The pictures are certainly as a series devoid of variety. In two of them the Calais shore is introduced; and the intermixture of fortifications, churches, houses, and animated spectators, eagerly crowding to behold the fleets sailing by, produces an enlivening and busy scene, which, set off by the varied, lively, and appropriate colouring of the tapestry, would have a most striking effect. But the man who, unmoved by the excitement about him, is calmly fishing under the walls, without even turning his head toward the scene of tumult, must be blessed with an apathy of disposition which the poor enraged dolphins and porpoises might have envied.
With these exceptions the tapestries are all sea pieces with only a distant view of the coast, and portray the two fleets in different stages of their progress, sometimes with engagements between single ships, but generally in an apparent state of truce, the English always the pursuers, and the Spaniards generally drawn up in form of a crescent. The last however shows the invading fleet hurriedly and in disorder sailing away, when bad weather, the Duke of Parma’s delay, and a close engagement of fourteen hours, in which they “suffered grievously,” having “had to endure all the heavy cannonading of their triumphant opponents, while they were struggling to get clear of the shallows,” convinced them of the impossibility of a successful close to their enterprise, and made them resolve to take advantage of a southern breeze to make their passage up the North sea, and round Scotland home.
“He that fights and runs away,
May live to fight another day.”
So, however, did not the Spaniards. “About these north islands their mariners and soldiers died daily by multitudes, as by their bodies cast on land did appear. The Almighty ordered the winds to be so contrary to this proud navy, that it was, by force, dissevered on the high seas west upon Ireland; and so great a number of them driven into sundry dangerous bays, and upon rocks, and there cast away; some sunk, some broken, some on the sands, and some burnt by the Spaniards themselves.”
Misfortune clung to them; storm and tempest on the sea, and inhospitable and cruel treatment when they were forced on shore so reduced them, that of this magnificent Armada only sixty shattered vessels found their home; and their humbled commander, the Duke de Medina Sidonia, was led to understand that his presence was not desired at court, and that a private country residence would be the most suitable.
It was on this occasion, when the instant danger was past but by no means entirely done away, as for some time it was supposed that the Armada, after recruiting in some northern station, would return, that Elizabeth with a general’s truncheon in her hand rode through the ranks of her army at Tilbury, and addressed them in a style which caused them to break out into deafening and tumultuous shouts and cries of love, and honour, and obedience to death. Thus magnificently the English heroine spoke:
“My loving People,—We have been persuaded by some that are careful of our safety to take heed how we commit ourselves to armed Multitudes; but I assure you I do not desire to live to distrust my faithful and loving People. Let Tyrants fear; I have always so behaved myself that, under God, I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal Hearts and Goodwill of my Subjects; and therefore I am come amongst you, as you see at this time, not for my Recreation and Disport, but being resolved, in the midst and heat of the Battle, to live and die amongst you all; to lay down for my God, and for my kingdom, and for my People, my Honour, and my Blood, even in the dust. I know I have the body but of a weak and feeble Woman, but I have the Heart and Stomach of a King, and of a King of England too; and think foul scorn that Parma or Spain, or any Prince of Europe should dare to invade the Borders of my Realm; to which, rather than any Dishonour shall grow by me, I myself will take up Arms, I myself will be your General, Judge, and Rewarder of every one of your Virtues in the Field; I know already, for your forwardness, you have deserved Rewards and Crowns; and we do assure you, in the word of a Prince, they shall be duly paid you. In the mean time my Lieutenant-general shall be in my stead, than whom never Prince commanded a more noble or worthy subject; not doubting but, by your obedience to my General, by your Concord in the camp, and your Valour in the Field, we shall shortly have a famous victory over those Enemies of my GOD, of my Kingdoms, and of my People.”
The tapestry, the magnificent memorial of this great event, was lost irreparably in the devastating fire of 1834. Some fragments, it is said, were preserved, but we have not been able to ascertain this fact. One portion still exists at Plymouth, though shorn of its pristine brilliancy, as some of the silver threads were drawn out by the economists of the time of the Commonwealth. This piece was cut out to make way for a gallery at the time of the trial of Queen Caroline, was secreted by a German servant of the Lord Chamberlain, and sold by him to a broker who offered it to Government for 500l.
Some inquiry was made into the circumstances, which, however, do not seem to have excited very great interest, since the relic was ultimately bought by the Bishop of Landaff (Van Mildert) for 20l. By him it was presented to the corporation of Plymouth, who still possess it.