A Spanish soldier fired a swivel gun down into the waist. Screams indicated that he had found targets, probably on both sides. The man turned as one of William's boarders approached.
"I yield," said the soldier in English, raising his arms.
"Too late now, matey." The sea dog gave the traditional reply and ran him through. You could surrender before the battle or, if you survived, afterwards. What you couldn't do was kill a sea dog's mates, and then surrender to him when your luck soured.
More Swallows poured onto the Spanish ship behind William. One of them brained William's opponent with a boarding pike. All of a sudden, a man was in front of William with his sword reversed.
"We strike, we yield, please."
William raised the sword and yelled down into the ship.
"She strikes. Cease fighting. That means you too, Jenkins. I saw that. Cut another man's throat after he surrenders and I'll hang you."
The carnage on the urca's decks was appalling. She was carrying soldiers, who must have encouraged the crew to resist. Many of the crew must have been cut down by culverin fire in the first few terrible minutes. A number of Swallows were casualties but most of the bodies were Spanish.
"What were they trying to defend?" William asked himself.
A door to one of the rear gallery cabins opened. A woman, no, a lady, with jet-black hair and dressed in a deep green Spanish court dress, walked out.
"I am the Lady Isabella," she said, in English.
Act 7
The Atlantic Ocean
"Well, I'll be bugg—" started the boatswain.
"Ah yes, um, hello, madam," William intervened.
"Your servant, Lady Isabella." Packenham thrust himself forward and made an elegant leg, flourishing his helmet.
William had one of those strokes of genius that occasionally inflict otherwise sane human beings. He suddenly had a plan to kill two inconvenient birds with one metaphorical stone.
"Master Packenham, I believe the lady should have a gentleman to escort her, what with all these rough sailors around." The rough sailors grinned at their captain, not at all put out by his description of them. "Possibly if you took her up to the fo'c'sle and entertained her?"
"Excellent idea, Hawkins." Packenham offered her his arm.
"Thank you, Master . . .?"
"Packenham, madam. Christopher Packenham at your service."
William let them get out of earshot and then got down to business.
"Boatswain, search the ship thoroughly. Get me a list of the cargo and bring any valuables onto the deck. And boatswain" William raised his voice so that all the sea dogs on board the urca could hear him. "Looting is theft, not just of our backers but also of our shipmates. I will hang any man who steals. Be sure of it."
"Aye, aye, sir. You heard the cap'n. I want three men in each group at all times. And if I catch any man stealing then the cap'n's rope will be the least of his problems."
One of the surrendered officers asked the urca's captain in Spanish, "Are they French Huguenots?"
The Spanish captain replied in the same language. "Not French, these are English heretics. Pirates from the bastard-queen in London."
William's sword was at his throat in a second.
"Not pirates, Captain, but privateers with a commission from Elizabeth. You would all be dead if we were pirates. I would advise you to speak respectfully of Her Majesty. Many of my men speak Spanish, and they would kill a papist who spoke ill of the Queen as soon as they would step on a beetle." William spoke in the same language.
"Matthews," William said to one of his sailors.
"Sir!"
"Take three men and hold the prisoners aft."
"Aye, aye, sir."
William walked down in the waist of the urca to examine the ship's guns. It might be worth craning them across to the Swallow. The Spanish mounted ship's guns on two-wheeled land carriages, an arrangement that took up a great deal of space. They tied the gun carriage to the hull, which meant that the gun could not be aimed or reloaded without unlashing the whole assembly.
Spanish practice was to have only one crewman on each gun. Soldiers occupied the space in a Spanish vessel that was taken up by gun crews on an English ship. The guns would fire only once as the ship closed, before the soldiers boarded an enemy vessel to capture it. Spanish gun carriages made sense when sea battles were fought the old way but fast, race-built English galleons, with their heavy culverins, had brought a new style of ranged fighting that made such tactics obsolete.
The Spanish cannon were old and badly made. The bore on the one nearest to William was off centre. William could not remember any of the Spanish heavy guns firing during the battle but scorch marks showed that the touchhole had been ignited.
"Sweet Jesus," he said, in horror. "The charge must still be in the barrel."
William gave up any intention to remove the weapons. They were scrap metal and hence, at this distance from England, near worthless.
The Spanish must have been carrying the guns loaded. The guns might have misfired because the different constituent powders in the charge had separated or maybe because the gunpowder was waterlogged. Saltpetre in gunpowder had a wondrous affinity for water.
"Captain," said the boatswain, behind him.
William turned and the boatswain touched his forehead.
"Most of the cargo are hides but we found these."
Grinning sailors hauled chests, some of which seemed agreeably heavy.
William broke open one. Bright pale yellow bars gleamed.
"Venezuelan gold," breathed the boatswain.
The Spanish province of Venezuela had some of the last productive gold mines left in the New World. William opened one of the lighter chests to find pearls.
"It's not a queen's ransom but I think our backers are going to turn a dainty profit," William said with satisfaction.
One of the boatswain's mates tapped his superior on the shoulder and whispered urgently to him.
"We have a problem," said the boatswain.
"And it was all going so well," said William.
"Our culverins holed her in at least two places below the waterline. The hull must be rotten with tropical worm because water is pouring in," said the boatswain.
Spanish urcas had hulls stressed to withstand expansion pressures from the inside as they carried cargo such as grain, which might swell when wet. Their hulls were not designed to withstand high-velocity objects punching in from the outside. This made them wondrously vulnerable to culverin fire.
"Can we plug it?" asked William.
"You can ask the carpenter but I doubt we can stop her sinking. We will never get this ship across the Atlantic. One storm." The boatswain shrugged.
William swore horribly. The urca was worth as much as the goods in her hold. "Get as many of the hides out as possible before they are ruined."
"Captain, we found this in a rear cabin," said a sailor, joining the group.
William took the object. It was a small mirror, about six inches by one foot. Twisted gold decorated the rim. The gold was worked into fabulous beats whose eyes were picked out in blue diamonds.
"Venezualan sea diamonds," said the bosun.
"I have heard of them but never thought I would see one. I half believed that they were a myth. There must be a dozen here. I wonder what this is worth?" asked William.
"Mayhap as much as all the pearls together, mayhap more," said the boatswain.
"That mirror is my private property, Captain," said Isabella.
William had not noticed that Packenham and the Spanish lady had circumnavigated the deck and were now behind him.
"I told Lady Isabella that she could keep her personal items," said the young aristocrat.
"Did you, Packenham?" asked William mildly. "Lady Isabella, you can retain your clothes and the jewels on your person. All else is forfeit."
"See here, Hawkins, I gave my word," said Packenham, heatedly.
"It was not yours to gi
ve, Packenham. I command here and I decide what is booty."
Packenham looked about to his toadies for support but they avoided his gaze. All the crew had shares. Packenham would get no support for giving away prize money.
"Assemble the prisoners," William ordered.
"Captain," William spoke in Spanish. "This ship is sinking and I do not believe it can be saved. I will have water and food put in your boat. You should easily make the next Spanish colony up the coast."
The Spaniard looked surprised. He had probably expected to be slaughtered out of hand. William knew Englishmen who would have done just that, either to remove witnesses or just to kill papists on general principles.
The man bowed. "Thank you, Captain. To whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"
Not to be outdone in courtesy, William bowed back. "Captain William Hawkins of the Swallow."
"Hawkins? Are you any relation to the famous English corsair, John Hawkins?"
"John Hawkins is my cousin. Captain, satisfy my curiosity if you will. Why did you fight so hard? You must have realised that your chances of escape were slim."
The Spanish captain shrugged and refused to answer but his eyes looked over William's shoulder with something like fear in them. William turned. Behind Packenham and Isabella, the Swallow manoeuvred into position alongside to receive the bulk cargo. William could see nothing to fear. Never mind. It was not an important point.
"That just leaves you, lady," William said to Isabella. "You can go with your countrymen in the boat but it will be an uncomfortable trip with no privacy. Or you may travel with us back to England, on the Swallow."
"I believe I will be better off with you, Captain. Especially, with this noble gentleman to look after me." She smiled at Packenham, who positively preened.
William translated Isabella's choice for the Spanish crew. Their captain looked relieved. William thought that the aristocratic Spanish lady must have been a demanding passenger.
"Boatswain, please have the Lady Isabella's properties transferred to the Swallow. Put them " William's eyes glazed as he tried to work out how to accommodate a lady in the Swallow's already overcrowded accommodation. "Put the lady in Master Packenham's cabin. He will have to bunk down forrard with the petty officers. Place the chests of valuables in my cabin."
Packenham opened his mouth, presumably to protest, when Isabella intervened. "How kind of you, Master Packenham. How will I ever thank you?"
"Think nothing of it, dear lady," said Packenham, kissing her hand. "My heart flies to your service."
"I think I am going to heave," said the boatswain, sotto voce.
"Boatswain, put provision for the prisoners in their boat and let them go. Fire the ship when we leave," said William.
The Swallow pulled away under cruising sail towing the pinnace behind. William stood aft and forced himself to watch the death of a ship, a death that he had ordered. Black smoke ran up in a wavy line to the heavens. The Spanish longboat raised a sail and stood in back to the shore.
William turned away and turned his mind to getting the Swallow in condition for the long transoceanic voyage back to Europe. Such journeys had only been possible for the last hundred years or so and English mariners had bare decades of experience. Sea voyages like this were very far from routine.
"Captain, there is something wrong," said the master. "The Spanish longboat is sinking."
William looked back over the rail. "Something seems to be pulling it under. Get the ship about."
The boat rolled over as he watched and upended, going under by the stern.
"Never mind, Master. It's too late. There can be no survivors."
"What in Hades happened?" asked the master. "Did she hit a reef?"
"I don't know. It didn't seem so, mayhap it was one of those whirlpools such as Homer described." William didn't sound convinced.
The master nudged William and pointed to the fo'c'sle. Isabella stood looking back at the death of her countrymen without a flicker of emotion. William shivered. "Someone has just walked over my grave."
The voyage dragged on. The days slipped endlessly by as the Swallow surged ever eastwards, holding the same tack for days at a time.
At least once a week, William hosted supper in the captain's cabin for Packenham, the Lady Isabella, and Master Smethwick. Tonight, he had the gunner and boatswain as guests as well, both looking somewhat uneasy. The food was much the same as always, salted fish and meats, but the wine was good. In fact, it was the finest vintage the Spanish Empire could provide, courtesy of their merchant marine.
"I have never been to England. For some years, I have thought that it is time that I visited the north. Will we be sailing straight to England, Master Smethwick?" Isabella addressed the master.
"Alas no. lady, ships sail down lines of latitude so we will make landfall in the Old World and then sail north. We will need to reprovision the vessel as well."
"I have never understood why you mariners don't simply carry more food, Hawkins. Why don't you make the ships bigger?" asked Packenham, jabbing at William with his knife for emphasis.
"We would simply pack more crew into a bigger ship and so need even more food and water," said William.
Packenham opened his mouth but William carried on quickly to forestall the obvious question. "We need large crews to fight the ship. We also have large gun batteries that take up space and are heavy so need to be ballasted. Our tactics require repeated firing so we need space for shot and powder. Race-built English galleons are built for speed, so they are narrow relative to their length. There is never enough room in their tight hulls for adequate supplies."
"The Spanish seem to manage well enough," Packenham sniffed.
"They have small crews, low firepower, and nice wide hulls," said William.
"And when they fight us, they lose," added the boatswain.
"Aye, it's a comfortable life on a Spanish galleon. Until you meet an English one with culverins," said the gunner with a wolfish grin.
"So where will we take on supplies?" asked Isabella.
"The Canaries are out," said William ruefully. "The Spanish authorities won't deal with us. So I fancy we will make for the Portuguese Azores."
"Surely Philip has persuaded the Portuguese not to resupply English ships or the embargo at the Canaries is useless," said Isabella.
"Oh, I am sure he has persuaded the government in Lisbon but there are many little isolated islands in the Azores with impoverished governors." William winked.
For a sweet course, the cook had saved some grapefruit. They were leathery with age but he had marinated them in wine to make them palatable. After dinner, William's steward served sherry. William did not care much for the sweet drink but it was expected. He toyed with his mug appearing to drink while his guests had a refill.
"Oh, my dress," said Isabella, as sweet sherry cascaded over her.
"Sorry, ma'am, but you jogged my arm," said the steward.
"Hush your insolence fellow, before I have you flogged," Packenham added to the chorus.
"No harm done. Such events are commonplace on a ship at sea." Sometimes William felt like a ringmaster in a circus of especially truculent players.
There was a degree of commotion while the steward cleaned up, during which William managed to slip his sherry into the boatswain's mug. The boatswain did not care all that much for sherry either but it was alcoholic, so William doubted if the petty officer would mind.
William saw his guests out and then studied his charts by lantern light. He was trying to estimate the ship's longitude by dead reckoning but the method was hopelessly inaccurate. However, he decided that they would turn the ship north tomorrow, until they picked up the line of latitude that led to the Azores.
He blew the lantern out and climbed into his bunk. William always slept easily at sea. Ship life was physically demanding, but he never completely relaxed into that carefree state where golden sleep does reign. The working of the wooden ship against the ocean, the mur
muring of the watch, and the sound of the wind in the rigging, all was an orchestra that played through his unconscious. Any change in this familiar retinue of players was as loud as a culverin discharge.
Something changed and he woke instantly. His mind rotated through the catalogue of sound. The slap of water against the groaning timbers showed that the Swallow was still on her easterly course and that the swell was much the same. But sea air moved over his face. His cabin door was open to the elements.
William lay perfectly still and opened his eyes. A dark silhouette moved across the starfield in the doorway. Dim light spilled out of a small lantern. The intruder moved over to the treasure chests and began to look through them. William was astonished. What on earth made some thief think they could just rifle through the captain's cabin in such a cavalier manner?
William slowly moved his arm, searching for a weapon. The bunk creaked and the intruder froze. William produced a snore and the thief turned back to his investigations. William couldn't find his dagger in the dark but his fingers curled around a pewter mug.
The captain hurled himself at the dark figure. The intruder reacted with lightning speed, so that William's blow hit his shoulder, rather than his head. The intruder smashed his elbow backwards into William's stomach, with incredible strength. William was smashed off his feet back into a bulkhead. He bent over, retching. The thief had gone by the time he could stand upright. William staggered out of his cabin but all was quiet on the deck so he went back to his bunk and slept fitfully.
The next day he searched the cabin. As far as he could see, nothing had been taken.
"Where's the boatswain?" William asked to a passing sailor.
The man grinned, "He still be abed, captain."
William made his way forward to the boatswain's bunk. The man lay stretched out snoring horribly.
"Wake up, man. What's wrong with you?" asked William.
The boatswain grunted and slept on.
"Brownlow, get me some water," William said to a seaman.
The grinning sailor fetched a bucket of seawater and William threw it over the petty officer, who finally stirred. William shook him. "Wake up, man. Sweet Jesu, how much more did you have to drink after you left me last night?"
Lucy's Blade Page 12
