The First of the English: A Novel
portion of Chester’s story which refers to his various interviews with
that young lady. And Guy, getting warmed up to his subject, his eyes
brighten once or twice in mentioning the beauty of the girl.
“Odds bodkins!” cries Elizabeth, as he closes. “This is a story as
romantic as the troubadours tell of Amadis de Gaul saving maidens from
giants, as you did Miss Minx of Alva from the Sea Beggars. Egad, I’m
afraid she has disturbed his loyalty, my Burleigh. When speaking of his
Spanish wench, Master Chester looks at his sovereign of England in a
manner that the Lords might condemn as high treason.”
“Ah, Your Gracious Majesty,” replies Guy, who is courtier as well as
pirate, “if love is high treason, then every young man who gazes upon
his sovereign of England is a traitor.”
His ardent glance emphasizes his speech, which is easy, as Elizabeth is
in the zenith of her beauty—a beauty that is hardly understood now,
most of her portraits having been taken when she was fifty and upward.
But as Chester looks at her she is only thirty-five.
“And I will punish this audacious gallant,” she says, laughing, “though
he is no traitor. Give me your sword, Guy Chester.”
The young man is about to unbuckle the weapon.
“No, naked, as you use it on my enemies!”
Drawing it from the scabbard and sinking on one knee, Guy, a sudden
hope of unexpected glory coming to him, hands it to his sovereign.
“He is of good birth, Burleigh, I hear?”
“Your Majesty,” says Cecil, bowing, “on his mother’s side he has the
blood of Lord Stanhope of Harrington. His father is cousin to the
Stanleys and High Sheriff of Cheshire. His grandfather was belted
knight.”
“Then,” says the Queen of England, “he shall be knight also!” And
administers with dainty hand the accolade, saying: “Rise up, Sir Guy
Chester!”
But Sir Guy does not rise before he does homage to the fair hand that
has knighted him so gallantly that Her Majesty gets red in the face,
and cries out: “What new science in hand kissing has this Spanish girl
taught him?”
Next the young man standing before her she tenders him his sword,
holding it by the naked blade, the handle toward his hand, saying: “May
you as belted knight use this as you have before to the terror of the
enemies of England; especially he of Alva—do not spare him for his
daughter’s sake.”
“No,” returns Guy, “for every blow I strike against the father brings
me nearer to the daughter.”
“Odd stale fish!” jeers Her Majesty, “what does this new made popinjay
of Chester think to do with the daughter of a prince?”
“To marry her, by God’s will and Your Majesty’s most gracious
permission,” cries Guy, and retires with Lord Burleigh, leaving the
Queen of England in very good humor with her new knight.
But notwithstanding Chester’s information has, perchance, saved the
life of his Queen, Elizabeth, great sovereign as she is, has a strange
parsimony in affairs of State, and though Guy petitions for money to
refit his vessel and pay his crew, it does not come. So, being
desperately anxious to get to the Netherlands again, he uses the
hundred doubloons, the present from his sweetheart, to fit up his
vessel against her father, devoting half of them to the embellishment
and ornament of the cabins of the Dover Lass, making her staterooms so
fine in woodwork and appointments that Harry Dalton, his first
lieutenant, ejaculates: “By saucy Poll of Plymouth, one would think he
meant this for a wedding cruise!”
But despite the hundred doubloons Chester soon finds himself without
money sufficient to provision and make his vessel thoroughly effective,
and goes up to London from Sandwich to make a final appeal to his
parsimonious sovereign.
Expecting to do this through Burleigh, who possesses more than any one
the royal ear, and who has always stood his friend, Chester is shown
into his Lordship’s private cabinet one afternoon late in March, to
find that nobleman in a brown study.
“You’re just the man I wish to see, Sir Guy,” he remarks. “Tell me all
about the Gueux, these Sea Beggars of the Netherlands.”
“That, my lord, I can do in very few words,” replies Chester. “They are
men of all classes from Brabant, Flanders, Friesland,
Holland—everywhere that Alva rules, driven by cruelty and persecution
to take to the sea, for to live on the land means execution by fire,
with torture additional. They have been outlawed on account of their
resistance to Spanish tyranny. In it are men high in the councils of
the Prince of Orange, who has attempted to regulate them by granting
commissions, one of which I have the honor to hold, and the medal
accompanying it I wear,” and he exhibits his badge of the Gueux to Lord
Burleigh. “In it are all those driven from land to ship, from the
Chevalier Van Tresslong and William de la Mark, the Lord of Lumey to
Dirk Duyvel, whose name proclaims him a free and easy pirate. But why
do you ask me about the Gueux?”
“For this reason. Twenty-five vessels manned by them are now in the
harbor of Dover. They appeal to us for protection, provisions, water.
Van Tresslong, and their admiral, De la Mark, are in London to ask
assistance. We are nominally at peace with Spain and Alva, but I don’t
like to refuse them hospitality.”
“Twenty-five sail—’tis a fleet! You must refuse them hospitality,”
returns Guy.
“Why?”
“Please let me explain this to the Queen. Take me to her; I must have
money for my ship.”
“Which I’m afraid Her Majesty will not grant very readily. She’s had a
dozen new dresses this month—millinery bills in the female mind have
the preference over naval equipment,” laughs Cecil; but orders his
carriage.
So the two proceed to Westminster, where the Queen has summoned
Burleigh, to obtain his advice before receiving the envoys of the
Gueux.
“Zounds!” cries Her Majesty, “My Lord of Burleigh, I see you have
brought another Gueux with you. Is he their ambassador also?” With this
she looks at Guy frowningly, for the Gueux have bothered Queen
Elizabeth’s mind for the last day or two. They are hungry people, and
she does not care particularly about feeding them; they are thirsty
people, and she does not desire to diminish her exchequer to buy drink
for them; but they are enemies of Alva, and she would like to succor
them.
“No, Your Majesty,” replies Guy with sudden inspiration, “I do not
appeal for succor for the Gueux. Don’t give them any!”
“Why not?” asks Queen Elizabeth, who is unaccustomed to being advised
so freely outside of her Privy Council.
“For these reasons: If you give them provisions and drink, they will
stay here, and be your guests and pensioners as long as your
hospitality holds out.”
“Out on the lazy rascals they would eat me out of castle and kingdom,”
grumbles Her Majesty.
“Twenty-five vessels are a fleet. They have left the Netherlands, that
leaves Alva’s hands so much more free to deal with you.”
“Then you would refuse them food?”
“Yes,” replies Guy. “Not a barrel of provisions.”
“But they have no water.”
“Not a barrel of water. Provision them and water their ships, and,
though they be ordered from England, they will not go back to the
Netherlands. The Spanish Main, where booty is thick for bold hands like
theirs, will perchance be more to their liking than Alva’s hard knocks.
Give them nothing but powder and ball. Then they must sail to near-by
port. They dare not go to France, they must go back straight at Alva’s
throat, and twenty-five vessels of them are a power that may change the
whole course of military events. They have been weak before because
they were never banded together. Now there is unity. Give them powder,
Your Majesty, give them powder and ball for him of Alva!”
“Ho! ho! Make ’em fight for their dinners! Gadzooks!” cries Her
Majesty. “My Sir Guy Chester, uses not only his sword, but his head.
What say you, Burleigh?”
“Say?” replies the English statesman, who is great enough and generous
enough to admit the wisdom of another, “I say he has given you the
wisest advice you have ever received. You make the Spanish ambassador
happy by telling him you will refuse admission or succor to the Gueux,
and by doing so you send a thunderbolt straight at Alva and Spain,
stronger than you could unless you waged open war with England’s powers
at land and sea, for which we are not ready—”
“But it will come in good time, my lord,” remarks Elizabeth. Then
summoning a page, she says: “Give order for the two envoys of the Gueux
to enter.”
Then Van Tresslong and De la Mark enter to receive what they think is
their despair, but in time will be their glory.
Her Majesty of England, standing upon a dais, receives very haughtily
the two adventurers, whose doublets are shabby with hard usage, but
whose swords are long, and whose gaunt faces give evidence of poverty
and half rations.
“You are here, gentlemen,” she says, “to petition me—for what?”
“Provisions to keep us from starving,” answers the admiral.
“No provisions!”
“Good heavens! In the name of charity. We had supposed you enemy of
Alva.”
“I am the friend of Alva. No provisions! What else?”
“And water—we have only three days’ water in our vessels. Permit us at
least that which humanity never refused to thirsty sailor—water!”
“No water! Dare to land to take water from running stream or lake and I
make war upon you!”
“And this is a Christian country?”
“Yes, Christian enough to keep its obligations and faith with Spain, a
friendly power. If within twenty-four hours you have not sailed from
our port of Dover our batteries and castle open upon you with bombard
and culverin.”
“And drive us away without water, without food, upon the open ocean?”
“YES!”
“Then, Your Majesty,” says Van Tresslong, “God forgive your inhumanity.
We have given up for our religion, which is yours; for our country that
you have professed to love, everything we have on earth—save our lives.
When the time comes we will give up them also. It must now be our
lives. We must go back to death grip with Alva!”
“Heaven help us,” sighs the admiral. “We have not even powder to fight
with!” and the two, bowing together, retire in despair from the
presence of England’s sovereign.
She makes one step as if to stay them, then cries harshly: “God forgive
me! I shall be called an inhuman woman. I shall dream of these poor,
starving Gueux to-night. But they shall not go back without ball and
powder!” With this she says to Chester: “Has your vessel sailed?”
“No, Your Majesty.”
“Then you shall go also. Here are orders for you to have all the
powder, arms, ball and ammunition you can carry. Take them. Sail from
the port of Sandwich to-night. Meet the Gueux fleet off Dover. Arm
them; ammunition them, give them plenty to fight with.”
“But, Your Majesty,” replies Guy, who now knows he will win what he
wants, “I have no money to pay my crew.”
“Here is an order on my treasury for twenty thousand crowns.” And
Elizabeth, sitting down to write, says suddenly: “But your crew is only
one hundred and twenty-five men. Fifteen thousand crowns will keep your
surly dogs from growling,” and signs order to that effect, next almost
tears it up, muttering: “I think ten thousand will be sufficient.”
“No, Your Majesty, it will not, and the expedition will be cheap at
fifteen thousand crowns, for by it you will set a band of cut-throats
on Alva, who, while they may curse your inhumanity, will fight far
better than your belted knights, for they will be fighting, not for
country now, not for religion now, but for that thing that dominates
all men’s souls—EXISTENCE! Besides, they do it free of charge!”
“Egad, we have an orator here, Cecil,” laughs Her Majesty. “A regular
sea lawyer. Some day, perchance, he may be—under-secretary of state,
eh, Lord Burleigh?”