lands, I saw and took possession; there flies
your Royal Standard, I proclaimed you Queen.  The people flocked around
and swore allegiance, (_with much animation_), a land, my Liege, richer
than all the realms of Spain, a land whose streams flow over sands of
gold, whose very soil is gold.  ’Tis but to dig and wash.

QUEEN (_incredulous she rebukes_, _what she thinks exaggeration_, _with a
shake of her head_).  Drake!  Drake.

DRAKE.  It is true! my Liege—I have dug, and brought it home.  (_He
throws down a bag on the floor and kneels upon it_).  I kneel upon the
soil, and hail Your Majesty, Queen of California—the future goldfield of
the world!  (_He rises and presents her with the bag_).  I have the
honour to deliver to Your Majesty thus, part for the whole, legal
possession of California.  (_She takes the bag with curiosity and
surprise_).

QUEEN.  Is this gold?  It is heavy!

DRAKE.  There needs only to wash it in a basin—your Majesty will see the
gold at the bottom.

QUEEN.  This beats Alchemy.  It is miracle!  I’ll wash it with my own
hands.  Drake, I am proud of you.  England is proud of you.  Men’s minds
are filled with your name, astounded by your achievements.  You have
covered your country with glory, thrown over her a mantle of power.  The
nations look up to us now and begin to think we can beat the world.
Philip is alarmed, and when we all thought you were lost, he could not
sleep for fear.  He expected you to come on the winds of heaven, to make
descents upon his coast.

DRAKE (_kneeling to her_).  Your Majesty’s approval is my reward.  That
is the pride and glory of an Englishman.

QUEEN.  My pride and glory is the love and valour of my people.  Philip,
and Mendoza his Ambassador, are clamorous for restitution, and call you a
corsair—pirate—robber! (_laughing_)

DRAKE.  Our acts are self defence and justifiable retaliation, my Liege.
They are the spoilers, robbers, murderers.  What is he doing in the Low
Countries, to a free, civilized people?  Is he not committing wholesale
diabolical robbery and murder?  Has he not seized our ships in defiance
of solemn treaty, trading peaceably in time of peace?  Whole fleets of
our merchantmen, at Gibraltar and elsewhere,—imprisoning, hanging their
crews, or burning them, in the Plazas of his cities, for the amusement of
the mob?  And we ourselves owed him a measure of vengeance, for the
murderous affair of San Juan de Ulloa.  But I have meted out to him,
measure for measure—pressed down—shaken together.

QUEEN (_laughing_).  Plenty of shaking, Drake.  Plenty!  Philip’s fit is
not over.  He is shaking yet.  Cecil, too, is shaking—frightened by
Mendoza’s bluster.  He says we shall have war unless we give up the
treasure—Sussex and Clinton agree with him.  I don’t think much of that—I
know them!  They’re not the men to give up anything of their own (_with a
sarcastic smile_) without a fight for it.  They would talk another
language, if they had a share in our little venture.  (_Then with intense
curiosity_).  How much is it, Drake?

DRAKE.  Impossible to estimate, my Liege.  Philip puts his losses at one
million and a half.  That applies, however, only to ascertained, and
registered quantities.  They don’t know the half of what I have
taken—Gold plate and bars by tons!  What will your majesty say to cases
of pearls and emeralds as large as pigeons’ eggs?  I have brought, your
majesty, a sample—a little present from your honoured servant.  (_He
presents her with the celebrated crown of emeralds as large as pigeons’
eggs which she gazes on with astonishment and delight_.)

QUEEN.  A crown of emeralds! and of such magnitude.  The like was never
seen in Europe.  No regal brow hath ever borne the like.  Magnificent!
Drake!—Drake!  This is of unearthly splendour.  Thou art an enchanter,
man, or hast been in fairy-land.  (_She puts the crown on her head and
walks about musing_; _then suddenly confronts him_.)  Three millions!
Who ever dreamed of such a sum?  It is a nation’s wealth!  Give it up?
Once in one’s clutches!  Impossible!  I could not give it up.
Impossible!  (_She walks about exulting in the possession_.  _She
pauses_, _and asks_ DRAKE, _with uneasy anxiety_.)  What think you,
Drake?  Will there be war?

DRAKE.  Not with Spain, my Liege, unless we declare war.  Philip dare
not—could not, go to war with us.  What would become of the Low Countries
then?  He could not keep them a single week.  Ha! ha! ha!  Besides!  He
has no fleet!

QUEEN.  No fleet?  Our statesmen think the sea is covered with his
fleets! (_ironically_) in fact that it is his property.

DRAKE (_with a sarcastic laugh_).  Statesmen!  Tush! tush!  What do they
know about it?  (_contemptuously_) Spain upon the ocean is a MYTH!  A
huge ball of FOAM, my Liege, without force or cohesion, which with the
first war-storm upon the angry waves, will scatter and be seen no more!
(_He walks aside with a wave of his hand_; _then returning with a
triumphant smile_.)  Can Philip guard his coasts at home; his towns; his
churches; from sack and flame?  Can he protect his commerce?  His
merchantmen are sunk or plundered in the channel.  His great officers and
Nobles put up to auction in our seaports—kept in chains like dogs, till
ransomed!  Ha! Ha! Ha!  (_Increasing in energy_.)  Have I not sailed the
Caribean sea, with the cross of St. George proudly at my masthead (_he
looks to the_ QUEEN _in proud triumph_) burning, plundering, ships and
towns?—Have I not landed on the coast, stopped his transports—taken his
treasure—and, lastly, launched on the Pacific, the source of all his
greatness—seized his bullion on sea and land, and carried a nation’s
wealth in my little bark, round the globe, in triumph?  Spain, where is
thy might?  (_He walks about in grim triumph_, _looking for approval to
the_ QUEEN, _who stands amazed and stunned_, _yet watching her hero with
pride and exultation_.  _He comes up to the_ QUEEN _solemn and serious_.)
Give him this treasure, my honoured Mistress.  (_With emphasis_.)  Put
this sting in him!—and then—(_he starts as if some dreadful apparition
had risen before him_, _to arrest his speech and force him to contemplate
it with doubt and alarm_).

QUEEN (_startled at his expression_, _with deep interest and
impatience_).  You look with grave apprehension on it.  What then?

DRAKE (_slow solemn and serious_).  Why then, my Liege, not your
statesmen! for they seem too blind to fear; but your royal Majesty—our
beloved country,—nay, Europe itself, would have cause for fear.  My soul
shrinks within me from contemplation of the fearful consequence.  (_He is
greatly excited_, _wringing his hands_.)  Oh!  My God!  It never struck
me before—it flashes on me now—a light from Heaven—fearful! fearful!—seas
of blood!

QUEEN (_excited to frenzy_, _impatient of some dreadful apprehension_,
_rushes up to him_, _and seizing hold of him_, _shakes him for
explanation_.)  God of England!  Speak man, what mean you?  It must be
something which quells the soul of Drake.—What then?  Quick.—Relieve this
boding doubt, this frantic apprehension.  Quick!  Quick, what then?

DRAKE.  Why then, my Liege, he would equip a fleet, collect his mighty
hosts, crush the Low Countries in an hour, annihilate our trade, blockade
our ports.  France shrinking paralysed, overawed, and then—

QUEEN (_starting away as from a frightful apparition_, _but with
unquailing spirit rushes about with uplifted arms and the rage of a
tigress_.)  I see!  I see!  I see it ALL—Villains, fools, and traitors, I
should be left without an ally to battle with the world in arms.  Rebels,
traitors, assassins—Fiends of Hell within—The fleets and armies of Spain
without.  The wars of the roses over again.  Fierce civil strife, seas of
brothers’ blood—The proud island before whose arms Europe has quailed,
trampled into a Spanish province!  (_A pause of grim rage and sarcasm_),
and the moles and bats would give it to him!  (_She laughs with a grim
and bitter expression of rage and exultation_).  Ha! Ha! Ha!  They
shan’t, Drake, they shan’t!  Philip shall not have one ochavo of it.  No!
War or no war—never!  Shade of Henry of Monmouth!  Can thy stone casement
hold thee?  (_She walks about with a proud resolve then confronts him_).
What then do you propose sir?  You are entitled to a voice in the matter.

DRAKE.  Your Majesty can now take the wind out of his sails, you can
build and equip the fleet.  Give me, my Liege, but a small one, I’ll burn
every town upon his coast, every stick of navy he possesses, in harbour
or afloat; carry his gold fleet to England, and drive him from the ocean
in a month; (_he walks aside in exultation_).

QUEEN (_abruptly_).  You’re the man, Drake! you’re the man!

DRAKE.  Then, my Liege, we shall occupy California and the Indies, whose
downtrodden people will welcome you as a Saviour.  England will become
the mart of the precious metals, the centre of universal commerce.  The
tribes of broken humanity will come begging for the crumbs that fall from
your replenished table.  Our great race, (_elevating his voice_) shall
spread from land to land, from sea to sea, till one wide luminous zone of
truth, of light, of freedom, shall gird the globe; the sun shall make his
eternal round and never set in the dominions.

_He looks upward with confiding fervour as if delivering a divine message
from on high_.  _The_ QUEEN _overpowered with emotion at the awful
development of national greatness_.

QUEEN.  Hold!  Spare me!  My brain turns, stunned, bewildered in the
vastness of that visioned future.  (_She exclaims imploringly as one
afraid to advance farther_.)  Stay!  Stay!

DRAKE (_impetuously_).  I speak not without book, My Royal Mistress.  It
was not human power that raised your Majesty and held your right hand, (a
_pause_) through death and tyranny, (_the_ QUEEN _much moved_) until you
reached your throne, or guided my little bark through storm and battle to
your shores.  It is not chance, my Liege, but Providence that rules!  A
secret impulse ever drove me on, (_a pause_) and now ASSURES me that the
end is near.  The blood of butchered nations crying to heaven, at length
is heard.  Spain totters to her fall!  (_He walks aside excited_, _then
returns and continues with energy_).  The star of England rises from the
sea to rule its waves, the ocean rules the land, its trident shakes the
earth!  (_He comes up to the_ QUEEN _impassioned_).  ’Tis thine!  ’Tis
thine!  Stretch forth thine hand, my Liege, and grasp the Trident.

QUEEN (_in great excitement_).  Drake!  Drake!  A virtue goeth out of
thee.  I’m filled with awe, but feel the power.  (_She essays to leave_.)
Come!  Come!

_Leaving the terrace absorbed in thought_, _her outstretched hand
grasping at something in the air_, _whilst_ DRAKE _still follows her
close with earnest voice and gesture_.

DRAKE.  My Liege!  It is the will of GOD!  It is the will of GOD.

                                                               (_Exeunt_).


SCENE VII.—A ROOM IN THE PALACE.


LEICESTER’S _present on a marble table_, _backed by a large steel mirror
which reflects it_.  _The_ QUEEN _sitting on a sofa_, _in conversation
with the_ EARL OF LEICESTER _who stands at a little distance_.

LEICESTER.  What thinks my royal Mistress of my symboled future now? (_he
point to it_)  These figures seem to speak and challenge me to ask.—I
always felt that thought was inspiration!  The vision rapidly developes
into facts.  You’ll live to see the symbol a reality.  Drake’s deeds of
wonder bring it up in force.

QUEEN.  Miraculous!  Incomprehensible!  Drake’s a prodigy!—At sight I
read him in the first moment’s interview.  He’s made for greatness not
his own.  A Demi-god could not accomplish his achievements, so vast in
their proportions, and whose effects, perhaps, shall run through
Time!—Nor dare—nor even conceive them.  A clear impossibility—by himself
to mortal man!  The finger of God is visible throughout for his own
end—then unseen!  Drake’s eyes are opened now, and so are mine!  I see
the work and aim of Providence.  We are but passive instruments to carry
out his will.  ’Tis always thus, Leicester.  I have observed it well
through life.  God brings about His greatest ends by means, to us,
inadequate—to show His power, and that the work is His; lest we should
say “my hand hath done it.”  You see how all Drake’s other ships were
sunk or scattered to the winds, that HE hurled on an unknown ocean! LEFT
ALONE! should be the chosen means to change the destiny of the world.

LEICESTER.  It is a mighty prize, howe’er he dropped upon it, and
marvellous as you say.  What power to you!—To Philip, most vexatious loss
at present—to say the least, inconvenient in the extreme—your seizures,
of that Genoese loan, and now this treasure, have crippled him.  He is at
a stand still for money, notwithstanding his Indies.  Alva is in
despair—his army in mutiny.  This would have relieved them of all their
difficulties.  They are in a dreadful way.  Mendoza spluttering at a huge
rate, has frightened Cecil with a threat of war—and he in his alarm would
give it up.  But the whole country is enthusiastic about Drake.—He is the
universal hero!

QUEEN (_indignant_).  A fig for Cecil and the whole Council—a set of
fools—some are afraid of Philip—some are in his pay.  I’ll stick to it,
Leicester—every silver bar—every quoit of gold.  It is the gift of
Providence—my power, my safety.  I have had my doubts and fears!  Now I
feel that I can defy the world.  Drake despises Spain; laughs at
invasion; says Philip can’t defend himself from us.  He swears he’ll
drive him from the ocean in a month—and I believe him.  He (_with
emphasis_) knows what he’s talking about.  Drake’s the man!—Drake’s the
man for me!

                _A Page announces the Spanish Ambassador_.

PAGE.  His Excellency the Spanish Ambassador.

QUEEN (_startled and confused_).  God’s death, Leicester!  I thought as
much.  Here he comes to demand it.  You must retire into my private room
(_with decision_) I’ll face it out, Robin! (_exit_ LEICESTER.  _To the_
PAGE) Admit his Excellency.  (_Exit_ PAGE.)  I must play my cards with
skilful hand.  By flattery or menace—to draw from him his policy.
(_Enter_ AMBASSADOR.  _The_ QUEEN _bounds from the sofa to meet him with
affected friendliness_.)  Don Bernardino de Mendoza!  I am always glad to
see you—in your private character.  But are you now come as a
King-at-Arms to declare war?

MENDOZA.  No! No!  My instructions from my master are, to cultivate
peace—But from your Majesty’s preparations, I should imagine that you
meant war, on a large scale.  Your fleet at Chatham! and the noise of
fife and drum throughout the land.

QUEEN (_interrupting_).  ’Tis only the commission of array for
training—Though England keeps on foot no armies, she is always armed—Her
freemen are her soldiers.  In times of danger, she gets ready; I don’t
intend to be caught sleeping.  What are those mighty naval preparations
for at Cadiz?  Six thousand additional seamen!

AMBASSADOR.  Of that—not having the gift of inspiration! I can give your
Majesty no information.  My master finds no fault with you, but your
ministers encourage, and aid rebellion against his authority in the Low
Countries, and English Corsairs, not content with robbing his merchantmen
in the channel, have now extended their ravages to the Indies and the
Pacific.  The notorious Drake is, even now, returned with enormous booty.
He is cherished and feted, as if the exploits of a robber were some great
national triumph.  His Majesty expects that you will not only order
immediate restitution, but punish the offender as he deserves.

QUEEN.  Tush! Tush!  Your master cannot be serious.  If so, he must
either be a fool, or think me one.  If my ships should invade the
possessions of the King of Spain, the act could not be considered
Piracy—It would be war.  Now your complaint shows that the nations are at
peace, and therefore that the acts are not my acts.  He has been a King
of England, and knows well, that the laws of England do not extend to the
Pacific—Hey! Hey!  Our courts have neither authority to try, nor means to
punish offences committed in the other hemisphere.

AMBASSADOR (_with haste_).  Drake is now in England with the booty.

QUEEN.  Well!  Drake has committed no offence against the laws of his
country.  What exclusive right has your master, the King of Spain, to the
Indies, the whole continent of America, and the wide Pacific?

AMBASSADOR (_with much earnestness_).  The Pope who, as Vicar of Christ,
has authority over the whole earth, has given the Indies and the Pacific,
to Spain.

QUEEN (_laughing outright_).  Did Charles the fifth owe his empire to the
Pope, when he sent his army to imprison His Holiness and seize the
possessions of the church?  Hey!  Will his son Philip acknowledge that he
now owes them to the Pope?  I trow not!  Let the Pope only interfere with
Philip’s dominions—We should soon hear of another Spanish army marching
upon Rome, and probably Don Bernardino de Mendoza in command of it, to
make the Pope a second time prisoner, and shut him up in his Castle of
St. Angelo.  That is the way Philip would acknowledge his authority over
the earth; and that you would show your faith in it.  Ha! Ha! Ha!
(_Laughter_, _in which_ MENDOZA _cannot help joining_.  _The_ QUEEN
_walks about_, _exulting in her triumph_).

AMBASSADOR.  That would be an extreme case, your Majesty.

QUEEN (_bursting into a laugh_).  Capital!  An extreme case!  It would be
an extreme case, for the Vicar of God upon earth.  For myself you know, I
utterly deny his authority altogether, as well as his office (_with
sarcastic emphasis_).  But look you here, a Pope has given Ireland to
England, for an eternal possession, by a solemn bull; and yet, your
master Philip has invaded that country, to wrest it from us—His troops
are at this moment in Ireland.  Tell your master from me, that I will
hear no complaints, nor give him any answer, until these are withdrawn
(_she walks proudly and defiant_).

AMBASSADOR.  I am sorry for it, but if you allow these measures to be
pursued, you will see when too late, your throne slip from under you.  I
know your resources, compared with those of France, and that your only
safety is behind the shield of Spain.

QUEEN (_sarcastically_) I am not going to quarrel with France, who with
good reason, keeps a jealous eye on Spain, you know that well, and so
does Philip.  I intend only to maintain myself, as my father has done
before me, independent in my own realm.  And as for losing my throne,
what raised me to it?  Under God, my people who, Catholic and Protestant,
alike, agree in this—To hate with all their hearts, a foreign
jurisdiction (_she looks with insinuation at him_).  France has not
forgotten the battle of the Spurs, or the still greater lesson taught her
within living memory; when her sixty thousand men, were driven from the
shores of the Isle of Wight, like the small dust before the whirlwind by
the tall yeomen of the soil (_she proudly walks aside_, _then boldly
utters_).  The audacious foe that lands upon our shores, will learn to
his cost that he has to encounter men.  The English of the present day
have not lost the spirit of their noble fathers.  They will defend their
liberties to the death; and should they fall in the great struggle, with
the help of God, he will find the body of their Queen, like that of the
great Harold in the midst them.  With England I will LIVE or DIE, (_she
storms about the room_, _the_ AMBASSADOR _gazing on her with stupified
amazement_).

AMBASSADOR.  I am sorry your Majesty views my advice in that light.  I
shall now take my leave, and report to my master the result of this
interview.

                                                        _Exit_ AMBASSADOR.

                      _Re-enter_ EARL OF LEICESTER.

_The_ QUEEN _walking about agitated_, _chafed_, _but exulting_, LEICESTER
_laughing as he enters_.

LEICESTER.  Nobly done, my Royal Mistress—all yourself—you frightened
Mendoza, more than he does Cecil.  He was under cow from the first and
dared not speak up to you as he does to the council.  You acted your part
to the life, and cannot even now throw off the mask.

QUEEN (_excited_).  God’s death, Robin!  No mask, no acting at all.  My
blood was up, I was in thorough earnest; it is something to stand on
solid ground, I’m not going to be bullied now by the empty bluster of a
Spanish coxcomb, or his master either—Drake has opened my eyes and theirs
too! this load of wealth!  Our strength!  Their weakness.  Leicester, he
has shown me a secret!  (_She looks at him with intense meaning_) a power
that must rule the world!

LEICESTER (_astonished and interested_).  Indeed, my Liege!  I did not
know he was given to such deep state-craft.

QUEEN (_with proud emphasis_).  Why man!  With one hand I grasp the
trident of the ocean, with the other California and the Indies.  Drake’s
a Prophet—he knows the true strength and policy of England.  The destiny
of nations!  (_She storms about_, LEICESTER _eyeing her with astonishment
and awe_).  Come along, Robin!  I must see these wise men of the council
and let them know what I think of their drivelling.  I say Drake’s
conduct is only self defence!  Just retaliation!  The money is lawful
prize.  I’ll give Sussex a talking to, for his intermeddling—’Fore God,
I’ll set some of them by the feet before all’s over about this, I’ll
bracelet them with iron, both arms and ankles.  Come along, Robin!  Come
along.  (_Aside as she goes off_).  Three millions!  Mother of God!
Three millions.

                                                               (_Exeunt_).


SCENE VIII.—TERRACE OF GREENWICH PALACE.


_Decorated with masts_, _bearing various devices_, _illustrative of
England’s heroes and their victories_, _and surmounted with the National
flag_.  _The river is crowded with shipping_, _having all their bunting
and streamers abroad_, _in honour of the great event_.  _Their decks and
rigging filled with gaily dressed spectators_.  _All London is there_.
_It is known_, _that the_ QUEEN _has resolved to honour with her presence
at dinner_, _the little ship that has fought its way round the world_,
_and the heroes who manned it_.  _Deck of the Golden Hind covered with an
awning_, _extended with canvas on to the land in a semi-circular form_;
_open in front and supported by pillars_—_the whole highly ornamented and
painted with scenic effect_, _to represent the great occasions of
England’s triumph by sea and land_.  _A dinner-table spread with gold and
silver plate_, _with various jewelled articles in those metals_—_trophies
brought from the Indies_—_and piled with rare tropical fruits and
productions_, _since become familiar although then extraordinary_.  _A
flag in the centre_, _by order of the_ QUEEN, _bearing the arms of_ DRAKE
_and the mottoes_ “_Divino auxilio_” _above and_ “_Sic parvis magna_”
_below_.  _The table is occupied by distinguished nobles_, _knights_,
_and great officers_—_amongst them_, _conspicuous_, HOWARD OF EFFINGHAM,
_Lord High Admiral_; LEICESTER; RALEIGH; HATTON, _and others_,
_principally those most against Spain_, _if not actually in the interest
of the Freebooters_, _who fearlessly kept the Channel and guarded the
coast_, _and who had maintained the right of_ QUEEN ELIZABETH, _even when
her sister was on the throne_.  _On the left_, _the_ QUEEN _on a raised
platform_, _with the great ladies of her court_, _seated at a table_.
_Sailors with a profusion of gold chains_, _jewels and foreign ornaments
standing about_.  _Yet showing their deference to their sovereign_, _as
well as their high discipline_.  _Great cheering_.  _Curtain rises_,
DRAKE _comes forward with a large gold richly jewelled goblet filled with
wine_, _which he presents to the_ QUEEN _kneeling_.

QUEEN.  Rise, Mr. Drake.  What would you say?

DRAKE.  On behalf of the crew of the “Golden Hind,” I would beg your
Majesty’s acceptance of this cup, which is probably the most valuable
ever designed for human lips—meet only for the Monarch, whose wisdom and
genius have made her country respected and feared by the nations of the
earth.  The goblet and the wine are the lawful prize of the valour of
your men—taken on the great Pacific, whose waters quailed beneath the
thunder of your guns.  Both have made the circuit of the globe, and thus
been guided by Providence to the lips of His most favoured Queen.

QUEEN (_bowing to the men_).  I accept your precious gift, with thanks.

DRAKE.  My Liege!  I have another favour to ask—leave to propose a toast?

QUEEN.  You shall be king, sir, on your own deck, where you have so ably
commanded—proceed!

DRAKE (_turning to the company whilst his cup-bearer hands him a golden
goblet_) Ladies!  Lords!  Noble Englishmen, and you, brothers in arms,
who in this little bark have never struck your flag to a foe, but have
carried it at your main, through storm and battle, round the globe, fill
your cups and stand.  (_They fill their cups and stand_, _a little
excited_).  You have this day received an honour, which is a reward for
all your difficulties and dangers.  Your Queen acknowledges our services,
and condescends to be our guest.  This is no common event in the lives of
men.  It is an ERA in the history of the WORLD, which will be read,
whilst one page of the great volume lasts (_sensation_).  We have amongst
us, the chosen of Providence, who has covered herself and her country,
with a glory which shall endure, till time shall be no more; the ELECTED
HEAD of the NEW TOWER rising from the sea to rule the WORLD—to send forth
from England the law of commerce and civilisation.  (He _turns to the_
QUEEN).  “For the abundance of the sea shall be converted to you.”
(_Turning to the company_).  Hers is not the sceptre of an Attila or a
more cruel Philip, by the swords of armed men, steeped in the blood and
tears of prostrate humanity.  The Trident of the Ocean is the wand of
peace, which shall wave over freedom, prosperity, and law.
(_Sensation_).  The fortune of our great race may be chequered, but it
shall never wane, till it has pushed its nations to the everlasting
hills.  (_Turning and extending his hand towards the_ QUEEN).  Behold the
fountain, the well-head of our progress.  When tyranny shall oppress, and
prosperity waver, England will look back with hope to her maiden Queen.
When her armies conquer, and her navies triumph, when her flag o’er sea
and land shall sway the mighty and the free.  England will turn with
pride to the origin of her power—The reign of her maiden Queen.  When the
traitor in the council, or the coward in the field, shall betray his
country, his honour, his faith, his God, England will fling aside the
infamy and take courage from her maiden Queen.  When her empire shall
gird the globe, with arts, science, commerce, and peace—When the elements
themselves shall obey her, and flash from land to land, from sea to sea,
her mandates of liberty and law, England will look to her maiden Queen as
the starting point of it all.  (_He looks around_, _and raising his
goblet pronounces the toast_).—The Queen!  God bless her!

ALL.  The Queen, God bless her.  Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah.

_Tremendous cheering_, _taken up by the men on the river_, _and on the
land_.  _The sailors on the Golden Hind in great commotion and enthusiasm
endeavour to rush forward to the_ QUEEN—_The officers’ exert themselves
to restrain them_.  HOWARD, LEICESTER, _and the great men gather round_
DRAKE, _who is __much affected_.  _The_ QUEEN _is overcome with emotion_!
LORD HUNSDON, _great chamberlain_, _who is standing beside her_, _comes
forward_.

LORD HUNSDON.  Silence, and order!  It is Her Majesty’s command that her
poet shall commemorate the occasion?  (_The poet comes forward with a
paper_.  _Cheers_!)

SEVERAL VOICES.  The Corsairs, song!  The Corsairs, song.

                            SONG OF THE CORSAIRS.

   Oh!  We’re the boys of thunder!
      The Rovers of the main;
   We’ll strike with awe and wonder
      The pride of tyrant Spain:
   Her giant ships are lumber,
      Their aim is slavery—
   We count not size or number—
      We’ll drive thorn from the sea!

   CHORUS.—Her Tars will fight for England,
      Till Death or Victory!
   Nor French, nor Spaniard, here shall land!
      Hurrah!  Brave boys, Hurrah!

   Proud Spain shall know we are the men
      Who boldly board the foe;
   Who burn or plunder all we can,
      And others sink below.
   We are to storm and battle bred,
      Our Island, as of yore,
   The home where Freedom lifts her head;
      And rules from shore to shore!  _Chorus_.

   Each Saxon and each Dane sire
      A sea-king was of old—
   They left to us, their race, the fire
      Of soul, which made them bold;
   Their Empire was the deep sea—
      It is our heritage,
   Where we’ll neither yield nor flee!
      We’ll tame the tyrant’s rage!  _Chorus_.

   Spain’s cruel Inquisition burns
      Our brethren whom they take,
   But, the tide of death now turns
      The bark of gallant Drake,
   For vengeance launched a rich town,
      Shall give to spoil and flame,
   Nay more, a Spanish crew drown
      For every martyr’s name.  _Chorus_.

   Proudest Admirals shall quail
      Before thy genius, Drake,
   And their lofty galleons sail
      As captives in thy wake;
   Gold and gems, for Idols meant,
      In heaps thy bark shall load—
   And be to England’s Queen sent,
      Price of her seamen’s blood.  _Chorus_.

   Drake! heroic name of fear!
      With England’s flag unfurled,
   Startled every Spaniard’s ear,
      As first he round the world;
   His bold untrodden course stood,
      Eternal fame to build,
   And his country, great and good,
      With joy and wealth he filled!  _Chorus_.

   On wild Panama he stood,
      And from its palm-clad height,
   Gazed on broad Pacific’s flood,
      So calm in golden light—
   Thence his fancy strayed abroad,
      Dreaming of wonders there,
   Then he turned his thoughts to God
      And poured his soul in prayer.  _Chorus_

   Be mine, Lord, the favoured keel
      To cross that unknown waste;
   And that, through my country’s weal,
      Benighted man be blessed:
   Not with gold alone for freight—
      Nor yet to fight for fame;
   To belt the globe with holy light,
      The Glory of Thy Name!  _Chorus_.

   My ship with the glittering ore
      Carries more precious load,
   The Bible, which ne’er before
      Hath journeyed o’er that flood:
   Let me, in Thy Name, first bear
      The message of Thy Peace,
   “Woe! down-trodden dry thy tear,
      Thy rod oppression cease.”  _Chorus_.

   England is the Bible’s land,
      THE GUARDIAN OF THE WORD!
   True to trust she safe shall stand—
      _More safe than by the Sword_!
   By Thee elected let her fill
      Her mission o’er the wave,
   Just and faithful!  Be it still,
      The lost to seek and save.  _Chorus_.

   Oh!  Freedom’s is the Ocean!
      Our Island is its Queen!
   The billows pay devotion,
      Around her robed in green:
   No Despot shall his flag wave
      Upon its chainless roll!
   Ocean loves the Free and Brave!
      ’TIS OURS FROM POLE TO POLE!  _Chorus_.

_The chorus is taken up by all present_, _especially the sailors_.  _At
the conclusion of the song_, _much excitement and enthusiasm with
confusion among the sailors_, _subdued with difficulty by the
officers_—_The_ QUEEN _rises_.

QUEEN (_with much emotion_).  Brave men!  My heart is too full for
speech—But even did my feelings permit, what words could measure the
daring of your souls, or the greatness of your achievements.  You have
filled the world with wonder, like the Demigods of fable.  Your country
and eternal fame can alone requite you—You have my heart, my love!  I
thank you, and drink to all your healths.  (_Great cheering_, _the_ QUEEN
_comes forward_.  _Efforts are made by_ DRAKE _and the leading men to
restore order_.)

DRAKE (_going among the sailors_).  The Queen, men!  The Queen, men,
silence in the ship.  (_Order is restored_).

QUEEN.  I have now another duty to perform, which though done to one will
through him extend to all.  Francis Drake, Come forward.  (DRAKE
_advances_).  Your sword, sir!  (_He presents his sword_, _of enormous
value_, _ornamented with gold and precious stones_.  _The_ QUEEN _gazes
on it with wonder_).  (_Aside_) Spanish!  Like everything around, it
speaks of triumph.  This little deck exhales an influence, ’tis holy
ground to me.  An atmosphere of conquest breathes around me—I feel the
power (_flourishing the sword_).  Kneel sir.  Francis Drake; you have
accomplished deeds of deathless renown, which have thrown over your
country a halo of glory and power.  You have taught her foes to dread
her, your country; that her valour can achieve the conquest of the world:
and that the TRIDENT OF THE OCEAN of right belongs to ENGLAND.  (_She
strikes him with the sword_).  Rise, Sir Francis Drake, pursue the path
of Knighthood and virtue, till you reach the destined goal of your own
and England’s greatness.  (_She extends her hand to him to kiss_, GARTER
KING-AT-ARMS _comes forward and presents a large Escutcheon with a ship
on the globe emblazoned on it_.  LORD HOWARD OF EFFINGHAM, LEICESTER,
RALEIGH, _and others press round to congratulate him_, _amid the cheers
of the sailors_).





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