The Enterprise of England

by Ann Swinfen

  As soon as I could, I persuaded two of Andrew’s soldiers to help me carry the injured sailor below decks. Here on the gundeck amongst the smoke and stench of the cannon was no fit place for a man with a possible head injury, who might find it difficult to breathe. Already I could see by the angle of his left leg that it was almost certainly broken; it would need to be set and strapped in splints. Captain Faulconer turned from inspecting his supplies of gunpowder and shot and saw us.

  ‘Take him to my cabin,’ he said. ‘Away from all this.’

  It seemed he cared for his own sailors, if galley slaves and foreign sailors earned none of his sympathy. We had to carry the man back up the companionway, for the door of the captain’s cabin was raised part way above the deck, behind the rudder, with two shallow steps leading down into it. We got the man on to the captain’s cot and peeled off his breeches. Like the other sailors, he wore the loose slops which allowed for easy movement around the ship and were equally easy to remove over the injured leg. As I had feared, the leg was broken, but it was a single clean break and could have been much worse. I sent one of the soldiers off in search of some light boards I could use for splints, while the other helped me strap the broken limb into place. Although the sailor made some groaning, snorting noises, he did not wake while I was doing this, for which I was grateful, for a conscious patient will flinch as you set a bone, making the process much trickier.

  The limited medical supplies I carried in my satchel did not provide enough strapping, so I tore off the long tail of the sailor’s shirt and used that instead. I had some poppy syrup, however, so I mixed some of it with wine I found in the captain’s cupboard. Once the man woke I would give it to him to ease the pain.

  The soldier came back with two thin planks which would provide adequate splints to hold the leg rigid until I could bring the man ashore. With that thought, I turned and asked, ‘Could you see where we are? Is the battle still going on?’

  I realised that my hearing had recovered and there seemed less noise than before surrounding us.

  ‘We’re in amongst the English fleet now, Doctor.’ It was the soldiers who had fetched the wood. ‘The b’yer lady Spaniards are running away downwind like a pack of sheep. We’re following and firing from time to time, but they can’t get away fast enough, the b’yer lady cowards. Me and the lads, we never even got a musket shot at ’em.’ He hawked and would have spat, to show his low opinion of an enemy who would not stay and fight, but realised he was in the captain’s cabin and began to cough and choke instead. His fellow grinned and thumped him on the back till he got his breath back.

  ‘Let them go,’ I said with a grin. ‘You bloodthirsty fellows! The sooner they are gone from English waters, the better.’

  At that moment my patient began to stir and I was occupied giving him the poppy juice and reassuring him that no grave damage had been done to him or to the ship. I nodded to the soldiers to go.

  ‘I thank you for your help,’ I said. They went off, still grumbling that they had had no chance to use their muskets against the enemy.

  Once the sailor was eased and falling asleep, I went out on deck myself. The entire scene had changed. The Spanish fleet, in a ragged cluster, was sailing before the wind in a north-easterly direction, or else they had simply given up and allowed the wind, which was still blowing strongly, to take them where it would. The English fleet was following demurely behind, occasionally letting off a round of shot when the distance between the fleets allowed. Over towards the starboard shore, which must be France, or the Spanish Netherlands, or even free Flanders, a few enemy ships had pitched up, either caught on the shoals or seeking refuge after serious damage.

  I found Andrew down near the base of the mainmast, where some of the sailors were fixing up a jury-rig for the mainsail. Andrew, like his men, was disappointed at having had no opportunity to join in the fight.

  ‘You will have opportunity enough,’ I said tartly, ‘if those ships make landfall in the Thames or along the Essex shore. Every soldier we can muster will be needed then.’

  ‘They are running away with their tails between their legs like beaten curs,’ he said. ‘They will not dare to attack now. They’ve not managed their rendezvous with Parma’s land army. Without them, what can a parcel of sailors do on land?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ I said, ‘but I would not be so confident until every Spanish hull is out of English waters. Remember, they are carrying soldiers as well as sailors. Where do you think they will go from here?’

  Captain Faulconer must have heard me, for he joined us.

  ‘This wind has been our saving. It has made it possible for us to use our guns as they should be used, keeping them at a distance, and herding them away from their Netherlandish army. If it continues to blow, they will be forced out into the German Ocean and we will block their way back down the Channel. There is only one way they can go. Up the east coast and around the top of Scotland. Good luck to them!’

  He grinned, his mouth fierce in the depths of his black beard. ‘Those are wild waters, up there in the north, where the German Ocean and the Atlantic meet, knocking their heads together. The heights of the two can vary by several yards and they tussle against each other like savage boars. Then the ships must find their way through the scattered Scottish islands and down past Ireland, before ever they see the Bay of Biscay and Spain again.’

  As the afternoon wore on, the English fleet began to lose interest in chasing the enemy. They had been seen off with very little loss of life on our side. When it seemed that the last dying efforts of the battle were over, I tackled the captain.

  ‘Where are we now?’ I asked.

  ‘Nearly back where we started,’ he said. ‘Off the coast of the free Netherlands.’

  ‘There can be no reason for us to linger any more, Captain,’ I said. ‘You know that your orders from Sir Francis were to return directly to Dover. I have no criticism of your wish to do your duty and join the battle, but now we must make all speed back to England.’

  I realised I sounded somewhat pompous. ‘Besides, your ship is in need of repairs and one of your sailors should receive better care than I can give him on board ship.’

  It seemed I had no real need to persuade him, now that dusk was creeping over us. There was little attraction in hanging about out in mid Channel or pursuing the Spaniards east and north. He sent a messenger over in a dory to Sir Martin Frobisher’s flagship, the Ayde, which was lying near to us, hove to, with an explanation of who we were and why we were now leaving for Dover. In half an hour the messenger had returned with Frobisher’s agreement and we turned south and west again. At once the waves slapped us hard and the wind fought against us. It was going to be a rough sailing, and once again by night.

  Until now we had been running before the wind in pursuit of the scattered Spanish fleet which was limping away into the dark waters of the German Ocean. Even at a distance we could see how many of the ships bore the scars of battle – broken masts and spars, canvas and rigging dragging along decks and over the gunwales, shattered planks where hulls had been stove in by our cannon balls. They would have a journey of many hundreds of miles before they could reach a friendly port. I wondered whether they could hope for a welcome on the Irish coast. Periodically during the Queen’s reign attempts had been made to launch attacks on England by rebels in Ireland in alliance with Catholic forces from Spain or France. There was a chance we might see those ships again, sailing toward us from the west. However, unless they could join forces with Parma’s land army still stranded in the Low Countries, they could not pose the threat that we had survived by this day’s action. Without that strong south-westerly wind, what might have happened?

  And it was a fierce wind indeed, for as we turned head into it, the Good Venture shuddered like a frightened horse, trying to leap sideways on to the blast, while the sailors struggled to keep her on her new course. Despite the jury rig, our own mainsail was but partially serviceable. We must depend for the most part on th
e foresail and staysail. To add to our difficulties, the tide, having ebbed during the battle, had turned again and was flowing up the Channel in the same direction as the wind. Against these two implacable forces of nature, the Good Venture, fine ship that she was, could make but slow progress.

  As it was growing dark, the crew began to light lanterns and hoist them aloft, fore and aft, to make our presence clear to the remainder of the English fleet, which loomed around us in the gloom. Lights were being raised on other ships as well, and soon a constellation of nautical stars was dancing above the waves while the stars overhead appeared and vanished as the clouds continued to roll eastwards on the high winds of heaven. For the most part the English fleet was hove to, but a few, like us, were fighting their way south and west – some, no doubt, also making for Dover, others heading further, for Plymouth or Portsmouth. Either they were damaged or the commanders of the fleet had sent them home bearing despatches or wounded men.

  ‘It’s a wild night we’ll have of it.’

  Andrew was standing beside me, grimly clutching the lee rail with both hands. Each wave that rolled past, as we dipped and rose again, sent a slap of spray over the gunwale that doused us both.

  ‘There’s little we can do on deck,’ I said. ‘I want to see how my sailor with the broken leg is faring. He may have woken now. Where are your men?’

  He grinned. ‘Lying low on the gundeck and trying to keep out of the way of the sailors’ feet. Those who aren’t puking over the side.’

  ‘Still? I thought they had found their sea legs during the battle.’

  ‘They had other things on their mind then. A marvellous cure for sea sickness. Besides, we were sailing with the wind then. Not like this.’

  Even as he spoke, a larger wave crashed over the gunwale, soaking him from shoulder to hip and calling forth worse language than I had ever heard from his lips. It was cold, too. It might be high summer, but the sea was cold, cold.

  ‘Come,’ I said, curbing my laughter at his look of disgust, like a night-prowling cat who has had a bucket of slops poured over it. ‘We can surely take refuge in the captain’s cabin. He will be too much occupied with sailing the ship . . . in . . . this.’

  I had nearly lost my footing as the ship climbed another great wave, then plunged suddenly down the other side. Staggering, and grabbing a handhold of any spar or rope or rail that offered, we made our way to the stern and the sanctuary of the captain’s cabin.

  Someone had lit a lantern here and hung it from one of the low overhead beams that supported the raised poop deck above us. The injured sailor was stirring as we came in, blinking in the light like a confused owl.

  ‘How are you feeling now?’ I asked, perching on the captain’s bunk on the side away from the broken leg.

  ‘What happened?’ he said. ‘By the cross, my head hurts.’

  ‘I’ve some sympathy with that,’ Andrew said..

  ‘A Spanish cannon ball tore our rigging when you were halfway up the mast,’ I said. ‘You fell and hit your head. And broke your leg.’

  He managed to raise his head and shoulders far enough to peer down at his leg splints in bafflement.

  ‘Don’t you remember?’ I said. ‘You woke before and I gave you to drink, something to ease the pain.’

  He shook his head, then groaned and clasped it in his two hands.

  ‘Is there more of it? My head feels as though it’s being used as a blacksmith’s anvil.’

  I got up to prepare more of the poppy juice in wine, but I would not make it so strong this time. Battling as we were against those great waves, we might have more casualties. It was difficult to keep on my feet and I must clutch at the edge of the captain’s table to stop myself falling over.

  ‘You’re the army captain, an’t you?’ He was squinting at Andrew, as though keeping one eye shut made the pain in his head less.

  ‘Aye, Captain Joplyn, come from Amsterdam.’

  ‘I remember that. Picked you up and rowed down the canal. There was Hell’s own wind out on the Channel. By God! The Spanish!’ He started half out of the bed, but was held back by the weight of his splints. ‘What’s become of the bastards?’

  ‘Run away,’ Andrew said complacently. ‘We shot ’em to pieces. That Hell’s wind, as you call it, was Heaven’s own wind. Drove the bastards away and gave us the weather gage. Those that didn’t founder are hurpling away into the German Ocean.’

  The two men grinned at each other. Well, let them glory in the victory. I couldn’t but rejoice that the Spanish, my ancient enemies since childhood, had been driven away, but there kept flashing before my eyes a vision of men being dragged down into the cold green waters to where their limbs would tangle in forests of slimy weed and the crabs come scuttling to pick their bones clean.

  ‘Here,’ I said briskly, ‘drink this. It will help with the pain. Once we are back in Dover we can make a better job of that leg.’

  He drank the wine gratefully and I poured a beaker each for Andrew and me, thinking I would have been glad of the addition of some poppy juice to help me sleep through this violent tossing. It felt as though we were being thrown first to starboard and then to port, while making no progress forward. The cabin was above the waterline, for which I was grateful, for below decks you could hear the cruel sea just on the other side of the thin planks of wood which were all that stood between us and death. Yet even in the cabin we could hear the slap when one of the larger waves crashed high against the side of the ship. These seemed to be coming more frequently.

  ‘They’ll be baling out,’ the sailor said. ‘With this sea running, she must be taking water over the side. You’re sure we an’t holed?’

  Andrew shook his head. ‘It was only the rigging that was damaged, and a small tear in the mainsail.’ He glanced at me. ‘I’d better go and make sure my lads are lending a hand with the baling out. No point in them sitting idle.’

  After he was gone, the sailor lay back and looked as though he was dozing. I went over to the window let into the rear of the cabin. There was little enough to see. No lights from other ships showed. Black clouds raced past over the face of the moon, which peered out fearfully from time to time. The lantern hoisted over the poop deck cast a semi-circle of light on the water below the stern, illuminating the swirling wake cutting through the black water and the foam-crested waves which rose and fell behind us. The whole ship was speaking, her timbers groaning, her canvas slapping, her ropes whining through pulleys. The Good Venture was a stout ship, but she hated this treatment as much as I did.

  I was still looking out at the demon-dark night when Andrew returned.

  ‘I’ve managed to find some food,’ he said.

  Until that moment I had been ignoring my aching stomach, but now I realised than no one on board ship had eaten for many hours. What Andrew brought was unappetising enough in the normal way of things – rock hard ship’s biscuit, some strips of dried meat of unknown origin, and some small wrinkled apples – but at that moment I believe I could have eaten anything. We sat opposite each other at the captain’s table, greedily tearing at the food with our teeth. At least we showed enough restraint to set a portion aside for the sailor when he woke. After chewing up the apples, cores and all, we washed it down, recklessly, with the last of the captain’s wine. Andrew caught my eye and winked.

  ‘I’m sure he has more, stored away. In any case, we need him to keep a clear head.’

  ‘What is it like, out there on deck?’ I said.

  ‘Rough. We’re just off the Goodwin sands, one of the sailors told me.’

  I shuddered.

  ‘I’m going to see for myself.’

  I thought, if we were likely to go aground, I wanted to be out there to see it coming.

  The sailor groaned and raised his head.

  ‘Go if you must,’ Andrew said. ‘I’m staying here. There’s rain coming down now. I’ll give the man his food. You’ll not stay long, I’ll warrant you!’

  I opened the cabin door, and the
wind thrust it against me so that I nearly lost my balance. I had to lower my head like a charging bull to make my way into it, and I struggled to close the door behind me. After the lantern light in the cabin, it took time for my eyes to adjust to the darkness on deck, for the high-riding ship’s lamps cast little light down here. A small stinging rain smarted my face like flung sand, so that I screwed up my eyes as I picked my way carefully forward. The ship climbed each oncoming wave as if it were a mountain, balanced on the top, so that it seemed it must slip backwards. Then it tilted and plunged downwards so that the bows were buried in the trough of sea between one wave and the next. For a painful moment it felt as though the ship would plough directly into the next wave, drowning us all, then slowly it tilted and began to climb again. I was thankful that I had been spared the sight of this while I had been in the cabin. For hours now the ship had ploughed on against these great seas and the wind that tore at her canvas, but steadily she was making her way forward. If we were indeed off the Goodwin Sands, we had not much further to go.

  Clutching the railing at the side of the short companionway that led down into the cabin, I turned slowly to look behind. The change in position made my head swim for a moment, as the ship pitched forward and at the same time rolled over to starboard then back again. A bout of queasiness stirred in my stomach, and I thought I was going to succumb to the pervasive sea sickness, but I closed my eyes and it passed.

  When I opened them again, I tried to make out where the Sands were, but I could see nothing. Astern, however, on the far horizon, there was a lightening in the blackness of sky and sea. A band of paler darkness was forming, dividing the two. Dawn was coming.

  I turned back to look along the deck, where I could now make out the figures of sailors, some trimming the sails, some passing buckets up from below decks in a chain of men, baling out the seas as they washed over the gunwales and poured down below decks.