THE CAPTURE OF THE _CAPITANA_.
As we crept on towards the unsuspecting merchant ship, I noticed that
she presented a battered appearance, as if she had felt the full fury
of the storm which we had ridden out so safely, and that she had not
come out of it without much damage.
The foremast had been broken off, and now a great spar lashed to
the stump had taken its place. About the middle of the vessel the
bulwark showed a breach some five feet in length, and a piece of rough
sailcloth had been fastened carelessly over it, so that the ragged
edges of the broken wood were plainly seen jutting out from under it.
Doubtless the sailors were worn out with the stress of the working
of their ship through the tempest, and this also accounted for the
slackness of the watch and the ghostly quietness on board.
Otherwise, she was a splendid ship, the like of which was seen at no
other time in these seas, save only when the wine fleet came each year
to Galway. She was built with high castles both at the stern and at the
bows; and she was, perhaps, of two hundred tons’ burthen, according to
the measure of the English.
Her name, cut out of solid wood and painted a deep blue, was the
_Capitana_. She flew the flag of Philip of Spain, and along with it at
the stern were to be seen the ensigns of some gentlemen adventurers,
who were in her, and who probably commanded her fighting men, or who
had accompanied the expedition merely for the sake of seeing another
part of the world.
For the galleon’s defence against the rovers of of the sea, who were
to be found in great numbers off the French and English coasts, she
showed her teeth in the guise of the black muzzles of twelve cannon,
all formidable ordnance, and, armed with this equipment, as compared
with that of _The Cross of Blood_, looked as if she might devour us at
her leisure and with the utmost ease.
But it was not my purpose that these guns should ever be pointed at us,
and so high were they out of the water--far above us, in fact--that
there was no such terrible danger to be apprehended on this score.
Besides, we were now too near her, and she was, in any case, unprepared.
When we had approached within four hundred yards of the _Capitana_, I
gave orders that the sail of _The Cross of Blood_ should be lowered
to the deck quickly, and yet as quietly as might be, and that the
rowers should get them to their oars, and speed us with all their might
towards the Spanish ship.
So well was this effected that we were but, as it seemed, a stone’s
throw from her, and the beak of the galley, as she rose to the swell,
pointed straight for the breach made by the storm in the waist of the
galleon, when the watch on board of her had their suspicions all too
tardily aroused. If they had heard the noise made by the running of the
tackle when the sail was got down, they had not grasped its meaning;
but they could hardly fail to guess readily enough what our appearance
indicated as we dashed towards them, our deck showing an array of
arquebusiers and spearmen, standing to their weapons.
The men of the _Capitana_ began to rush to and fro, and suddenly the
clear notes of a trumpet blared forth from her poop--the all-too-late
summons to arms. Her helmsmen, now alert to the danger which menaced
them, endeavoured to swing her round on her heel into the wind, so as
to keep us off.
We had stopped rowing, and our men were resting with their hands on the
heads and handles of their oars, waiting for the order to ship them,
when, as the Spaniard went about, her side caught the oars on the right
side of the galley, and I heard the sharp cracking and splintering of
the wood of which they were made as they were broken in pieces, and the
piercing cries, most lamentable to the ear, of the rowers as they were
knocked from their benches and jammed together, a huddled, mangled mass
of shrieking and cursing, of wounded and dying men.
Amid the din and outcry which attended this disaster to us, there arose
the voice of Calvagh O’Halloran, the master of the rowers, encouraging,
directing, and calming the others. What had befallen us was a serious
matter, as it deprived us of any hope of getting away from the
_Capitana_ if our attack should prove unsuccessful.
I ran along the deck, telling our people to be of good heart, as all
would yet be well; and, as nothing so inspired them as the war-cry of
their tribe and the lust of fighting, I shouted loud and clear--
“O’Malley! O’Malley! O’Malley!”
The swinging of the Spaniard fended the galley off from her, so that
there was a clear space for the breadth of a couple of oars, or a
little more. As Calvagh got the rowers at work again, and _The Cross of
Blood_ went forward, the sides of the two ships grated together with a
shock. They ground apart once again, and the water swished and swirled
between them, foaming white and flecked with red as the blood of the
rowers who had been injured dripped from the galley.
“On board, on board!” I cried. “A ring of gold to him who first boards
her!” and I threw my battle-axe among her sailors. “Follow that!” I
said.
The Irish were howling about me like hungry wolves, and _The Cross of
Blood_ shivered and trembled like a living thing as the rowers, Calvagh
at their head, rushed from the benches, eager to revenge themselves for
the death of their comrades of the oar, yelling hoarsely--
“O’Malley! O’Malley! O’Malley!”--the words stinging the ear like blows.
Now the sides of the vessels strained and groaned as again they smote
together. The grappling-irons were fastened as they touched each other,
and, regardless of the thrusts made at us, we together clambered
up the _Capitana’s_ side, entering by the breach over which the
sailcloth had been stretched, and were immediately engaged in a hot and
bloody fight, the issue of which stood in no kind of doubt from its
commencement, as we far outnumbered the sailors in this part of the
Spaniard.
One burly fellow came at me with a pike, but so uncertainly that I
caught it from him with my left hand, and ran him through with the
sword in my right. He dropped without a sound at my feet.
But while this contest was going on, and we were sweeping all before
us, we soon were made to feel that, while so far successful, we were
yet in a position of the greatest peril; for we were now assailed by
shots from arquebuses fired down upon us both from the castle at the
bows and that at the poop as well, and the air hummed with the arrows
of our foes.
As there was no cover or protection of any kind where we stood, divers
of our men fell sorely wounded, and some were slain outright. What the
event was to bring forth then seemed nothing but our destruction, for
we were caught, as it were, in a trap, and that one of our own making.
The doors leading into the castles were both shut, and, I conjectured,
barricaded by this time against us. However, to remain where we were
was to be slaughtered like cattle, and the attempt had to be made to
force these entrances. The principal array of the enemy was in the
poop castle, and I instantly decided that it must be stormed, else we
should all perish miserably, and to break in the door was the readiest
way.
Calling on the Irish to follow me, I strode across the slippery deck, a
bullet narrowly missing me, to the arched doorway through which lay the
way to the castle on the poop.
Whether it was that our assault had been so little looked for, or
that what had already taken place had occupied so brief a breath, as
one may say--for who can take count of time in the heat of battle?--I
know not; but this entrance had not been strongly secured, for hurling
myself impetuously with all my force against the barrier I burst the
door open, and that so violently and quickly that I had much ado to
keep myself from stumbling, and so being trampled upon and killed by
my own men. Recovering myself with an effort, I found myself in a wide
chamber, in which there were tables and chests and other furniture, but
not a single soul was to be seen.
At one end of it was a flight of steps leading up to the deck of the
castle. Stopping my men, I bade them wait in this sheltered room while
I ascended the steps, and reached another large cabin, also deserted
as far as I could see, while above me I heard the trampling of many
feet. Summoning my followers, I dashed up a second flight of steps, the
Irish, who gave tongue like bloodhounds tracking deer, pushing in and
swarming up behind me.
I was like enough to have paid for my rashness with my life, for as I
emerged upon the deck of the poop, the point of a sword flashed off my
body-armour, and I received so shrewd a buffet upon my shoulder from a
mace or battle-axe of some kind, that I nearly lost my footing, and, as
it was, would have done so but for the press of men behind me.
As I appeared a crowd of Spaniards rushed upon me from all sides,
praying to Our Lady and all the saints for their aid, and above all
naming “Santiago.”
Now sweeping my sword in a great shining circle round my head, now
stabbing and hacking and cleaving, while my strength seemed to grow
with my necessity, I held them at bay, albeit in what way I escaped the
deadly thrusts of spears and pikes, and the bullets aimed at me at such
close quarters, I cannot tell.
Two or three slight wounds did I receive, and the sight of my own blood
drove me into a perfect fury of killing, and rendered me regardless
of myself; but as for the wounds themselves I heeded them not, and
indeed in the fiery heat of that encounter scarce felt them at all.
Soon, however, would I have been overborne and destroyed, if I had not
been joined by Calvagh and the others, who charged upon the enemy with
inconceivable fury.
Nothing could have stood before the tremendous outpouring of such
incredible rage.
The gallant men of Spain fought on, and met us bravely, brave with
something more than the courage which is born of dark despair. For,
to say the truth, never yet saw I any of that nation--even of its
commonalty--that might be called a coward.
It is my belief, and good reason have I for it, that no more doughty
men ever wielded sword or pike than those of Spain, nor were there
any better sailors in those days in all the world. There be many,
who, having regard to what she was--this great power of Spain--and
considering what has happened to her, and how she is now shorn in no
small degree of her glory, can account for it in no other way than by
saying that she lieth under the Wrath of God. Howbeit, this is too high
a matter for me. Only know I full well that the crew of the _Capitana_,
whether fighting men or sailors, made such a stern and grim battle
against us that grey morning in the Bay of Galway, as the most valiant
knights could not have bettered.
Near the centre of the poop there rose up a mast, and around this our
enemies gathered in a cluster, among them being some half-armed men
whom I took to be the adventurers whose ensigns floated beside the
standard of the galleon, and who carried themselves with an air.
They had had no time to have their armour put upon them and fastened
with proper care, but as they proved themselves to be accomplished
swordsmen they made a determined resistance to us. If they had come
at me when I appeared at the top of the steps, I should never have
reached the deck of the poop alive; they had, however, tarried too long
in the attempt to be clothed with their harness.
They were surrounded, and, though I offered them their lives, declaring
that they would be held for ransom and would be well treated by Grace
O’Malley, they would not listen to me, preferring rather to die,
fighting, so long as the breath was in them, like the valiant men of
Spain they were.
One only, who appeared to be the captain of the ship, I commanded to be
taken alive--a business which was done with difficulty, so madly did he
struggle, notwithstanding that the blood flowed in streams from several
of his wounds.
“Yield yourself,” said I, “Señor Captain, for the ship is ours, and
further fighting is useless. Give me your parole.”
But he refused, snarling and showing his teeth like a mad dog. Then I
ordered him to be bound, and laid on the deck for the present.
The greater part of the galleon was now in our hands, but there still
remained a band of Spaniards in the forecastle, who galled us with the
fire from their pieces and the arrows of their bows. When they saw how
their comrades had been overcome on the poop castle, they cut down the
spar which had been lashed to the broken foremast, and using it and the
sailcloth about it as a kind of barricade went on firing at us from
behind this shelter.
Telling Calvagh, who had come out of the fight without a scratch,
to take what men he thought needful, I directed him to attack the
forecastle, and at the same time protected his assault of it by a
discharge from the poop of a small cannon I found there loaded. This
position of the Spaniards, however, was one of such strength that they
inflicted heavy loss upon us before they were all put to the sword.
We were now masters of the entire vessel, but its capture had cost
us dear. Fifteen of the Irish were killed, and as many more wounded,
several of them seriously; and when the sun rose across the dim outline
of the hills away beyond Galway its rays fell upon decks that ran dark
with blood, and upon a wearied band of men, whose gasping breath came
and went in sobs of pain, now that the excitement was past, and who
threw themselves down in sheer exhaustion. I myself was sore spent, but
the day was only begun, and the rest of the wine fleet might come into
view at any moment. Therefore I bade my men rise up as soon as they
had rested somewhat, and then endeavoured to put the _Capitana_ into
sailing trim.
While this was being done I shaped our course for Inisheer, remaining
on the _Capitana_ myself with some of my crew, and sending Calvagh to
take charge of _The Cross of Blood_. I also had the captain of the
galleon brought before me, to see if I could get any information from
him about the other ships of the fleet.
“Señor Captain,” said I, “the chance of war has delivered you and your
ship to me. Ye fought well, and I am grieved that so many valiant
souls no longer see the light; yet would I have spared them, as many as
I could, but they would not. You are in no danger of your life, if you
will but answer the questions I ask of you.”
I spoke in English, my knowledge of Spanish being slight, but I judged
that the captain of a ship trading to Ireland, and particularly to the
English city of Galway, would be certain to understand the English
tongue. At first it appeared, however, as if he did not comprehend my
words.
“Kill me, kill me!” he exclaimed in Spanish, while his face was
distorted with impotent rage.
Replying to him mildly that I had no intention of putting him to death,
I informed him that I had no sufficient acquaintance with his own
language, and therefore I was unable to converse with him in it.
“You surely understand English,” said I.
One of the Irish who was on guard over him thrust a dagger into him for
an inch or more before I knew what he would be about, whereupon the
Spaniard cursed him and us and himself and his ship and the day he was
born in as good English as ever I heard.
“I shall tell you nothing,” said he. “No, by St. Jago, nothing,
nothing, nothing!”
I felt a pity for the man, and told one of those standing near me to
fetch him some wine, and that as speedily as might be, and again asked
him if he were resolved to die; but he merely glared at me like a wild
animal, and I left him alone, reserving him to be questioned by Grace
O’Malley.
When the wine was brought he drank it thirstily, saying, “If it is
poisoned, so much the better.”
And now we drew near again to Inisheer. Rounding the Point of
Trawkeera, we dropped anchor beside the two other galleys, and my
mistress came on board of our prize. When I told her of the great fight
the Spaniards had made, and what it had cost us to take the ship, she
sighed and became pensive.
“We can ill afford so many men,” she said, “but the other ships of the
wine fleet may be captured or destroyed more easily. Bring the captain
of the galleon to me, and let me see if I can learn anything from him
of his companions.”
“He will say nothing,” I exclaimed.
Grace O’Malley’s face grew dark, but she merely repeated her command.
When the Spanish captain was fetched in, he was struck with amazement
when he beheld a woman, young, handsome, and, as some thought,
beautiful, who appeared to be the chief and leader of us all. At first
he gazed at her as one who sees an apparition or a phantom.
“Madre de Dios! Madre de Dios!” he said aloud in his astonishment, and
for some time acted as one might who suspected that his sense of sight
was playing him a trick. He was faint and pale from loss of blood, and
presented a piteous appearance.
“Free him from his bonds,” said Grace O’Malley, and I cut away the
thongs that held him.
“Señor Captain,” continued she when this had been done, “I have a
quarrel with the Governor of Connaught and the people of Galway, who
have treated me despitefully,--therefore has your galleon been taken.”
“You, Señorita!” he said.
“I was beguiled with fair words and promises,” said she, “and then
they made me a prisoner, but I escaped from them. War have I declared
against them, and a great revenge shall I take. You, I hear, are a
brave man, and I have need of such in this contest with the English.
Will you join me?”
“That will I not,” said he; and I heard him muttering to himself, “She
is a devil.”
“Better consider before you speak,” said I, seizing his arm roughly.
“Let me be, let me be,” said he, “for I am a dying man!” And he swooned
upon the deck. Reviving in a few minutes, he staggered to his feet,
whereupon I put my arm round him for his support.
“Where are the other ships of the fleet, tell me,” said Grace O’Malley,
“and how many are there?”
“You can kill me,” said he, “and I shall thank you for it, but that
which I know I shall never tell you.”
And again I heard him muttering, “Devil, devil!” and calling upon
“Santiago” to protect him from her spells.
Grace O’Malley gazed at him, and of a sudden there was in her
eyes--what I never looked to see in them on such an occasion--a dew of
tears springing from an unsuspected fount of pity. After all, she was a
woman, as I have said.
“You are a brave man and a true,” said she, “and I will not plague you
more. Let him die in peace,” cried she to me, “if die he must.”
As I was about to place him with his back against a mast so as to ease
him, he made a snatch at the dagger which was in my belt; his fingers
closed over it, but even as he grasped it his lips parted and his
spirit fled.
“God rest thee, thou gallant mariner of Spain!” said Grace O’Malley,
when she saw that the captain of the galleon was dead.
“Amen,” cried I, for the firmness of the man had seemed to me a very
noble thing.