A DEAR VICTORY.
Chiefly by reason of the tempestuous weather, my journey to Askeaton
and back again had occupied not far short of a month,--which was
a much longer time than had been reckoned upon. On my arrival at
Carrickahooley my mistress was naturally very impatient to hear what
was the response of the Earl of Desmond to her message, and also what
my opinion of that noble was.
First of all I delivered to her the letter and the presents he had
sent. When she had read his letter she handed it to me, and there was,
I could see, a great light of happiness on her face. But when I had
glanced over the missive, I was not so satisfied with its contents as
she plainly was.
The letter was not a long one, and, in brief, was nothing more or less
than an invitation from Desmond, asking my mistress to go on a visit to
him at Askeaton, where his countess would give her a warm welcome, so
soon as spring was come, or as early as would be convenient for her.
With regard to any rising against the Queen he said not a word, but
intimated that he was very desirous of meeting one of whom he had heard
so much, and of discussing with her such matters as affected their
mutual interests.
This last phrase Grace O’Malley took as a hint that the Earl, not
caring to commit himself to anything definite on paper, was of the same
mind as herself, for they had no interests in common save such as lay
in the expulsion of the English from the island.
Now the message my mistress had sent him was frank and open, so that
there could not be two opinions as to its import. But these words of
his, it seemed to me, partook in no degree of the same character. They
might mean much or little or even nothing at all, so vague were they.
If I had not seen the Earl my view might have been different, but
in the cloudiness of his letter I again saw his weakness and want
of purpose. I did not, I could not, suspect him of anything worse.
However, Grace O’Malley, although I expressed to her what I felt about
Desmond, was assured that he could only mean one thing, and that was
that he shared in her ideas, and would be ready to give such effect to
them as he could.
“Yes,” said she, “Garrett Desmond is the man.”
And she was the more certain of this when I went on to tell her that I
had heard a great deal at Askeaton, and that with hardly a pretence of
secrecy, of the army which the King of Spain was to send in aid of the
Irish the following year.
“Do you not see,” said she, “that Desmond must be heart and soul in the
business, or else he would have suffered none of this talk of Philip
of Spain?”
I had, indeed, made a similar reflection when at Desmond’s castle, but
what I distrusted was the character and strength of the man himself.
But my mistress was my mistress, so I said no more then of the Earl.
I had had no small disputings with myself as to whether I should tell
Grace O’Malley about what had occurred with respect to Sabina Lynch
or not. I could not blame myself, albeit these very searchings of my
spirit did show some doubt if I had done what was best, and tell her I
did.
Whereupon for a minute she fell into a fit of silent rage, which,
however, presently passed away--the only thing she said being the
question, sharply asked--
“Would you have acted in that way, Ruari, _if it had been a man_?”
And the sting of the taunt, for such I felt it to be, lay perhaps in
its truth. Howbeit, neither of us ever referred, in speaking to each
other, to the matter again.
Richard Burke and his followers had left the castle, and had gone back
to their own territory. He had made me the confidant of his hopes and
fears with regard to his love for Grace O’Malley, and I desired greatly
to know how he had sped in his wooing.
It was not, however, till long afterwards that I discovered he had
pressed his suit, and that not altogether without success, but that
she would give him no definite promise so long as her affairs were in
so unstable a condition.
I did not know of any man in all the world whom I esteemed a fit mate
for her, but the MacWilliam had many things in his favour, not the
least being that he was a valiant soldier. That he had ranged himself
on her side in her quarrel with the Governor also had its weight with
her. I think, however, that at this time he had a very small share in
her thoughts, as she was entirely wrapped up in the Earl of Desmond,
whom she looked upon as the Hope of Ireland, and in the furtherance of
her plans.
De Vilela was still at Carrickahooley, and had so far got healed of his
wounds that he was able to be about for an hour or two each day. He
greeted me with his never-failing courtesy, and after I had seen more
of him I noticed that the air of melancholy gravity he had borne during
the siege had in nowise changed, unless it were by being even deeper
than before.
The sufferings he had undergone and the feebleness he still endured
might easily have accounted for this. But I was persuaded that there
was another reason, although it took me some time to arrive at this
conclusion.
What put me in the way of it was that I caught him, when he believed
himself free from observation, looking at me, not once, nor twice, but
often, with a wistful intentness, as if he were trying to read my very
thoughts, and so to pierce to the innermost soul of me. Why was this?
Why was he thus weighing me as it were in the balance?
Eva was not so much with him now that he was regaining his strength,
and, whether he was with her or not, he had not the look of a happy
lover, that look which, me thinks, would be present notwithstanding
pain and the shadow of death.
And I put the two things together, though not hastily, for I feared
nothing so much as to be wrong in this, and guessed that he had lost
all hope of her for himself, and was asking himself whether, if so be
she loved me, I was in any way worthy of her. But I think the chief
care of this very noble gentleman of Spain was not pity for himself,
nor my worthiness or unworthiness--which is the truer word, but that
this woman whom he loved should have her heart’s desire, on whomsoever
that desire might fall, and at whatsoever cost to himself.
I did not perceive this in one day, or for many, and, pursuing the
course I had before determined on, abode firm in my resolve not to
appear even to come between him and Eva O’Malley.
The winter wore on to the day of the Birth of Christ, and all was quiet
and peaceful in Connaught.
Hardly, however, did the new year open--it was that year of grace,
1579--when messengers from various chiefs in the north-west of Ireland
began coming to and going away from Carrickahooley.
Sometimes their business was with my mistress, but still more
frequently was it with de Vilela, for it had gone abroad that he
was with us, and that he was in the confidence of the King of Spain,
from whom he had a mission to the Irish. Among these were some of the
MacSweenys of Tir-Connall, who spoke for themselves and also for their
prince, O’Donnell, whose wife was a Macdonald, and a kinswoman of my
own. Many were the plots on foot, my mistress striving to bring about a
great confederacy of the north.
Sir Nicholas Malby, after he had repulsed the Burkes of Clanrickarde
and driven them back to their mountains, lay at Galway darkly
meditating schemes of vengeance. But, for the present, with the land
all about him in a ferment, he did nothing but bide his time.
Indeed, by the coming of spring, the whole island was stirring with
the fever of war, some looking to Spain, and some to Desmond, so that
the commanders of the English, from the Lord Deputy at Dublin to the
poorest of his captains, were in sore trouble and disquiet.
So passed the winter away.
“Darkness and blood; then a little light,” had been the saying of Teige
O’Toole, the Wise Man. Now was the time of the little light of which he
had spoken; it was immediately to be followed by the period of which
he had said, “blood and darkness, then again light, but darkness were
better.”
It was in April, then, of this year of fate that de Vilela, having
perfectly recovered of his wounds, Grace O’Malley bade me get _The
Cross of Blood_ in readiness to convey him to Askeaton.
De Vilela was anxious to be gone, having trespassed upon our
hospitality, as he said, beyond all measure. And he was the more
eager as now he knew for certain that Eva had nothing stronger than a
friendship for him. He had not asked her, I imagine, so sure was he
that she did not love him, and it was like the man, that, knowing this,
he would not vex her even with words.
At the last moment, and unexpectedly, my mistress determined to sail
with us, and Eva O’Malley also came, Tibbot being left in charge at
Clare Island and Carrickahooley.
With fair winds, and hopes as fair, did we leave Clare Bay behind us,
and for two days all went well. On the third day of the voyage, the
wind having changed, the watch descried a ship coming up against the
line of the sky, and when we had observed her for a short time we saw
that she was making towards us. Being much higher out of the water than
the galley, she had no doubt seen us first.
We edged in closer to the land, which loomed up some miles away on our
left; whereupon she shifted her course as if to cut us off. As she
came within nearer view she appeared to be a great ship, carrying many
pieces of cannon, and flying the English flag. The morning sun fell
upon her, and disclosed her deck covered with men whose armour and
weapons sparkled in the light.
It was abundantly evident that she was a ship-of-war of the English,
and well prepared in every respect to attack and overwhelm us. Both as
regarded her ordnance and the numbers of her crew, that she was vastly
superior to us was plain. Should she get the range of us I made no
doubt that we should be quickly knocked to pieces.
On the high seas, a galley like _The Cross of Blood_ could not be
opposed to such a ship except with the one result, and that the worst.
Our case was little short of desperate, but I did not lose heart.
Nor did my mistress give up hope. She and I held a hurried consultation
with Calvagh O’Halloran, and determined that we should first try to
escape by rowing. There was the land before us, and a rocky cape
jutting from it held out, as it were, a friendly beckoning hand.
Once we had made it, and were safely round it, we would be in a shallow
bay, into which flowed a river--up which the galley might go, but not
so large a ship as the Englishman. We therefore bent our whole energies
to this end, but all in vain. It became apparent before we were
half-way to the shore that we were completely outsailed, and were at
the mercy of the enemy.
When I had fully grasped the extreme peril in which we were, and
reflected that my whole world was on board this galley, to say nothing
of the fact that every timber of it was dear to me, my heart well-nigh
fainted within me. Here was that great woman whom I served; here also
the woman whom I loved.
Was it to this destiny they had been born? Notwithstanding our danger,
I could not believe it.
What was the worst that the spite of fortune could wreak upon us?
Either _The Cross of Blood_ would be sunk by the enemy’s fire, and we
would perish in the sea, or she would be captured, many of us being
killed in the struggle, and the rest taken--what would be their fate?
But there was no need to ask that; for I was well assured that the
people of the English ship knew who we were, or, at least, whose galley
it was, for who in Ireland had such a vessel as _The Cross of Blood_,
except Grace O’Malley?
Such were my thoughts when my mistress spoke in my ear, and said that
as it was impossible to escape from the Englishman we must fight him.
“With all my heart,” cried I; “but how?”
Then she told me what to do.
I went forward to Calvagh, and bade him order his oarsmen to row with
all their might until I gave a signal; when it was given they were
to get their arms ready, but without making a noise or leaving their
benches, and having their oars resting on the water.
_The Cross of Blood_ raced on, but the English ship went faster, until
a shotted gun fired across our bows made us well aware of what we had
known sufficiently already--that we must be sunk, or give ourselves up,
or, at least, appear to do so.
Calvagh looked at me, but I gave no sign. Grace O’Malley changed the
galley’s course, so that we gained a little by it; and on we plunged
again, making for the open sea. But the advantage we had thus obtained
was of no real value to us, and the Englishman, with his square bulging
sails swelling in the breeze, was quickly at our heels.
And now a second and, as it were, more peremptory message of iron bade
us throw up the game and lie to. The great shot fell so close to the
poop of the galley, and made so heavy a splash in the water, that the
spray from it might almost have fallen on our deck but for the wind. I
glanced at my mistress and she nodded.
There was no purpose to be served in rowing any longer, for in another
second we might be sent below the waves. Nor did we make any attempt to
return the enemy’s fire, and so, perhaps, invite a broadside from him
which would probably have settled our affairs for ever.
Calvagh’s eyes were fastened on me, and now I gave him the signal; his
voice roared hoarsely through the galley; the oarsmen sat erect on
their benches, and the rowing ceased.
Something that was between a sob and a groan came from the lips of our
men; a sort of quiver passed over them, as each of them quietly got his
sword or battle-axe from its place; and then there was a silence, only
broken by the waters as they lapped along our sides and swished under
the blades of the oars.
De Vilela, who had gone into his cabin to put on his armour as soon as
the chase of us began, now appeared. Approaching my mistress and me,
and in accents tremulous as I had never before heard from him, he asked
a question of Grace O’Malley.
“Señorita,” inquired he, “tell me, you do not intend to give up the
galley thus tamely to the English? Surely it were better to die.”
“Better to die,” said she, “yes, by the Cross!” And then she rapidly
spoke a few words, which I could see were not displeasing to him. And
I like to recall the man, as he stood beside me that day; clad in his
suit of mail, with the crest of his house shining on his helmet, his
naked sword drawn, its point resting on the deck of the poop; and his
eyes bright and steadfast, while a smile was on his lips. And we looked
towards the English ship, saw the scowling faces of our foes hanging
over her bows, and waited on the will of the God of Battles.
Grace O’Malley in the meantime went down to her cabin to speak words
of hope and comfort to Eva. When I thought of my dear, my heart again
fainted within me; then it seemed to grow so big and strong, calling,
as it were, loudly to me to play the man this day, that I felt there
was nothing that was wholly impossible to me!
My mistress now returned to the poop-deck, and taking the helm from
the steersman, as we stood close in by the enemy’s vessel, she put it
down sharply, so that the galley was thrown into the fore-chains of the
Englishman.
“O’Malley! O’Malley! O’Malley!” I cried, and quicker than a flash,
before the English had got over the suddenness of the movement, our
men, with de Vilela and myself at their head, had leaped on board of
her.
With thrust of sword and blow of battle-axe we made good our footing
on the deck, and for a space the English fell back before us. Their
captain, a towering figure in armour, save for his head, on which was a
broad cap with a dancing plume of feathers in it, rallied them, and led
them on at us, shouting for St. George and England.
They were more in number than ourselves, but despair nerved our arms,
so that we withstood them, albeit we were hard pressed, and the
fighting was terrible beyond all words. I sought to engage the captain,
but de Vilela was before me.
Then there occurred an unexpected and almost unheard-of and incredible
thing.
I knew the voice at once, and, turning in the direction from whence it
came, and thus being partly off my guard, could not altogether ward off
the dart of a sword, so that I was wounded in the throat, and, had it
been but a little truer, would have been slain.
Above the clang of meeting weapons and the rattle of armour and the
shouts and sobs and the catchings for breath of the foemen, the voice
of my mistress was heard crying in the tongue of the Irish:
“Let the O’Malleys divide, and stand on each side of the ship!”
It was a difficult matter in itself to accomplish, and some there were
of the Irish who were unable to do so; but such of us who could obeyed
her command without pausing to try to understand what she would be at.
Then there came forth a great tongue of fire, a blinding cloud of
smoke, and so tremendous a report that the ship was shaken from stem to
stern.
And this is what had taken place:
When we had sprung on board of the English ship, Grace O’Malley was
left standing at the helm of _The Cross of Blood_. She had watched the
contest, and, fearing that we were overmatched, had cast about for some
means of assisting us. Then, taking with her a few of the men whom she
had kept in the galley for her own guard, she had climbed up into the
forecastle of the enemy, and, as their attention was entirely occupied
with us, had, unperceived by them or seen too late, run in board one of
the Englishman’s bow-chasers, and had turned it on its owners.
The piece, thus levelled at this terrible short range, swept the deck
of its defenders, and among the heaps of the slain and the wounded were
several of our own people who had not been able to gain the bulwarks.
I was myself leaning against one of the ship’s beams breathing hard,
and clutching with the fingers of my left hand my bleeding throat,
while my right still grasped my sword. So dreadful was the sight of the
deck that now met my eyes that I could not help closing them, while a
shudder shook my whole frame.
But our work was not yet done. For when we essayed to carry the poop
we were beaten back in spite of all our endeavours, and what might
have been the end I know not if Grace O’Malley had not held possession
of that piece of ordnance. A second and a third discharge from it
shattered and destroyed the poop, and at length the ship was ours, its
whole crew being killed or captured or drowned, for many of the English
jumped into the sea and perished.
Having collected her men together, and along with them having brought
away the prisoners and what treasure was found on board of _The Star
of the Sea_, which was the name of the ship, she ordered it to be
scuttled, and then withdrew to the galley.
But when we came to count up what this battle had cost us, our loss
was so great that my mistress deemed it expedient to go no further
with her journey at that time, and thus we returned again to Clew Bay,
having been absent but a few days. And there was much mourning among
us, for many of our people had been slain. De Vilela, however, had come
unscathed from the fray, and my own wound was, after all, not much more
than a scratch.
But the uncertainty of the issue of our whole conflict with the English
had been brought home to me in so decided a manner that for the first
time I realised how dark and menacing was the path that lay before our
feet.