William Fetty scourged to death.
Among the numberless enormities committed by the merciless and unfeeling Bonner, the murder of this innocent and unoffending child may be ranked as the most horrid. His father, John Fetty, of the parish of Clerkenwell, by trade a tailor, and only twenty-four years of age, had made a blessed election; he was fixed secure in eternal hope, and depended on Him who so builds his church that the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. But alas! the very wife of his bosom, whose heart was hardened against the truth, and whose mind was influenced by the teachers of false doctrine, became his accuser. Brokenbery, a creature of the pope, and parson of the parish, received the information of this wedded Delilah, in consequence of which the poor man was apprehended. But here the awful judgment of an ever-righteous God, "who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity," fell upon this stone-hearted and perfidious woman; for no sooner was the injured husband captured by her wicked contriving, than she also was suddenly seized with madness, and exhibited an awful and awakening instance of God's power to punish the evil doer. This dreadful circumstance had some effect upon the hearts of the ungodly hunters who had eagerly grasped their prey; but, in a relenting moment, they suffered him to remain with his unworthy wife, to return her good for evil, and to comfort two children, who, on his being sent to prison, would have been left without a protector, or have become a burden to the parish. As bad men act from little motives, we may place the indulgence shown him to the latter account.
We have noticed in the former part of our narratives of the martyrs, some whose affection would have led them even to sacrifice their own lives, to preserve their husbands; but here, agreeable to Scripture language, a mother proves, indeed, a monster in nature! Neither conjugal nor maternal affection could impress the heart of this disgraceful woman.
Although our afflicted Christian had experienced so much cruelty and falsehood from the woman who was bound to him by every tie, both human and divine, yet, with a mild and forbearing spirit, he overlooked her misdeeds, during her calamity endeavouring all he could to procure relief for her malady, and soothing her by every possible expression of tenderness: thus she became in a few weeks nearly restored to her senses. But, alas! she returned again to her sin, "as the dog returneth to his vomit." Malice against the saints of the Most High was seated in her heart too firmly to be removed; and as her strength returned, her inclination to work wickedness returned with it. Her heart was hardened by the prince of darkness; and to her may be applied these afflicting and soul-harrowing words, "canthe Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard his spots? then will they do good who are accustomed to do evil." Weighing this text duly with another, "I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy," how shall we presume to refine away the sovereignty of God, by arraigning Jehovah at the bar of human reason, which, in religious matters, is too often opposed by infinite wisdom? "Broad is the way which leadeth to death, and many walk therein. Narrow is the way which leadeth to life, and few there be who find it." The ways of heaven are indeed inscrutable, and it is our bounden duty to walk ever dependent on God, looking up to him with humble confidence, and hope in his goodness, and ever confess his justice; and where we "cannot unravel, there learn to trust." This wretched woman, pursuing the horrid dictates of a heart hardened and depraved, was scarcely confirmed in her recovery, when, stifling the dictates of honour, gratitude, and every natural affection, she again accused her husband, who was once more apprehended, and taken before Sir John Mordant, Knight, and one of queen Mary's commissioners.
Upon examination, his judge finding him fixed to opinions which militated against those nursed by superstition and maintained by cruelty he was sentenced to confinement and torture in Lollard's Tower. "Here (says honest Fox) he was put into the painful stocks, and had a dish of water set by him, with a stone put into it, to what purpose God knoweth, except it were to show that he should look for little other subsistence: which is credible enough, if we consider their like practices upon divers before mentioned in this history; as, among others, upon Richard Smith, who died through their cruel imprisonment; touching whom, when a godly woman came to Dr. Story to have leave that she might bury him, he asked her if he had any straw or blood in his mouth; but what he means thereby, I leave to the judgment of the wise."
On the first day of the third week of our martyr's sufferings, an object presented itself to his view, which made him indeed feel his tortures with all their force, and to execrate, with bitterness only short of cursing, the author of his misery. To mark and punish the proceedings of his tormentors, remained with the Most High, who noteth even the fall of a sparrow, and in whose sacred word it is written, "Vengeance is mine, and I will repay." This object was his own son, a child of the tender age of eight years. For fifteen days, had its hapless father been suspended by his tormentor by the right arm and left leg, and sometimes by both, shifting his positions for the purpose of giving him strength to bear and to lengthen the date of his sufferings. When the unoffending innocent, desirous of seeing and speaking to its parent, applied to Bonner for permission so to do, the poor child being asked by the bishop's chaplain the purport of his errand, he replied, he wished to see his father. "Who is thy father?" said the chaplain. "John Fetty," returned the boy, at the same time pointing to the place where he was confined. The interrogating miscreanton this said, "Why, thy father is a heretic!" The little champion again rejoined, with energy sufficient to raise admiration in any breast, except that of this unprincipled and unfeeling wretch—this miscreant, eager to execute the behests of a remorseless queen—"My father is no heretic: for you have Balaam's mark."
Irritated by reproach so aptly applied, the indignant and mortified priest concealed his resentment for a moment, and took the undaunted boy into the house, where, having him secure, he presented him to others, whose baseness and cruelty being equal to his own, they stripped him to the skin, and applied their scourges to so violent a degree, that, fainting beneath the stripes inflicted on his tender frame, and covered with the blood that flowed from them, the victim of their ungodly wrath was ready to expire under his heavy and unmerited punishment.
In this bleeding and helpless state was the suffering infant, covered only with his shirt, taken to his father by one of the actors in the horrid tragedy, who, while he exhibited the heart-rending spectacle, made use of the vilest taunts, and exulted in what he had done. The dutiful child, as if recovering strength at the sight of his father, on his knees implored his blessing. "Alas! Will," said the afflicted parent, in trembling amazement, "who hath done this to thee!" The artless innocent related the circumstances that led to the merciless correction which had been so basely inflicted on him; but when he repeated the reproof bestowed on the chaplain, and which was prompted by an undaunted spirit, he was torn from his weeping parent, and conveyed again to the house, where he remained a close prisoner.
Bonner, somewhat fearful that what had been done could not be justified even among the bloodhounds of his own voracious pack, concluded in his dark and wicked mind, to release John Fetty, for a time at least, from the severities he was enduring in the glorious cause of everlasting truth! whose bright rewards are fixed beyond the boundaries of time, within the confines of eternity; where the arrow of the wicked cannot wound, even "where there shall be no more sorrowing for the blessed, who, in the mansion of eternal bliss shall glorify the Lamb forever and ever." He was accordingly by order of Bonner, (how disgraceful to all dignity, to say bishop!) liberated from the painful bonds, and led from Lollard's Tower, to the chamber of that ungodly and infamous butcher, where, says Fox, he found the bishop bathing himself before a great fire; and at his first entering the chamber, Fetty said, "God be here and peace!" "God be here and peace, (said Bonner,) that is neither God speed nor good morrow!" "If ye kick against this peace, (said Fetty,) then this is not the place that I seek for."
A chaplain of the bishop, standing by, turned the poor man about and thinking to abash him, said, in mocking wise, "What have we here—a player!" While Fetty was thus standing in the bishop's chamber, he espied, hanging about the bishop's bed, a pair of greatblack beads, whereupon he said, "My Lord, I think the hangman is not far off; for the halter (pointing to the beads) is here already!" At which words the bishop was in a marvellous rage. Then he immediately after espied also, standing in the bishop's chamber, in the window, a little crucifix. Then he asked the bishop what it was, and he answered, that it was Christ. "Was he handled as cruelly as he is here pictured?" said Fetty. "Yea, that he was," said the bishop. "And even so cruelly will you handle such as come before you; for you are unto God's people as Caiaphas was unto Christ!" The bishop, being in a great fury, said, "Thou art a vile heretic, and I will burn thee, or else I will spend all I have, unto my gown." "Nay, my Lord, (said Fetty) you were better to give it to some poor body, that he may pray for you." Bonner,notwithstandinghis passion, which was raised to the utmost by the calm and pointed remarks of this observing Christian, thought it most prudent to dismiss the father, on account of the nearly murdered child. His coward soul trembled for the consequences which might ensue; fear is inseparable from little minds; and this dastardly pampered priest experienced its effects so far as to induce him to assume the appearance of that he was an utter stranger to, namely,MERCY.
The father, on being dismissed, by the tyrant Bonner, went home with a heavy heart, with his dying child, who did not survive many days the cruelties which had been inflicted on him. How contrary to the will of our great King and Prophet, who mildly taught his followers, was the conduct of this sanguinary and false teacher, this vile apostate from his God to Satan! But the arch-fiend had taken entire possession of his heart, and guided every action of the sinner he had hardened: who, given up to terrible destruction, was running the race of the wicked, marking his footsteps with the blood of the saints, as if eager to arrive at the goal of eternal death.
Deliverance of Dr. Sands.
This eminent prelate, vice-chancellor of Cambridge, at the request of the duke of Northumberland, when he came down to Cambridge in support of Lady Jane Grey's claim to the throne, undertook at a few hours notice, to preach before the duke and the university. The text he took was such as presented itself in opening the Bible, and a more appropriate one he could not have chosen, namely, the three last verses of Joshua. As God gave him the text, so he gave him also such order and utterance, that it excited the most lively emotions in his numerous auditors. The sermon was about to be sent to London to be printed, when news arrived that the duke had returned and queen Mary was proclaimed.
The duke was immediately arrested, and Dr. Sands was compelled by the university to give up his office. He was arrested by the queen's order, and when Mr. Mildmay wondered that so learned a man could wilfully incur danger, and speak against so good a princessas Mary, the doctor replied, "If I would do as Mr. Mildmay has done, I need not fear bonds. He came down armed against queen Mary; before a traitor—now a great friend. I cannot with one mouth blow hot and cold in this manner." A general plunder of Dr. Sands' property ensued, and he was brought to London upon a wretched horse. Various insults he met on the way from the bigoted catholics, and as he passed through Bishopsgate-street, a stone struck him to the ground. He was the first prisoner that entered the tower, in that day, on a religious account; his man was admitted with his Bible, but his shirts and other articles were taken from him.
On Mary's coronation-day, the doors of the dungeon were so laxly guarded, that it was easy to escape. A Mr. Mitchell, like a true friend, came to him, afforded him his own clothes as a disguise, and was willing to abide the consequence of being found in his place. This was a rare friendship: but he refused the offer; saying, "I know no cause why I should be in prison. To do thus, were to make myself guilty. I will expect God's good will, yet do I think myself much obliged to you:" and so Mr. Mitchell departed.
With doctor Sands was imprisoned Mr. Bradford; they were kept close in prison twenty-nine weeks. John Fowler, their keeper, was a perverse papist, yet, by often persuading him, at length he began to favour the gospel, and was so persuaded in the true religion, that on a Sunday, when they had mass in the chapel, Dr. Sands administered the communion to Bradford and to Fowler. Thus Fowler was their son begotten in bonds. To make room for Wyat and his accomplices, Dr. Sands and nine other preachers were sent to the Marshalsea.
The keeper of the Marshalsea appointed to every preacher a man to lead him in the street; he caused them to go on before, and he and Dr. Sands followed conversing together. By this time popery began to be unsavoury. After they had passed the bridge, the keeper said to Dr. Sands, "I perceive the vain people would set you forward to the fire. You are as vain as they, if you, being a young man, will stand in your own conceit, and prefer your own judgment before that of so many worthy prelates, ancient, learned, and grave men as be in this realm. If you do so, you shall find me a severe keeper, and one that utterly dislikes your religion." Dr. Sands answered, "I know my years to be young, and my learning but small; it is enough to know Christ crucified, and he hath learned nothing who seeth not the great blasphemy that is in popery. I will yield unto God, and not unto man; I have read in the Scriptures of many godly and courteous keepers: may God make you one! if not, I trust he will give me strength and patience to bear your hard usage." Then said the keeper, "Are you resolved to stand to your religion?" "Yes," quoth the doctor, "by God's grace!" "Truly," said the keeper, "I love you the better for it; I did but tempt you: what favour I can show you, you shall be assured of; and I shall think myself happy if I might die at the stake with you." He was as good as his word, for he trustedthe doctor to walk in the fields alone, where he met with Mr. Bradford, who was also a prisoner in the King's Bench, and had found the same favour from his keeper. At his request, he put Mr. Saunders in along with him, to be his bed-fellow, and the communion was administered to a great number of communicants.
When Wyat with his army came to Southwark, he offered to liberate all the imprisoned protestants, but Dr. Sands and the rest of the preachers refused to accept freedom on such terms.
After Dr. Sands had been nine weeks prisoner in the Marshalsea, by the mediation of Sir Thomas Holcroft, knight marshal, he was set at liberty. Though Mr. Holcroft had the queen's warrant, the bishop commanded him not to set Dr. Sands at liberty, until he had taken sureties of two gentlemen with him, each one bound in £500, that Dr. Sands should not depart out of the realm without license. Mr. Holcroft immediately after met with two gentlemen of the north, friends and cousins to Dr. Sands, who offered to be bound for him.
After dinner, the same day, Sir Thomas Holcroft sent for Dr. Sands to his lodging at Westminster, to communicate to him all he had done. Dr. Sands answered, "I give God thanks, who hath moved your heart to mind me so well, that I think myself most bound unto you. God shall requite you, nor shall I ever be found unthankful. But as you have dealt friendly with me, I will also deal plainly with you. I came a freeman into prison; I will not go forth a bondman. As I cannot benefit my friends, so will I not hurt them. And if I be set at liberty, I will not tarry six days in this realm, if I may get out. If therefore I may not get free forth, send me to the Marshalsea again, and there you shall be sure of me."
This answer Mr. Holcroft much disapproved of; but like a true friend he replied, "Seeing you cannot be altered, I will change my purpose, and yield unto you. Come of it what will, I will set you at liberty; and seeing you have a mind to go over sea, get you gone as quick as you can. One thing I require of you, that, while you are there, you write nothing to me hither, for this may undo me."
Dr. Sands having taken an affectionate farewell of him, and his other friends in bonds, departed. He went by Winchester house, and there took boat, and came to a friend's house in London, called William Banks, and tarried there one night. The next night he went to another friend's house, and there he heard that strict search was making for him, by Gardiner's express order.
Dr. Sands now conveyed himself by night to one Mr. Berty's house, a stranger who was in the Marshalsea prison with him a while; he was a good protestant and dwelt in Mark-lake. There he was six days, and then removed to one of his acquaintances in Cornhill; he caused his man Quinton to provide two geldings for him, resolved on the morrow to ride into Essex, to Mr. Sands, his father-in-law, where his wife was, which after a narrow escape, he effected. He had not been there two hours, before Mr. Sands was told that two of the guards would that night apprehend Dr. Sands.
That night Dr. Sands was guided to an honest farmer's near the sea, where he tarried two days and two nights in a chamber without company. After that he removed to one James Mower's, a ship-master, who dwelt at Milton-Shore, where he waited for a wind to Flanders. While he was there, James Mower brought to him forty or fifty mariners, to whom he gave an exhortation; they liked him so well, that they promised to die rather than he should be apprehended.
The sixth of May, Sunday, the wind served. In taking leave of his hostess, who had been married eight years without having a child, he gave her a fine handkerchief and an old royal of gold, and said, "Be of good comfort; before that one whole year be past, God shall give you a child, a boy." This came to pass, for, that day twelvemonth, wanting one day, God gave her a son.
Scarcely had he arrived at Antwerp, when he learned that king Philip had sent to apprehend him. He next flew to Augsburgh, in Cleveland, where Dr. Sands tarried fourteen days, and then travelled towards Strasburgh, where, after he had lived one year, his wife came to him. He was sick of a flux nine months, and had a child which died of the plague. His amiable wife at length fell into a consumption, and died in his arms. When his wife was dead, he went to Zurich, and there was in Peter Martyr's house for the space of five weeks. As they sat at dinner one day, word was suddenly brought that queen Mary was dead, and Dr. Sands was sent for by his friends at Strasburgh, where he preached. Mr. Grindall and he came over to England, and arrived in London the same day that queen Elizabeth was crowned. This faithful servant of Christ, under queen Elizabeth, rose to the highest distinctions in the church, being successively bishop of Worcester, bishop of London, and archbishop of York.
Queen Mary's treatment of her sister the Princess Elizabeth.
The preservation of the princess Elizabeth may be reckoned a remarkable instance of the watchful eye which Christ had over his church. The bigotry of Mary regarded not the ties of consanguinity, of natural affection, of national succession. Her mind, physically morose was under the dominion of men who possessed not the milk of human kindness, and whose principles were sanctioned and enjoined by the idolatrous tenets of the Romish pontiff. Could they have foreseen the short date of Mary's reign, they would have imbrued their hands in the protestant blood of Elizabeth, and, as asine qua nonof the queen's salvation, have compelled her to bequeath the kingdom to some catholic prince. The contest might have been attended with the horrors incidental to a religious civil war, and calamities might have been felt in England similar to those under Henry the Great in France, whom queen Elizabeth assisted in opposing his priest-ridden catholic subjects. As if Providence had the perpetual establishment of the protestant faith in view, the difference of the durations of the two reigns is worthy of notice. Mary mighthave reigned many years in the course of nature, but the course of grace willed it otherwise. Five years and four months was the time of persecution alloted to this weak, disgraceful reign, while that of Elizabeth reckoned a number of years among the highest of those who have sat on the English throne, almost nine times that of her merciless sister!
Before Mary attained the crown, she treated her with a sisterly kindness, but from that period her conduct was altered, and the most imperious distance substituted. Though Elizabeth had no concern in the rebellion of Sir Thomas Wyat, yet she was apprehended, and treated as a culprit in that commotion. The manner too of her arrest was similar to the mind that dictated it: the three cabinet members, whom she deputed to see the arrest executed, rudely entered the chamber at ten o'clock at night, and, though she was extremely ill, they could scarcely be induced to let her remain till the following morning. Her enfeebled state permitted her to be moved only by short stages in a journey of such length to London; but the princess, though afflicted in person, had a consolation in mind which her sister never could purchase: the people, through whom she passed on her way, pitied her, and put up their prayers for her preservation. Arrived at court, she was made a close prisoner for a fortnight, without knowing who was her accuser, or seeing any one who could console or advise her. The charge however was at length unmasked by Gardiner, who, with nineteen of the council, accused her of abetting Wyat's conspiracy, which she religiously affirmed to be false. Failing in this, they placed against her the transactions of Sir Peter Carew in the west in which they were as unsuccessful as in the former. The queen now signified, it was her pleasure she should be committed to the Tower, a step which overwhelmed the princess with the greatest alarm and uneasiness. In vain she hoped the queen's majesty would not commit her to such a place; but there was no lenity to be expected; her attendants were limited, and a hundred northern soldiers appointed to guard her day and night.
On Palm-Sunday she was conducted to the Tower. When she came to the palace garden, she cast her eyes towards the windows, eagerly anxious to meet those of the queen, but she was disappointed. A strict order was given in London, that every one should go to church, and carry palms, that she might be conveyed without clamour or commiseration to her prison.
At the time of passing under London-bridge the fall of the tide made it very dangerous, and the barge some time stuck fast against the starlings. To mortify her the more, she was landed at Traitors' Stairs. As it rained fast, and she was obliged to step in the water to land, she hesitated; but this excited no complaisance in the lord in waiting. When she set her foot on the steps, she exclaimed, "Here lands as true a subject, being prisoner, as ever landed at these stairs; and before thee, O God, I speak it, having no friend but thee alone!"
A large number of the wardens and servants of the Tower werearranged in order, between whom the princess had to pass. Upon inquiring the use of this parade, she was informed it was customary to do so. "If," said she, "it is on account of me, I beseech you that they may be dismissed." On this the poor men knelt down, and prayed that God would preserve her grace, for which they were the next day turned out of their employments. The tragic scene must have been deeply interesting, to see an amiable and irreproachable princess sent like a lamb to languish in expectation of cruelty and death; against whom there was no other charge than her superiority in Christian virtues and acquired endowments. Her attendants openly wept as she proceeded with a dignified step to the frowning battlements of her destination. "Alas!" said Elizabeth, "what do you mean? I took you to comfort, not to dismay me; for my truth is such, that no one shall have cause to weep for me."
The next step of her enemies was to procure evidence by means which, in the present day, are accounted detestable. Many poor prisoners were racked, to extract, if possible, any matters of accusation which might affect her life, and thereby gratify Gardiner's sanguinary disposition. He himself came to examine her, respecting her removal from her house at Ashbridge to Dunnington castle a long while before. The princess had quite forgotten this trivial circumstance, and lord Arundel, after the investigation, kneeling down, apologized for having troubled her in such a frivolous matter. "You sift me narrowly," replied the princess, "but of this I am assured, that God has appointed a limit to your proceedings; and so God forgive you all."
Her own gentlemen, who ought to have been her purveyors, and served her provision, were compelled to give place to the common soldiers, at the command of the constable of the Tower, who was in every respect a servile tool of Gardiner,—her grace's friends, however, procured an order of council which regulated this petty tyranny more to her satisfaction.
After having been a whole month in close confinement, she sent for the lord Chamberlain and lord Chandois, to whom she represented the ill state of her health from a want of proper air and exercise. Application being made to the council, Elizabeth was with some difficulty admitted to walk in the queen's lodgings, and afterwards in the garden, at which time the prisoners on that side were attended by their keepers, and not suffered to look down upon her. Their jealousy was excited by a child of four years old, who daily brought flowers to the princess. The child was threatened with a whipping, and the father ordered to keep him from the princess' chambers.
On the 5th of May the constable was discharged from his office, and Sir Henry Benifield appointed in his room, accompanied by a hundred ruffian-looking soldiers in blue. This measure created considerable alarm in the mind of the princess, who imagined it was preparatory to her undergoing the same fate as lady Jane Gray, upon the same block. Assured that this project was not in agitation, sheentertained an idea that the new keeper of the Tower was commissioned to make away with her privately, as his equivocal character was in conformity with the ferocious inclination of those by whom he was appointed.
A report now obtained that her grace was to be taken away by the new constable and his soldiers, which in the sequel proved to be true. An order of council was made for her removal to the manor of Woodstock, which took place on Trinity Sunday, May 13, under the authority of Sir Henry Benifield and Lord Tame. The ostensible cause of her removal was to make room for other prisoners. Richmond was the first place they stopped at, and here the princess slept, not however without much alarm at first, as her own servants were superseded by the soldiers, who were placed as guards at her chamber door. Upon representation, Lord Tame overruled this indecent stretch of power, and granted her perfect safety while under his custody.
In passing through Windsor, she saw several of her poor dejected servants waiting to see her. "Go to them," said she, to one of her attendants, "and say these words from me, tanquim ovis, that is, like a sheep to the slaughter."
The next night her grace lodged at the house of a Mr. Dormer, in her way to which the people manifested such tokens of loyal affection, that Sir Henry was indignant, and bestowed on them very liberally the names of rebels and traitors. In some villages they rang the bells for joy, imagining the princess's arrival among them was from a very different cause; but this harmless demonstration of gladness was sufficient with the persecuting Benefield to order his soldiers to seize and set these humble persons in the stocks.
The day following, her grace arrived at Lord Tame's house, where she staid all night, and was most nobly entertained. This excited Sir Henry's indignation, and made him caution Lord Tame to look well to his proceedings; but the humanity of Lord Tame was not to be frightened, and he returned a suitable reply. At another time, this official prodigal, to show his consequence and disregard of good manners, went up into a chamber, where was appointed for her grace a chair, two cushions, and a foot carpet, wherein he presumptuously sat and called his man to pull off his boots. As soon as it was known to the ladies and gentlemen, they laughed him to scorn. When supper was done, he called to his lordship, and directed that all gentlemen and ladies should withdraw home, marvelling much that he would permit such a large company, considering the great charge he had committed to him. "Sir Henry," said his lordship, "content yourself; all shall be avoided, your men and all." "Nay, but my soldiers," replied Sir Henry, "shall watch all night." Lord Tame answered, "There is no need." "Well," said he, "need or need not, they shall so do."
The next day her grace took her journey from thence to Woodstock, where she was enclosed, as before in the Tower of London, thesoldiers keeping guard within and without the walls, every day,tothe number of sixty; and in the night, without the walls were forty during all the time of her imprisonment.
At length she was permitted to walk in the gardens, but under the most severe restrictions, Sir Henry keeping the keys himself, and placing her always under many bolts and locks, whence she was induced to call him her jailer, at which he felt offended, and begged her to substitute the word officer. After much earnest entreaty to the council, she obtained permission to write to the queen; but the jailer, who brought her pen, ink, and paper stood by her while she wrote, and, when she left off, he carried the things away till they were wanted again. He also insisted upon carrying it himself to the queen, but Elizabeth would not suffer him to be the bearer, and it was presented by one of her gentlemen.
After the letter, doctors Owen and Wendy went to the princess, as the state of her health rendered medical assistance necessary. They staid with her five or six days, in which time she grew much better; they then returned to the queen, and spoke flatteringly of the princess' submission and humility, at which the queen seemed moved; but the bishops wanted a concession that she had offended her majesty. Elizabeth spurned this indirect mode of acknowledging herself guilty. "If I have offended," said she, "and am guilty, I crave no mercy but the law, which I am certain I should have had ere this, if any thing could have been proved against me. I wish I were as clear from the peril of my enemies; then should I not be thus bolted and locked up within walls and doors."
Much question arose at this time respecting the propriety of uniting the princess to some foreigner, that she might quit the realm with a suitable portion. One of the council had the brutality to urge the necessity of beheading her, if the king (Philip) meant to keep the realm in peace; but the Spaniards, detesting such a base thought, replied, "God forbid that our king and master should consent to such an infamous proceeding!" Stimulated by a noble principle, the Spaniards from this time repeatedly urged to the king that it would do him the highest honour to liberate the lady Elizabeth, nor was the king impervious to their solicitation. He took her out of prison, and shortly after she was sent for to Hampton court. It may be remarked in this place, that the fallacy of human reasoning is shown in every moment. The barbarian who suggested the policy of beheading Elizabeth little contemplated the change of condition which his speech would bring about. In her journey from Woodstock, Benefield treated her with the same severity as before; removing her on a stormy day, and not suffering her old servant, who had come to Colnbrook, where she slept, to speak to her.
She remained a fortnight strictly guarded and watched, before any one dared to speak with her; at length the vile Gardiner with three more of the council, came with great submission. Elizabeth saluted them, remarked that she had been for a long time kept in solitary confinement,and begged they would intercede with the king and queen to deliver her from prison. Gardiner's visit was to draw from the princess a confession of her guilt; but she was guarded against his subtlety, adding, that, rather than admit she had done wrong, she would lie in prison all the rest of her life. The next day Gardiner came again, and kneeling down, declared that the queen was astonished she should persist in affirming that she was blameless—whence it would be inferred that the queen had unjustly imprisoned her grace. Gardiner farther informed her that the queen had declared that she must tell another tale, before she could be set at liberty. "Then," replied the high-minded Elizabeth, "I had rather be in prison with honesty and truth, than have my liberty, and be suspected by her majesty. What I have said, I will stand to; nor will I ever speak falsehood!" The bishop and his friends then departed, leaving her locked up as before.
Seven days after the queen sent for Elizabeth at ten o'clock at night, two years had elapsed since they had seen each other. It created terror in the mind of the princess, who, at setting out, desired her gentlemen and ladies to pray for her, as her return to them again was uncertain.
Being conducted to the queen's bedchamber, upon entering it the princess knelt down, and having begged of God to preserve her majesty, she humbly assured her that her majesty had not a more loyal subject in the realm, whatever reports might be circulated to the contrary. With a haughty ungraciousness, the imperious queen replied, "You will not confess your offence, but stand stoutly to your truth. I pray God it may so fall out."
"If it do not," said Elizabeth, "I request neither favour nor pardon at your majesty's hands." "Well," said the queen, "you stiffly still persevere in your truth. Besides, you will not confess that you have not been wrongfully punished."
"I must not say so, if it please your majesty, to you."
"Why, then," said the queen, "belike you will to others."
"No, if it please your majesty: I have borne the burden, and must bear it. I humblybeseechyour majesty to have a good opinion of me and to think me to be your subject, not only from the beginning hitherto, but for ever, as long as life lasteth." They departed without any heart-felt satisfaction on either side; nor can we think the conduct of Elizabeth displayed that independence and fortitude which accompanies perfect innocence. Elizabeth's admitting that she would not say neither to the queen nor to others, that she had been unjustly punished, was in direct contradiction to what she had told Gardiner, and must have arisen from some motive at this time inexplicable.—King Philip is supposed to have been secretly concealed during the interview, and to have been friendly to the princess.
In seven days from the time of her return to imprisonment, her severe jailer, and his men were discharged, and she was set at liberty, under the constraint of being always attended and watched by some of the queen's council. Four of her gentlemen were sent to the Towerwithout any other charge against them than being zealous servants of their mistress. This event was soon after followed by the happy news of Gardiner's death, for which all good and merciful men glorified God, inasmuch as it had taken the chief tiger from the den, and rendered the life of the protestant successor of Mary more secure.
This miscreant, while the princess was in the Tower, sent a secret writ, signed by a few of the council, for her private execution, and, had Mr. Bridges, lieutenant of the Tower, been as little scrupulous of dark assassination as this pious prelate was, she must have perished. The warrant not having the queen's signature, Mr. Bridges hastened to her majesty, to give her information of it, and to know her mind. This was a plot of Winchester's, who, to convict her of treasonable practices, caused several prisoners to be racked; particularly Mr. Edmund Tremaine and Smithwicke were offered considerable bribes to accuse the guiltless princess.
Her life was several times in danger. While at Woodstock, fire was apparently put between the boards and ceiling under which she lay. It was also reported strongly, that one Paul Penny, the keeper of Woodstock, a notorious ruffian was appointed to assassinate her, but, however this might be, God counteracted in this point the nefarious designs of the enemies of the reformation. James Basset was another appointed to perform the same deed: he was a peculiar favourite of Gardiner, and had come within a mile of Woodstock, intending to speak with Benefield on the subject. The goodness of God however so ordered it, that while Basset was travelling to Woodstock, Benefield, by an order of council, was going to London; in consequence of which, he left a positive order with his brother, that no man should be admitted to the princess during his absence, not even with a note from the queen; his brother met the murderer, but the latter's intention was frustrated, as no admission could be obtained.
When Elizabeth quitted Woodstock, she left the following lines written with her diamond on the window:—
Much suspected by me,Nothing proved can be. Quoth Elizabeth, prisoner.
With the life of Winchester ceased the extreme danger of the princess, as many of her other secret enemies soon after followed him, and, last of all, her cruel sister, who outlived Gardiner but three years. The death of Mary was ascribed to several causes. The council endeavoured to console her in her last moments, imagining it was the absence of her husband that lay heavy at her heart, but though his treatment had some weight, the loss of Calais, the last fortress possessed by the English in France, was the true source of her sorrow. "Open my heart," said Mary, "when I am dead, and you shall find Calais written there." Religion caused her no alarm; the priests had lulled to rest every misgiving of conscience, which might have obtruded, on account of the accusing spirits of the murdered martyrs. Not the blood she had spilled, but the loss of a town, excited her emotions in dying, and this last stroke seemed to be awarded, that her fanaticalpersecution might be paralleled by her political imbecility. We earnestly pray that the annals of no country, catholic or pagan, may ever be stained with such a repetition of human sacrifices to papal power, and that the detestation in which the character of Mary is holden, may be a beacon to succeeding monarchs to avoid the rocks of fanaticism!
God's Punishments upon some of the Persecutors of his People in Mary's Reign.
After that arch-persecutor, Gardiner, was dead, others followed, of whom Dr. Morgan, bishop of St. David's, who succeeded bishop Farrar, is to be noticed. Not long after he was installed in his bishopric, he was stricken by the visitation of God; his food passed through the throat, but rose again with great violence. In this manner, almost literally starved to death, he terminated his existence.
Bishop Thornton, suffragan of Dover, was an indefatigable persecutor of the true church. One day after he had exercised his cruel tyranny upon a number of pious persons at Canterbury, he came from the chapter-house to Borne, where as he stood on a Sunday looking at his men playing at bowls, he fell down in a fit of the palsy, and did not long survive.
After the latter succeeded another bishop or suffragan, ordained by Gardiner, who not long after he had been raised to the see of Dover, fell down a pair of stairs in the cardinal's chamber at Greenwich, and broke his neck. He had just received the cardinal's blessing—he could receive nothing worse.
John Cooper, of Watsam, Suffolk, suffered by perjury; he was from private pique persecuted by one Fenning, who suborned two others to swear that they heard Cooper say, "If God did not take away queen Mary, the devil would." Cooper denied all such words, but Cooper was a protestant and a heretic, and therefore he was hung, drawn and quartered, his property confiscated, and his wife and nine children reduced to beggary. The following harvest, however, Grimwood of Hitcham, one of the witnesses before mentioned, was visited for his villany: while at work, stacking up corn, his bowels suddenly burst out, and before relief could be obtained he died. Thus was deliberate perjury rewarded by sudden death!
In the case of the martyr Mr. Bradford, the severity of Mr. Sheriff Woodroffe has been noticed—he rejoiced at the death of the saints, and at Mr. Rogers' execution, he broke the carman's head, because he stopped the cart to let the martyr's children take a last farewell of him. Scarcely had Mr. Woodroffe's sheriffalty expired a week, when he was struck with a paralytic affection, and languished a few days in the most pitiable and helpless condition, presenting a striking contrast to his former activity in the cause of blood.
Ralph Lardyn, who betrayed the martyr George Eagles, is believed to have been afterward arraigned and hanged in consequence of accusinghimself. At the bar, he denounced himself in these words, "This has most justly fallen upon me, for betraying the innocent blood of that just and good man George Eagles, who was here condemned in the time of Queen Mary by my procurement, when I sold his blood for a little money."
As James Abbes was going to execution, and exhorting the pitying bystanders to adhere steadfastly to the truth, and like him to seal the cause of Christ with their blood, a servant of the sheriff's interrupted him, and blasphemously called his religion heresy, and the good man a lunatic. Scarcely however had the flames reached the martyr, before the fearful stroke of God fell upon this hardened wretch, in the presence of him he had so cruelly ridiculed. The man was suddenly seized with lunacy, cast off his clothes and shoes before the people, (as Abbes had done just before, to distribute among some poor persons,) at the same time exclaiming, "Thus did James Abbes, the true servant of God, who is saved but I am damned." Repeating this often, the sheriff had him secured, and made him put his clothes on, but no sooner was he alone, than he tore them off, and exclaimed as before. Being tied in a cart, he was conveyed to his master's house, and in about half a year he died; just before which a priest came to attend him, with the crucifix, &c. but the wretched man bade him take away such trumpery, and said that he and other priests had been the cause of his damnation, but that Abbes was saved.
One Clark, an avowed enemy of the protestants in king Edward's reign, hung himself in the Tower of London.
Froling, a priest of much celebrity, fell down in the street and died on the spot.
Dale, an indefatigable informer, was consumed by vermin, and died a miserable spectacle.
Alexander, the severe keeper of Newgate, died miserably, swelling to a prodigious size, and became so inwardly putrid, that none could come near him. This cruel minister of the law would go to Bonner, Story, and others, requesting them to rid his prison, he was so much pestered with heretics! The son of this keeper, in three years after his father's death, dissipated his great property, and died suddenly in Newgate market. "The sins of the father," says the decalogue, "shall be visited on the children." John Peter, son-in-law of Alexander, a horrid blasphemer and persecutor, died wretchedly. When he affirmed any thing, he would say, "If it be not true, I pray I may rot ere I die." This awful state visited him in all its loathsomeness.
Sir Ralph Ellerker was eagerly desirous to see the heart taken out of Adam Damlip, who was wrongfully put to death. Shortly after Sir Ralph was slain by the French, who mangled him dreadfully, cut off his limbs, and tore his heart out.
When Gardiner heard of the miserable end of Judge Hales, he called the profession of the gospel a doctrine of desperation; but he forgot that the judge's despondency arose after he had consented to the papistry. But with more reason may this be said of the catholictenets, if we consider the miserable end of Dr. Pendleton, Gardiner, and most of the leading persecutors. Gardiner, upon his death bed, was reminded by a bishop of Peter denying his master. "Ah," said Gardiner, "I have denied with Peter, but never repented with Peter."
After the accession of Elizabeth, most of the Catholic prelates were imprisoned in the Tower or the fleet; Bonner was put into the Marshalsea.
Of the revilers of God's word, we detail, among many others, the following occurrence. One William Maldon, living at Greenwich in servitude, was instructing himself profitably in reading an English primer one winter's evening. A serving man, named John Powell, sat by, and ridiculed all that Maldon said, who cautioned him not to make a jest of the word of God. Powell nevertheless continued, till Maldon came to certain English Prayers, and read aloud, Lord, have mercy upon us, Christ have mercy upon us, &c. Suddenly the reviler started, and exclaimed, Lord, have mercy upon us! He was struck with the utmost terror of mind, said the evil spirit could not abide that Christ should have any mercy upon him, and sunk into madness. He was remitted to Bedlam, and became an awful warning that God will not always be insulted with impunity.
Henry Smith, a student in the law, had a pious protestant father, of Camden, in Gloucestershire, by whom he was virtuously educated. While studying law in the middle temple, he was induced to profess catholicism, and, going to Louvain, in France, he returned with pardons, crucifixes, and a great freight of popish toys. Not content with these things, he openly reviled the gospel religion he had been brought up in; but conscience one night reproached him so dreadfully, that in a fit of despair he hung himself in his garters. He was buried in a lane, without the Christian service being read over him.
Dr. Story, whose name has been so often mentioned in the preceding pages, was reserved to be cut off by public execution, a practice in which he had taken great delight when in power. He is supposed to have had a hand in most of the conflagrations in Mary's time, and was even ingenious in his invention of new modes of inflicting torture. When Elizabeth came to the throne, he was committed to prison, but unaccountably effected his escape to the continent, to carry fire and sword there among the protestant brethren. From the duke of Alva, at Antwerp, he received a special commission to search all ships for contraband goods, and particularly for English heretical books.
Dr. Story gloried in a commission that was ordered by Providence to be his ruin, and to preserve the faithful from his sanguinary cruelty. It was contrived that one Parker, a merchant, should sail to Antwerp and information should be given to Dr. Story that he had a quantity of heretical books on board. The latter no sooner heard this, than he hastened to the vessel, sought every where above, and then went under the hatches, which were fastened down upon him. A prosperous gale brought the ship to England, and this traitorous, persecuting rebel was committed to prison, where he remained a considerabletime, obstinately objecting to recant his anti-christian spirit, or admit of queen Elizabeth's supremacy. He alleged, though by birth and education an Englishman, that he was a sworn subject of the king of Spain, in whose service the famous duke of Alva was. The doctor being condemned, was laid upon a hurdle, and drawn from the Tower to Tyburn, where after being suspended about half an hour, he was cut down, stripped, and the executioner displayed the heart of a traitor. Thus ended the existence of this Nimrod of England.
Philip, king of Spain, husband to the deceased queen Mary of England, was no less an enemy than that princess to the protestants. He had always disliked the English, and after her death, determined, if possible, to crown that infamous cruelty which had disgraced the whole progress of her reign, by making a conquest of the island, and putting every protestant to death.
The great warlike preparations made by this monarch, though the purpose was unknown, gave a universal alarm to the English nation; as, though he had not declared that intention, yet it appeared evident that he was taking measures to seize the crown of England. Pope Sixtus V. not less ambitious than himself, and equally desirous of persecuting the protestants, urged him to the enterprise. He excommunicated the queen, and published a crusade against her, with the usual indulgences. All the ports of Spain resounded with preparations for this alarming expedition; and the Spaniards seemed to threaten the English with a total annihilation.
Three whole years had been spent by Philip in making the necessary preparations for this mighty undertaking; and his fleet, which on account of its prodigious strength, was called the "Invincible Armada," was now completed. A consecrated banner was procured from the pope, and the gold of Peru was lavished on the occasion.
The duke of Parma, by command of the Spaniards, built ships in Flanders, and a great company of small broad vessels, each one able to transport thirty horses, with bridges fitted for them severally; and hired mariners from the east part of Germany, and provided long pieces of wood sharpened at the end, and covered with iron, with hooks on one side; and 20,000 vessels, with a huge number of fagots; and placed an army ready in Flanders, of 103 companies of foot and 4000 horsemen. Among these 700 English vagabonds, who were held of all others in most contempt. Neither was Stanley respected or obeyed who was set over the English; nor Westmoreland, nor any otherwho offered their help, but for their unfaithfulness to their own country were shut out from all consultations, and as men unanimously rejected with detestation. And because Pope Sixtus the Fifth in such a case would not be wanting, he sent Cardinal Allen into Flanders, and renewed the bulls declaratory of Pope Pius the Fifth, and Gregory the Thirteenth.
He excommunicated and deposed queen Elizabeth, absolved her subjects from all allegiance, and, as if it had been against the Turks or infidels, he set forth in print a conceit, wherein he bestowed plenary indulgences, out of the treasure of the church, besides a million of gold, or ten hundred thousand ducats, to be distributed (the one half in hand, the rest when either England, or some famous haven therein, should be won) upon all them that would join their help against England. By which means the Marquis of Bergau, of the house of Austria, the duke of Pastrana, Amadis, duke of Savoy, Vespasian, Gonzaga, John Medicis, and divers other noblemen, were drawn into these wars.
Queen Elizabeth, that she might not be surprised unawares, prepared as great a navy as she could, and with singular care and providence, made all things ready necessary for war. And she herself, who was ever most judicious in discerning of men's wits and aptness, and most happy in making choice, when she made it out of her own judgment, and not at the discretion of others, designed the best and most serviceable to each several employment. Over the whole navy she appointed the Lord Admiral Charles Howard, in whom she reposed much trust; and sent him to the west part of England, where Captain Drake, whom she made vice-admiral, joined with him. She commanded Henry Seimor, the second son to the duke of Somerset, to watch upon the Belgic shore, with forty English and Dutch ships, that the duke of Parma might not come out with his forces; although some were of opinion, that the enemy was to be expected and set upon by land forces, accordingly as it was upon deliberation resolved, in the time of Henry the Eighth, when the French brought a great navy on the English shore.
For the land fight, there were placed on the south shore twenty thousand; and two armies beside were mustered of the choicest men for war. The one of these, which consisted of 1000 horse and twenty two thousand foot was commanded by the earl of Leicester, and encamped at Tilbury, on the side of the Thames. For the enemy was resolved first to set upon London. The other army was commanded by the Lord Hunsdon, consisting of thirty-four thousand foot, and two thousand horse, to guard the queen.
The Lord Gray, Sir Francis Knowles, Sir John Norris, Sir Richard Bingham, Sir Roger Williams, men famously known for military experience, were chosen to confer of the land-fight. These commanders thought fit that all those places should be fortified, with men and ammunition, which were commodious to land in, either out of Spain or out of Flanders, as Milford-Haven, Falmouth, Plymouth, Portland,the Isle of Wight, Portsmouth, the open side of Kent, called the Downs, the Thames' mouth, Harwich, Yarmouth, Hull, &c. That trained soldiers through all the maratime provinces should meet upon warning given, to defend the places; that they should by their best means, hinder the enemy from landing; and if they did happen to land, then they were to destroy the fruits of the country all about, and spoil every thing that might be of any use to the enemy, that so they might find no more victuals than what they brought with them. And that, by continued alarms, the enemy should find no rest day or night. But they should not try any battle until divers captains were met together with their companies. That one captain might be named in every shire which might command.
Two years before, the duke of Parma, considering how hard a matter it was to end the Belgic war, so long as it was continually nourished and supported with aid from the queen, he moved for a treaty of peace, by the means of Sir James Croft, one of the privy council, a man desirous of peace, and Andrew Loe, a Dutchman, and professed that the Spaniard had delegated authority to him for this purpose. But the queen fearing that the friendship between her and the confederate princes might be dissolved, and that so they might secretly be drawn to the Spaniard, she deferred that treaty for some time. But now, that the wars on both sides prepared might be turned away, she was content to treat for peace; but so as still holding the weapons in her hand.
For this purpose, in February, delegates were sent into Flanders, the earl of Derby, the lord Cobham, Sir James Croft, Dr. Dale, and Dr. Rogers. These were received with all humanity on the duke's behalf, and a place appointed for their treating, that they might see the authority delegated to him by the Spanish king. He appointed the place near to Ostend, not in Ostend, which at that time was held by the English against the Spanish king. His authority delegated, he promised them to show, when they were once met together. He wished them to make good speed in the business, lest somewhat might fall out in the mean time, which might trouble the motions of peace. Richardotus, spoke somewhat more plainly, That he knew not what in this interim should be done against England.
Not long after, Dr. Rogers was sent to the prince, by an express commandment from the queen, to know the truth, whether the Spaniards had resolved to invade England, which he and Richardotus seemed to signify. He affirmed, that he did not so much as think of the invasion of England, when he wished that the business might proceed with speed; and was in a manner offended with Richardotus, who denied that suchwordsfell from him.
The 12th of April, the count Aremberg, Champigny, Richardotus, Doctor Maesius, and Garnier, delegated from the prince of Parma, met with the English, and yielded to them the honour both in walking and sitting.
This conference, however, came to nothing; undertaken by, thequeen, as the wiser then thought, to avert the Spanish fleet; continued by the Spaniard that he might oppress the queen, being as he supposed unprovided, and not expecting the danger. So both of them tried to use time to their best advantages.
At length the Spanish fleet, well furnished with men, ammunition, engines, and all warlike preparations, the best, indeed, that ever was seen upon the ocean, called by the arrogant title, The Invincible Armada, consisted of 130 ships, wherein there were in all, 19,290. Mariners, 8,350. Chained rowers, 11,080. Great ordnance, 11,630. The chief commander was Perezius Guzmannus, duke of Medina Sidonia; and under him Joannes Martinus Ricaldus, a man of great experience in sea affairs.
The 30th of May they loosed out of the river Tagus, and bending their course to the Groin, in Gallicia, they were beaten and scattered by a tempest, three galleys, by the help of David Gwin, an English servant, and by the perfidiousness of the Turks which rowed, were carried away into France. The fleet, with much ado, after some days came to the Groin, and other harbours near adjoining. The report was, that the fleet was so shaken by this tempest, that the queen was persuaded, that she was not to expect that fleet this year. And Sir Francis Walsingham, sec'y, wrote to the lord admiral, that he might send back four of the greatest ships, as if the war had been ended. But the lord admiral did not easily give credit to that report; yet with a gentle answer entreated him to believe nothing hastily in so important a matter: as also that he might be permitted to keep those ships with him which he had, though it were upon his own charges. And getting a favourable wind, made sail towards Spain, to surprise the enemy's damaged ships in their harbours. When he was close in with the coast of Spain, the wind shifting, and he being charged to defend the English shore, fearing that the enemy might unseen, by the same wind, sail for England, he returned unto Plymouth.
Now with the same wind, the 12th of July, the duke of Medina with his fleet departed from the Groin. And after a few days he sent Rodericus Telius into Flanders, to advertise the duke of Parma, giving him warning that the fleet was approaching, and therefore he was to make himself ready. For Medina's commission was to join himself with the ships and soldiers of Parma; and under the protection of his fleet to bring them into England, and to land his forces upon the Thames side.
The sixteenth, day, (saith the relator,) there was a great calm, and a thick cloud was upon the sea till noon; then the north wind blowing roughly; and again the west wind till midnight, and after that the east; the Spanish navy was scattered, and hardly gathered together until they came within sight of England the nineteenth day of July. Upon which day, the lord admiral was certified by Fleming, (who had been a pirate) that the Spanish fleet was entered into the English sea, which the mariners call the Channel, and was descried near to the Lizard. The lord admiral brought forth the English fleet intothe sea, but not without great difficulty, by the skill, labour, and alacrity of the soldiers and mariners, every one labouring; yea, the lord admiral himself putting his hand to this work.
The next day the English fleet viewed the Spanish fleet coming along like the towering castles in height, her front crooked like the fashion of the moon, the wings of the fleet were extended one from the other about seven miles, or as some say eight miles asunder, sailing with the labour of the winds, the ocean as it were groaning under it, their sail was but slow, and yet at full sail before the wind. The English were willing to let them hold on their course, and when they were passed by, got behind them, and so got to windward of them.
Upon the 21st of July, the lord admiral of England sent a cutter before, called the Defiance, to denounce the battle by firing off pieces. And being himself in the Royal-Arch, (the English admiral ship) he began the engagement with a ship which he took to be the Spanish admiral, but which was the ship of Alfonsus Leva. Upon that he expended much shot. Presently Drake, Hawkins, and Forbisher, came in upon the rear of the Spaniards which Ricaldus commanded.—Upon these they thundered. Ricaldus endeavoured, as much as in him lay, to keep his men to their quarters, but all in vain, until his ship, much beaten and battered with many shot, hardly recovered the fleet. Then the duke of Medina gathered together his scattered fleet, and setting more sail, held on his course. Indeed they could do no other, for the English had gotten the advantage of the wind, and their ships being much easier managed, and ready with incredible celerity to come upon the enemy with a full course, and then to tack and retack and be on every side at their pleasure. After a long fight, and each of them had taken a trial of their courage, the lord admiral thought proper to continue the fight no longer, because there were forty ships more, which were then absent, and at that very time were coming out of Plymouth Sound.
The night following, the St. Catharine, a Spanish ship, being sadly torn in the battle, was taken into the midst of the fleet to be repaired. Here a great Cantabrian ship, of Oquenda, wherein was the treasurer of the camp, by force of gunpowder took fire, yet it was quenched in time by the ships that came to help her. Of those which came to assist the fired ship, one was a galleon, commanded by one Petrus Waldez; the fore-yard of the galleon was caught in the rigging of another ship, and carried away. This was taken by Drake, who sent Waldez to Dartmouth, and a great sum of money, viz. 55,000 ducats, which he distributed among the soldiers. This Waldez coming into Drake's presence, kissed his hand, and told him they had all resolved to die, if they had not been so happy as to fall into his hands whom they knew to be noble. That night he was appointed to set forth a light, but neglected it; and some German merchant ships coming by that night, he, thinking them to be enemies, followed them so far, that the English fleet lay to all night, because they could see no light set forth. Neither did he nor the rest of the fleet find the admiraluntil the next evening. The admiral all the night proceeding with the Bear and the Mary Rose, carefully followed the Spaniards with watchfulness. The duke was busied in ordering his squadron. Alfonsus Leva was commanded to join the first and last divisions. Every ship had its proper station assigned, according to that prescribed form which was appointed in Spain; it was present death to any one who forsook his station. This done, he sent Gliclius and Anceani to Parma, which might declare to them in what situation they were, and left that Cantabrian ship, of Oquenda, to the wind and sea, having taken out the money and mariners, and put them on board of other ships. Yet it seemed that he had not care for all; for that ship the same day, with fifty mariners and soldiers wounded and half-burned, fell into the hands of the English, and was carried to Weymouth.
The 23d of the same month, the Spaniards having a favourable north wind, tacked towards the English; but they being more expert in the management of their ships, tacked likewise, and kept the advantage they had gained, keeping the Spaniards to leeward, till at last the fight became general on both sides. They fought awhile confusedly with variable success: whilst on the one side the English with great courage delivered the London ships which were enclosed about by the Spaniards; and on the other side, the Spaniards by valour freed Ricaldus from the extreme danger he was in; great and many were the explosions, which, by the continued firing of great guns, were heard this day. But the loss (by the good providence of God,) fell upon the Spaniards, their ships being so high, that the shot went over our English ships, and the English, having such a fair mark at their large ships, never shot in vain. During this engagement, Cock, an Englishman, being surrounded by the Spanish ships, could not be recovered, but perished; however, with great honour he revenged himself. Thus a long time the English ships with great agility were sometimes upon the Spaniards, giving them the fire of one side, and then of the other, and presently were off again, and still kept the sea, to make themselves ready to come in again. Whereas the Spanish ships, being of great burden, were troubled and hindered, and stood to be the marks for the English shot. For all that the English admiral would not permit his people to board their ships, because they had such a number of soldiers on board, which he had not; their ships were many in number, and greater, and higher, that if they had come to grapple, as many would have had it, the English being much lower than the Spanish ships, must needs have had the worst of them that fought from the higher ships. And if the English had been overcome, the loss would have been greater than the victory could have been; for our being overcome would have put the kingdom in hazard.
The 24th day of July they gave over fighting on both sides. The admiral sent some small barks to the English shore for a supply of provisions, and divided his whole fleet into four squadrons; the firstwhereof he took under his own command, the next was commanded by Drake, the third by Hawkins, and the last by Forbisher. And he appointed out of every squadron certain little ships, which, on divers sides might set upon the Spaniards in the night, but a sudden calm took them so that expedition was without effect.
The 25th, the St. Anne, a galleon of Portugal, not being able to keep up with the rest, was attacked by some small English ships. To whose aid came in Leva, and Didacus Telles Enriques, with three galeasses; which the admiral, and the Lord Thomas Howard, espying, made all the sail they could against the galeasses, but the calm continuing, they were obliged to be towed along with their boats; as soon as they reached the galeasses, they began to play away so fiercely with their great guns, that with much danger, and great loss, they hardly recovered their galleon. The Spaniards reported that the Spanish admiral was that day in the rear of their fleet, which, being come nearer to the English ships than before, got terribly shattered with their great guns, many men were killed aboard, and her masts laid over the side. The Spanish admiral, after this, in company with Ricaldus, and others, attacked the English admiral, who, having the advantage of the wind, suddenly tacked and escaped. The Spaniards holding on their course again, sent to the duke of Parma, that with all possible speed he should join his ships with the king's fleet. These things the English knew not, who write that they had carried away the lantern from one of the Spanish ships, the stern from another, and sore mauled the third very much disabling her. The Non-Parigly, and the Mary Rose, fought awhile with the Spaniards, and the Triumph being in danger, other ships came in good time to help her.
The next day the lord admiral knighted the Lord Thomas Howard, the Lord Sheffield, Roger Townsend, John Hawkins, and Martin Forbisher, for their valour in the last engagement. After this, they agreed not to attack the enemy until they came into the straits of Calais, where Henry Seimor, and William Winter, waited for their coming. Thus with a fair gale the Spanish fleet went forward, and the English followed. This great Spanish Armada was so far from being esteemed invincible in the opinion of the English, that many young men and gentlemen, in hope to be partakers of a famous victory against the Spaniards, provided ships at their own expense, and joined themselves to the English fleet; among whom were the earls of Essex, Northumberland, and Cumberland, Thomas and Robert Cecil, Henry Brooks, William Hatton, Robert Cary, Ambrose Willoughby, Thomas Gerard, Arthur George, and other gentlemen of good note and quality.
The 27th day, at even, the Spaniards cast anchor near to Calais, being admonished by their skilful seamen, that if they went any further they might be in danger, through the force of the tide, to be driven into the North Ocean. Near to them lay the English admiral with his fleet, within a great gun's shot. The admiral, Seimor andWinter, now join their ships; so that now there were a hundred and forty ships in the English fleet, able, and well furnished for fighting, for sailing, and every thing else which was requisite; and yet there were but fifteen of these which bore the heat of the battle, and repulsed the enemy. The Spaniard, as often as he had done before, so now with great earnestness sent to the duke of Parma, to send forty fly-boats, without which they could not fight with the English, because of the greatness and slowness of their ships, and the agility of the English, entreating him by all means now to come to sea with his army, which army was now to be protected as it were, under the wings of the Spanish Armada, until they should land in England.
But the duke was unprovided, and could not come out in an instant. The broad ships with flat bottoms being then full of chinks must be mended. Victuals wanted, and must be provided. The mariners being long kept against their wills, began to shrink away. The ports of Dunkirk and Newport, by which he must bring his army to the sea, were now so beset with the strong ships of Holland and Zealand, which were furnished with great and small munition, that he was not able to come to sea, unless he would come upon his own apparent destruction, and cast himself and his men wilfully into a headlong danger. Yet he omitted nothing that might be done, being a man eager and industrious, and inflamed with a desire of overcoming England.
But queen Elizabeth's providence and care prevented both the diligence of this man, and the credulous hope of the Spaniard; for by her command the next day the admiral took eight of their worst ships, charging the ordnance therein up to the mouth with small shot, nails, and stones, and dressed them with wild fire, pitch, and rosin, and filling them full of brimstone, and some other matter fit for fire, and these being set on fire by the management of Young and Prowse, were secretly in the night, by the help of the wind, set full upon the Spanish fleet, which, on Sunday, the seventh of August, they sent in among them as they lay at anchor.
When the Spanish saw them come near, the flames giving light all over the sea, they supposing those ships, besides the danger of fire, to have been also furnished with deadly engines, to make horrible destruction among them; lifting up a most hideous cry, some pull up anchors, some for haste cut their cables, they set up their sails, they apply their oars, and stricken with extreme terror, in great haste they fled most confusedly. Among them the Pretorian Galleass floating upon the seas, her rudder being broken, in great danger and fear drew towards Calais, and striking in the sand, was taken by Amias Preston, Thomas Gerard, and Harvey; Hugh Moncada the governor was slain, the soldiers and mariners were either killed or drowned; in her there was found great store of gold, which fell to be the prey of the English. The ship and ordnance went to the governor of Calais.
The Spaniards report, that the duke, when he saw the fire shipscoming, commanded all the fleet to heave up their anchors, but so as the danger being past, every ship might return again to his own station; and he himself returned, giving a sign to the rest by shooting off a gun; which was heard but by a few, for they were far off scattered some into the open ocean, some through fear were driven upon the shallows of the coast of Flanders.
Over against Gravelling the Spanish fleet began to gather themselves together. But upon them came Drake and Fenner, and battered them with great ordnance: to these Fenton, Southwel, Beeston, Cross, Riman, and presently after the lord admiral, and Sheffield, came in. The Duke Medina, Leva, Oquenda, Ricaldus, and others, with much ado in getting themselves out of the shallows, sustained the English ships as well as they might, until most of their ships were pierced and torn; the galleon St. Matthew, governed by Diego Pimentellas, coming to aid Francis Toleton, being in the St. Philip, was pierced and shaken with the reiterated shots of Seimor and Winter, and driven to Ostend, and was at last taken by the Flushingers. The St. Philip came to the like end; so did the galleon of Biscay, and divers others.
The last day of this month, the Spanish fleet striving to recover the straits again, were driven towards Zealand. The English left off pursuing them, as the Spaniards thought, because they saw them in a manner cast away; for they could not avoid the shallows of Zealand. But the wind turning, they got them out of the shallows, and then began to consult what were best for them to do. By common consent they resolved to return into Spain by the Northern Seas, for they wanted many necessaries, especially shot; their ships were torn, and they had no hope that the duke of Parma could bring forth his forces. And so they took the sea, and followed the course toward the north. The English navy followed, and sometimes the Spanish turned upon the English, insomuch that it was thought by many that they would turn back again.