the Spanish possessions in the West Indies were eminently successful, and soon the name of Francis Drake rang through the world, and startled Philip in the depths of his Escorial.  The first Englishman, and the second of any nation, he then ploughed his memorable “furrow round the earth,” carrying amazement and, destruction to the Spaniards as he sailed, and after three years brought to the Queen treasure enough, as it was asserted, to maintain a war with the Spanish King for seven years, and to pay himself and companions, and the merchant-adventurers who had participated in his enterprise, forty-seven pounds sterling for every pound invested in the voyage.  The speculation had been a fortunate one both, for himself and for the kingdom.

The terrible Sea-King was one of the great types of the sixteenth century.  The self-helping private adventurer, in his little vessel the ‘Golden Hind,’ one hundred tons burthen, had waged successful war against a mighty empire, and had shown England how to humble Philip.  When he again set foot on his native soil he was followed by admiring crowds, and became the favourite hero of romance and ballad; for it was not the ignoble pursuit of gold alone, through toil and peril, which had endeared his name to the nation.  The popular instinct recognized that the true means had been found at last for rescuing England and Protestantism from the overshadowing empire of Spain.  The Queen visited him in his ’Golden Hind,’ and gave him the honour of knighthood.

The treaty between the United Netherlands and England had been followed by an embargo upon English vessels, persons, and property, in the ports of Spain; and after five years of unwonted repose, the privateersman again set forth with twenty-five small vessels—­of which five or six only were armed—­under his command, conjoined with that of General Carlisle.  This time the voyage was undertaken with full permission and assistance of the Queen who, however, intended to disavow him, if she should find such a step convenient.  This was the expedition in which Philip Sidney had desired to take part.  The Queen watched its result with intense anxiety, for the fate of her Netherland adventure was thought to be hanging on the issue.  “Upon Drake’s voyage, in very truth, dependeth the life and death of the cause, according to man’s judgment,” said Walsingham.

The issue was encouraging, even, if the voyage—­as a mercantile speculation—­proved not so brilliant as the previous enterprises of Sir Francis had been.  He returned in the midsummer of 1586, having captured and brandschatzed St. Domingo and Carthagena; and burned St. Augustine.  “A fearful man to the King of Spain is Sir Francis Drake,” said Lord Burghley.  Nevertheless, the Queen and the Lord-Treasurer—­as we have shown by the secret conferences at Greenwich—­had, notwithstanding these successes, expressed a more earnest desire for peace than ever.

A simple, sea-faring Englishman, with half-a-dozen miserable little vessels, had carried terror, into the Spanish possessions all over the earth:  but even then the great Queen had not learned to rely on the valour of her volunteers against her most formidable enemy.