THE GATE OF FEARS.
During what of the night remained we continued under arms, expecting
that the attack might be renewed, but the morning--another sunny
splendour--came, and we were undisturbed. We were now in a better
position to estimate what had occurred, and the peril from which we had
so narrowly escaped.
The number of our dead and wounded was not great, but among the latter
was Fitzgerald, who had been by the side of Grace O’Malley in the fight
for the gate. Eva O’Malley, along with Teige O’Toole, the Wise Man,
who was also a mediciner, and skilled in the use of herbs and simples,
ministered to the wants and relieved the pangs of the sufferers, as far
as lay within her power.
And as she passed in and out among them, her passing seemed to me, and
to others I doubt not, as the passing of an angel. My mistress and de
Vilela were unhurt, and I had nothing more than some bruises to show
for my share in the battle.
Neither among the killed nor the wounded could the two traitorous
kernes be seen, and I feared that they had contrived to make good
their flight, a thing which did not appear improbable considering the
darkness and confusion of an assault by night. However, I had every
portion of the castle searched and scrutinised with the utmost care,
and finally the knaves were found hiding in a storeroom, which held a
large quantity of loose corn, and there, amongst the grain, they were
discovered nearly suffocated.
They had deserved no mercy and they were shown none. Desirous of
knowing who they in reality were, and of obtaining any information they
possessed of the purposes of the Governor, I ordered that they should
be taken into one of the underground dungeons, and put to the question.
But they were stout of heart, being, as I think, no common men, so
that torture even failed to worry their secrets from them. When
Grace O’Malley heard that they could be forced to disclose nothing,
she directed that they should be taken and hanged from a great
gallows-beam, that sprang out from the summit of the tower, and which
could be plainly descried by the English from Burrishoole.
No sooner had the fight for the gate come to an end, than I became
greatly disturbed in my mind as to the debt I felt myself to be owing
to de Vilela, for, had it not been for that marvellous sword-play of
his I had never come out of the fray alive.
That was the kind of debt in payment of which a man might almost
give his all, even life itself. In what way was I to discharge it? I
consoled myself with the thought that the chances of warfare might
provide me with the opportunity, but if not--what then?
The matter lay heavy upon me, and that Don Francisco was my rival
for Eva’s love, and, as I was more than half disposed to imagine, my
successful rival did not make the burden of it the lighter to bear. But
one thing I could do, and that, the business of the perfidious knaves
being despatched, I did. I sought him out, and, offering him my hand,
thanked him with such words as flowed from a full, if troubled breast,
for the great service he had done me.
“Señor,” said I impulsively, “I believe that I am indebted to you for
the greatest service one man can render another.”
His attitude was that of protest, nay, of entreaty, that I should say
no more.
Now I have written to little purpose if I have not made it evident
that de Vilela was my superior in every way save with respect to my
strength of body, which was the one special gift God had given me. I
had acknowledged the fact to myself, although, being human, not perhaps
ungrudgingly. As I looked into his face, whatever poor, paltry feeling
I had nourished against him was swept away by a wave of strong emotion.
“Yes, señor,” said I, “how am I to thank you? But for you--I would have
perished. What am I to say? What can I do?”
“Señor Ruari,” cried he, in that soft, quiet way of his, “between
soldiers, brothers-in-arms, there is no debt.”
“Señor,” said I----
“Be generous, Señor Ruari,” exclaimed he, “and say not a word more,”
and he smiled somewhat wistfully and sadly. “We are friends, at any
rate, whate’er befall, are we not?”
“By God’s wounds!” swore I.
And we clasped hands again, and so parted.
The day which followed that night of stir was one of quiet at the
castle, and its very peacefulness seemed to me well-nigh intolerable.
But we learned from our spies, and could to some extent see for
ourselves, that there was a great commotion in the English camp,
indicating the arrival of fresh troops.
By the evening, Sir Nicholas had so disposed his forces that we
were completely hemmed in on the land side, and our spies had to be
withdrawn within the walls. The sea was still open to us, and much I
wondered that the Governor did not take this more into his account, for
so long as we could get to our galleys and procure food by way of Clew
Bay, we could laugh at him and bid him defiance.
But I might have been sure that Sir Nicholas was too experienced a
soldier not to know well what he was about.
Another night and another day dragged themselves slowly away, and the
Governor moved not from the positions he had taken up. There he lay all
round us, just out of reach of our ordnance, of which we gave him a
taste from time to time, so that he should keep his distance; there he
lay, inactive, waiting, expectant--but of what, or, of whom?
These were the questions Grace O’Malley discussed with de Vilela and
myself, and the answers to them did not present themselves at once.
“Can it be,” asked my mistress--and her words showed the direction in
which her thoughts were turning “that Sir Nicholas has heard Richard
Burke is coming with all the men of Mayo behind him to our aid, and
that he has decided to engage him before attacking us?”
“He is perhaps making some engines with which he hopes to batter down
your walls,” said de Vilela.
“Our ordnance will prevent that,” said I.
“I think the Governor must himself expect to receive ordnance from some
quarter,” said de Vilela, “otherwise the success of the siege he must
know is impossible.”
Grace O’Malley and I looked at each other, the same thought in our
minds. There was only the one way by which there was any probability of
his obtaining heavy pieces, and that was over sea.
Did Sir Nicholas reckon on the support of a heavy ship of war, and was
he now quietly looking for its arrival? Had he foreseen, or, at least,
provided against the failure of the plot of the kernes?
That seemed very likely, and the more I thought of it the more likely
did it seem. I now realised, as I had not done before, the seriousness
of our situation.
“That must be it,” said Grace O’Malley. “That must be it. He is not
a man given to slackness, but he is perfectly aware that he can now
effect nothing unless he has cannon, and so he tarries until his
ordnance comes. Doubtless he has arranged that a war-vessel shall meet
him here, and, if that is how the matter stands, it may arrive very
soon.”
“What you have conjectured,” said, de Vilela, “will, I think, prove to
be correct.” And I also said that her words expressed my own opinion.
Now, the three great galleys lay in the harbour at Clare Island, and
as Grace O’Malley had withdrawn most of their crews they were without
sufficient defenders, and might be easily taken and destroyed.
“The galleys must at once be brought over here,” said she with decision
to me, “or better still, if it be not too late, sailed into Achill
Sound, and hidden away in one of its many bays. This very night, as
soon as the darkness has fallen, you, Ruari, must take as many men as
can be got into the boats we have here, and make for Clare Island with
all speed. When you have reached the island, do with the galleys as
seems best to you.”
Accordingly, when the shadows of night had overspread the land and
the sea, I set about to fulfil her behest. The day-breeze had died
away, and the waters were calm and tranquil as we pulled out from the
castle. Rowing steadily and strongly along the north shore of Clew Bay,
the sound of our oars alone breaking the silence, we held on until we
arrived at Clare Island, where I was overjoyed to find our ships riding
at anchor in the peaceful security of the haven.
And there, partly to rest my weary men, and partly because I could see
no reason for any immediate action, I resolved to lie still till dawn.
I had hardly, as it appeared to me, laid myself down to sleep in my
cabin on _The Cross of Blood_, though some hours had passed, when I
was aroused by Calvagh O’Halloran, who had been left in charge of the
galleys, with the tidings that the watchers he had placed on Knockmore
had come down from the hill with the intelligence that they had seen,
in the first light of the morning, the tops of the masts of a large
ship coming up, faint and dim, on the south against the sky.
Springing from my couch, I bade Calvagh get the galleys ready to put
to sea, and while this was being done I went ashore, and, climbing the
slope of Knockmore with swift steps, gazed seaward at the approaching
vessel.
At first I was inclined to hesitate as to what to make of her, but
as I looked, and as she kept coming on into fuller view, any doubt I
entertained was set at rest.
There was a bright flashing of flame, then a heavy boom from one of her
ports, succeeded by three shots fired in rapid succession.
I concluded that she was still too far out at sea for her commander to
have intended these for anything but signals, and therefore I continued
to stand watching her, my purpose being to discover if she intended to
make for Clare Island or would hold on towards the mainland.
This took some time, for, as the breeze was off the shore and against
the tide, she sailed very slowly. At length it became apparent that she
was to endeavour to go on to Burrishoole or Carrickahooley, and so
would have Clare Island well on her left, for, as she passed the Point
of Roonah, she was swung around between us and the coast.
I could tell from her movements that her captain was far from being
certain where the channel lay among the islands that stud all the
eastern side of Clew Bay; and, indeed, it takes a man who knows these
parts more than well to steer a ship of middling tonnage safely through
the rocks and shoals into the fairway by Illamore. I felt confident
that it would be many hours before he could reach his destination,
and this put into my mind to attempt to carry out a project which had
occurred to me, and which might prevent him from ever reaching it at
all.
The project was of a somewhat desperate nature, and if it resulted in
failure then in all likelihood there would be an end so far as regards
_The Cross of Blood_ and its company; but if success should favour our
enterprise, we might compel Sir Nicholas to raise the siege before it
was well begun, and so bring the war to a close for the present by his
retreat.
As I was weighing the chances both for and against us, there sounded
forth from the English ship-of-war a single loud report, and shortly
afterwards three shots were fired--a repetition, in fact, of the former
signal. This acted on me like the pricking of a spear on a charger.
What I had in view was nothing less than the wreck of the enemy’s
vessel.
When I had regained the deck of my galley the anchor was weighed, and
we put out into the bay, leaving _The Grey Wolf_ and _The Winged
Horse_ in the harbour, with orders to follow us on the next tide.
Summoning Calvagh to my side, I unfolded to him the course I thought
of pursuing, and as much would depend on the stoutness and endurance
of our rowers, I enjoined on him to exhort them to be steadfast, and
not to be thrown into a fury and a frenzy of excitement even when they
heard the shots of the Englishman roaring past their ears and we seemed
to be going to certain destruction.
They were not to abandon their places at the benches unless _The Cross
of Blood_ should be so damaged by the enemy as to appear to be in a
sinking condition. Should that disaster be imminent, then, and only
then, would it become a case of each man for himself.
I judged it to be needful to give these instructions because, while
I could trust everyone of my men where a matter of fighting was
concerned, I was not so sure that when it came to our running away--and
that was the very soul of my scheme--they would do as I wished with an
equal heart. For they were of the temper in which it is easier to fight
and die than to flee and live.
As we drew out from Clare Island the English ship was about two miles
in front of us, with her bows pointing for the south side of Illamore,
between which and the rocky islets opposite it there is a clear span
of water, but before she could come abreast of Illamore there was a
distance of a couple of leagues of open sea.
She went along lumberingly, and the galley, bounding forward like a
racer under the swift, measured swing of the oars, had the speed of
her, and began to come up with her rapidly. When we were within a mile
of her, and Illamore perchance a league away, I shifted my course and
bore off to the north.
The galley had no doubt been seen by the Englishmen as soon as we had
emerged from Clare Island; and now, when they perceived that we were
heading away from them and going north, they fetched about and came
round after us.
Would their captain give chase, or would he content himself with noting
whither we went and following us for a time and then turning about
again? I had felt certain from the beginning that he had no pilot on
board, for where were there any people who knew Clew Bay but ourselves?
And sure was I that no O’Malley would ever guide a hostile ship through
these waters.
What I feared was that the Englishman might pursue us for two or three
miles, and then, seeing how thick the islands were in that part of the
bay and how narrow the channels between them, might be deterred from
proceeding further in our direction, and therefore stand off again for
the other side of Illamore, as had been his purpose at first.
As I was determined to draw him on at all hazards, I made a sign
to Calvagh, at whose word our oarsmen ceased pulling their great
sweeping strokes, and made no more than a pretence of rowing, so as
only to keep steering-way on _The Cross of Blood_, and to deceive the
Englishman into imagining that he was catching her up, as indeed he
was, though not as he understood the matter.
On he came, as I had hoped, the gap between us growing less, until a
ball fired from his bows fell so near as to warn me that we were within
range of his guns.
The English vessel was a heavily armed ship, her sides bristling with
large pieces of ordnance, and it would have required not more than
a few of her shots, had they struck the galley, to send her to the
bottom. And as there were but two falconets on _The Cross of Blood_,
her other cannon having been removed from her to the walls of the
castle, we were not able to reply to the enemy’s fire with any effect.
But it was not my intention to use these falconets, except to lure him
into that trap I was setting for him.
Therefore I shouted to Calvagh, and the galley plunged forward again
under the strong, full beat of the racing oars as he ran up and down
between the rowers commanding them to pull for their lives. We could
hear the cheering and the laughter on board the Englishman as he
watched what he took to be our frantic efforts to escape.
And, in truth, we had put on this burst of speed none too soon, for the
shots now sent after us fell so little short of our stern that I was
afraid we were lost. But the peril passed, and we quickly drew away.
And thus for two miles or more the pursuit of us went on, the
Englishman coming up with us and discharging his pieces at us as we
slacked off rowing, and then falling behind us as the oarsman drove the
galley on again. I repeated this manœuvre several times, and once only
had a ball struck _The Cross of Blood_, but, as fortune would have it,
without inflicting any serious injury upon us.
Now that the supreme moment was almost at hand I became conscious of a
singular tumult, a very fever in my veins, and that at a time when I
desired above all things to be calm and self-possessed.
I was standing by the helmsman as he steered, and, as I turned to give
him the direction, I could see in the pallor that showed beneath the
brown of his skin, in the fixedly gleaming eyes, in the shut lips that
had no colour about them, in the whole tense attitude of the man, the
visible expression of my own feelings.
For there before us lay the islands; all shapes and sizes were they,
some grim and bare, others green and fair to see; island upon island,
one crowding upon the other, as it were, like a wide range of low hills.
Immediately in front of us a grey, craggy rock reared its head; on one
side of it was a small, round islet, a shining girdle of spray half
hiding it, on the other, separated from it by a narrow passage, a great
rampart of black cliffs, on whose heights the eagles loved to build,
towered aloft into the sky, the waves rolling themselves in empty
thunders at its feet.
Beyond this passage was seen a spacious land-locked bay as it appeared
to be, so closed in did it seem on all sides by islands. And through
this passage did I give command to go.
There was a mute protest in the look the helmsman gave me, for this
passage is none other than that called the Gate of Fears, and no
mariner ever makes use of it save from direst necessity and with many
crossings of himself and murmured vows. But the galley made a half-turn
obedient to the helmsman’s hand, and so was headed for the dreaded Gate.
The Englishman was at our heels, bent upon our capture or destruction,
but when he saw us approach this passage he hesitated, and was like to
draw back. Whereupon I ordered Calvagh to bid the oarsmen stop rowing,
and bringing the falconets into position trained them on the enemy,
myself putting the blazing torch to the touch-hole.
At the same time our sailors sent up a loud taunting, derisive cry,
which was answered back full-throated by the English ship. Provoked
beyond endurance at us, and thinking, it might be, that where a large
galley like _The Cross of Blood_ might go she might venture also, she
again came on at us, firing as she came.
I had to endure an agony of suspense, for there was still time for two
things to happen, either of which would be fatal to my purpose.
Until the English commander had fairly entered the Gate of Fears, and
so would be forced to go on, he might hold off after all. That was the
first. And to tempt him on I had to keep the galley so close to the
range of his ordnance that it was very probable that he might hit and
sink her. That was the second.
He had, however, made up his mind that we were within his grasp, and
had determined to have us. As he came slowly nearer, our oarsmen sent
the galley on through the passage, and on he moved after us.
There was now a lull in his cannonading, and a strange silence fell
upon us all. In that silence I waited anxiously, a prey to mingled
doubts and fears, expecting to hear a slight grating, scraping
sound, and to see the galley shiver and quake as she passed over the
knife-edges of rocks that lie a few feet below the surface of the sea
at the further end of the Gate. The tide was high, as I had reckoned,
else I never would have attempted it.
Then there was a sudden tempest of smoke and flame from the Englishman,
in the midst of which _The Cross of Blood_ swayed and reeled as if she
had been struck. I sickened with apprehension, but the swaying and the
reeling quickly ceased. We were safely over the jagged barrier of rock;
we had passed through the Gate, and were in the deep water beyond.
Below me I could see Calvagh’s white, set face as he looked up; then,
as he realised that we were out of the dangers of the passage, a war
chant broke from his fierce lips, the oarsmen rowing mightily, and
keeping time to that savage, deep-chested music of his.
And on behind us came the unwitting Englishman.
In a few minutes more, looking towards her, I saw her bows tilt up
and then plunge high into the air. She was lifted up and dashed down
again and again on the rocks, so that her back broke, and she was torn
to pieces before my eyes, while some of her sailors cast themselves
into the water, with outcries and bewailings very piteous to hear, and
others got into the ship’s boats and put out to sea, where I know not
what fate overtook them.
My men clamoured that they should be pursued, but this I would not
suffer, for my end was attained, as Sir Nicholas now would have no
ordnance for the battering down of the walls of Carrickahooley, and
must therefore raise the siege.