Thus the politics of England were influenced by a seaman—a hero who knew not fear, and who dared to say what he thought, even though it was to his Queen.
CHAPTER X
SIR FRANCIS DRAKE, THE QUEEN'S GREATEST SEAMAN
When people saw the Queen pacing up and down the paths with Sir Francis Drake in Greenwich Gardens, and heard her laugh heartily as she stopped with her hand to her side, they knew he was entertaining her with stories of his mad adventures in the Pacific, bracing her to resist Mendoza and King Philip, and putting tough spokes in many of the wheels of his Holiness the Pope.
Twice had Mendoza asked for an audience, but no, Elizabeth had no wish to talk about returning all those pretty jewels and the muckle treasure, now safely stored in the strong-rooms at the Tower.
The little stout seaman, with the crisp brown hair and high, broad forehead, the small ears, and grey-blue eyes lit with merriment, and sometimes with fiery wrath, seemed to have won for a time his Queen's full confidence.
The palace servants stared with awe at the bronzed and bearded face, and the loose seaman's shirt belted at the waist and the scarlet cap braided with gold. For they recognised in the wearer a king of men—one who could make a nation of traders into great conquerors, and who might, if only he were allowed, convert a small island into a worldwide empire.
Drake was teaching the Queen and her ministers the uses of a strong navy. Elizabeth had always been proud of her royal ships, but she was apt to treat them like her best china, and liked to see them securely placed on some high shelf, where they would not be broken. She had often written to her captains and admirals to be prudent and take no risks—"Don't go too near any batteries—don't let my ships catch fire—do be careful."
Now Drake was instructing her in the art and policy of taking risks. And the Queen, as she looked down upon her jewelled dress, found merry Sir Francis a very incarnate fiend to tempt her out of her devious ways of caution and political jugglery—for a time, at least.
Now Terceira, one of the Azores, refused to recognise the Spanish conquest, and Don Antonio, who had been hunted from the throne of Portugal, was now in Paris and imploring help against Philip.