Chapter XII

As the time drew nigh at which the great armada, boastingly denominated “invincible” might be looked for in the English seas, Europe stood on the tiptoe of expectation, impatient for the result. That it would effect the subjugation of England was never once doubted. But though such was the general expectation, the world was seized with surprise, no less than admiration, at the indomitable resolution by which the doomed English were inspired. They were a nation in arms! The noble and the peasant, the old man and the boy, the Protestant and the Catholic, forgetting all differences of rank, age, and religion, had alike risen against the emergency, and were all alike prepared to stand and die in defence of their country.

Yet it was on their great Queen, and her able minister, Burleigh, that admiration was especially fixed. To them, no exertion seemed too arduous--no amount of effort wearisome. While Burleigh, in his closet, struck out the resources of the country, or negotiated for aid with the Prince of Orange and the King of Scotland, Elizabeth’s perseverance and activity brought those resources into play. The effect of her example might be traced in the very meanest of the preparations for the national defence. She would be seen in the drill-grounds as early as six in the morning; in the dockyards, where the din of workmen, the smoke of forges, and a hundred pestilent vapours, seemed to forbid her approach, she would attend continually, encouraging the artificers by the most gracious and animating words, and where fortifications were in progress, she would go among the engineers unattended, and cheer them to renewed exertion by her words and presence.

The good effect of her activity was soon apparent; and in less than four months from the time that the invasion was first threatened, when the country was almost defenceless, she was prepared to sustain its onset. A fleet of thirty sail, commanded by Lord Effingham, with Drake, Hawkins, and Frobisher for his rear-admirals, was ready for sea at Portsmouth; and about twenty ships more, under Lord Henry Seymour, were stationed off Yarmouth, for the purpose of intercepting the Duke of Parma. A regular army, fifty thousand strong, was encamped in the neighbourhood of Portsmouth; and one of the same force, including the flower of the nobility and gentry, serving without pay, was encamped on the banks of the Thames, near Tilbury. Added to this, every district had raised a regiment of volunteers; and the King of Scotland, if his aid should be required, was ready to cross the border with an army of Scots, and co-operate with the Queen in her defence of the Protestant faith.

Affairs were thus situated, when it became whispered abroad, from some unknown source, that, if the expected enemy should effect a landing, the Queen intended to take the field in person. The rumour soon acquired confirmation; for a day was fixed, to the delight of the whole nation, on which the Queen would review the metropolitan army at Tilbury, and take order in the purpose ascribed to her.

The extensive level adjoining Tilbury Fort, on the banks of the Thames, and on the London side of the fort, was appointed for the scene of the review. There, on the day fixed, the army assembled, under the command of its general, Lord Hunsdon, at an early hour. It was a fair morning in June, and the fineness of the weather, no less than the spectacle itself, and the expected presence of the idolized sovereign, drew to the spot, not only all the denizens of the surrounding country, but almost all the population of the metropolis. Great as the area was, it hardly sufficed, after the army had taken up its position, to accommodate the multitude of spectators. The crowd was so excessive, indeed, that thousands who had come to view the sight, despairing of obtaining so much as standing-room, would not venture to land, but sought to obtain a glimpse of the review from the opposite shore. The little hamlet of Gravesend, which was right opposite, was crowded with such adventurers, and even Windmill Hill, a mile to the rearward, was not overlooked, but was capped by masses of eager spectators.

It was a scene such as the eye had rarely beheld. On one side appeared the shore of Kent, backed by the height of Windmill Hill, and falling down towards Gravesend, when it swept round a graceful curve of the river, in a long, verdant level, towards the point since called Milton. Then came the river, bright as a mirror, with its broad bosom, here seeming to expand into a noble bay, covered with every description of craft, all filled with passengers, and decked with a thousand streamers. The grim fortress, bristling with cannon, yet scarcely rising from the low ground on which it was situated, then prepared one for the warlike scene beyond. There the spirit thrilled before the interest and singularity of the expansive prospect. The verdant heights in the background, running from the village of Tilbury towards London, sparkled with white tents, and streamer-capped marquees, forming the army’s camp. On the extensive level in their front stood the army, fifty thousand strong, and embracing, as was before stated, the strength and flower of England’s chivalry. To conclude, the vast area was enclosed, beyond a picket of volunteer cavalry, by one impenetrable mass of spectators, men, women, and children, all dressed in their gayest apparel, and animated by one common feeling of nationality and patriotism.

Such was the aspect of the locality at the time that, amidst deafening and renewed acclamations, the royal barges, on board of which were the Queen and her court, approached the landing-place of the fortress. A guard of honour was waiting to receive them; and the commander-in-chief, Lord Hunsdon, with his staff, were also in attendance. A troop of sumpter-horses, too, under the charge of the royal equerries, waited close by, and everything was prepared to convey the Queen to the field.

A salute of one hundred guns was opened as Elizabeth stepped on the shore. She bowed her head to the guard, who had presented arms; and then, with a bright smile, extended her hand to the general, Lord Hunsdon.

“A fair day to you, my Lord General,” she cried. “Are we for the field to-day?”

“An’ it shall please your Highness to be our leader,” replied the old warrior.

“That will it, heartily!” returned the Queen. “Ho, for a horse!”

A noble steed, white as snow, and brilliantly caparisoned, was brought forward immediately, and drawn up before her. She paused to survey him a moment, and, seemingly pleased with his appearance, then caught up the rein, and suffered herself to be raised to the saddle. When she had settled herself on the saddle, she turned to Lord Hunsdon, and, with a smile, directed him, as her lieutenant, to mount a horse at her side. The ladies and cavaliers of her train mounted in her rear, and, the whole party being horsed, the Queen led the way, in company with Lord Hunsdon, towards the neighbouring field.

The gate of the fort on the London side, leading to Tilbury Level, had been thrown wide open, in order that the cavalcade might sustain no delay; and a strong force of archers, selected from the Queen’s guard, walled the avenue on either side, so as to keep it clear of the crowd. But the appearance of the Queen in the gateway quickly altered this state of things. The guard of archers was broken through in a moment; the people covered the lately open avenue like dust; and the roar of the artillery itself, though proceeding from the adjacent batteries, was lost in a tremendous shout of “God save the Queen!”

Never before or since were subjects so intoxicated at the presence of their sovereign. Men threw themselves down before her, in the dust, to be trampled on by her horse; young gallants threw up their plumed caps, when, from the density of the crowd, they could never hope to recover them, merely to show how they held everything to be hers; and afar off, above a thousand heads, were seen young children, waving their tiny arms, and invoking Heaven’s benison on their matchless monarch.

Again and again did the Queen acknowledge, by bowing her head, and waving her fair hand, the gratification she felt at the popular greeting; but her courteous responses only prolonged the enthusiasm of the multitude. To attempt to penetrate the dense mass seemed to be a project that no one would ever think of: the poor archers, after one vain effort, relinquished all hope of opening the Queen a passage, and were content to be jammed up helpless: only the Queen herself, whose resolution nothing could subdue, knew how to clear the broken avenue.

Availing herself of a moment when all eyes were fixed on her, she raised her hand in the air, and the loud acclamations of the multitude, which had just before made the welkin shake, subsided into a dead silence.

“Good people, my loving children,” the Queen then cried, “you must needs let me pass!”

Her words fell on the crowd like magic; a road was opened for her on the instant; and amidst renewed acclamations, and the thunder of the contiguous batteries, the monarch and her train passed forward, and entered the area of the level.

The trumpets and drums sounded a stirring flourish as the cavalcade appeared before the army. The royal party, after riding forward a little distance, stationed themselves on the bound of the area, about half way to Tilbury Hills. There, bowing to the pommel of his saddle, Lord Hunsdon took a temporary leave of the Queen, and, together with his staff, spurred to the front, and advanced to the immediate vicinity of the troops.

The army was drawn up in a line, in order of battle. On the approach of the general, however, the trumpets sounded for a new evolution, and the whole body immediately wheeled into companies. The trumpets and drums then broke into a march, and the gallant army, still ordered in companies, simultaneously moved forward, and marched round the area before the Queen.

It was a brilliant spectacle, and there was not one person present, among the countless thousands of spectators, that it did not inspire with the noblest determination. The martial music was itself inspiriting; but the glittering arms of the soldiers, their varied costumes, and their gallant and fearless bearing, made the heart bound again, and one derived ardour and courage from the mere exhibition of war.

Having marched round the area, the army was, by another flourish of trumpets, wheeled once more into line. It formed close at first, but quickly took open order. As it did so, the Queen and her train, attended by Lord Hunsdon, galloped to the front, and rode along before the first rank. Thus passing forward, she came to the end of the line, and then, wheeling about, turned between the open files, and proceeded to inspect the rear rank. This, though not so select, appeared to satisfy her no less than the foremost one, and she spurred to the front again with a bright smile.

A loud flourish was sounded as she once more appeared in the front. A dead pause ensued, when the Queen, raising her voice to its highest pitch, broke the silence.

“Soldiers!” she cried--“You have heard that the enemy you are to meet, from his surpassing numbers, and long acquaintance with war, is deemed invincible; but let not that give you discouragement. I, a woman, here throw by my sex, and all care for my own person, to be your leader. Yes, I myself, your Queen, will be your general, your judge, and the rewarder of every one of your virtues in the field. Your alacrity has already deserved its rewards, and, on the word of a prince, they shall be duly paid to you. Persevere, then, in your obedience to command; and we shall soon have a victory over those enemies of my God, my kingdom, and my people.”

Her words fell on the ears of the soldiers like an electric shock; there was a pause for an instant; then rose one tremendous shout, from the whole fifty thousand voices, of--“We will! we will.” The shout was caught up by the surrounding spectators; it was reverberated from the opposite shore; and from the summit of Windmill Hill, above two miles distant, thousands of voices were heard in chorus, saluting their sovereign with hearty hurrahs.

But the popular enthusiasm suddenly sustained an unexpected check. As the Queen, after receiving the greeting of the army, turned her horse to retire, the acclamations of the people startled the horse, and caused him to rear furiously in the air. Dropping his feet again, he was about to throw the Queen off, when two cavaliers, quick as lightning, sprang from the rearward, and secured his rein. The Queen recovered herself instantly; but, being seated sideways, she saw but one of the cavaliers who had rescued her, and supposed that he had done it alone.

“Now, fair befall thee, Raleigh!” she cried, smiling. “Since thou hast been so prompt, be my equerry as far as the fort, and thou shalt afterwards, in requital, be my master of the horse.”

“Let me say but a word, my gracious liege,” said Sir Walter Raleigh. “My Lord Essex”--

“Psha!” cried the Queen, laughing. “Lead on my horse, Sir Groom!”

Sir Walter, with seeming discomposure, led on the horse, which was now quite pacified, towards the gate of the fort; and the cavalier who had helped him to rescue the Queen, and who had unfortunately been overlooked, followed in silence. It was the Earl of Essex.