The Grove of Eagles

by Winston Graham

  A flicker of flames showed amidships of San Felipe, either a chance spark or the Spanish Admiral had resolved his ship should not be taken. By the time I had tied the knot with a stick to wind it tighter, one deck was blazing.

  Now all were abandoning her for fear of an explosion; men leaped into the water in scores, some wounded, some already alight; a few tried to get down by rope ladder; dozens jumped into the water and broke their legs or arms on the scarcely hidden mud-bank; they fell from all quarters.

  San Tomaso was also alight and the horror repeated; the other two galleons still kept up some resistance but half their crews were in flight. Many boats the English had put out to capture the galleons were given over to succour.

  Sailors from Rainbow and from our ship were swarming up San Andrea to try to capture her unburned, but so far none had been able to board San Felipe. Just then a pinnace from Nonpareil shot through a gap in the struggling swarming sea and threw a line aboard. Men swarmed up, intent to put out the fire; but the feared explosion took place on the main gun deck of the flagship and one of the masts blazing like a firebrand fell and hit the pinnace square amidships, killing five and burning others. In seconds the pinnace herself was aflame and sinking; men plunged in the water and swam beside their Spanish enemies towards the nearest boat.

  Now a group of Dutch fly-boats came on the scene, darting into the swarming channel, and with pistols, hatchets and knives began to slaughter the Spanish soldiers and sailors as they swam and struggled in the water. Too many years of cruelty in the Lowlands, too many memories of suffering and massacre, too many relatives helplessly murdered in Antwerp and elsewhere, were bearing their grim fruit. Nor did the Dutch take kindly to opposition from their allies, and ugly scenes grew in the melee.

  It looked as if San Andrea and San Tomaso would be ours unburned; boarding parties were already on the enemy decks. Essex, standing plain on the top deck of Due Repulse had been joined by Sir Francis Vere; they were turning their thoughts to an assault on the town. Soldiers were being mustered in fly-boats and transports. The admiral and the general went down to join them, and themselves embarked on Essex’s barge. No signal came to Warspite to assist or to participate, but Ralegh ordered the two regiments aboard Warspite to join the landing fleet, and then collapsed in the chair Bell had brought up for him.

  “The treasure ships … Force our way through now and take them. Nothing to stop us—a few frigates—all in disorder. We should strike now.”

  “Well, they cannot get away, sir,” Captain Oakes said, “except through this narrow channel which we command.”

  “These canals beyond Carraca? They are deep enough?”

  “Oh, by no means. No ship of any draught could attempt it.”

  “They’re moving off!” said Victor, pointing to the transports. “Hark at them.”

  The landing flotilla was leaving the ships and rowing towards the beach. In the van was Essex’s barge with his banner flying, and a dozen gentlemen in armour escorting him. Sir Francis Vere as head of the land forces stood at his side. Behind came a group of boats in three lines abreast in the most orderly manner. All was silence, no cheering, no trumpets, no firing, nothing but the regular roll and beat of drums. Oars kept pace with the beat, and at minute intervals the drums stopped and the oars stopped; with a preliminary roll they would begin again. There must have been 2,000 men in the boats.

  This was a discipline quite different from the individual bravery of the naval commanders; this strange ominous advance was the stranger in contrast with the wild indiscriminate sea battle.

  Ralegh said suddenly: “Victor, go at once and see my Lord of Essex. Ask him to grant me permission to send forces to capture the treasure flota while the army mounts its attack on Cadiz … Take Maugan with you.”

  “What of yourself?” I said. “This wound …”

  “It’s nothing mortal. The surgeon will see to it. Go. I want the answer.”

  The water we were rowed through was littered with burning fragments; rags and spars and corpses drifted past. A hand clasped a wooden staff but the owner of the hand was gone. A hat with its soaked feather trailing; bloodstained sail-cloth; bubbles of vomit.

  The army had a start on us; they were making for a sandy bay just below Fort Puntal, but no fire was coming from the fort. As we caught up the last line of transports Essex had already jumped ashore and his standard bearer was beside him; regiments began to disembark and quickly assembled in rigid lines on the sand. We had to swing wide to avoid the transports, and by the time we were ashore most of the troops had landed.

  We ran towards Essex, who was surrounded by a group of officers, and it was several minutes before we could gain his attention.

  Victor saluted. “ Your Lordship, Sir Walter Ralegh presents his respectful compliments and asks permission to dispatch a force to capture the treasure flota while it is still undefended.”

  Essex was flushed, his eyes a-glitter with success. “We do not yet know what number shall be needed to capture the city. That must be our first thought.”

  “My lord,” said a captain, “ I submit that a force be detached nevertheless. Seizure of the city may take days.”

  “It may or it may not, Monson. Splitting our power now may just mean a failure on both fronts.”

  “Let Ralegh take it on, sir. He and Crosse and two other ships could overcome the resistance and put skeleton crews aboard.”

  Essex glanced along the lines of soldiers, standing in their breastplates and helmets and waiting for the next order. “Where is the Lord Admiral? He should be here soon with the rest of the troops. I cannot grant anyone permission to override our original instructions.”

  Sir Francis Vere said: “ He came up in his pinnace just before I left. I think he’ll be with Lord Thomas Howard.”

  “Very well. You go, Monson—and you, Ashley. Convey the Rear Admiral’s request—and mine also—that a sufficient force be dispatched to deal with the flota. Tell the Lord Admiral also that we wait his reinforcements minute by minute.”

  “Have we your permission to stay with you, my Lord?” Victor asked.

  “What? Yes, yes. Monson, send a man to Warspite with this message. But remember, I give no sanction to Ralegh. Let it come from the Lord Admiral or not at all!”

  Orders rapped out along the lines and the soldiers began to advance towards the city of Cadiz, led by the Earl of Essex with his guant tireless stride. It was grim going. The sun was still high and the day at its hottest; the sand dunes that confronted us gave back one step for every two we climbed; our armour became insufferable, our muscles leaden, sweat soaked us and soaked us again, men stumbled and all but fell from the heat.

  But we got to the top of the last ridge unchallenged. Before us to our right some half-mile away were the walls of Cadiz. A regiment of the enemy was assembled outside the walls, flags waving, horsemen on their flanks and infantry posted ahead to delay our advance.

  I could see Vere urging some plan on Essex. What little I had seen of this dark-faced, sardonic man gave me already to understand why he had been a force in the Netherlands.

  We began to advance, first over the soft fiery sand, then athwart the shore road to the city. A battalion of 200 men under Sir John Wingfield was thrown out ahead of us while the rest paused and waited. It seemed that Wingfield’s task was to drive in the advance infantry so that a full-scale battle could develop; but he far exceeded his orders and burst right through to the main body of the enemy. Then realising his mistake, and finding himself in danger of being surrounded, he ordered a hasty and undisciplined retreat.

  The Spanish, encouraged beyond themselves by their success, counter-attacked with vigour, driving Wingfield’s men in a rabble before them. But after a while at a bugle note Wingfield’s forlorn 200 suddenly rallied again, falling into line with a discipline strange in routed men, and another battalion under Sir Matthew Morgan violently attacked the enemy flanks, now themselves exposed. Then Vere sounded the advance for the rest of hi
s army.

  It was one of the oldest stratagems in the world of war, but once again it succeeded. The Spanish line broke and fled, horse and foot together, towards the city gates. Here true panic took hold, for the wave of men first to reach the gates crowded in, and then, seeing us so close on the heels of this cavalry, ordered the gates shut, so that some four or five hundred of their own men were left outside. These, abandoning their equipment and their horses, began to swarm up ropes lowered for them. However, the gates were again opened to admit the flood and slammed shut just before the first English reached them.

  Panting, swooning from the heat and the fatigue of battle, the group of leading officers paused within musket shot of the gates.

  “All but successful, Vere!” Essex shouted. “ In another minute we’d have had ’em! By God, I had no thought to attempt the city yet …”

  “It’s too strong to attempt here,” Sir Francis said. “But I’ll wager it’s not so well guarded all the way; I suggest we take a battalion each, you to the right, my lord, I to the left. These fortifications are part new and part old. They’ll have their weak points.”

  “It would be splendid to capture the place before Howard comes,” Essex muttered.

  “Have a care for yourself, my lord. The Queen will not be pleased with us if we return without you.”

  So they parted. We attached ourselves to the battalion led by Essex. Some twenty gaily-armoured gentlemen surrounded him, but he topped them all, impulsive, ardent, arrogant.

  The fortifications of Cadiz consisted of a deep ditch with a high wall behind punctuated by defence towers. As we made our progress round, the defendants were firing at us.

  After five minutes Essex stopped. Part of the city wall was ruinous here, and the earth thrown up from the ditch made a mountable slope to reach the top of the wall. But knowing the weakness, the Spaniards were guarding it with a line of musketeers, and one of the defence towers overlooked it.

  Essex said: “I think we shall find nothing more enticing than this, gentlemen. When I give the word, follow me.”

  “No, sir!” said Captain Savage. “ With respect it is not a place for your Lordship to lead. As your Captain-Lieutenant I claim that privilege.”

  Essex hesitated, while the officers and gentlemen crowded round him, claiming his attention. “So be it, then. Savage—and you, Evans—and you, Bagnal—take five men each. But we’ll follow on your heels. Wait. Musketeers! prepare to fire!”

  Shots from the tower were already peppering round us. Eighteen soldiers gathered in three groups. Then the musketeers discharged three volleys at the defenders. Savage shouted and the men rushed forward, first down into the ditch, then clambering wildly up the broken earth towards the city wall. Two men fell but the others gained the wall. Savage at the parapet killed a man and stood with sword raised defying the fire of the city.

  Essex and twenty more followed, and we were in that number; behind came a platoon of pikemen, and then the musketeers. It was a hard and anxious scramble: had I been alone I should have been much more afraid.

  I gained the city wall ahead of Victor and just behind Essex himself: in the street below us a man driving a water cart stared up open-mouthed; a line of washing hung from the balcony opposite; on a further roof-top two children played beside a wooden cradle; a mangy dog was eating some refuse in the alley below.

  We were in no good place here: the Spaniards had been driven from this part of the wall, but our position was still dominated by the tower to our right; also there was another tower, invisible from below, set back but within musket range. There was no way down to the street except by jumping, and that little short of 20 feet.

  Two more of our men had been wounded. Captain Bagnal, one of Vere’s veterans, now assembled the musketeers into two lines, one firing through the other, and ordered them to concentrate on the tower. This they did with such accuracy that the tower ceased to fire.

  “I do not like this drop,” Essex said. “Carrying this armour, one is certain to break a leg.”

  “I’ll try,” I said, and began to unbuckle my breastplate, but Lieutenant Evans sat on the edge of the wall, threw down his sword, and slithered and fell into the street. For a moment after the clatter of his armour he lay still, but before two Spaniards could seize him he got to his knees and reached for his sword. Another English officer with a whoop followed, and then three more. I went over the edge, breastplate and all, and the ground hit me a great blow.

  By the time two dozen were down the street was clear of the enemy. There was still some desultory fire from the other tower; Essex remained hesitating on the wall, though only one of those who had jumped was rolling over in pain. Victor landed almost in my arms and collapsed in a heap.

  Then I heard cheering farther along, unmistakably English in character. Essex raised his head and thereafter made no attempt to jump. Vere and his veterans had forced the gate.

  Chapter Six

  The streets were narrow as slits, and the Spanish were fighting for each house. In some cases the women had carried boulders up on to the flat roofs and toppled these down as we advanced. It was murderous work, sometimes by musket but more often hand to hand.

  There were about sixty of us to begin, led by Essex, but in no time the narrow streets split us up, like water trickling through a honeycomb; we were all making towards the centre of the city but in different channels and at different speeds.

  Victor and I found ourselves with Captain Samuel Bagnal and a Captain Carey and six others. In the streets to our left Sir John Wingfield had appeared with a dozen men. To our right was Evans. In our second street three Spanish pikemen had overturned a vegetable cart; behind them were eight civilians armed with staves and axes. We only had one musketeer in our band, and as he raised his gun it was knocked from his hand by a great earthenware pot dropped from a window.

  Bagnal bent down and picked up one of the big oranges lying in the gutter. He bit into it, spat out the peel and took a mouthful of juice and sweet pulp. Then he leaped at the barrier, pulling at the cart’s end to swing it round. A pikeman lunged and wounded Bagnal in the shoulder; Bagnal stabbed the man through the throat and sat astride the upturned cart. Three other soldiers joined him and I followed. The civilians did not run but charged us as we climbed, a soldier had his helmet and head cleft open. I thrust at a civilian with my sword; it went in and my wrist jarred as the steel struck some bone. The man’s eyes went white and he collapsed, pulling me with him. In a welter of arms and legs I dragged my sword out; we were over the barrier. Carey was driving two men back and the rest fled.

  Bagnal smeared the blood down his doublet sleeve, and sword in hand stalked to the end of the alley. Three men attacked him. He was stabbed again in the side, but Carey was up with him and Victor and others, and the three men were killed. One of our men was shot through the head from a window.

  Another street like the last, except for some acacia trees at the end. Spanish soldiers at windows had it under a cross-fire. Bagnal ducked into a doorway, smashed the lattice with his elbow to get a view, and then fired his pistol at one of the windows while two of his own men crept up in the shadow of the opposite wall. They broke in the doors with their pikes and disappeared inside.

  There was much firing down a cross alley where Wingfield was engaging a group of Spaniards. A donkey came trotting riderless along this alley, its little knock-kneed legs rubbing against each other; as it turned the corner it spilled its burden of dried palmetto leaves and stopped to sniff at something in the gutter.

  Bagnal beckoned to me and we moved on down the street followed by three of the others. At the trees the street split left and right. Since Wingfield was in a pitched battle to our left we turned right and came into a tiny patio with awnings still out, a well in the middle with pink geraniums, two mules tethered and a dog barking. The heat everywhere was overpowering, and even shade brought no relief.

  This patio was empty and we could only hear the fighting like clamour from another worl
d. Victor caught us up, and with him were two musketeers who had got detached from their fellows.

  “We’ll be short o’ powder soon, sir,” said one of them to Bagnal.

  “Then use your butts,” he answered, and walked into the patio towards the door at the other side.

  At once he was fired on and wounded again in the shoulder. Doors opened and a dozen Spaniards fell on us with rare ferocity; the musketeers could only fire their guns once and then it was dagger work.

  I killed a second man. My side was hurting and I felt sick and Katherine Footmarker was telling me there was blood on my hands. Bagnal was down and both musketeers; and then Captain Carey appeared with two extra men and fought his way in among the retreating Spaniards, slashing like a madman.

  Two of our first group were dead and all the rest wounded except Victor. Why there was blood round my waist I did not know, for I did not remember being stabbed.

  Bagnal was up again, though now five times wounded and dripping with blood. He and Carey and a pikeman broke down the door, and this led us into another alley. There was a church here, squat-towered, built on to the houses of the street. The pikeman, thoughts on plunder, raised his pike to smash down the church door, but Carey knocked up the pike and we went on.

  We had climbed and were near the main square of the city. I felt better now, inspirited by the tattered indomitable man leading us. Some women were hurling tiles at us from a rooftop. A tiny Jew, black-robed and white-slippered, stood in a doorway hands clasped, having come out to put up his shutters, caught now between two fires; it was a Spanish ball that killed him; his skull cap rolled at my feet.

  We rushed the defenders here, Bagnal as usual in the lead; soon too close for guns, it was bloody knives again. Essex and a gang of ten more gentlemen appeared to our left and the defenders fled leaving bodies all about, Bagnal in pursuit.