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,