9

ILANDISH EMPIRE

AT THE BEGINNING of November 1577, a few weeks after the return of Frobisher’s second voyage, John Dee prepared to receive an old friend at his home in the riverside village of Mortlake, ten miles up the Thames from the Tower of London. Just turned fifty, Dee had become something of a celebrity, revered across Europe as a mathematician, cosmographer, cartographer, and astrologer. He often welcomed visitors to his country residence, a fine assemblage of buildings that included a main house, gardens, a courtyard, and several outbuildings containing alchemical laboratories from which often emanated noxious fumes.¹ On one occasion, Elizabeth herself had called on Dee, to examine a mirror that he claimed could produce optical illusions.² The highlight of any visit was a tour of Dee’s wondrous library, which outshone the collections at Oxford and Cambridge as the largest in England, containing more than three thousand volumes in some twenty-one languages on Dee’s favored subjects of alchemy, astrology, history, geography, optics, and more.³

Dee’s visitor that November was Sir Humphrey Gilbert, who had a matter of great urgency on his mind: Spain. Sir Humphrey had just finished writing a treatise entitled A Discourse How Her Majesty May Annoy the King of Spain.⁴ This was not about mildly irritating Spain. This was about war. Back then, the word “annoy” equated to “injure,” “hurt,” and “harm.”⁵ As such, Gilbert advocated a set of bold actions that he believed Elizabeth should take in order to slice into Spain’s wealth and gain a presence for England in Spain’s lucrative corner of the New World.

Although there is no definitive evidence that Dee and Gilbert discussed Sir Humphrey’s treatise at Mortlake, Dee was generally sympathetic to Gilbert’s views. Nearly ten years earlier, when Gilbert had sought the rights to conduct a voyage in search of the Northwest Passage, it was Dee who had written a promotional tract (now lost) called Atlanticall Discourses—“ Atlanticall” referring to “Atlantis,” the word Dee preferred to “America.” When Gilbert was subsequently forced to abandon that initiative, Dee had praised his thwarted efforts. He characterized Gilbert as “the Courragious Capitaine” who had been “in a great readiness, with good hope, and great causes of persuasion” and would have made the venture of discovery, if he had not been “called and employed otherwise.”⁶ And, just two months before Gilbert’s visit, Dee had produced another tract exploring the same topic as Gilbert’s—how to deal with Spain and build England’s influence in the world—called General and Rare Memorials Pertaining to the Perfect Art of Navigation. Dee dictated this rambling screed to an amanuensis in a manic six-day explosion of ideas.

Gilbert had developed his increasingly anti-Spanish attitude over a period of several years. In 1572, he led a voluntary force in a military action to support Dutch rebels against Spanish forces in the Low Countries. That same year, 13,000 Protestants had been slain in a three-week orgy of violence that followed the assassination of Huguenot leaders on St. Bartholomew’s Day in Paris—a murderous day of bloodletting, after which the French word “massacre” entered the English language.⁷ In the wake of this attack, Gilbert had written to Cecil urging Elizabeth to consider “taking revenge” against “the Papists,” as loyalists of the Pope and the Catholic Church were often called. If she did not, he warned, it would surely mean “the tragical destruction of all the Protestants in Europe.”⁸ In 1574, Gilbert and his kinsman, Richard Grenville, petitioned Elizabeth to support a voyage of discovery into waters south of the equator, deep into Spanish-claimed territory.⁹ But since Elizabeth had recently signed the Treaty of Bristol, which was intended to mend relations between the two countries, neither she nor Cecil wanted to risk provoking Philip at that time. The proposal was vetoed.

The crown’s lack of enthusiasm for Gilbert’s schemes may also have stemmed from reservations about his character. Sir Thomas Smith, who had known him since his Eton days, wrote to Cecil that, when it came to “handy work,” Gilbert was “one of the best that I have seen,” but otherwise he was “brimful of fickleness” and “overflowing with vanity.” Elsewhere, Smith characterized Gilbert as having a nature “as good as any gentleman in England as soon as he is out of his storms.”¹⁰ As Gilbert had demonstrated with his brutal actions in Ireland in 1569, his moody storms could escalate into catastrophic tempests.

Snubbed by the Privy Council, Gilbert threw his support behind Lok and Frobisher, allowing his Discourse of a Discoverie for a New Passage to Cataia to be published and investing in the Company of Cathay. But he remained alive to other possibilities, and by the end of 1577, things had changed: Spain had unleashed its army on the Protestant Dutch. The previous November, Spanish soldiers had looted and plundered Antwerp, where England did most of its cloth trade. Around eight thousand Protestant civilians defending their city were slaughtered without mercy. The three days of violence were remembered as the “Spanish Fury.”¹¹

With Spain now beset by conflict across its global empire, Gilbert’s treatise on how to annoy the king of Spain reflected a widening view at court that Elizabeth should no longer struggle to maintain amicable relations with Philip. Instead, she should adopt an aggressive policy toward Spain and her possessions.¹² The principal advocates of this hawkish view were Robert Dudley, Francis Walsingham, and Sir Christopher Hatton, captain of the queen’s bodyguard and an increasingly influential figure at court.

These men harbored a deep antipathy toward Spain and all it stood for. Walsingham, in particular, had long practiced an uncompromising form of Protestantism. In the 1550s, during the reign of Mary and Philip, he went to live abroad rather than be subject to the Catholic monarchs. By contrast, William Cecil, while also a committed Protestant, had stayed in England during Mary’s reign.

John Dee advocated a less abrasive approach than the one proposed by Humphrey Gilbert. But he was no less assertive. In The Perfect Art of Navigation, which he dedicated to Christopher Hatton, Dee argued that it was time for England to establish what he called a “Petty Navy Royal.” This fleet of new ships would be deployed in the English Channel with the express purpose of preventing an invasion by foreign countries. Also, it would protect English merchant ships from pirates and privateers, and thereby safeguard the country’s economic wealth.

Dee believed the fleet could “bring this Victorious British Monarchy” to a state of “marvellous Security” and ensure that the crown and the commonwealth could “wonderfully increase and flourish.” He further suggested that it could be deployed beyond English waters and “toward New Foreign Discoveries,” which would enhance “the Honorable Renown of the Ilandish Empire.”¹³

It was Dee who first framed the argument for a British empire that stretched far beyond the islands of the British archipelago. In the 1540s, advisers to Henry VIII and then Edward VI developed the idea of an empire that embraced England and Scotland.¹⁴ Sir Thomas Smith, in fact, was commissioned to develop civil law arguments for uniting these two separate kingdoms.¹⁵ But Dee went further. As he conferred with Gilbert, he was in the process of writing the series of reports that he would deliver to Elizabeth about her title to the Atlantic territories of Greenland, Estotiland, and Friseland.¹⁶

Like Gilbert, Dee could see the opportunity for England. Also, he felt Gilbert’s urgency to act. He often ascribed portentous political meaning to astrological and cosmographical phenomena. In 1572, when a supernova appeared, Dee foresaw a rise in the influence of female leaders in European states. Furthermore, he believed that an apocalypse was nigh and would most likely occur with the conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter in 1583. In his estimation, the New World would play an important role in the New Age that would then dawn, and Elizabeth would become the last empress, reigning over “the most Peaceable, most Rich, most Puissant, and most Flourishing Monarchy” in Christendom—but only if Philip II of Spain were subdued.¹⁷

IN KEEPING WITH his “handy” character, Sir Humphrey was far more practical than Dee in his proposals to Elizabeth. To make itself “strong and rich,” he wrote, a country needed to make its enemies “weak and poor.”¹⁸ For England, that meant taking action against Spain in America—along the full length of the Atlantic coast, from the international fishing grounds off the coast of Newfoundland to the Spanish-controlled islands of the West Indies.

Gilbert wanted to begin annoying Philip by sending English “ships of war” to Newfoundland, where England could assert its sovereignty because of John Cabot’s claim of 1497. But it was not only right that Gilbert thought was on England’s side—it was might, too. While Spain’s fishing fleet was large—with one hundred ships, it had twice as many as England—the English ships carried more weaponry. As a result, they were, as Anthony Parkhurst, a widely traveled merchant and one of Gilbert’s advisers, noted, “lords of the harbors.”¹⁹ So much so that the ships of other nations often looked to the English for protection “against rovers or other violent intruders.”²⁰

Gilbert’s plan was straightforward, even brazen. The English would seize all the best ships in the Newfoundland harbors, burn the rest, and impound any valuable freight. This action would have multiple benefits for England. At a stroke, it would decrease Spain’s shipping capacity and increase England’s. Also, it would reduce Spain’s fishing catch, and since Newfoundland codfish was one of their principal and richest commodities, “everywhere vendible,” Philip’s revenue from customs and duties would be trimmed. And, with less cod available for sale in Spain, people would have less to eat and might starve.²¹

Gilbert offered to lead the Newfoundland enterprise, but his Irish experience taught him not to make the mistake of asking Elizabeth for a financial contribution. Instead, he suggested that, after he had successfully gained control of the fishing grounds in Newfoundland, the way would be cleared for Elizabeth to establish a colony in the area. She could deploy six thousand men in this venture and defray the costs with the revenue gained through tariffs and taxes on foreign fishing vessels.

Once all this had been accomplished, Gilbert proposed that he would then sail to the West Indies to make an even bolder, more direct strike on Spain’s sources of wealth—attacking and taking possession of the island of Hispaniola. This, Gilbert argued, would not be difficult to accomplish, because there were “but few people” there. By establishing a base on the island, the English would be able to intercept the Spanish treasure fleet. Also, it would be a fine place for a settlement, because the island boasted a “great abundance of cattle,” plenty of fish, and a surplus of juca root, useful for the making of bread. Gilbert believed Hispaniola offered commercial opportunities, too, such as mining and sugar harvesting.

Gilbert seems to have anticipated Elizabeth’s concerns about such a venture, because he offered a less aggressive alternative. He could take the uninhabited island of Bermuda, some five hundred miles north of Hispaniola, which Spain had claimed in the early 1500s but had never settled. Named after Juan de Bermúdez, the Spanish navigator who discovered it, but sometimes known as the Isle of the Devils—because unpredictable winds, uncharted shallows, shoals, and strong currents caused frequent wrecks—Bermuda was also within striking distance of Spain’s treasure fleet.

Either way, Gilbert argued that any English action in the West Indies would be disruptive for Spain. Even a small loss there would be “more grievous” to Philip “than any loss that can happen to him else where” because of Spain’s reliance on the constant flow of silver from the New World into the royal coffers. Also, the action would be highly cost-effective for England. The queen, Gilbert calculated, could do more damage to Philip with an expenditure of £20,000 in the West Indies than she could with £100,000 spent on any other means of annoyance.

Gilbert, who perhaps had learned from previous rejections, was careful to acknowledge the risks involved in his schemes. He admitted that aggressive action could cause Philip to retaliate and, in doing so, jeopardize the regular, routine, and profitable business that English merchants conducted with their Spanish traders. If his armed assault resulted in such a loss of trade, Gilbert acknowledged, “then your Majesty might be hindered in shipping, and customs, to the great decay of the common weale.”

Knowing this, Gilbert presented a method to avoid such a commercial disaster. All Elizabeth had to do, he suggested, was grant him a general license “to discover and inhabit some strange place,” without being specific about where. With such a “cloak,” the English ships could go to sea, attack, and conquer—but not appear to be doing so explicitly at the queen’s behest. If the Spanish took offense, Elizabeth could disavow everything. She could even make a show of arresting Gilbert and his crew and imprisoning them somewhere on the English coast as if she were “in displeasure.” There, they would languish until the whole thing had blown over. Conveniently, Gilbert’s uncle, Arthur Champernowne, vice-admiral of Devon, and the man charged with coastal defense in the West Country, had many such secluded havens to secret the ships, if this scenario were to develop.

Gilbert urged Elizabeth to act quickly. “[Consider] that delay doth often times prevents the performance of good things,” he wrote, “for the wings of man’s life are plumed with the feathers of death.”

GILBERT WAS WISE to acknowledge concerns about the potential loss of Anglo-Spanish trade. Even as he was devising his plan to annoy Philip and do harm to Spain’s commercial activities, many of England’s leading merchants were preparing to take quite a different approach. They wanted to get along better with their Spanish trading partners and take advantage of Spain’s wealth by building stronger business ties. They had no desire to annoy. This was because the Spanish trade was vital to England. The Spanish bought English cloth and the English acquired Andalusian wines, oils for dying cloth, citrus and other fruits—and, of course, American silver.²²

In the past, there had been ruptures in relations, which damaged trade. Back in 1568, Spanish ships bound for Antwerp and loaded with treasure for paying the occupation force in the Netherlands were beset by bad weather and attacked by French-Huguenot privateers.²³ The ships took refuge in English harbors, where some of the treasure was taken ashore and transferred to the Tower of London. The Spanish protested, but in an uncharacteristically confrontational move, William Cecil, supported by Elizabeth, did not return the treasure. Retaliating, the Spanish seized English goods. For the next five years, trade came to a standstill between the two countries. So for the English merchants who did regular business with Spain and who, in some cases, lived there for long periods, those years were lean times.

Then, in 1574, Elizabeth and Philip II signed the Treaty of Bristol, the embargo on English goods in Spain came to an end, trade relations were restored, political amends were made, and it was back to business as usual. English merchants had a long-standing, direct commercial relationship with Spain. In 1517, when Katherine of Aragon, a Spanish princess, sat on the English throne as wife of Henry VIII, a lively community of English merchants could be found living in San Lucar, the Atlantic seaport of Seville, which lies upstream on the Guadalquivir river. That year, these merchants were granted corporate privileges entitling them to “a piece of ground in the street down below the waterside” where they could build a chapel dedicated to the patron saint of England, St. George.²⁴

The day-to-day livelihoods of the English merchants trading with Spain depended to an overwhelming degree on the routine, stable trade between England and the continent. Although the Bristol Treaty was in place, they wanted a more certain way to maintain, regulate, and safeguard their Anglo-Spanish business. So even as they supported Frobisher’s efforts to find a fast route to Cathay and loosen Spain’s grip on the New World, many of the same merchants came together with leading courtiers to found a new company. Its purpose was to promote and protect English merchants trading directly into Spanish markets, including Seville. They petitioned Elizabeth for incorporation as the Spanish Company, akin to the Muscovy Company. They were successful, and in June 1577 they were granted extensive rights and privileges and permitted to appoint governing bodies in London and Spain.²⁵

Some 389 merchants were listed in the Spanish Company’s letters patent. More than two-fifths came from England’s outports—notably Exeter, Bristol, and Southampton. But the list was dominated by the powerful merchants of London, men who were experienced investors in international trade. These included Thomas Gresham, Thomas Smythe, Anthony Jenkinson, the pioneer of the overland route toward Cathay, and the two leaders of the Muscovy Company who had taken opposing views of Frobisher’s venture: George Barne and Lionel Duckett. Strikingly, the new company included two honorary members who were renowned for their anti-Spanish views: Francis Walsingham and Robert Dudley. Both men were close to the great City merchants and depended on the income they derived from investments in overseas enterprises.

Spain kept a close eye on the state of English trade with her country. The Spanish ambassador, Bernardino de Mendoza, calculated that “the trade with Spain is of the greatest importance to the English.” Indeed, he considered it “the principal source of their wealth and strength,” not least because of the “vast sums of specie”—gold and silver coins—that the merchants brought from Spain. Also, it helped sustain England’s merchant fleet. The English were “daily building more” ships, reported Mendoza, and becoming “almost the masters of commerce.”²⁶

It is hard to believe that the English shared Mendoza’s view that they were masters of commerce. The country had lost Calais, retreated from Antwerp, and did not have direct access to the most prized markets of the Far East—China, India, the Spice Islands—or the New World. This is why some courtiers, including William Cecil, concluded that the conciliatory approach to Spain was best.

ELIZABETH WAS QUICK to bless the Spanish Company initiative, but despite Gilbert’s plea for speed, she took her time to reach a decision on his proposal. It seems likely that she was waiting for the report that John Dee had been commissioned to write, on the legal case for territorial acquisition. Until then, England’s efforts to expand overseas had been about commerce. But Gilbert was proposing something different, something altogether bolder: conquest, colonization, and the potential disruption of the international balance of power. Could it be justified?

Dee’s view, though he did not directly refer to Gilbert’s proposal, was yes. In his report, “Unto Your Majesty’s Title Royal to the Foreign Regions and Islands,” which he finished writing at the beginning of May 1578 and presented to Elizabeth soon after, he showed how she could claim title “to all the coasts and islands beginning at or about Terra Florida, and so along or near unto Atlantis, going northerly, and then to all the most northern islands great and small, and so compassing about Greenland, eastwards.”²⁷

He justified his conclusion on historical grounds. He reported, albeit erroneously, that one of Elizabeth’s royal ancestors, King Arthur, had conquered the lands of the North Atlantic in 530. Next, some 640 years later, another of Elizabeth’s direct ancestors, Lord Madoc, a Welsh prince, had “furnished himself with ships, victuals, armour, men and women sufficient” to establish a colony. Madoc had “speedily” led his people into a land then named Iaquaza, now Florida, or possibly into “some of the provinces and territories near thereabouts” such as Apalchen, Mocosa, or Norumbega. All of these places were considered “notable portions of the ancient Atlantis,” which was now known, Dee wrote, as America.²⁸

Dee incorporated his report in a grander work called the “Limits of the British Empire,” which was never published. Elizabeth had named the land discovered by Frobisher as Meta Incognita, unknown limit, but, as Dee wrote in his treatise, the limits to empire were known and they put few, if any, restrictions on what England could claim.

Seven months passed before Elizabeth finally responded to Gilbert’s proposal. At last, on June 11, 1578, she said yes. She granted letters patent to Gilbert, calling him her “trusty and well-beloved servant,” and providing him with license to “discover… such remote… lands, countries and territories not actually possessed of any Christian prince” and to “inhabit or remain there to build and fortify.”²⁹ Gilbert was given sweeping powers, grand and unspecific, which licensed him, in effect, to establish a new Elizabethan realm, a new England in any faraway place he might discover. He could use his discretion in selecting the “lands” and “territories” to be inhabited, choosing wherever and whichever place might “seem good.” Gilbert, along with his “heirs and assigns,” was empowered to “hold, occupy and enjoy” these places, with “all commodities, jurisdictions and royalties, both by sea and land.” The patent allowed other subjects to travel to the new place, and Gilbert could “dispose” of all lands—as well as any cities, towns, or villages—to these people or others however he chose, so long as the methods conformed with the laws of England.³⁰ Also, Gilbert would have the power to establish new laws that would cover capital and criminal offenses, in both civil and marine cases. And if babies were eventually born in this remote realm, they, too, would “have and enjoy all the privileges of free denizens and persons native of England,” just as if they had been born at home.³¹ In return for all this, Elizabeth was to receive a fifth of all revenues from the gold and silver that might be found within the new lands.

It was a remarkable document. Who was responsible for making it happen? While Dee was influential, presenting historical arguments for Elizabeth’s territorial claims, it was Walsingham who seems to have played the most influential role in the decision to grant the patent. According to Gilbert, Walsingham was his “principal patron” in the petition and was responsible for procuring Her Majesty’s “favor and license” for the voyage.³² Given Walsingham’s inclination for confrontation with Spain, it is likely that Elizabeth well understood the essentially aggressive character of the enterprise, even with the various face-saving alternatives Gilbert had outlined for her. She therefore calibrated her support carefully. She chose not to contribute cash, but she did lend Gilbert one of her royal ships, although not a very large one. He would have use of the rather diminutive, one-hundred-ton, Falcon.

Despite the secrecy surrounding the voyage, news of it inevitably leaked out. Eight days before Gilbert received his patent, the Spanish ambassador correctly reported to Philip that the “ships which had been fitted out by Humphrey Gilbert” were going “towards the Indies.” Furthermore, he noted, Elizabeth had agreed “that the way to be safe from your Majesty and to injure your prosperity” was to “rob the flotillas.”³³ The French ambassador also got wind of the expedition and noted that “Sir Gilbert, a very shrewd man,” was “to go on a voyage of discovery, with seven or eight ships very well armed,” and that they would travel “by the southern region where there are vast lands inhabited only by savages”—just the kind of place “where empires and monarchies may be built up.”³⁴

WITH ELIZABETH’S BLESSING secured, Gilbert set about putting together the funding, starting with an investment of his own. As the Spanish ambassador observed, Gilbert purchased and “fully armed” four ships “with his own money.”³⁵ Actually, some of the funds came from his wealthy and well-connected friend Henry Knollys. In return for his badly needed investment, Gilbert named Knollys as second-in-command of the venture, despite his friend’s complete lack of experience in such matters.

Eventually, Gilbert assembled a syndicate of some fifty investors that included family members, close friends, and leading merchants.³⁶ John Gilbert, Humphrey’s older brother and overseer of the Gilbert family estate, provided funds and took charge of victualling the venture.³⁷ Also, Adrian Gilbert, the youngest of the Gilbert brothers, invested, as did their half-brothers: Carew Ralegh and his younger brother, Walter. Another notable investor was Thomas “Customer” Smythe, who was vastly experienced as a supporter of overseas enterprises. Like many merchants, he had built a diversified portfolio, investing in the Muscovy Company, the new Spanish Company, and now Gilbert’s colonizing enterprise.

As Gilbert went about raising money, organizing a fleet, and recruiting personnel, those outside his inner circle could only guess at his true intentions for the voyage. He assembled an impressive fleet of eleven ships that he “furnished with 500 choice soldiers and sailors” and victualled for a year.³⁸ With such a large contingent of vessels and men, he could confront a Spanish convoy of silver ships or war vessels. On the other hand, he could also travel a great distance to a far-off land and found a colony. Perhaps Gilbert wanted, as he had outlined in his Discourse, to do a bit of both. Quid non?

Even so, the venture was more military in character than colonial. Gilbert had recruited not only skilled mariners—such as the talented Portuguese pilot Simão Fernandes who was in Walsingham’s employ—but also some former pirates to serve as crew. He rigged his ships in a “warlike manner,” carrying a total of 120 cannons. Anne Aucher, the flagship captained by Gilbert and named after his wife, was the most heavily armed, with twenty-nine cannons. The Hope of Greenway, captained by Carew Ralegh and named after the Gilbert family seat in Devon, was fitted with twenty-two cannons.

Gilbert’s fleet set sail from Dartmouth on September 25, 1578, with great fanfare. Almost immediately, it ran into trouble. Gilbert’s ship was blown completely off course, and traveled eastward—in effect, backward—to the Isle of Wight rather than westward toward Newfoundland, and all the ships had to return to port, reassemble, and wait for a favorable wind. With this setback, tensions rose. Gilbert and Knollys feuded and the bad blood between them boiled over as they waited restlessly in port. Knollys quitted himself of Gilbert’s command and took charge of three of the ships. Gilbert wrote to Walsingham that Knollys had “forsaken” his company.³⁹

It was not until mid-November that Gilbert, now commanding a fleet reduced in size, departed a second time, and it was, once again, a disaster. Little is known of what Gilbert’s ships actually did, but one thing is certain: they did not get close to Newfoundland, let alone the West Indies. One ship sprang a leak and returned to England. Others put in at Irish ports for revictualling and sailed no farther. Young Walter Ralegh, who captained the queen’s ship Falcon, seems to have sailed off to do some privateering in the West Indies, becoming entangled in a sea fight with a Spanish vessel.⁴⁰

Three months later, the grand venture was over. Gilbert, hardly chastened or discouraged, started to make preparations for another expedition. But he was not going anywhere. The Privy Council warned that they would revoke his license for another voyage unless he gave “sureties for good behavior.” They sent instructions to sheriffs, vice-admirals, and justices of the peace in Devonshire ordering them to prevent Gilbert and his company, including Walter Ralegh, from leaving port. What is more, they enjoined Gilbert “to meddle no further” in overseas enterprises “without express order from their Lordships.”⁴¹

Clearly, Sir Humphrey had annoyed many people, but most of them were English, not Spanish. Now his practical abilities, along with his character, came into question. And the inexplicable collapse of Gilbert’s venture came just as the disappointing results of the latest Frobisher assays were coming to light. Gilbert went silent, just as Frobisher had.

Perhaps, after all, England was not capable of creating its own “Ilandish” empire.