From the 'mene thing, as an inhabitation for Fischars,' that Leland says it was in the reign of Henry II, the town grew rapidly, and before the end of the thirteenth century it was represented in Parliament. In 1287, for the first time on record, the splendid harbour was officially recognized as a grand rendezvous, and three hundred and twenty-five vessels gathered here before sailing for Guienne under the command of the King's brother. Half a century later, orders were sent that men and ships should be collected at Plymouth to escort Princess Johanna, the King's daughter, to Gascony, and escorts for various Princes had to be provided on several occasions. The Black Prince was kept by contrary winds in the port for forty days, when he was on his way to France to fight the 'glorious battell at Poictiers.' In the early part of the fifteenth century Plymouth suffered severely from the attacks of the French and Bretons, and in 1403 the Bretons, under the Sieur du Chastel, burned six hundred houses in the part since called Briton Side. The name became gradually transformed into 'Burton,' but the memory of the raid survived so far, Mr Worth tells us, as to enable the boys who lived in the Old Town to taunt the 'Burton boys' during the wars with France, by reminding them of the harm that the French had done to their quarter.
On Freedom Day, a 'local Saturnalia kept as such from the earliest times,' one of the features was the fighting between the Old Town and Burton boys for a barrel of beer, provided by the Mayor. Long after this custom had been dropped, the recollection of it was revived by the sign of a public-house, the Burton Boys, though eventually the owner changed the sign to that of the Black Lion, as he 'wished for some more peaceful name'!
Plymouth does not seem to have been much affected by the Wars of the Roses, but Henry VII, as Earl of Richmond, 'while he houered upon the coast,' came ashore at Cawsand, and here 'by stealth refreshed himselfe; but being advertised of streight watch, kept for his surprising at Plymouth, he richly rewarded his hoste, hyed speedily a ship boord, and escaped happily to a better fortune.'
The fisheries of the port are old and important. The earliest grant now to be traced, made by Reginald de Valletort to Plympton Priory, was that of all his fishing rights in Tamar and Lynher—a privilege which Mr Worth thinks was probably bestowed 'not long after the manor passed into the hands of the Valletort family.' In 1384 Parliament decreed that all fish caught in the waters of Sutton, Plymouth, and Tamar should be displayed for sale in Plymouth and Aish [Saltash] only, which sounds as if Plymouth were already jealous of other fish-markets, as was certainly the case later on. During parts of the sixteenth century the industry flagged, and in Henry VIII's reign a royal proclamation ordered abstinence from flesh on Saturdays as well as Fridays, with the frank explanation that this was 'not only for health and discipline, but for the benefit of the Commonwealth, and profit of the fishing trade.' In Queen Elizabeth's reign matters were still worse, for the eating of fish had now come to be a badge of religious opinions, and '"to detest fish" in all shapes and forms had become a note of Protestantism.'
And not only had the demand for fish lessened, but the fisheries had fallen into the hands of foreigners. The Yarmouth waters were 'occupied by Flemings and Frenchmen,' 'the narrow seas by the French,' 'the western fishing for hake and pilchard by a great navy of French within kenning of the English shores,' and Scots and Spaniards fished other parts of the coasts. Cecil, who was anxious for greater reasons, to find 'means to encourage mariners,' set to work to revive the English fishing-trade, and with great difficulty succeeded in carrying a Bill through the House of Commons, making 'the eating of flesh on Fridays and Saturdays a misdemeanour, punishable by a fine of three pounds or three months' imprisonment, and as if this was not enough, adding Wednesday as a subsidiary half-fish day.'
About this time Plymouth tried to rid itself of at least one branch of foreign competition by appealing to the Privy Council to forbid 'the exportation of pilchards, save in ships of Devon and Cornwall, because "divers ships and mariners lye idle without employment within our harbour," while foreign ships were continually employed.' Pilchards were a very important item, and many regulations were made in reference to them. One order, dated 1565-66, gives a good example of Plymouth's views of free trade. It ran: 'That no alien should lade or buy fresh pilchards above the number of 1,000 in a day; no man ... being free to buy or sell above 5,000, unless the fish "were in danger of perishing."' The business of curing fish was a large one and very jealously guarded. At the British Museum, among the Lansdowne manuscripts, is a letter to Lord Burghley from Mr Richard Browne, showing that this subject was sometimes the source of friction between the citizens themselves. It begins:
'My honorable good Lord, as I have ben always most bound vnto yor ho., so I humbly besech you to stand my good Lord.' The letter goes on to explain that the writer had been granted a 'pattent for salting, drying, and packing of fishe in the counties of Devon and Cornwall,' but letters from the Privy Council had caused the 'staie thereof.' These letters were apparently inspired by the complaint to the Council of 'marchants,' who were injured because the terms of the 'pattent' laid down 'that the inhabitants should be servid before the marchents, paying nothing unto me for it,' as he adds in a slightly aggrieved manner. The writer begs that these terms may be altered, and the only conditions should be those affecting such fish 'as shuld be transported in consyderacon of the Quene's Majesty's right.' For, he pathetically remarks, he has paid 'a great some of money' for his privileges, and still 'am bound to pay the rent into the exchequer,' although not allowed to reap the benefit therefrom. Besides, great inconvenience is caused by the suspension of his business, and letters of complaint have been addressed to him from Devonshire and Cornwall desiring 'yt he pforme his offer yt they may have fishe for their owne provesion frely.'
It was the outburst of ventures of every description, with all their different aims—ventures of soldiers, explorers, privateers, and merchants—in the reign of Queen Elizabeth that brought Plymouth to its greatest glory. In the interval between William Hawkins' first voyage to the South Seas—about 1528—and 1601, when Captain William Parker sailed to Panama and took Porto Bello, Plymouth was the starting-point of forty voyages, every one of which is historical. Mr Worth gives the exact date of each, and the names of the commanders. 'Here,' says Carew, 'mostly have the troops of adventurers made their Rendezvous for attempting new discoueries or inhabitances.' And Westcote, in the reign of James I, writes: 'Whatever show it makes in description, it is far larger in fame, and known to the farthest and most remote parts of the world.' In Camden's opinion, this great reputation was won 'less by the convenience of the harbour, as for the valour and worth of the Inhabitants,' and the worthies of Plymouth are indeed beyond number. Among the comparatively few whose names have not been lost, there stands out conspicuously Sir William Wilford, who after a French invasion returned the charge by swooping down on Brittany, where he 'made them to pay, besides costs and charges, more than sixfold damages.' And Captain Cocke, a 'Cock of the Game indeed,' according to Fuller; 'A Volanteer in his own ship,' he went out against the Armada, and 'lost his life to save his Queen and Countrey.' Then there is Cockrem, who sailed with William Hawkins, and was left alone among the Brazilians as a hostage for one of the 'Savage Kings' Hawkins brought back with him—but, as Mr Norway says, 'Plymouth has too many heroes; in the crowd the faces of all but one or two are blurred.'
For three generations the Hawkinses were 'the master spirits' of Plymouth, and of them all Sir John Hawkins was the most famous. His character was a curious medley of incongruous features, bluff straightforwardness and crooked diplomacy, faithful affection—such as his bold schemes to help his captured comrades proved—balanced by a hard indifference that ignored the misery of the wretched negroes he sold to West Indian planters. Pluck and daring were the only qualities he showed consistently from first to last. His zeal in slave-hunting, repulsive to us, is excused by Froude on the ground that 'negro slavery in theory was an invention of philanthropy.' Labourers were a necessity for the Spanish colonist, 'the proud and melancholy Indian pined like an eagle in captivity, refused to accept his servitude, and died; the more tractable negro would domesticate like the horse or the ass.' Though Hawkins met with much good as well as bad luck, he was one of those who have need to remember that fate does not shower favours on all men, but 'if a man look sharply and attentively, he shall see Fortune; for though she be blind, yet she is not invisible,' and his success was to a very great extent due to his stout heart and quick discernment. These qualities stood him in good stead at San Juan de Ulloa, when his few ships were overwhelmed by a much larger fleet. 'The name of Hawkins was so terrible that the Spaniards dared not give him warning that he was to be attacked;' but mounted their batteries in the dark, and from land and sea 'every gun which could be brought to bear' opened upon the unprepared English. After sinking two Spanish ships and setting a third on fire, Hawkins saw that flight was their only chance, and, gathering his men together in two small tenders, he 'crawled out under the fire of the mole and gained the open sea.' The position of affairs was dispiriting in the extreme. Many men and three good ships were lost, besides treasure worth more than a million pounds, that had been won, by running innumerable dangers, during the past year. His ships were overcrowded, the store of food and water was scanty, and no harbour west of the Atlantic was open to them. Under the weight of adversity, Hawkins offered 'a lesson for all time on the use of bravado, the crowning grace of every leader who does not seek it at the cost of better things.'
'When the Minion stood off,' says Hortop, who wrote the tale on his return to England, 'our generall courageously cheered up his soldiers and gunners, and called to Samuel his page for a cup of beer, who brought it to him in a silver cup. And he, drinking to all the men, willed the gunners to stand to their ordnance lustily like men. He had no sooner set the cup out of his hand, but a demi-culverin shot struck away the cup and a cooper's plane that stood by the mainmast and ran out on the other side of the ship, which nothing dismayed our generall, for he ceased not to encourage us, saying, "Fear nothing: for God who hath preserved me from this shot will also deliver us from these traitors and villains."'