The Confident Hope of a Miracle

by Neil Hanson

  Veterans of the battle against the Armada had waited over five years for some Crown relief from their misery, and many already lay dead. One of the beneficiaries of the new act, Robert Mackey, had been press-ganged into the navy at Wells in Norfolk, in early 1588. “During service against the Spaniards as a quarter gunner on the Elizabeth Jonas under the charge of Sir Robert Southwell, he was grievously maimed of both his hands, most apparent to be seen.” Sir John Hawkins and William Borough, respectively the Treasurer and Comptroller of the Navy at the time of the Armada, had to present a signed “Certificate for the Relief of a Disabled Mariner” to the county treasurers in Norfolk, certifying that Mackey had indeed been maimed in the service of his country and not from some other cause. Upon receipt of this, on 9 October 1593, “Nathaniel Bacon, esquire, one of the treasurers in Norfolk for relief,” was then moved of his charity to pay Robert Mackey 33 shillings and fourpence. Since the cost of feeding a seaman for a single day was estimated at between sixpence and ninepence, Mackey’s windfall would have lasted him no more than two months. He made a ragged mark to acknowledge receipt of his money, presumably holding the quill pen between the stumps of his wrists.

  Many counties showed a great reluctance to implement the new act. A “Memorial of an order taken for poor soldiers” complained that “the late statute for their maintenance is not performed in most counties, that the justices send them from the place where they were impressed to the place where they were born and vice versa, and refuse to sign their certificates so that they become vagabonds and the Queen is troubled, whenever she takes the air, with these miserable creatures.” Not all were so callous and indifferent. The Commissioners of Charities enquired into the “abuse and perversion of charitable funds in the North Riding of Yorkshire. Know you that we, being moved with a most godly zeal to have all such poor, aged and impotent people, and specially soldiers and mariners . . . which have been or may be hurt or maimed in the wars for maintenance of God’s true religion, and for the defence of us and their native country, to be godly and charitably provided for, relieved and maintained.”

  In 1595 the Mayor of Bristol was reminded that a hospital for seamen had once existed in the city and was ordered to re-establish it to accommodate seamen maimed in the Queen’s service. It was funded by a levy on the Newfoundland fishing fleet operating out of the port. Further Acts in 1597 and 1601—the “Poor Laws”—amended the laws dealing with vagabonds and “wounded and impotent soldiers,” and strengthened the duty of parishes to provide Poor Relief; parishioners who refused to pay could now be imprisoned. Vagabonds were still punished by whipping, with persistent offenders subject to banishment, but the death penalty was abolished for most vagabonds, though it was specifically retained for discharged soldiers wandering the country. 33

  The sufferings of Elizabeth’s former seamen and soldiers had at last been addressed and some—very modest—relief introduced. They had to wait so long because there was no political will, on the part of their sovereign at least, to acknowledge the contribution they had made, or to alleviate their distress. The entire Armada campaign had lasted less than three weeks and the English fleet was rarely more than a few miles from its own coast. Even when at anchor off Calais or when pursuing the Armada through the North Sea, it was always in a position to be supplied from the nearest English harbours. In August and early September there was fresh food—meat, fish, grain, fruit and vegetables— in abundance; all that was needed was the will to provide it. If the Exchequer was bare, promissory notes could have been issued or Parliament summoned to vote an extraordinary grant in aid, and with the Armada defeated, credit was far easier for Elizabeth to obtain. There was no permanent infrastructure to handle the huge quantities of supplies that were required, but Marmaduke Darell and the Earl of Sussex had both demonstrated what determined individuals could achieve when faced with a shortfall in supplies for the fleet—and both men earned only brickbats from the Queen for their efforts.

  The greatest English failing was not in the availability of provisions and munitions and money to pay for them, or of the means to collect and deliver them to the fleet. It lay in Elizabeth’s wretched determination to pay not a penny more than she deemed appropriate. The result was that many of her seamen were either poisoned by their rank food, starved or fell easy prey to disease, and the fleet was deprived of the powder and shot with which it might have concluded the Enterprise of England in an even more emphatic manner. Her admirals, particularly Howard, were then subjected to endless sniping criticisms for failures that were not of their making.

  In justification of her cheese-paring and parsimonious conduct, Elizabeth’s supporters have argued that the poverty of the English Crown allowed no other course; it was a necessary and inevitable consequence of her lack of income. It is true that the Treasury was almost bare and foreign credit difficult to obtain at crucial periods, but she lavished money on herself—she had 3,000 gowns and 628 pieces of jewellery—royal progresses, extravagant shows and ceremonials, and futile military adventures for her favourites, while denying her fleet, her only real defence against the might of imperial Spain, the provisions and munitions it desperately needed. She also ignored the easiest way of raising additional funds—Parliament—because it would have insisted on a voice in how the money was spent. Since Elizabeth considered foreign policy to be the sole prerogative of “princes,” she preferred to rule through her Privy Council and to exact “voluntary” donations from her wealthier citizens and “ship money” from her towns to offset some of the costs. The towns were told how many fully fitted-out ships they were required to contribute to the war effort; the gentlemen, merchants, traders and other solid and prosperous citizens were notified of the size of their voluntary donation and assured that Her Majesty’s intention was to repay it at some unspecified time in the future. Few would have been so naive as to seek reimbursement.

  Elizabeth’s conduct before, during and after the campaign against the Armada has left a stain on her character that can never be erased. One choleric military historian has been savaged for his comments that “the woman who, in her imbecile parsimony, starved the fleet that went forth to fight the Armada, could not be expected to show better feelings towards the army. It was no thanks to the Queen that the Spanish invasion was repelled,” but his intemperate and probably misogynistic criticisms nonetheless concealed much more than a kernel of truth. Elizabeth’s vacillation and indecision before the Armada was launched left her country unprepared and stopped her navy from averting the looming catastrophe, and her parsimony even while the Spaniards were at her door so hamstrung her fleet that it was deprived of the chance to complete the Armada’s destruction; but her actions in the aftermath of the battle were the most despicable of all. While her favourites and courtiers fawned upon her, lauding her courage and martial prowess, the naval commanders and officials who had done most to secure her throne were shunned and criticized, and the seamen who had risked their lives on her behalf were abandoned to their fate. Those few who died in battle or the thousands who succumbed swiftly to dysentery, typhus and scurvy must sometimes have seemed the fortunate ones to those who survived, unfed and unpaid, crippled, disease-ridden or starving. 34

  Philip of Spain insisted that his defeated mariners and soldiers should be fed, clothed, housed, and paid in full and more for their service to his Crown. Elizabeth and her ministers allowed the British seamen to die of disease or starvation aboard their ships, on the docksides or in ditches and hedgerows as they struggled to make their way home, hungry and dressed only in rags. Had her commanders such as Howard, Drake and Hawkins not used their own funds and, without Crown authorization, diverted prize money from captured ships to feed their starving sailors, the death toll would have been even higher. Elizabeth showed neither interest nor regret at the fate of her servicemen, and berated and even imprisoned those who exceeded their authority in attempting to care for them. Her callous indifference to those who had risked their lives to save her throne remains the
most disgraceful episode in the life of Elizabeth I. That the English losses of personnel from ships that came through the battles virtually unscathed were every bit as heavy as those of the battered and shipwrecked Armada tells its own terrible story.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Vanished into Smoke

  Reports on the progress of the Armada had been received in London from the day of the first sighting off Cornwall. As it followed the normal track of ships heading east up the Channel, it had been in continuous sight of the English coast from the Lizard as far as the Isle of Wight, and every clifftop and headland was crowded with watchers. Supply ships and messengers passed daily between the south coast ports and the English Grand Fleet, and boatloads of volunteers and gentlemen spectators seeking a close-up view of the sea battles were continually heading out into the Channel by day and returning at night. East coast fishermen and traders brought further news of the later stages of the fighting off Gravelines and the pursuit of the Armada across the North Sea, until it disappeared over the horizon north of the Firth of Forth. Reports were slower to arrive from the north of Scotland and Ireland—it was late September before the first news of the disasters that had befallen the Armada on the Irish coast reached London—but Elizabeth and her Privy Council were far better informed than anyone else in Europe.

  While this steady flow of news had been received in England, there was complete silence and ignorance on the other side of the Channel, broken only by the arrival of the Santa Ana in La Hogue and the news gleaned from the Armada’s brief halt off Calais. It was known that the San Lorenzo had grounded and that fireships had been used against the Armada but the results of that were unknown, and all that anyone could say with confidence was that the English fleet had last been seen pursuing the Armada towards the North Sea. Parma had sent out pinnaces to scour the seas as far as Scotland in the north and Devon in the west, seeking the whereabouts of the Armada and bearing a letter urging Medina-Sidonia to return to Dunkirk where the invasion force was still assembled and waiting, but when the pinnaces eventually returned they reported that the great fleet had “vanished into smoke.” Medina-Sidonia had kept Parma informed by dispatches about the Armada’s progress as far as Calais but neither man had sent word direct to Philip, or to his ambassador in Paris. Isolated in the Escorial, Philip could only wait and pray for news. He ignored all state business except the procurement of supplies to be sent after the Armada, spent hours daily in prayer and ordered the Litany of the Forty Hours to be recited at every altar. His sentries watched the winding road descending to the plain 3,000 feet below, but the white, dust-laden surface shimmering in the fierce late summer heat was untroubled by any messenger bringing news of the fate of the Armada.

  In Paris, Don Bernardino de Mendoza was equally desperate for word, and in the absence of hard news contradictory rumours grew and multiplied. Even intercepted communications and documents copied or stolen by his spies and agents could not be relied upon. Knowing that all communications were at risk of interception and that even their most closely guarded ciphers might be penetrated, both sides routinely issued a flurry of bogus orders and disinformation alongside their true communications, and Walsingham and Mendoza were both past masters of the art of laying false trails. Various sources reported that the Armada had achieved a great victory and was moving on unopposed towards its rendezvous with Parma, but others claimed that it had been destroyed and the remnants were fleeing with Drake in hot pursuit. Still others said that the Spaniards had already landed in England. Mendoza, who declared that he would forward his master’s interests “even though I had to suffer a hundred waggons and cannons passing over my body,” dutifully relayed the reports, adding always the rider that the stories were unconfirmed. He also remarked that the attitude of Henri III was notably more conciliatory and more respectful of Philip than had previously been the case, suggesting that the French king had also heard reports of English failure. Philip replied at once, “as you consider the news to be true I am hopeful that it will prove to be so . . . I am looking anxiously for the confirmation.” 1

  On Sunday 7 August Mendoza received apparently more substantial news when one of his agents sent reports from several fishing barques that had passed through the warring fleets. It was said that Drake had fought the Armada on the previous Tuesday off the Isle of Wight. The battle had raged for a day and a night and the Spanish had sunk fifteen English galleons and captured several more, scuttling them after taking their guns. A large number of Englishmen had been taken prisoner after being rescued from the water. These reports were apparently confirmed by dispatches from Dieppe, where more of the Newfoundland fishing boats had landed. A Breton captain claimed to have been close to Drake’s flagship during the battle and to have seen one of the galleasses bring down all the Revenge’s masts with the first salvo and sink her with the second. Drake had last been seen fleeing in a small boat. A broadside was being printed in Rouen to celebrate the great Spanish victory.

  This time Mendoza passed on the reports without any cautionary footnote. He began talking openly of victory and had a huge bonfire prepared in the courtyard of his embassy, but delayed lighting it pending further confirmation. Similar reports came in from other Channel ports over the next few days, and Mendoza then left Paris to seek an audience with Henri III and demand his final submission to the demands of de Guise. While on the road to Chartres, Mendoza was overtaken by another messenger bringing reports that the Armada had reached Calais and achieved the rendezvous with Parma. It was said to be certain that by the time he received the message, Spanish troops would already have landed in England.

  He forwarded the letter to Count Olivares in Rome, who sought an immediate audience with the Pope, claiming that Sixtus’s pledge of one million ducats in gold, promised as soon as Spanish soldiers set foot on English soil, had now fallen due. Sixtus begged to differ. “When the terms of the agreement were fulfilled, he would give all he had promised and more,” but until then, nothing would be forthcoming. “It becomes daily more evident that when he promised the million he did so in the belief . . . that the undertaking would never be carried through, and that it would serve him as an excuse for the collection and hoarding of money in all sorts of oppressive ways.”

  Mendoza met Henri III in Chartres on Friday 12 August, the day the Armada passed the Firth of Forth and the English fleet abandoned its pursuit. Under incessant pressure from de Guise and the Catholic League, the King had been forced into concession after concession and had signed the Edict of Alençon, pledging that “no heretic or supporter of heretics” would ever accede to the throne of France, but as yet he had made no further attempts to confront his Protestant heir apparent, Navarre, and yielded his ground grudgingly, perhaps still hoping for an English victory to lift the Spanish siege on his throne. Mendoza now presented him with a summary of the reports he had received and asked the King to order a Te Deum, a special service of thanksgiving for the Catholic victory, in the great cathedral of Chartres. He also suggested that now was the appropriate moment for Henri to return to Paris, putting himself even more at the mercy of de Guise.

  The King demurred. “Your news, if it was certain, would be most welcome, but we too have news from Calais which you may wish to see.” He then handed Mendoza a letter dated 8 August from the Governor of Calais, stating that the Armada had appeared in Calais Roads, hotly pursued by the English. The state of the rigging and upperworks of the Spanish galleons showed the damage that they had suffered from English guns. Gourdan reported that the Duke of Medina-Sidonia had asked for powder and cannonballs, which had been refused, but that provisions had been supplied. On the Sunday night the Armada had been scattered by fireships and had fled into the North Sea, save for one galleass which had grounded under the castle walls. The last sight of the English fleet had been as it sailed once more in hot pursuit. The only comment that Mendoza could muster was “Obviously our reports differ.” He returned to Paris at once, where word reached him that both the English and the
Dutch had captured two of the Armada’s front-line ships. He sent another message to Philip warning that his previous reports might have been too optimistic, and the bonfire in the courtyard remained unlit.

  During the next week the only further news was the curious claim of a skipper of a ship of the Hanseatic League that, while sailing south through the North Sea, he had entered an area devoid of ships and yet black with horses and mules, but the next group of reports once more raised Mendoza’s spirits. Seamen in Dieppe were talking of a great sea battle off the Scottish coast that had resulted in over twenty English ships being captured or sunk. From Antwerp there were claims that Drake had had a leg blown off, Hawkins had been killed and Howard’s flagship, the Ark, taken, one of 30 English ships captured, and that “four shiploads of killed and wounded have arrived at Dover.” From Lille there were reports of 40 English ships sunk. “The great sailor John Hawkins has also gone to the bottom, not a soul having been saved from his ship.” “The rest of the English fleet, seeing only ruin before them, escaped with great damage and their ships are now all in bits and without crews.” A Danish ship’s master claimed to have seen an English ship sinking, and one of the pinnaces Parma had sent to search for traces of the Armada reported a small group of English ships fleeing in disarray towards the coast. That was apparently confirmed by one of Mendoza’s agents in England, who reported that 25 ships had been seen taking refuge near the mouth of the Thames. It was believed that this was all that remained of the Grand Fleet after a battle off Scotland on 13 August, in which no fewer than 15 English galleons had been sunk. Many others had been captured or so badly damaged that they had sunk in the storm that followed the battle, and the weather was all that had saved even the remnants of the English fleet from total destruction.2