to the Far Blue Mountains (1976) (24 page)

On the latter, I consulted often with Abigail, too, for she had made many voyages with her father and had heard him talk of trade and the market in many lands, and also the talk of those who consorted and traded with him.

Meanwhile I went over my charts and considered much as to exactly where we should go. England would have been my first choice, but England meant almost certain prison for me. It would likely be fully as dangerous for us to approach any other port in Christian Europe. Yet I thought much of the harbors of Brittany, where many ships were built, where we of the fens were known, and where there was ever a dearth of timber for the masts of ships. Yet Brittany was no market for potash, and I hoped to dispose of our cargo at one move. Into port quickly, a quick sale, a quick escape and back to our fort, should best suit all our purposes.

The coasts of Barbary were another thought, but they were notorious for pirates, who had little timber and who would be likely to take both our cargo and ship.

Yet I liked not the thought of supplying masts for pirates who had enslaved many an English seaman.

"What then of Ireland?" Abby suggested, and it gave me good pause.

What, indeed? There had been some building activity there, or so I had heard, in those parts not affected too much by the fighting.

Thus Ireland was a chance ... and Brittany, another.

Any voyage was a risk, for with every day of sailing we would be coming closer and closer to the shores of England and the danger from English ships.

Yet our ship was a fluyt, of a neutral country, a type of ship they would have little reason to attack or disturb. We might just bring it off.

"What do you think of England?" I asked the others.

Jublain shrugged. "I think it would be a mistake. It is too close, too dangerous. Mountjoy's ships would be around the coasts, for there was talk of Spanish soldiers helping the Irish. They would suspect every ship."

"Why not to England?" Pim Burke suggested cheerfully. "Barnabas need not appear.

We could sail right into Bristol harbor, sell for a good price where the masts are most needed, and the potash can be traded, and then be out and gone."

"It is too risky," Jublain objected.

Pim was always the daring one, willing to skirt the very edge of danger, yet his idea had merit.

"Why not Ireland?" asked Jeremy Ring. "I'd rather see the timbers go there than to Spain or to the Moors. We could take them to the Indies, but they would bring much less."

"That's true," I agreed. "I had been thinking of that."

Jublain was typical of the professional soldier. He fought always to win. No unnecessary risk, although he would hesitate at nothing when in combat, always playing the percentages. He was one to want the margin of safety always on his side, to take every precaution, then go ahead.

"Ireland it will be," I said, "for a first attempt. I know a bit of the Irish coast now."

"Where in Ireland?" Ring asked.

"Glandore is small. There would be no market there, but there's a place nearby ... called Kinsale. Do you know it?"

"Aye," Jublain said, "and a likely place it is. Well, why not? It is your neck they have measured for the hemp, not mine. Although crossing the ocean to any port at this time is a chancy thing."

"We'll sail to the Azores," I suggested, "by a warmer if longer route, and then to Ireland."

A word here or a word there, and the choice might have been otherwise. Upon such slender threads are the lives of men suspended.

Now there was much to be done. The hull of the Abigail had been well scraped and treated by the time our decision was made, and the loading of cargo begun: mast-timbers, shingles, potash, the few furs and hides we had taken, and a few freshwater pearls.

We had a supply of food, far more than needed to supply our ship, so like the squirrels we dug holes and buried some food in the cool ground-mostly nuts, that would care for themselves, buried in barrels and casks.

At last, we cast off from the moorings made to trees, and floated slowly downstream, putting on more canvas to catch the wind.

When I glanced back, the fort stood silent and alone upon its low hill. Wa-ga-su stood beside me. I wondered at his thoughts, this strong, quiet savage going out upon the water and sailing to a land he had never seen and could scarcely imagine. Yet he seemed calm.

"We will come back, Wa-ga-su," I assured him.

He said nothing, merely stared at the receding shores. This was not his country, yet it was a land he knew, and from it he knew the way to his own people.

John Tilly took over the watch and I went below.

Once more I got out my charts of the Irish coast, yet even as I stared at the chart I was not seeing it, for my thoughts had turned to Ireland itself rather than the chart before me.

In 1597 the Irish had rebelled against the English, and led by O'Neill, Earl of Tyrone, as well as Red Hugh O'Donnell, they fought a shrewd and cautious campaign, attacking moving columns, staging ambushes and sudden raids upon camps. It was the kind of warfare for which the Irish fighting man was suited, and with which the Earl of Essex was unable to cope. Finally, a truce was declared and Essex returned to England to find the Queen in a fit over the truce. He was replaced by Lord Mountjoy, and beheaded not long after ... or so we had heard while in Wales.

What might have happened since then, we had no idea. Months had passed, and we had no recent news. Our best opportunity was to work in toward the coast of Ireland and try to bespeak a fishing vessel or a trader for information.

Glandore was no fit harbor for our commerce. Cork was too big, and the danger of being trapped in that harbor was greater, due to its conformation. Studying the chart and talking with Tilly and Ring, who both knew the coast, we decided upon Kinsale.

We set our course for the distant islands, and the seas were gentle, the winds not strong, but steady. Twice we sighted other sails, and once a ship headed to us, but the fluyt was a good sailor and we hoisted all her canvas and pulled swiftly away.

Gulls accompanied us, and porpoises dove and played around our bow, seeming to enjoy the company of the fluyt. Nearing the Azores we sighted too many vessels for comfort, and pulled away from them and set our course northerly.

"Do you know Kinsale, Jublain?" I asked.

"I know it. A good little place on the river Bandon with a fine, safe harbor."

He looked at me. "It is worse than Cork, if you're thinking of a trap."

"Aye, but quieter than Cork, I think, and an easier place."

He agreed, but with misgivings. Only Pim took the voyage lightly, for all were afraid for me. This I sensed, knowing the Queen wanted none of them but Black Tom Watkins, to whom the voyage was a very real danger.

Wa-ga-su had developed into an efficient seaman, intrigued by all the activities aboard ship, and aware of our apprehension as we neared Ireland.

It was my hope to come up out of the sea and sight the Old Head of Kinsale first. As it was a bold headland, with sharp cliffs, I'd no idea I could miss it. And I did not, for we sighted it at dawn and moved in at once toward the entrance. I could see the dark outlines of De Courcy Castle, and I had a man aloft and two in the bow to watch for rocks. There was one that lay two cable-lengths southwest-by-south from Hangman's Point, covered with three feet of water at low tide, and we slid past it easily on the west side.

Suddenly, Jublain hailed me. "Barnabas! Look!"

Look I did, and beheld a half-dozen ships lying at anchor before us ... and every one of them flying the flag of Spain!

More than that, the flag flying above the town of Kinsale was Spanish, too.

In the distance we heard the boom of cannon.

Jublain came quickly to the deck.

"Barnabas, I like not the look of this! It were better by far that we leave now.

At once!"

"How?" I protested. "Those are warships. If we attempt to leave, they will follow."

"What do you propose?" Tilly asked.

"That we brazen it out. That we approach boldly, as if all was planned. This would seem a bad time to be here, however, and a poor time for marketing timbers."

"May another man speak?" Jeremy said. "Look yon ... a fire has broken out in the town. I think Kinsale is under attack. But under attack by whom? The Irish, who are Catholic? I think not. Essex was here. He failed. Then Mountjoy was sent. It may be that the Spanish have sent a fleet to help the Irish, and they have landed here."

"A foolish place to choose," I said. "The fighting is to the north, I think."

"Who expects all men to move wisely?" It was Jeremy again. "And I doubt that these knew aught of Ireland. Spanish ships are here. The town is in their hands, and the town is under attack. Obviously it is under attack by Mountjoy and the English."

He paused. "Do you speak the Dutch tongue, Barnabas?"

"A few words. I fished once with a Dutch sailor who lived briefly among us."

"I speak it," Jublain said. "Tongues are as easy to me as blades, and when a man fights on the continent he speaks many tongues."

"Then we must convince the Spanish we are Dutch, until such a time as we can escape."

There was a shout from the bow: "A boat is coming!"

We were abreast of the Upper Cove, and the marking on my chart was for four fathoms. "Let's go forward," I said to Tilly, "and drop a rope ladder for the boat."

The officer who came aboard was elegantly dressed, but one glance at his cleancut jaw and his quick steps assured me that this was no perfumed popinjay.

"Captain Alonzo de Valdez," he said "What is your ship? And what do you do here?"

Jublain introduced himself, then said, "Our captain and owner is Barnabas de Sacketi. We were bound for La Rochelle and heard the Spanish fleet were needing supplies and spars. We directed our course to this place."

He looked from one to the other of us, his eye sharp and curious.

"The name of your vessel is what?"

"Abigail," I said, speaking in the Welsh I had from my mother. "It is named for my wife."

Abigail, looking lovelier than I'd seen her of late, came from the cabin. She held out a slender, white hand to Valdez, who bent above it gracefully.

After a few minutes of polite conversation, he said to Jublain. "Inform your captain that he comes at a bad time. Kinsale is beseiged by Lord Mounrjoy and the British."

"And the Irish?"

"Coming up behind him. There will be a battle shortly." He shrugged a shoulder.

"It does not look well. The Irish have won many battles, but their style is not ours, and at formal warfare ... I am not sure. Lord Mountjoy is formidable."

"Ask him about the timbers," I murmured to Jublain.

Jublain spoke to him and Valdez nodded. "Yes, I believe so." I understood enough to know what he was saying even before Jublain translated for me. I had been observing some of the vessels at anchor, three with damaged spars.

"It is possible we might purchase them," concluded Valdez.

When he was gone, we looked at each other and Jublain shrugged. "A fine young gentleman, and were it only up to him ... well, we might manage it. However, there is this in our favor. I think they wish no more trouble than they already have."

"We are armed," I said. "I saw him looking at the guns. He also noticed our position. If there is trouble with us, we could do much damage before they sank us." I hoped I was right.

Some of the noise of the guns was smothered by the bulk of Compass Hill.

What we could see of the town was much damaged. One street seemed to run around the hill, with steep, slippery lanes going up its side. Many of the houses were built with large balcony windows overlooking the harbor. On the opposite shore were two other villages which, Jeremy told me, were Cove and Scilly.

Actually, despite its approach, the harbor was large, commodious, and capable of handling a considerable number of ships.

Standing by the rail I studied the town and our situation. If the Spanish chose to take our ship and ourselves as prisoners, there was little we could do. We might run for the harbor entrance, but the guns of the ships ... warships all of them ... would surely do us damage beyond recovery.

Jublain had learned from Valdez that the force was under the command of Don Juan D'Aquila, and numbered 4,000 men.

We waited, a long, slow afternoon, for permission to go ashore, well aware of how delicate was the balance.

As it was obvious the Spanish ships themselves needed replacements for spars smashed in battle, our cargo might be timely. Yet what I feared was that they would simply take the ship, the cargo, and ourselves, throwing us all into irons.

It was dusk when Valdez returned. Obviously, he was disturbed, but not by us, as I first assumed.

"The timbers? May I see them?"

With him was a sturdy Basque, a craftsman, without doubt. And so he proved, for when we unbattened the hatches and took him below his manner was brusque, and no foolishness about him. He looked over the timbers, climbed down upon them, walked along them, and muttered to himself.