In Search of a Kingdom: Francis Drake, Elizabeth I, and the Invention of the British Empire

by Laurence Bergreen

Two of the most consequential figures of this era, Francis Drake and Queen Elizabeth, knew the expedition’s true purpose: to circumnavigate the globe. If successful, Drake would take his place in history as the first captain to command his fleet around the world—and return alive. For Elizabeth, the expedition was a challenge to the global order, which ranked Spain dominant and England a second-rate island kingdom. Both dreamed the voyage would reap riches. But for the moment, Drake and Elizabeth kept their ambitions to themselves, concealing their plans for the expedition in documents.

“The Straits were counted so terrible in those days that the very thought of attempting it were accounted dreadful,” said a commentator, referring to the treacherous passage between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, only the most obvious of many obstacles to a circumnavigation attempt. Maintaining secrecy was essential, especially from the men expected to perform the task.

If Francis Drake ever had a moment of self-doubt, he left no record of it. He respected the violence of storms, but they held no terror for him. Drake was thoroughly at ease aboard whatever ship he happened to be sailing, from a pinnace to a flagship. He was just as authoritative and quick-witted on land as he was at sea. As a loyal Englishman, he naturally respected the queen and her court, most of them wellborn and with little use for him, but he was not awed by them. Deference did not come naturally to Drake. Ultimately, he respected only one force in this world, and that was the Supreme Being.

He understood how short life could be, as did everyone in Elizabethan England. Plague, war, and infection frequently menaced the population, to say nothing of the hazards of sailing into the unknown. Nevertheless, the populace steadily increased: two million, three million, eventually four million over the course of Elizabeth’s long reign. Her subjects jostled for resources and for space, and so did Drake. The difference was that he had access to ships and, just as important, royal license to create mayhem in the name of the queen, and he happily rose to the occasion. With Drake, fame, fortune, and empire seemed possible, and his bravado made attaining these prizes look inevitable.

Scurvy—the loss of collagen, one of the body’s building blocks—devastated sailors, and not until 1912 would it become widely understood that ascorbic acid, or vitamin C, available in citrus, vegetables, and beer, prevented it, yet even at this early date, English captains including Drake relied on oranges and lemons as a remedy without understanding why they worked.

“Disturb us, Lord, when we are too well pleased with ourselves, when our dreams have come true because we have dreamed too little, when we arrive safely because we sailed too close to the shore.”

Elizabeth’s realm was poor and isolated by comparison with the great Spanish empire, more Beowulf than Camelot. It seemed likely that Spain, led by the methodical Philip II, would soon invade England and replace the Protestant queen, who had already been excommunicated by the pope, with a suitable Catholic monarch, bringing the country into the Vatican fold. The country was half-Catholic, and many of the populace would welcome the development. But Elizabeth’s improvised strategy and Drake’s daring defied this likely outcome and set England, Europe, and eventually much of the world on a different course. It marked the moment when England, overshadowed by Spain and Portugal, shook off Catholic authority. Drake became the catalyst in England’s great transition from an island nation to the British Empire.

All that Drake accomplished on his voyages, especially acts of piracy and violence, he did on Elizabeth’s behalf and, as a result of her largesse, for himself. Piracy offered his surest route to wealth and status, and, as the eldest son of a clergyman, he was unlikely to attain these prizes any other way. Elizabeth’s reputation in England was never higher than in the years surrounding Drake’s voyages. And he might have fancied becoming her beloved, joining the lengthy list of men whose affections she had ensnared. The farther he sailed around the world, the deeper he would sail into her heart, or so he hoped. It would be a long and unlikely journey.

Of the 258 sailors and five ships that had set out, only one ship with eighteen emaciated sailors completed the circumnavigation.

At the time of Victoria’s return to Seville, Henry VIII had ruled England for thirteen years. His was an exceedingly violent reign. He sent twenty-seven thousand people to their deaths, or nearly one percent of the population of England and Wales.

Philip II, or Felipe el Prudente, came to power at the peak of the Siglo de Oro Español: the Spanish Golden Age. Before anyone referred to Great Britain as the “empire on which the sun never sets,” the concept applied to Spain—el imperio donde nunca se pone el sol. At its peak, the empire included much of Central and South America including Argentina, Bolivia, Colombia, Mexico, Paraguay, Uruguay, and Venezuela, and wide swaths of Africa. And it was the source of great wealth for Spain, particularly gold from Central and South America.

During this period, the artists Diego Velázquez and El Greco flourished. Tomás Luis de Victoria, Cristóbal de Morales, Francisco Guerrero, Luis de Milán, and Alonso Lobo advanced Renaissance music. Nor was the flowering confined to the visual arts and music. Spanish literature also thrived. Miguel de Cervantes, born north of Madrid, created Don Quixote. And Spain’s celebrated playwright Lope de Vega wrote a thousand plays abounding with stylistic innovations. He was so prolific that Cervantes called him Monstruo de la Naturaleza, the Monster of Nature.

In his mid-forties, Philip decided to subdue Protestant England. He ordered the Duke of Alba to invade the island nation, deploying an army of only six thousand. Spain’s best general, the duke insisted this task was pure folly, but Philip proclaimed it was God’s will that Spain would prevail. Elizabeth ruled England by means of “tyranny,” Philip believed, and Mary, Queen of Scots, a ...

Spain and England meanwhile fought one another with proxies on the Continent and in South America. In the years to come, the Spanish empire, though wealthy, slowly stagnated, and Philip increasingly functioned as a cautious caretaker known for his pale complexion and melancholy demeanor. He passed his days sequestered in a small office within the massive walls of the Monasterio de El Escorial, arriving at decisions—or more often, deferring them—according to his ministers’ written recommendations.

the Holy Inquisition, designed to combat heresy, deprived Spain of some of its most accomplished and wealthiest inhabitants, as it had since the twelfth century,

John Dee, equal parts mathematician and mystic, to report on the state of the nation’s political, economic, and social affairs. A man whom Elizabeth called “my philosopher,” Dee inspired the character of Prospero in Shakespeare’s play The Tempest. And he helped to create the British intelligence service. To enhance his mystique, he signed his letters to Queen Elizabeth with a pair of O’s to indicate watchful eyes, followed by the number 7, believed to be lucky, drawn across the O’s: 007, from which Ian Fleming, a former British intelligence officer turned spy novelist, is said to have taken James Bond’s code number.

Elizabeth conveniently made Drake her proxy in an undeclared war against King Philip as she struggled to outwit the Spanish and lay the groundwork for an English empire.

she suffered from insomnia and dreaded a surprise attack in her bedchamber—and with good reason. During her reign, she survived fourteen assassination plots.

Pope Sixtus V, who offered compliments tinged with regret: “She certainly is a great queen. Were she only a Catholic, she would be our dearly beloved. Just look how well she governs,” he exclaimed. “She is only a woman—only mistress of half an island—and yet she makes herself feared by Spain, by France, by the Empire, by all.”

The Monarquía Hispánica, the largest, wealthiest, and cruelest empire in the world, was built on slavery and the confiscation of wealth, especially gold and silver.

During the early years of the Spanish empire, an estimated seventy million people perished, more than 80 percent of the entire indigenous population of Central and South America. The toll was so high that it is considered the worst genocide in history.

The systematic administration of the treasure fleet, with its meticulous record keeping, carefully maintained sea-lanes, organized transfer of precious items, and substantial royal taxes, made Spain the wealthiest country in Europe. Drake

Superstitions regarding witches abounded. Spilled salt brought misfortune. (Salt was expensive.) Walking under a ladder was considered bad luck. (A ladder resembled the gallows.) If someone sneezed, others immediately recited “Bless you” to prevent the Devil from entering the body through the mouth. Gruesome tests sprang up to detect witches.

“Leave the arms of King Philip where they are,” he declared with a wink, “for he is the best king in the world.” This king was making Drake wealthy, rescuing England from bankruptcy, and securing Elizabeth’s throne—without realizing it. And the gallant way in which Drake conducted his raids made it seem an honor of sorts to be looted by such a charming pirate.

A million and a half pounds could sustain England for years. Without it, Elizabeth would not have survived much longer. England was perpetually on the brink of being swallowed up by the Spanish. In that event, which seemed all too likely, Spain would annex the island nation, and the Protestant revolution would founder. Now everything was different, thanks to the gold and silver captured by Drake. Even English government officials were alarmed by the unexpected change in the status quo.

In all, 132 ships made up the great Spanish Armada, manned by 8,766 sailors, 21,556 soldiers, and 2,088 convict rowers.

The triumph of Spain, with its superior fleet and resources, seemed inevitable, but those in the know realized that English ships, though smaller and fewer in number, were faster and more agile, their cannon more maneuverable and muskets more potent—all that, plus the combination of daring and surprise contributed by Francis Drake.

“I am bound to confess that I see very few, or hardly any of those in the Armada with any knowledge or ability to perform the duties entrusted to them,” he wrote to the king. “Your majesty may believe me when I assure you that we are very weak. Do not be deceived by anyone who may wish to persuade you otherwise.” To be absolutely clear, he asked, “How do you think we can attack so great a country as England with such a force as ours is now?” Instead, he recommended that Spain agree to “some honorable terms with the enemy” while the damaged ships of the Armada underwent repairs in La Coruña.

the Armada’s pilots, unable to measure longitude to confirm their position, did not realize that the Gulf Stream bore them toward the north and east even as they tried to sail west. They had no maps of the region, and their pilots were unfamiliar with it. If only they had managed to lure the English ships closer to Spain, they would have been able to disable them, but here, on this remote coast, they were simply trying to stay afloat.

The arrival of the Little Ice Age meant that the greatest adversary Spain faced was heavy weather. Frigid temperatures and storms claimed more lives than combat with England. In this phase of the battle of the Spanish Armada alone, five thousand men drowned, many of them in sight of land but unable to reach it before succumbing, or were killed by local inhabitants on the shores of Scotland and Ireland.

For years, England had labored under an inferiority complex, unspoken but nonetheless potent, concerning the seemingly invincible Spanish empire. Even Drake’s victories against the Spanish had been mostly vandalism, or, as Drake memorably phrased it in connection with his raid on Cádiz, singeing the king’s beard. Now, at last, England could claim victory.