by Doug Walker
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
As it happened, the Armada toyed with the idea of returning to the channel and getting Parma’s army across to England. The English fleet, with shot lockers empty and food running low, could have done little to bar its path. But the wind blew from the south, and on August 13th, the Armada’s small contingent of pack animals was dumped overboard to conserve water, and orders were issued to round the northern coast of Ireland and sail for Spain.
Already on short rations since Calais, García and Captain Alvares agreed to rations of one pint of water, half a pint of wine and half a pound of biscuits per day per man, except on Sundays when meat or fish was issued along with a full pint of wine.
During August and into September, damaged ships were separated from the Armada. Some sank outright with all hands lost, others ended on the Irish coast where the survivors were robbed of their clothing and gold by the Irish and English garrison troops. Many were slaughtered in the field, or hanged after surrender.
La Anunciada’s hull had sustained damages during the fireship attack and was further battered during the running fight to the north. García and Poncho had gone over charts of Ireland together using the one blink, two blink system, and it seemed Poncho’s memory was indeed better than García’s. Their vessel would get no farther than Scattery Roads in the mouth of the Shannon River. García noted that it was not too distant from the large settlement at Limerick.
It was García’s plan to see to the safety of his men, then he would return to Chapel Hill if he could make the formula work in reverse.
Badly leaking, steering like a lobster pot, La Anunciada made it part way up the Shannon River. Five pinnaces were still with her, and the next day she was joined by the Barca de Danzig, also badly leaking.
Captain Alvares, noting the condition of his ship was hopeless, sent his carpenters to help repair the Danzig. After several days work, the Danzig was pronounced seaworthy and Alvares made the decision to transfer men, guns and other supplies to that vessel and head for home. But it would be sorely overburdened.
As the transfer was being made, García spoke with Alvares. “I would like to keep my men as a fighting outfit and march them up the Shannon to Limerick. There, I believe, is enough gold among us to hire a sound ship to deliver us back to Lisbon.”
“But we know the Irish are plundering and murdering our men as they come ashore,” Alvares said.
“Yes, in small numbers. Exhausted and unarmed. My men are well fed and well armed. There is not an English garrison nearby that could defeat us. Also, you are short of supplies, and the Barca de Danzig would be badly overloaded with my men aboard. We would each have a better chance of reaching Spain.”
“I see,” the captain said. In truth, he had no authority over García’s men. And soldiers at sea were only a nuisance. They continued to eat and drink and sometimes cause trouble, but as to their value, they were in minor figures. “Take what provisions you can carry and what arms you need. And if you would, stay nearby until we are safely at sea in case of attack. I have seen the treacherous Irish lurking at a distance. They would make sport of us if they could.”
García shrugged. “Some would. Others are friendly. They are much like us, Joao.”
“Yes, I suppose. Well, rally your men. We should be ready to sail with the second tide. The pinnaces will serve us well in standing clear of this estuary.”
At noon the following day, García’s 300 plus men were marching up river toward Limerick. Captain Largo Azaña and his sergeant, El Toro, had joined them. El Toro and Jesus had become great friends, and Jesus’s spouse, Doria Queveda had donned trooper’s clothing and marched with them. For once it wasn’t raining in Ireland, the sky was fair and the day pleasant.
García had borrowed extra drums from the Danzig, and one drummer was always beating out the time of the march. Now and then all the drums would join in, accompanied by a trumpet flourish. Two flag bearers marched in front. It was a gallant sight, the men with their colorful uniforms in battle array, half of them armed with firearms, the others with pikes, some short some exceptionally long.
The scene was just what García had planned, enough to give the stoutest enemy heart cause for pause. And to appear to have a military manner, he let Francisco carry Poncho. As they marched along she asked García if Ireland had a king.
“Long ago there was a single king who ruled a unified Ireland, but only that one time. That must have been at least 500 years ago. Norsemen, Vikings, native Irish, Scots and the English have been wrangling over this land since heck was a pup. As far as I know the friction will never be resolved, just transformed from time to time. The Irish are great for drinking and singing songs that make them feel sorry for themselves, then they drink some more and fall to quarreling among themselves. Never a dull moment.”
“I think I prefer the country life,” Francisco said, “the Spanish countryside. This land seems most suited to frogs and creatures of the swamp. When there is no rain there is often mist. But today the weather is fine and the countryside delightfully green.”
“We have seen excitement in these past weeks, Francisco. But the best is yet to come.”
She gave him a glance, then fell back to walk with Jose and Don Diego. They were approaching a small settlement, and García ordered drums and trumpets and for the men to step lively into formation. Word of their coming would spread ahead and Limerick would be waiting.
In mid-afternoon, García learned by questioning peasants that Limerick was not far away. He asked Captain Largo Azaña to take 75 men and go off to the left.
“You want me to march through the fields?”
“No,” García answered. “Go quietly and in single file. If there is a garrison at Limerick it is certain to be alerted. If they welcome us have your men quietly appear on their right flank. We will impress the English with our numbers and our position.”
“I see,” the captain said, “but is that a gentleman’s way to fight, sneaking through the fields?”
“If we fight, we fight to win. By showing strength, we hope there will be no fight.”
Azaña nodded. “I will see you in Limerick and we will share Irish ale.”
It was evening when they approached the city with their drums, trumpets and banners. García led his troops through a small woods and in the clearing ahead, in grim array, stood the British rank. A thin line of regulars backed by what appeared to be irregulars probably recruited from the town on the spur of the moment.
García asked Don Diego de Beauvais to accompany him as he walked forward to meet the mounted officer. She was eager to share in every event.
The officer trotted his horse forward and stopped not 15 feet from García.
“I am Captain Pedro García, an officer of the King of Spain and we come in peace.”
“And I am Major Courtney Wellston, an officer of the Queen of England. What mission brings you here, captain?”
“We both serve our monarchs, major. We seek to enter the city of Limerick and find a suitable vessel to carry us back to Spain. We have gold for payment.”
“And why should I let you pass? You are enemies of our crown.”
“Perhaps yes and perhaps no. Surely you haven’t had recent word from London in this isolated place.”
“I will consider you enemies until I do receive word to the contrary. You may offer your sword in surrender. No harm will come to you or your men.”
García stifled a laugh. He well knew what had happened to many prisoners of England. “You have heard about burning your bridges, major. Well, we have scuttled and burned our vessel. We have no retreat. We outnumber you maybe three to one. My men are disciplined, rested and battle ready. Not one of them will surrender. We have heard stories about how you treat prisoners. So, stand aside and we will enter the city, find a vessel and be gone.”
“I am a soldier and it is not in my makeup to give way to a handful of Spanish.” At that point Captain Azaña’s men appeared over a small hillock. García motioned in that
direction and Wellston gazed at the band of well-armed men for half a minute.
García broke the silence. “These men are also under my command.”
“I see. It is a sly trick.”
“Not a trick, major. I’m trying hard to convince you that we come in peace and you should let us return to Spain. Your regular troops will doubtless fight to the finish, but that rabble you have dragooned from the streets of Limerick are already showing signs of panic. If I ordered an attack at this minute, from the front and from the flank, they would run like scalded hound dogs.”
“You speak good English, Captain García, but you have an odd accent for a Spaniard. May I ask where you learned the language?”
The major was obviously stalling for time while he considered his next move. “I picked it up here and there. Why don’t you dismount so we can talk man to man?”
Wellston stared at García for a long moment, then got down from his horse, passing the reins to a trooper at his rear. “Now that’s more like equality,” García said. “Up on your high horse you might have done something impulsive.”
If they started anything, Wellston was well aware that he and his troops would die, and what honor was there to a dismal death in this dismal end of the world. He wished he had never seen his first Irishman. “I believe there is room for negotiations,” he finally said.
“Fine,” García agreed. “We would like a campsite within the city walls, or a large building, possibly a church or public hall. We have rations for our men. Just this morning we purchased a cart and horse to carry our supplies. We have gold for other necessities.”
“I cannot permit you all to leave. I might be derelict in my duty. A few hostages, yourself included.” Wellston was playing poker, attempting to salvage something from a forlorn situation.
García rubbed his brow as if in deep thought. “What you ask is quite possible. I could remain behind along with my three cadets, my sergeant and my sergeant’s wife, who is with us. Would that please you?”
The major was both shocked and pleased and allowed himself a grim smile. He had expected García to offer up some worthless officer and a handful of non-coms and troopers. “In that case, we have an agreement. There are several merchant ships available and with your gold and my persuasion, I believe we can end this situation with alacrity.”
“Shall we proceed into the city, then?” García asked.
“Definitely. Give me a moment to dismiss this local rabble as you call them. They are an ill-armed lot and lack incentive for the day’s work.”
The major riding ahead, his small garrison following, and García’s troops following after with drums and trumpets, they entered the city. Captain Azaña, El Toro and his small band fell in behind. Wellston led them to a series of covered stalls that were obviously used as the town’s market on certain days. A heavy guard was posted and they settled in for the gathering night.
True to his word, Wellston and his adjutant, Lord Percy, showed up just after dawn the following day with a Captain Kennedy, who was both owner and master of a merchant ship now lying empty in the River Shannon just off Limerick. A deal was struck and Kennedy agreed to start loading water and supplies that day with the vessel to sail the following day.
