CREMILL POINT, PLYMOUTH
CREMILL POINT, PLYMOUTH
The Spanish fleet entered the Channel off the coast of Cornwall on July 19 in dirty weather. Up from the Bay the Spanish admiral in theSan Martinhad led the van, “showing lights at night, and firing guns when the weather was hazy.” On their arrival at the mouth of the Channel they found English fishing boats acting as scouts, and so the news of the Armada’s coming was first brought to land, and flashed along the coast by desperate riders, and at night by kindled watch fires. Froude gives us an arresting and detailed picture of the dangers which had beset the English fleet in Plymouth Sound during the period of waiting—dangers of exhausted provisions and depleted resources, which were (so the historian states) due to the parsimony of Elizabeth and some of her counsellors. Medina Sidonia summoned his captains aboard the flag-ship to decide upon a course of action. Whether they should await the attack of the English fleet as they proceeded up the Channel, or attempt a surprise and fall upon it as it lay in Plymouth. The King’s orders, however, were to make for Margate roads and effect the junction with Parma. So the great unwieldy galleons, crammed to repletion with men, priests, and treasure, made their way up the Channel slowly, and, at first, in order like the shape of a half-moon.
“Long before the Spaniards saw the Lizard,” writes Froude, “they had themselves been seen, and on the evening of the 19th (of July), the beacons along the coast had told England that the hour of its trial was come.
“To the ships at Plymouth the news was as a message ofsalvation. By thrift and short rations, by good management, contented care, and lavish use of private means, there was still one week’s provisions, with powder and shot for one day’s sharp fighting, according to English notions of what fighting ought to be.... All wants, all difficulties were forgotten in the knowledge that he (the enemy) was come, and that they could grapple with him, before they were dissolved by starvation.”
In this great hour of national danger it must be remembered that the nation was at one. Differences of political faith and of religion were abandoned, “there was saddling and arming in village and town, and musters flocking to their posts.” And on the night of the 19th, with a strong wind setting up the Sound, the English ships, and a few of the privateers, were warped out behind the shelter of Mount Edgcumbe, so that they could readily get clear away to sea. And thus it happened that on the morning when the Spaniards caught their first glimpse of the Cornish coast there were forty ships lying in wait for them in Plymouth Sound.
Froude presents a vivid picture of the succeeding hours when he writes, “The day wore on; noon passed and nothing had been seen. At length, towards three in the afternoon, the look-out men on the hill reported a line of sails on the western horizon ... they swept on in a broad crescent ...; and as the hulls showed clear, it was seen that report had not exaggerated the numbers said to be coming. A hundred and fifty large and small were counted and reported to Lord Howard....”
A hundred and fifty, and beneath the haven lay to meet them but forty odd! There was no hesitation, however. One after the other cables were slipped, or anchors weighed on board the English ships, and they dropped away down the Sound, whilst thousands watched their setting forth with beating and anxious hearts, for the magnitude of the undertaking was great enough to appal the stoutest. The night was cloudy, and it was full dusk ere the Spanish admiral saw thatHoward was waiting, and prepared for him. The English ships flitted to and fro between the Armada and the land most bewilderingly, “so that the Spaniards could by no means reckon or make sure of their size or number.” Seeing that to enter the Sound without first fighting an action was quite impossible, Medina Sidonia flew the signal to heave to for the night, confident in his superior numbers.
Next day’s dawn found the Spanish fleet and the English ships not yet in touch. The breeze rose with the sun, and about eight o’clock the former got under way with a view of closing with Howard’s ships. But to the Spanish admiral’s astonishment he found the enemy easily took and kept the weather gauge, and either approached or left at will his clumsy “high towered, broad-bowed galleons, which moved like Thames barges piled with hay; while the sharp, low English sailed at once two feet to the Spaniard’s one, and shot away as if by magic in the eye of the wind.”
The action, which, with short intervals, was destined to last for almost a week, commenced by Howard’s flag-ship, theArk, and three others of the English vessels running down upon the Spanish rear line, and whilst traversing it “firing successively into each galleon as they passed, then wearing round and returning over the same course.”
The Spanish commanders were struck with astonishment, and with the English “firing four shots to one,” the huge galleons were raked again and again, and their over-numerous crews thrown into confusion. Meanwhile the rest of the gallant little English ships, the masts of some of which scarce came above the poops of their enemies, were one by one getting into action on similar conditions.
The fight went on through the long morning and into the afternoon, with the Spaniards always wearing and endeavouring to get at close quarters with their nimble foes, but always failing to do so. The Spanish ships being to leeward andcanting over to the wind found their shots fly high over the smaller English craft, and their guns could not be sufficiently depressed to overcome this disadvantage.
Towards evening a ship was detached from the English fleet to carry a report of the events of the day to Lord Henry Seymour, and a messenger rode off in hot haste to London to ask urgently for more powder and ammunition, of which the English were already running short. During the night Drake went in pursuit of some vessels which apparently had left the main body of the Armada, and Howard himself and his other ships clung close to the Spaniards “sparing powder, but firing an occasional shot to prevent the enemy from recovering from their confusion.”
Terrified by these tactics and the superb seamanship of Howard’s ships, the Spanish huddled together like a flock of frightened sheep, and in the night several vessels fell foul of one another, and much damage was done in consequence. Amongst those which met with such misadventure were theSanta Catalinaand theCapitana. The latter, a galleon of 1,200 tons, carrying the flag of Pedro de Valdez, the only commander on the Spanish side with any reliable or extensive knowledge of the Channel, was so damaged that she was abandoned to her fate (though the Spanish admiral-in-chief, Medina Sidonia, sent a boat to take off her very essential commander, who gallantly refused to desert his ship), and next morning fell a prey to Drake on his return from chasing what had proved to be not Armada galleons but Flemish traders. The prize proved of unexpected value. We have already mentioned what ultimately became of theCapitana, but an interesting sidelight regarding the treatment in those days, of prisoners of war, more especially foreigners—who were looked upon by the lower classes of English people as little better than savages—is afforded by a letter from Gilbert to Walsingham dated a few days before the final scattering of the Armada. He wrote,“The cost of keeping them (theCapitanaprisoners) was great, the peril great, the discontent of the country people greatest of all,” and so, “to save expense, they were fed on the refuse of their own provisions, which was too bad to be taken away, the fish stinking, and the bread full of worms.”
It is not inconceivable that had the rough-dealing fishermen of Brixham had their way with regard to the Spaniards, the difficulty of feeding them would not have long troubled those in authority. Prisoners of war in those days in any country found little consideration if unable themselves to pay ransom, or if their rank was not sufficiently high to make redemption probable.
During the succeeding few days the fight went on amid storms and varying winds, the English admiral supplying his necessities of powder and provisions (and dire necessities these were) from the stores of the enemies’ ships which were captured, or which in their unwieldy manœuvres had come into collision, been irreparably damaged and abandoned by the Spaniards.
Knowing nothing of the coast the Spanish commander entreated the Duke of Parma (who lay at Calais) most earnestly to send him pilots. All through that long, running fight up Channel the English policy had been to avoid as far as possible close engagement; to worry the stragglers of the Spanish fleet; to snap up any laggards; and engage any which had out-sailed (as did theSan Marcos) the main body.
Concerning these tactics the Spanish commander wrote to the Duke of Parma, “The enemy pursue me. They fire upon me most days from morning till nightfall; but they will not close and grapple.” Then the writer goes on to request assistance, and, more than anything, powder and shot, as his stock was running low.
At length, having traversed the whole length of the Channel, harassed by the “English bloodhounds, Howard,Hawkins, Drake, Frobisher, and the rest,” the Armada straggled into Calais roads. There were missing vessels; and downcast hearts aboard most of the galleons which had won to Calais through the ceaseless English fire.
The Armada brought up on the edge of shoal water, which made it difficult to deliver such an attack as would best have pleased and served the English commanders. And so, after a consultation aboard Howard’s own ship, in which “Sheffield, Seymour, Southwell, Palmer, Drake, Hawkins, Winter, Fenner, and Frobisher assembled, with the fate of England in their hands,” it was decided to launch against the great Armada the fire-ships which were destined to complete “with the additional and saving grace of God’s warring elements,” the final destruction of the proud fleet of Philip of Spain.
Eight of the smaller vessels which had attached themselves to the English fleet were selected for the heroic service. Their rigging and spars were smeared with pitch, their decks and holds filled with all the most combustible rubbish to which hands could be put, and then, late at night, when “the tide—set directly down from the English position to where the ships of the Armada ... lay” the fire ships were loosed on their mission of destruction with their several crews to pilot them to their destination, when they were to lash the helm fast, belay the sheets, and set the vessels on fire.
Froude describes the scene thus, using as his authorities the letters of eyewitnesses, Howard, Drake, Winter, and other accounts now in the Record Office. “When the Spanish bells were about striking twelve, and, save the watch on deck, soldiers and seamen lay stretched in sleep, certain dark objects, which had been seen dimly drifting on the tide where the galleons lay thickest, shot suddenly into pyramids of light, flames leaping from ruddy sail to sail, flickering on the ropes, and forecastles, foremasts and bowsprits a lurid blazeof conflagration.... Panic spread through the entire Armada; the enemy they most dreaded was upon them.”
The success of the fire-ships was complete, so far as frightening the Spanish into putting to sea was concerned. Most of the galleons, after some confusion and damage, got clear of the shoals, and lay-to about six miles from the shore. Then when daybreak came, some were seen aground on Calais Bar. During the next few days the running fight was resumed, as at first the galleons strove to regain their former anchorage off Calais, but were driven along the Dutch coast, ultimately to speed northwards towards Scotland, with Howard, Drake, Hawkins, and the rest of the English captains in hot pursuit.
“Without pilots, in a strange sea, with the autumn storms prematurely upon them, and with no friendly port for which to run, he (Medina Sidonia) became utterly unmanned.... On, therefore, sped the Armada before the rising breeze, the English still following. Then as ship after ship became leaky or disabled by the ever-rising storm, and was abandoned with callousness bred of ‘a wonderful fear,’ what remained of the great fleet of Philip of Spain passed for a time out of English ken, and rushed northwards to destruction and dismemberment.”
Howard was at last compelled to abandon the chase. Froude tells us “the English had but three days’ provisions left, and to follow further so ill-provided, with the prospect of a continuing storm, was to run into needless danger.”
Thus, with the return of Howard’s ships to Margate and Harwich, was the “greatest service ever done by an English fleet ... successfully accomplished by men whose wages had not been paid from the time of their engagement, half-starved, with their clothes in rags and falling off their backs, and so ill-found in the necessaries of war that they had eked out their ammunition by what they could take in action from the enemy himself.”
Plymouth’s share in the most glorious event in national history was the chief and ever unforgettable one. And for this reason we have told the story of it somewhat fully.
It was from Plymouth that Sir Walter Raleigh set sail with other bold adventurers for America, where he took possession of Virginia, calling the new colony after his none too grateful mistress, Queen Elizabeth, on July 13, 1584.
Plymouth, also, saw the setting forth of a much more significant and peaceful expedition to that New World of which so little was even then known, when the Pilgrim Fathers from Leyden, after sojourning awhile in the great West country port, stepped once more aboard the schoonerMayflower, on September 6, 1620, and casting loose, adventured out into the wide ocean, which washed the shores of far distant America as well as those of their native land. It was in remembrance of the last spot in England to give them harbourage that New Plymouth was named. The vessel which bore so rich a cargo of faith to the New World, and has enjoyed such fame, was destined to have a prosaic end. After she had borne the “Pilgrim Fathers” safely across the Atlantic, she was sold as a trader, and after many years in the East India Company’s service was lost off Masulipatam on the east coast of India.
Plymouth played its gallant part in the Civil War. The Royalist forces recognized the importance of the possession of such a town and attacked it almost continuously for several years. It also had to stand actual and protracted siege. Over and over again the Royalist troops under Charles I, dashing and gallant Prince Rupert, and many other distinguished generals assailed the town, only time after time to be repulsed with heavy loss. Then came the culminating event one Sunday morning when the slopes and hillside to the north and north-east of the town surged and rang with the tide and cries of fierce conflict. It was the Royalists’ lasteffort, and with their defeat the siege was finally abandoned.
Charles II when he came to the throne did not forget the “malignancy” of the men of Plymouth, nor the stout defence they had offered to his father’s attack. It was probably to the latter fact that the existence of “The Citadel,” which Charles II built, may be ascribed. For, although nominally for the defence of the town on the sea side, it is significant that the greater proportion of the guns with which it was provided were trained upon the town itself.
Of the many eighteenth-century voyagers who set out from Plymouth, none was destined to win greater renown than Captain Cook, who made the town his headquarters previous to all three of his famous expeditions.
The fear of Napoleonic invasion did not perhaps convulse Plymouth—greatly strengthened as it had become by that time, and kept by ceaseless bustle and activity from the form of nervous dread which afflicted the smaller towns of the south and south-western coasts—but it saw its full share not only of the distress and excitement caused by the long war, but also of the more terrible effects. Many a proud line-of-battle ship, frigate, and corvette which left the Sound with a gallant complement of brave men, colours flying, and bands playing, returned little more than a shambles or a shattered wreck after one of those fierce engagements in the Channel or Bay of Biscay for which the years from just after the French Revolution till well on into the second decade of the nineteenth century were famous.
PLYMOUTH BREAKWATER
PLYMOUTH BREAKWATER
At the close of the war the great Napoleon, broken in fortune and spirit, came to Plymouth in theBellerophon, and remained some little time the object of the greatest curiosity not only to all the townsfolk, but to the countryside at large, the inhabitants of which crowded into the place from distant parts to see the man who for two decades had been thecause of so much misery, and such nights and days of alarm.
During the war the Plymouth privateers distinguished themselves as might be expected of vessels hailing from a port with traditions of Blake, Hawkins, Frobisher, and the rest of those gallant Elizabethan captains. But of the many gallant actions, often fought against great odds, and triumphantly brought to an issue, we have no space here to speak.
Of Old Plymouth there is now, alas! little left. Even half a century ago there were many of the ancient houses standing in the streets that the old sea captains trod. But now few of these dwellings remain, and even the historic streets have in many cases been renamed, thus unhappily destroying for ever all connection with the past. In St Andrew’s Street there are still a few quaint houses with projecting windows, carved corbels, overhanging eaves, and substantial doors made to resist actual attack as well as to preserve the house against casual intruders. At the bottom of St Andrew’s Street stands a block of modern houses, erected in medieval style, and into one of them has been incorporated much of the woodwork of one of the houses which the more modern ones replace. This house is interesting as being, at least by tradition, the dwelling frequently occupied by Sir Walter Raleigh when in Plymouth. In the High Street, too, there are still a few survivals of charm and value, with the ancient archways leading into spacious courts. High Street was, as its name indicates, the chief thoroughfare in Elizabethan times, and must have known Drake, Raleigh, Hawkins, and many another Plymouth worthy and bold sea rover. It is in the heart of the old town where Drake and the chief merchants of his time had their residences.
Of the old inns and taverns, which, as became a seaport, were once very numerous, few if any survive. The most famous was the Turk’s Head, probably dating from the timeof Richard Cœur de Lion and the Crusades, as did most hostelries bearing that and similar names. In Woolster Street there was the inevitable Mitre Tavern, much resorted to by the gentlemen adventurers, and the officers of Plymouth merchantmen. Here, tradition states, was fought, early one autumn morning, after a night of high play at cards, a “triangular” duel with pistols which sent two gallant gentlemen to their last account.
In St Andrew’s Church Plymouth has not only one of the largest parish churches in England, but a building of great antiquity, permeated by the spirit of the past. The church is practically what it has been since 1460; the earliest part, which is thought to be the south aisle, dates from 1385, when it was dedicated to the Virgin.
In this ancient fane many of those who have left their mark on history have from age to age and time to time worshipped. Here came Katherine of Aragon, after landing, to return thanks for the protection of Divine Providence during her voyage from Spain. Here worshipped Drake and Hawkins, and the rest of their comrades (brave fighters all, but devout after their kind and age); and after them the Puritans to take the oath of the solemn league and covenant; and here Charles II is said to have accomplished the gift of healing by touching for the King’s evil. And although the body of Admiral Blake rested here in company with that of Sir Martin Frobisher only for a time before transference to Westminster Abbey, the heart of the intrepid admiral is popularly supposed to lie buried within the church.
But, after all, those who remain in the Sound below Stonehouse, with its famous Royal William Victualling Yard, and Devil’s Point, concerning the origin of the name of which there is so much local dispute, and do not penetrate to the region of the Hamoaze, the Lynher River, St Germans Creek, and the upper reaches of the Tamar, which can be navigated in adinghy as far as Weir Head itself, know but half the beauties and attractions of Plymouth.
Devonport Dockyard, too, is always a place of interest and fascination to seafaring folk. The town seems to shut itself off from the other two towns, and in the past this apparent exclusiveness has led to municipal friction. For a long time the “Dockyard town” was but indifferently supplied with water, and Plymouth firmly refused to allow any of its supply—dating from the days of Drake, who had a good deal to do with getting it for the town—to be diverted to Devonport. Now, however, Devonport has its own water drawn from inexhaustible Dartmoor, and the town has flourished so amazingly that, although the youngest of naval ports, it has become the one of greatest activity and renown.
But there is no space for us to descant in detail of the charming places upon the shores of Tamar, Hamoaze, and St Germans River. Even pretty, old-fashioned Saltash, with its fishermen’s cottages clinging to the steep hillside, so that the blue smoke from the lower often seems to veil the higher dwellings, and its ancient church can only be mentioned in passing; and so, too, the fact that its corporation takes precedence of that of Plymouth, and has jurisdiction over the Sound.
St Germans, called after St Germanus, Bishop of Auxerre, who came over to Britain in the fifth century, and founded upon the banks of the beautiful Lynher River a monastery, which caused the place to become an important centre of religious life and secular industry, can but be referred to briefly. The church, with its Norman west front and recessed porch, is of unusual interest, as is also the thirteenth-century octagonal, north-west tower.
Port Eliot, the seat of the Eliot family, whose ancestor, Sir John Eliot, played so prominent a part in the period just anterior to the Civil War, stands quite close to the greatchurch, which, separated from it only by greensward and a narrow road, is well worth a visit.
But all these things, including Landulph, with its old church and the monument to Theodore Paleologus, of Pesaro in Italy, “descended from ye Imperyail lyne of ye last Christian Emperors of Greece”; and the Castle of Tremanton on Lynher River can only be visited by one who has much time at his disposal.
Of the beauties of Mount Edgecumbe a great deal has from time to time been written. Under its shelter lay Howard’s fleet, and along its shady avenues have walked many of the greatest sons of the West Country in past centuries. It is this, as Garrick calls it, “mount of all mounts in Great Britain” that attracts the eye as one enters the Sound, and it is at this lovely heritage of tree-crowned heights, valleys, and wide, stretching sward that one gazes when, with the anchor weighed, one drops down the water bound further west.