What memories of the past crowd into the mind as we stand upon the far-famed Plymouth Hoe, and gaze seaward towards the open Channel! Looking out over Plymouth Sound, crowded with shipping from all parts of the world, one is apt to lose one’s twentieth-century identity, and to wander in thought over long-past and well-nigh forgotten days.

For, in truth, there is a glamour and a halo of romance about Plymouth Hoe which can be found nowhere else; for there, beyond and around us, spread the blue waters ebbing and flowing as they have ebbed and flowed for countless ages, and pregnant with mighty secrets and a wondrous retrospect.

Beneath those waters lie buried many strange tragedies, and of the shores are told many wonderful legends; but there are many living stories connected with our national and naval history that are to be found enshrined in our glorious annals. The Hoe, as regards its position and outlook, has changed but little since the days of Trojans, Phœnicians, Romans, Danes, Normans, Bretons, and Spaniards, all of whom in their turn have brought their ships within the bold headlands to east and west in quest of spoil or possessions.

The watchers on Plymouth Hoe may have witnessed many novel sights from their elevated standpoint, and may have joined in the welcome accorded to many distinguished visitors.

From a very early period, Plymouth has occupied a prominent position in the naval affairs of the kingdom, and on many occasions has been privileged to supply men, ships, money, and other requisites for the fitting out of expeditions—some of a warlike character, against our aggressive neighbours or foreign foes; others of a more peaceable intent, destined for the discovery of new countries and the exploration of unknown seas. From its position as one of the most westerly ports, and possessing, as it does, one of the finest harbours in the world, Plymouth has naturally been chosen as the starting-point of many of those daring enterprises which have astonished the world; and doubtless the Hoe has witnessed many interesting scenes, including the departure of these diversified expeditions and their triumphant homecoming. It would seem to us but as a matter of course that our forefathers should have betaken themselves to this famous place of outlook when anything unusual was going forward, even as we do at this time under similar circumstances. But in olden time there were many reasons beside those of mere idle curiosity to prompt the inhabitants of Plymouth to assemble on the Hoe. With what eager interest must they have repaired thither in those early days, when the French, with fire and sword, descended upon it, and made havoc wherever they went! Small and insignificant as the town then was, it appeared, nevertheless, to have possessed a peculiar attraction for our French neighbours, who, upon several occasions, paid their unwelcome visits. Thus, in 1339, we find it recorded that the French burnt the greater part of the town; again, in 1377, the same depredations were committed; in 1399, the French attacked Plymouth, but were defeated by the people of the town and neighbourhood, under Hugh Courtenay, Earl of Devon, the enemy losing five hundred men, and flying in disorder to their ships; in 1403 it was burnt by the French; and again, in 1405, the Bretons invaded Plymouth, and burnt six hundred houses. The name Breton or Briton Side, given to a street in the lower part of the town, and still in evidence, is traceable to a connection with this event.

But the brave seamen of gallant little Plymouth were on other occasions amply revenged for these outrages. Thus, in 1346, the battle of Cressy and siege of Calais are recorded, and it is a matter of historical fact that the latter town was blockaded by twenty-six ships and over six hundred men mustered by the town of Plymouth, while Saltash, Millbrook, and other neighbouring places also sent their quota of help. Again, in 1354, a fleet of three hundred ships sailed from hence, and within sight of the watchers on Plymouth Hoe, for the invasion of France, under the command of the King (Edward III.), the Black Prince, and other noted leaders. The watchers on Plymouth Hoe may have also taken part in the enthusiastic reception given by the people to the Black Prince, on the occasion of his landing here, after his memorable victory at Poictiers in 1356, bringing with him as hostages John, King of France, that monarch’s youngest son, and some of his principal nobles.

It is, however, to the age of Elizabeth that we must turn to find the greatest interest centreing around Plymouth. In that reign, the town attained a degree of importance that it has never since lost; and, as a matter of course, Plymouth Hoe was, as in still earlier times, from its commanding position and extent, the rendezvous for the townsfolk, as well as the muster-ground for troops. Many scenes of intense interest that have been witnessed from this historic spot, rise to the mind’s eye.

“The brave sea-captains it (Plymouth) produced made a glorious history for England in the reign of Elizabeth. Drake, first of England’s vikings, as a sailor, went out with his little fleet of schooners from this port on the 15th of November, 1577, to plough with their small keels a track through all the seas that surround the globe. The birth-roll of Plymouth is rich and illustrious with names of seamen who wrote them on the far-off islands and rough capes of continents they discovered. Drake, Hawkins, Raleigh, Oxenham, and Cook sailed on their memorable expeditions from this port.”^[4]

Many a time and oft did the people of Plymouth his away to the Hoe to bid Drake and his gallant company God-speed on their voyages of discovery and warfare. And it was no empty curiosity that led them to do this, for Drake was their hero, beloved by everybody, and his ship’s company numbered many Plymouth men, the husbands, sons, and brothers of those who looked wistfully and through blinding tears at the little vessels fast disappearing in the distance, out into the great unknown.

And if they thus watched the outgoing, what about the home-coming? That was an anxious time for the watchers on Plymouth Hoe, for no one knew until the ship actually arrived in port how many of their loved ones had succumbed to the rigours of the varying climate, disease, storm, and, worst of all, the dreaded Spaniards, with their horrible Inquisition. It is very evident that the townsfolk did take a very great interest in the events and expeditions of this period, for one old chronicler informs us that “Sir Francis (then Captain) Drake returning from one of his voyages, and arriving at Plymouth on Sunday, August 9th, 1573, in sermon time, and the news of his return being carried into the church, there remained few or no people with the preacher, all running to observe the blessing of God upon the dangerous adventures of the captain.”

But this home-coming of Drake’s, and the reception then given him, was as nothing compared to that accorded him when he returned from his voyage of circumnavigation. As stated before, he left Plymouth on the 15th of November, 1577, and returned on the 11th September, 1580. In this voyage he had completely surrounded the globe—a feat which, it is alleged, no commander-in-chief had accomplished before. He had five vessels at starting, the aggregate tonnage of which did not reach three hundred tons, and a company of men, gentlemen, and sailors, all told, amounting to one hundred and sixty-four. Before this voyage was half done, Drake had parted company with several of his ships, and returned from that voyage with only one ship, The Golden Hind, otherwise known as The Pelican. But, alas! there came a time when the watchers on Plymouth Hoe looked in vain for their hero; for both he and his companion, Hawkins (of a noted Plymouth family), died at sea, and were buried in the ocean, within a few weeks of each other. It was said of Drake—

But we have anticipated matters a little. It must not be forgotten that Drake and Hawkins, with many another Plymouth captain of renown, fought the Armada of Philip the Second in 1588. All other events in the annals of Plymouth and Plymouth Hoe pale into insignificance beside that culminating event in the history of the time—that grandest of all England’s triumphs—described by Camden as “the only miraculous victory of that age.” For out there, well within sight of the watchers on Plymouth Hoe, was assembled the English fleet of a hundred and twenty sail, which was destined, by the Providence of God, to cause the destruction of that magnificent armament, “whose descent upon our shores had lighted up the beacon fires of British defiance from the Lizard to the Hoe, and roused the spirit of our loyal tars to drive the proud invaders from the seas.”

Let us, for a moment, imagine ourselves thrown back to that eventful summer’s evening in 1588, so graphically described by Macaulay, when—

bringing the important and alarming news that the Spaniards were within sight of our shores. We take up our position on the Hoe, then, as now, the favourite resort of the townsfolk, and find much to interest us. Near the Hoe is “The Pelican” Inn, with its terrace bowling green, and there we find a noble company assembled. “Chatting in groups, or lounging over a low wall which commands a view of the shipping far below, are gathered almost every notable man of the Plymouth fleet—that fleet which will to-morrow begin the greatest sea fight the world has ever seen.”

There we see Lord Charles Howard of Effingham, Lord High Admiral of England, Sir John Hawkins, Admiral of the Port of Plymouth, Sir Francis Drake, Lord Sheffield, Sir Richard Grenville, the hero of the great fight with the Spaniards a few years later, Sir Robert Southwell, Martin Frobisher, John Davis, and possibly Sir Walter Raleigh.

These and many others were on the Hoe at Plymouth that summer’s evening the day before the coming of the Armada. Some were enjoying a game of bowls, and tradition says that in the midst of the game intelligence was brought that the Armada were in the offing. Howard called upon the captains to lay aside their toys, and prepare to shoot in another and more serious game; but Drake, with that coolness which was one of his most marked characteristics, respectfully answered his chief: “There is time enough to finish our game, and to fight the Spaniards afterwards.” So the game was fought to its finish, and then there was hurry and bustle on land and sea, men thronging to the shore to gain their ships, sails being spread, all sorts of commands being given, and then came a waiting time, till the darkness of night fell, till—

and the warning radiance spread from hill-top to hill-top, from cape to cape, until in a few short hours the whole land was told that the dreaded and much-vaunted Armada was at last in the English Channel. There is no need to follow the story further, as the scene is shifted from Plymouth Hoe, and the doings of Howard, Drake, Hawkins, and their brave companions have passed beyond our ken.

A few years later, in 1620, a little bark lay out there on the waters of the Sound having on board her the seeds of a mighty empire; for in the little Mayflower were the pilgrims who alienated themselves from home and friends for religion’s sake, and sought in a new clime a haven of rest and peace. They found it after many days and the endurance of much hardship. Elihu Burritt, an American writer, giving his reminiscences of Plymouth Hoe and the Pilgrim Fathers, says:—

How these seeds of Empire have borne fruit may be seen in the marvellous growth of the United States of America, which has now a population exceeding eighty millions.

A few years later, viz., in 1625, all Plymouth flocked on to the Hoe, attracted thither by the presence of the King, Charles I., who there reviewed 10,000 troops from the counties of Devon and Cornwall. Twenty years after, the Royalist forces were encamped on Staddon Heights over yonder, holding the rebel town under close siege, and the people who ventured on Plymouth Hoe noted the white tents of the opposing forces with a feeling somewhat akin to dismay, for they did not know what a day might bring forth. But Plymouth remained staunch to the Parliamentary cause, and withstood Charles and his armies throughout the whole period during which the Civil War lasted.

Then, in 1652, a mournful procession landed under the Hoe with the body of Admiral Blake, who had succumbed to wounds received in a sharp fight with the Dutch. His heart was buried in St. Andrew’s Church; his body received honourable interment in Westminster Abbey.

The next memorable scene was the building of the Citadel—that huge fortification to the east of the Hoe proper—which served the double purpose of repelling invaders and of menacing the rebellious townsfolk, the memory of whose disaffection still rankled in the minds of Charles II. and his advisers. This was in 1670.

Another notable scene was doubtless witnessed by the watchers on the Hoe on the 14th of November, 1698, when Henry Winstanley completed and lighted the first lighthouse on the Eddystone reef. The story is well told by Jean Ingelow in a graphic poem, for which we have only space for a few lines:—

The sequel to this episode is a sad one, for it is recorded that the tower was destroyed on the 26th of November, 1703, and its public-spirited and confident designer perished with it.

Other scenes rise up before us as the centuries roll on. We see the good citizens of Plymouth crowd on to the Hoe to witness the departure of Captain Cook on his various voyages of exploration in the South Seas; we note the pregnant comings and goings attending the great war with France, stately vessels sailing from the Sound in all their warlike glory, anon coming back crippled and wounded, with half their men killed or maimed. Then, later, we see the arch-cause of all this bloodshed—the great Napoleon—a prisoner on board the Bellerophon in Plymouth Sound, while the waters below us teem with the boats and craft of all descriptions of the curious sightseers.

The years slip by. This time we are at war with Russia, with France as our ally, and we stand on the Hoe to watch the stately troopships sailing off with the flower of our army to court death in the Black Sea or in the Baltic. History tells the tale.

At another time we watch the first shipload of emigrants bound for the Antipodes to plant New Englands in Australia, New Zealand, and elsewhere; and so it goes on through the centuries—the Plymouth Hoe beautified by the hands of men, and surrounded by stately buildings, and within sound of a teeming population, but in its general character and appearance little changed since the days of which we have spoken; and Plymouth men of to-day congregate on the Hoe, and watch the huge liners and leviathan battleships coming and going, even as their far-away ancestors noted the coming and going of Drake and his fighting ships that bore over the blue waters of the Sound those pioneers of empire—the sea-dogs of Devon.