The first fingers of dawn crept slowly across the sky as Elizabeth rose from the chair in which she had spent the long night. Sleep had eluded her and she had risen wearily. Wrapping an embroidered robe around her she crossed to the window and drew back the heavy curtains. The world outside slumbered peacefully, wrapped in darkness. Through the long hours she had thought of her people and the struggles and sacrifices she had made for them. As the sky grew lighter she opened the casement, savouring the fresh, newly washed smell of the July dawn as the pale sunlight stole over the formal gardens of Hampton Court and glistened upon the calm waters of the river which lay beyond the water steps.
A low mist hung over the fields of Surrey and beyond those fields lay England—her England. For nearly thirty years she had managed to keep her country from the wasteful folly of war and in consequence her people were more prosperous and secure than they had been for many a long year. There was law and order throughout the land and because she refused to “make windows into men’s souls” there was some degree of religious tolerance.
As the warmth of the sun dispersed the mists which covered the green fields she felt a fierce tide of pride and affection sweep over her. She had dedicated her life to this land and its people and in return they loved her as they had never loved a Sovereign before. To them she was the invincible “Gloriana”. She thought of the rolling green countryside of Gloucestershire, Norfolk and the Midland counties. Of the wild, rugged hillsides and mountains of Wales from whence her ancestors had sprung and of the harsh and often cruel beauty of the West Country. This was her heritage—a heritage too dearly loved, too dearly bought to be crushed beneath the heel of the Spaniard.
The ghost of a smile crossed her face as she remembered how long, long ago she had once been grateful for Philip’s aid when her right of succession had been threatened during Mary’s reign, but her determined refusals to his proposals of marriage shortly after her accession had sown the seeds of their enmity and gradually over the years relations between them had become more and more strained and she knew that after thirty years of managing by statecraft and subtlety to avoid a confrontation the time had come to stand and fight.
It was a decision which she had not made lightly and even now she prayed that war would be avoided for above all things she hated the appalling waste of life, property and resources that war involved. But now the time had come when she must fight to preserve her people and their future.
She turned away from the scene of rural peace that stretched out beyond her window and once more took up the Burden of State as the world awoke to a new day—that fateful day the 18th July, 1588.
Far away from the misty gardens of Hampton Court the same dawn was breaking over the rugged Cornish coast as a weatherbeaten fisherman walked along the wet sand of an isolated cove. He walked slowly, noting the direction of the wind which whipped the white-topped waves against the half-submerged rocks encrusted with seaweed and barnacles. Rocks which had claimed many a ship. A solitary gull wheeled overhead and he stopped to watch and wonder as it glided silently on the wind.
At last he turned his steps back towards the steep path that led upwards to the headland. He climbed steadily until he reached the top and then he turned to take a last look at the sea which gave him his livelihood. His gaze travelled across the choppy waters, scanning the horizon but stopped, riveted upon the waters just off the point called the Lizard. He stared hard, first in astonishment and then with awe for there on the horizon, in its crescent-shaped battle formation, sailed the avenging might of Spain!
He began to count the huge ships. There appeared to be six squadrons and he counted sixty-five ships which he estimated to be of 1,000 tons and over. Great galleons these with towering forecastles. Huge, white sails billowing in the wind and their embroidered pennants and flags streaming out. Four galleasses—large galleon-like craft but with oars as well as sails and four large galleys. There appeared to be fifty-six armed merchantmen and twenty caravels, all of them loaded with armaments.
He drew in his breath sharply as he realised the enormous strength of the force which had sailed against his country and turning, he ran as fast as he could to raise the alarm. As he rounded the corner of the one main street of the village he gasped to the few people who were up and about:
“Light the beacon! The beacon, man! The Armada is here, I have just seen it off the Lizard!”
His cries woke the whole village and within minutes the flames were leaping high into the still, morning air. Further along the coast the next beacon flamed as the news travelled of the coming of the Spaniard.
Paul Allgrave heard the news as he changed horses at an inn near Taunton. He had finally decided that he would wait no longer for his chance and so he had packed a small bag, strapped on his short sword and with what little money he had managed to save, left a note for his mother and had ridden hard for Plymouth.
As he heard the word “Armada” he ran to the man who had shouted the news to a companion.
“The Armada, has it been sighted?” he asked, urgently tugging at the man’s arm.
“Aye, lad. Off the Lizard early this morning and a fearful force it is too, so I hear tell!”
Nodding his thanks he ran back and thrust a coin into the hand of the startled ostler and flinging himself into the saddle rode off towards Plymouth in a cloud of dust.
When he arrived the whole town was seething with the news and preparations for fitting and provisioning the English squadrons had reached fever-pitch. He left his horse in the care of a groom at an inn and pushed his way through the crowds towards the quays. His father and Martin were with Drake aboard the Revenge therefore he decided that his best plan would be to join either Lord Howard or Frobisher. As Lord Howard was a good friend of his father’s he decided that Frobisher was the safer choice. After ascertaining which was the flagship of Frobisher’s squadron he elbowed his way up the gangplank and stood staring about him, trying to pick out the Captain amidst the noise and bustle of men carrying casks and chests of powder and provisions.
“You be looking for someone?” a voice with a broad Devonshire accent enquired and he turned around to find a boy of his own age, with dark eyes and a shock of unruly hair grinning at him.
“Yes. Captain Frobisher.”
“You look like a gentleman. You had best follow me,” the lad said. “Toby they call me,” he added over his shoulder.
Paul grinned at the disappearing back, instantly liking his new companion and followed Toby below to a small, oak-panelled cabin where a man was pouring over charts which were strewn over a table.
Toby knocked on the open door. “Someone to see you, Captain.”
Martin Frobisher raised his head and looked searchingly at the boy who stood before him.
“Well, have you ever sailed before?”
“No… sir. But I learn quickly and I won’t be left behind when everyone else is off to fight the Spaniard!” Paul finished with a sudden rush of words.
Frobisher laughed. “This will be no picnic, lad. Who are you?”
“Paul Allgrave, sir.”
“Allgrave? That is a name I know well. There is a Sir Edward Allgrave aboard the Revenge.”
“My father, sir.”
“Does he know you are here? You don’t look very old.”
“No, he does not know but please, sir, don’t tell him for he is bound to send me home and I will never get another chance?” the boy begged.
Frobisher considered the matter carefully and then nodded. “Find him somewhere to stow his gear, Toby. You will have to work, lad,” he warned. “You are not afraid to fight?”
“No sir… and thank you…” Paul stammered.
With a wave of his hand the Captain dismissed them both and Paul followed Toby up on deck to a cramped space beneath a gunport where a straw mattress and a single grubby blanket lay.
“It’s not much and not what you’re used to but you are welcome to share,” Toby offered.
“Thank you,” Paul replied, eyeing the mattress with trepidation.
“Use your bag as a pillow,” Toby advised.
Paul nodded and put down his bag, thinking of his comfortable bed at home. Well, he had wanted desperately to come so he supposed he must make the best of it.