THE MEN OF HAMPSHIRE AND THE GENOESE GALLEY
HAVING given orders to some of his followers to convey the wounded
men on litters to the shelter of Netley Abbey, the Constable and his
troops resumed their march to the shore, to aid their advance-guard
in the pursuit of the galleys.
The lances and mounted archers had already galloped along the right
bank of the river towards the Salterns at its mouth; while a body of
men-at-arms crossed the stream by means of the abandoned boats, and
followed the galleys on the other shore.
As if by magic, the men-at-arms were joined by vast numbers of
countrymen from the neighbouring villages of Hook, Swanwick,
Titchfield, and Stubbington. All of them were tolerably good bowmen,
and from both sides of the stream a well-directed fire of arrows was
maintained on the fugitive vessels.
The wind, though favourable to the English ships that were rapidly
nearing the scene of action, was too much abeam to enable the galleys
to hoist their sails, and the slaves toiled at the oars to gain the
open water. Thus sped, and with the favouring tide, the vessels
slipped rapidly past the shore.
Many an anxious eye was turned towards the advancing English ships,
and many an opinion was offered upon the foreigners' chances, for
once they weathered the long mud spit, their sails would be hoisted
and their superior speed would soon bear them out of sight.
Holding their own, yet scarcely able to reply to the stinging hail of
arrows, the three galleys bore steadily onwards. The foremost,
bearing the red cross of Genoa emblazoned upon its lofty stern, led
the forlorn procession, a Spaniard being second, while in the rear
floundered a French vessel, one of the famous fleet of Sluys, her
sides, like those of her consorts, bristling with English arrows.
Soon the leading vessel, ill-judging her distance, turned towards the
Solent, hoisting her huge sail, on which flamed the arms of Luigi
Spinola. Shouts of anger and disappointment rose from the English as
they saw the sail drawing, and the hated Genoese cleaving through the
water with increased speed. But their cries quickly turned into a
roar of delight as the galley ran hard and fast upon the treacherous
and unseen mud-bank, her mast going by the board with a resounding
crash!
In spite of the frantic efforts of the rowers, the crew were unable
to back the long, snake-like hull from the deadly embrace of the mud,
and with the fast falling tide it was evident that the galley was
doomed to capture.
Taking warning from their consort's misfortune, the other vessels
gave her a wide berth, and, avoiding the mud spit, turned
south-eastward. The Spaniard hoisted her sail with all speed, the
white foam flying from her sharp bows; but the French galley, having
had her halliards cut through by a chance bolt, was soon overhauled
by the Southampton ships.
In less than five minutes she was boarded on both quarters and
carried, the Frenchmen being either slain or driven overboard, and
the watchers on shore beheld the Cross of St. George hoisted over the
Fleur-de-Lys. A fanfare of trumpets from the conquering vessels
announced that the English mariners had again proved themselves
worthy of their traditions.
The prize and three of the English ships anchored to await a
favourable tide to bear them back to the town of Southampton, while
the two remaining vessels stood towards the stranded galley of Genoa.
The tide had now left her high and dry, with a slight list towards
the sea, at two hundred paces from the nearest shore. The
deep-draughted English ships could not approach within that distance,
so they were compelled to cast anchor within easy bow-shot.
Under the terrible cross-fire the galley remained, her crew seeking
shelter from the shower of arrows, not daring to show so much as a
hair above the low bulwarks.
[Illustration: BOARDING THE GENOESE GALLEY]
"By our Lady! The rogues lie close," exclaimed the Constable. "'Tis
but a waste of good arrows. And yet we must have at them ere long,
for already the sun is low in the heavens."
"Once darkness falls they will, of a surety, escape, for with the
next tide they can make across the shallows, where our ships dare not
follow," replied the Bailiff.
"If I mistake not, they left a mangonel behind them----"
"Ay; but 'twould take a good five hours to bring it hither."
Sir John saw the truth of this statement, and puckered his brows in
his perplexity.
"Craving thy pardon, sir," said a grizzled man-at-arms, standing
within earshot of the two officers, "I know how the galley can be
held till the morrow."
"How so, sirrah?" demanded the Constable.
"For over thirty years I was a marshman of Poole----"
"Forbear to speak of what thou hast been," replied Sir John Hacket
curtly, "and tell us what thou dolt propose to do."
"As a marshman I know how to walk over this mud. Give me leave, with
five of my comrades, and I'll warrant that the galley will never
float again."
"How can the man possibly reach the vessel by walking on the mud?"
demanded Lord Willoughby, who at that moment had joined the Constable
in order to confer with him on a plan of action. "Even now two score
or more of the knaves lie swallowed up by the filthy slime."
"Let him have his way, my Lord," replied the Constable; "and," he
added, addressing the soldier, "get ye gone, and do your work
quickly. A rose-noble apiece shall be your reward if ye succeed."
The man-at-arms departed, and, with his chosen comrades, crossed the
river and followed the bank till they came as close to the galley as
they could without leaving the firm ground.
Here they divested themselves of their armour, and, clad in their
leather jerkins, gripping no other weapon but a heavy hammer and a
short iron spike apiece, they looked more like peaceful village
smiths than soldiers setting out on a desperate venture.
From the rude huts where the Hamble fishermen kept their stores came
a man bearing a dozen square boards, each having four small holes
bored through it with leathern thongs attached. These the
men-at-arms, with the quickness of frequent use, bound to their feet.
"Are ye ready, comrades?"
A gruff yet determined assent was given, and the men, walking with
short, ungainly steps, gained the edge of the mud.
"Now, hark ye," exclaimed their leader, turning to the master-bowman
who commanded the archers, "give the word that the bowmen keep up a
dropping fire to cover our approach. And I pray thee, let no man
shoot who cannot be depended upon, for, little as I reck a shaft in
fair fight, I am not in a mind to be feathered in the back by an
English arrow!"
The sun was now low down beyond the dark outlines of the New Forest,
shining straight into the eyes of the archers. Nevertheless, they
shot rapidly and well, the arrows making graceful curves as they sped
towards the mark. No sign of life was visible on board the Genoese
ship, as slowly and steadily the six men-at-arms plodded, with their
boards squelching in the liquid mud, towards their goal.
As they drew near, the covering volleys ceased; but, suspecting a ruse
to draw them from shelter, the Genoese refused to show themselves.
Thus, without opposition, the Englishmen reached the shelter of the
lofty hull of the stranded galley, so that they were protected by her
bulging sides from any missile the enemy might launch overboard.
Soon the terrified crew were still more panic-stricken by hearing a
succession of dull blows against their ship's side. Lustily swinging
their mauls as well as their precarious foothold would allow, the
Englishmen drove their iron spikes deep into the seams of the doomed
vessel. Oaken tree-nails and iron bolts were unable to stand the
wrench, and in a few moments a gaping hole four ells in length and a
span in breadth proved that the boast of the man-at-arms that the
galley would never again float was an accomplished fact.
But now the startled crew were lashed into active resistance. Over
the side, lowered by stout ropes, came the figure of a man fully clad
in plate armour--the dreaded Luigi Spinola himself. Though deprived
of the sight of one eye and nearly blind in the other--thanks to
Redward Buckland's reception at the attack on his house--the Genoese
knight could dimly see the forms of his attackers, and that sufficed.
Before the Englishmen could realise their danger the keen blade of
the Italian had cleft the skull of the nearest. Preventing himself
from turning like a sack at the end of a rope, Spinola stretched out
his left hand to steady himself against the side of the vessel, while
he raised his right arm to repeat the deadly stroke. One of the
men-at-arms seized his opportunity, and floundering in on the
knight's blind side, smashed his gauntleted left hand into a
shapeless mass by a blow from his maul.
With a roar of agony and fury his arm fell helpless against his side,
his body swung round, and in a moment the heavy hammer again
descended, this time on the visor of the knight's bascinet. With a
groan the Genoese died--literally at the rope's end; and, their work
accomplished, the five Englishmen began their hazardous retreat,
leaving the body of their hapless companion slowly sinking in the
pitiless mire.
Again the covering flight of arrows sped towards the galley; but, with
the courage of despair, some of the Genoese crossbowmen sprang upon
the towering forecastle and fired at the retreating men-at-arms. One
of the latter fell with a heavy bolt between his shoulder-blades;
another had a shaft completely transfixing his arm, while their
intrepid leader was menaced by two of the best crossbowmen of the
galley.
By pure chance a stray arrow pierced the brain of one of the Genoese
just as he was about to pull the trigger. As he fell he struck his
companion, whose aim was affected by the sudden jolt, and the quarrel
flew aimlessly over the Englishmen's heads.
Unable to stand against the arrows of the English bowmen, the
remainder of the Genoese again sought shelter in the waist, and, amid
the cheers of their comrades, the four men-at-arms regained the
shore.
All that night the English slept on their arms, sentinels being
posted to give the alarm should any of the foemen attempt to leave
their water-logged craft. It was a still, moonless night, and the
time of spring tides, and as the water ran inch by inch over the
waist of the doomed galley, the watchers could distinctly hear the
cries and lamentations, and appeals to the saints, borne on the night
air from the demoralised Crew, as they clustered in frightened groups
upon the raised forecastle and poop.
At break of day the Englishmen stood at their arms and gazed seaward.
There, in the same place, lay the galley, though sunk a little lower
in the mud, while her sides were covered with seaweed that on the now
falling tide had been caught by the arrows which bristled in her
sides.
Plenty of provisions were brought in from the countryside for the
English forces, and, seated round roaring fires, for the morning air
was sharp even for the time of year, the archers and men-at-arms ate
and were merry, while the famished and disheartened Genoese, their
stores spoiled by the water in the hold, gazed despairingly on their
implacable enemies.
The Constable of Portchester and the Bailiff of Southampton crossed
the river about three hours after daybreak, and visited the troops on
the east side of the stream, their arrival being greeted with
acclamation.
Calling the remnant of the men-at-arms who had so effectually
performed their hazardous task, Sir John Hacket thanked them before
their comrades and bestowed upon them the promised guerdon.
"We have these Genoese rascals safe enough!" exclaimed the Constable.
"But what do they?"
At that moment there were signs of activity in the galley. Men were
busily engaged in cutting away the broken mast and its tangled gear
and cordage, while others were seen to be dividing the great sail
into long strips.
"They mean to stop the leaks by nailing the flaxen cloth over the
outside," replied Walter de Brakkeleye. "Then, perchance, they can
float off on the next tide."
"But to what purpose?" questioned the knight. "With our two ships
lying in the stream how can they, without mast and sail, hope to
escape?"
"I know not, Sir Knight, except it be to forestall the end, and they
would close with us."
"Then, I pray you, make them desist. A score of archers will keep
them in play; in the meantime send mounted messengers along the banks
to order every boat in the river to be sent down without delay!"
These orders were promptly carried out, and long before the next high
water twenty open boats of all sizes were lying off the Hard, while
the Constable had already summoned the masters of the two Southampton
ships to confer with them on the plan of attack.
"By St. George!" exclaimed Sir John, "I already see the remnants of
these foreign scoundrels under lock and key in the King's Castle of
Portchester!"
"Nay, by the Rood!" replied Walter Brakkeleye; "for I have sworn that,
ere to-morrow's sun hath set, the rogues will grace a line of gibbets
outside the Water Gate of Southampton!"
"Ah, an' ye would flout my authority?" demanded the choleric knight.
"Am I, Constable of Portchester and Governor of the town of
Portsmouth, to be overridden by a mere Bailiff of Southampton?"
"But the galley now lies in this river, which is within my
bailiwick," retorted Brakkeleye stoutly. "Nay, she lies on the other
side of the low water channel, which, you will accept, is within the
bailiwick of Titchfield. That being so, as Governor I hold authority
over that half of the river."
The dispute waxed hot, the question of precedence outweighing the
common cause of destroying a national foe. To what length the
disputants would have gone it is impossible to say, but the opportune
arrival of Lord Willoughby and Sir Charles Bassett settled the wordy
strife.
"'Tis our duty to settle our account with the Genoese," quoth Lord
Willoughby. "And as ye both claim the river and all it contains,
methinks your difference is best settled thus--all the prisoners
taken on this side shall belong to the Bailiff of Southampton; all
those who are taken on yonder side Sir John can hale to the castle of
Portchester. Now be content and sink your differences in a common
cause."
This they agreed to, little knowing that neither authority would in
the end claim a single Genoese.
Directly the tide served the boats were filled with men-at-arms and
archers, and a long procession rowed down the stream to carry the
galley by escalade, a mantlet being raised in each boat to protect
the men from any arrows or bolts that might assail them.
Already the sea was four feet deep over the mud, and the galley, her
waist full of water and her bulwarks awash amidships, resembled two
lofty castles joined by a low wooden wall.
Grim and determined, though faint with hunger and fatigue, the
Genoese stood to their arms. Knowing that death in some form awaited
them, they preferred to die in the heat of battle to dangling from a
gallows. On the aftercastle, or poop, stood Guido and Andrea Spinola,
brothers of the ill-fated Luigi, with two score men-at-arms and a
number of lightly-armed slaves, though the latter were not to be
relied upon. On the forecastle nearly a like number clustered round
Simon and Chigi Doria, brothers of the famous Rafaele Doria, the
ruler of the State of Genoa.
On the approach of the English the trumpets blared a note of
defiance, and the noble leaders, drawing their swords, cast their
scabbards into the sea as a sign that they scorned to give or accept
quarter.
The poop, being nearest the deep water, was the first object of
attack. The English archers fired but one volley, then, casting aside
their bows, drew sword or grasped their hammers and axes and made
ready to spring directly the boats ran alongside the galley.
A huge stone, thrown from the highest part of the after-castle, came
crashing through the bottom of the first boat, which instantly sank.
Those of her crew who were unable to maintain their foothold on the
submerged boat perished miserably in the mud and water, for those in
the other boats, filled with the mad desire of fight, paid slight
heed to their misfortunes, being only intent on gaining a foothold on
their enemy's decks.
In a short space the after-part of the galley was surrounded by nine
large boats, while the remaining ten headed for the forecastle, and
with shouts of fury the English strove to effect an entrance.
The lofty sides and stern rendered their task very difficult and
hazardous, the Genoese striking lustily with sword, axe, and mace
whenever a foeman's head appeared, and it was not until, by Sir John
Hacket's order, a portion of the amidship bulwarks were cut through
and some of the boats floated over the submerged waist, that a living
Englishman stood on the decks of the Genoese.
Headed by the Constable, a party of men-at-arms carried the poop
ladder by a determined rush and gained the poop. Here they were met
by Guido and Andrea Spinola and some of the best swordsmen amongst
the Genoese, and for a while a fierce struggle ensued, though,
profiting by the diversion, another party of Englishmen secured a
foothold on the stern of the galley.
Unable to withstand the sweeping blows of the Constable's sword, the
Genoese gave back, two of their number going down with their
headpieces shattered and their skulls cleft to the chin, and Guido
and Andrea alone remained in the van to bar the Englishman's passage.
With lightning rapidity their blades met, Sir John warding off the
double attack with marvellous skill. Suddenly the elder brother,
putting all his strength into the blow, delivered a mighty stroke
with his heavy sword at the Constable's head.
Stepping nimbly aside, the knight avoided the deadly sweep of the
weapon, and ere the Italian could recover himself Sir John cut him
through the gorget till the blade met the top of his enemy's
breastplate.
Guido fell forward, and the Constable, unable to withdraw his weapon
from the corpse, was obliged to relinquish his sword and take to his
mace. With this ponderous instrument of offence Sir John pressed his
antagonist so strongly that the latter could but attempt to guard
himself. At last, with a crashing blow, the Englishman beat down the
defence of the Genoese, shattering his sword and crushing his helmet
like an egg-shell.
Disheartened by the fall of both their leaders, and pressed before
and behind by increasing numbers, the Genoese retreated till they
gathered in a small ring of steel, surrounded by their incensed
attackers. Fighting to the last, they fell, till none but those
wearing the surcoat of St. George stood upon the after-castle, and
close on five score bodies littered the narrow blood-stained poop.
By the Constable's order one of his squires displayed his banner, and
this was the signal for a hearty cheer from the crews of the two
Southampton ships and the crowd of armed men on shore.
But the combat was not yet over. Those of the forecastle still
stoutly resisted, and as yet none of the Southampton men, headed by
the brave and impetuous Walter de Brakkeleye, had gained any
advantage, though, by the Bailiff's order, some of the archers had
rowed a short distance off, firing anew on the Genoese whenever they
attempted to show themselves above the side.
With the fall of the after-castle, the Genoese were additionally
assailed by the English bowmen, who now held the captured part of the
galley; and, on the arrival of a fresh supply of arrows, the deadly
hail smote the scanty remnant, who strove in vain to seek shelter.
At length, when no one was left standing upon the forecastle, the
English men-at-arms rushed the hard-won stronghold, mercilessly
killing those who yet remained alive, and casting their bodies
overboard, and the shattered galley was given to the flames.
Then, with shouts and rejoicings, the soldiers returned to the shore.
The countrymen dispersed to their homes, the two English ships
hoisted sail and made for Southampton, whither Lord Willoughby's
lances had already gone. The Constable of Portchester and the Bailiff
of Southampton marshalled their followers, and marched through the
devastated village towards their camp at Woolston.
All that was left to mark the raid were the charred remains of what
had been a prosperous hamlet and the blazing timbers of the
once-dreaded galley of Luigi Spinola.