When they saw the place they had come to attack in front of them, the earl and his companions learned for the first time that they could not get across without boats, and, as the Spaniards had a fort at that point, there would have been great danger in attempting the use of that method. It seemed then, as the earl's chaplain puts it, that "we were at a flat bay; even at our wits' end." Cumberland, however, was not so soon at the end of his wits as the chaplain. He argued very justly that the Spanish horsemen whom they had just seen ride off into the woods must have some means of getting into the island, and he fairly concluded that where the Spaniards could cross, so could the English. The difficulty was to find the passage. On their march, Cumberland's soldiers had captured a negro, by whom they had been guided so far. The man spoke little Spanish, or, as we can well believe, English either, and was moreover in extreme terror between the probability that the English would kill him if he refused to guide them, and the prospect that the Spaniards would hang him for acting as guide. At last he was made to understand that the English were in search of some ford at which they could walk into the island. He led them to a point where there was a causeway, probably that where the bridge now stands. It was now late, and the whole force was very tired, so Cumberland gave his men a few hours' rest before making an attack. They all slept in their armour on the bare ground, the earl among them with his target for a pillow. Two hours before daybreak they were called quietly under arms, and prepared to rush the causeway. The earl would have led himself, but was persuaded to leave the command of the van to his lieutenant, Sir John Berkeley. The attempted surprise was a failure, though well planned and gallantly executed. The Spaniards had a stockade at the end of the causeway, and, being on the look-out, they opened a hot fire at the English as they came on. Cumberland, though he had left the leading of the storm to Berkeley, would not keep out of the fight, and his zeal led him into danger in a fashion which, to us, is not without a certain absurdity. As he was cheering his men on along the causeway in the dark, his shield-bearer stumbled and fell against him. Cumberland was thrown off his feet and pushed into the water, falling on his back, so that, being encumbered by the weight of his armour, he could not get up, and would infallibly have been drowned if two of his followers had not fished him out after several unsuccessful dives. When rescued, it was found that he had swallowed so much salt water as to be very sick. He spent the rest of the action sitting in complete prostration by the side of the causeway. When the first signs of daylight were visible, the English were called off, and retired with the loss of some fifty men.
It was obvious that there was no getting into the island by that entry, and therefore the earl went back to the point at which he had first touched St. Juan; and, bringing round one of his ships, battered down the fort at the landing. His vessel was stranded and became a wreck, but an entry was made into the island. A march of a mile through wood and rocky ground brought the invaders to the town, which is described, probably with great exaggeration, as being of the same circuit as Oxford. It had been deserted by all except the women, children, and old men. The men capable of bearing arms had shut themselves up in the fort called the Morra, which it was necessary to reduce by a regular siege. As very frequently happened in the ventures of that time, there was more honour than material profit made at San Juan de Puerto Rico; but in this case the leader aimed chiefly at honour, or at least something altogether beyond the mere ransom. It was Cumberland's intention to retain possession of San Juan de Puerto Rico for the Crown of England, and he actually remained there far longer than was wise, if he had considered only his immediate interests. His intention to antedate the establishment of the English in the West Indies by more than half a century was altogether premature. His force, already weakened by sickness and inaction, was not strong enough for the undertaking. After losing nearly four hundred men by fevers, the earl took to his ships and returned to England.
I have told the history of the Earl of Cumberland's capture of San Juan de Puerto Rico at what may appear undue length if it is judged by the intrinsic importance of the feat; but it stands here as the representative of a score of others which could not be told without swelling this book to irrational proportions. The naval war of Elizabeth's reign was, above all, a war of adventurers. Cumberland was only the richest, the best born, and, it is not unjust to add, the most high-minded, of a large class which included Cavendish, Grenville, Preston, Sommers, Dudley, Shirley, Lancaster, and a score of others whose names meet us here and there as commanding ships in fights and captures, but who came out of and returned to obscurity. The regular naval war did not differ materially from the enterprises of these sea-rovers. The capture of Cadiz was only the taking of San Juan de Puerto Rico on a great scale, and the cruises to the Isles were very much like the earl's cruises to the Canaries. It is this adventurous quality, the touch of romance and knight-errantry, which gives its peculiar charm to the Elizabethan time. There is a youthfulness about the epoch which is lost by the next generation. England was "mewing her mighty youth," springing from a small power to a great, and from a little trading nation to one whose sails were on every sea. When Elizabeth ascended the throne, the English flag had only once or twice gone farther than to Archangel in the north and Scanderoon in the Levant. Before her death, ships bearing her flag and manned by her subjects had "prowled with hostile keel" in all the seas of the world; and her merchants were preparing to open a permanent trade with the East Indies, while English colonists had established a footing on the continent of North America. In this great work the Royal Navy was not the only instrument. It is seldom that we find it acting alone, and never when a great display of power was required. Yet the Royal Navy was the steel of the lance, the model of discipline and warlike efficiency. The city of London, or so great a subject as the Earl of Cumberland, might show a few ships not inferior to the queen's, but that was quite the exception. The Royal Navy was already as distinctly marked from the other shipping of the country as it was in later generations.
CHAPTER IV
JAMES I. AND CHARLES I.
Authorities.—Sir W. Monson's Naval Tracts continue to be the leading authority for the early years of King James. The narratives which illustrate the adventures of our seamen with the Algerine pirates and the expeditions of 1620 have been collected by Lediard in his Naval History. The report of the Commission of 1618 is given in substance in Charnock's Naval Architecture. The original is in the Record Office. The Navy Record Society has printed Holland's and Ilyonsbie's Discourses on the Navy, edited by Mr. Tanner. For the later years included in this chapter and for the whole time of the Civil War and the Commonwealth, the collection of documents miscalled the Life of Sir W. Penn, by Granville Penn, is of great value.
In the summer of 1604 Sir William Monson was appointed to command the squadron in the Narrow Seas. In the course of his duty he had occasion to speak with the officer commanding the Dutch ships then engaged in the blockade of Dunkirk. "At my coming thither," he writes, "I went on board the Admiral of Holland, who had been my old and familiar acquaintance by reason of many actions and services we had been in together. I told him that after twenty years spent in the wars, I was now become a watchman with a bill in my hand to see peace kept and no disorder committed in the Narrow Seas." The image which Monson applied to himself might, with equal justice, have been used of the Government he served. After a long and stormy reign, divided into nearly equal periods of conflict without open war and then of undisguised hostilities, England had settled down under a sovereign whose dearest wish it was to see peace kept and no disorders committed in the Narrow Seas or elsewhere. It could hardly be said that King James was a watchman with a bill in his hands. This king would, in fact, have been a more effectual guardian of the peace, if he had taken better care to have his weapon ready, and shown a greater faculty for using it. Yet he chose the part of the peacemaker, and his decision inevitably had its effect on the navy.
With the exception of one deplorably ill-managed expedition against the pirates of Algiers in 1620, the king's reign was barren of warlike enterprises at sea; but it is not, on that account, without great interest in naval history. In the first place, it is during the reign of King James that we first get a good opportunity of seeing the navy engaged in its regular work of keeper of the peace, or protector as the Church Service words it, of all those who go upon the sea upon their lawful occasions. Then it was a time of great advance in shipbuilding and of great experiments in naval administration.
The same Sir William Monson, whose name has appeared so often already, has left an account of his services as admiral in the Narrow Seas, written for his own justification at a time when he was accused by the Dutch of showing partiality in the discharge of his office. The exact merits of this accusation are hardly to be settled now, nor does it very much matter whether Monson leant too much to one side or the other, in the chronic disputes between Dutchmen and Spaniards which were then disturbing the Channel. It would have been beyond the power of any officer to convince both parties that he was fair, and we have his word for it that he cordially disliked the Dutch. Even if he had felt more kindly towards them, it would have been difficult for him not to come into collision with their officers. There were pretensions on both sides which it was clearly impossible to reconcile. The King of England not only claimed the absolute sovereignty of the Four Seas, but made claims to a general superiority on the ocean which were irksome to the rising naval power of Holland. The stolid good sense of the Dutch, who always thought more of substance than of form, and the sagacity which showed them the folly of quarrelling with England while their conflict with Spain was not yet ended, could alone have availed to keep them from resenting pretensions which almost seemed to have been designed to provoke our neighbours into war. The officers of the King of England not only claimed the right to exact the salute within the Four Seas, but they absolutely insisted that no flag was to be shown in the presence of their own, even far beyond the limits of the jurisdiction claimed for England. Sir William Monson recalls with pride how he once rebuked the insolence of a Dutch officer who, after making the salute, had rehoisted his own flag in Irish waters, by telling him that it was only out of the condescending politeness of Lord Howard that the Dutch admiral had been allowed to display his colours in the expedition to Cadiz.