… And there are always those who smile at that and with a wink say Grenville was a raving Bedlamite who lost his ship and killed off most of his crew.
… But Sir Richard Grenville was a sea captain. Consider what choices he had. He could surrender the ship and perhaps save his life as a prisoner, and, if he was lucky, be sent home for ransom. Then the ship would be saved to sail against England and to kill Englishmen.
… But I doubt he considered that. He and his crew knew that if he surrendered, the best that they could look forward to was the brutish life pulling the sweeps of a Spanish galley in chains. And the best they could pray for was that life would be short. He might have saved himself, but not a man of them.
… So they fought the Spaniards, and hurt them too, until the last gun was under water and only the decks were afloat.
… And he amazed the Spaniards and won their praise. All of his crew who lived were decent-treated and were returned to England safe.
… Some say that Sir Richard took his own life when it seemed he might recover. That may be so. If so, there’s a reason for that. He had won over the Spaniards and saved the lives of some of his crew in the bargain, by fighting when reason demanded he must surrender. Seeing how he had won some favor for his men, he could not change his character to save his life.
… Foolish it may seem to any man who is so afraid to die he would rather live as a galley slave. It seemed foolish to the Spaniard too. They could have surrendered if the Revenge had been Spanish and the fleet had been English. But they could not imagine what it is to be English. The last fight of Revenge gave the Spaniard something to think about. After that he would expect the worst. They had already learned to expect the impossible from Sir Francis Drake. From Grenville they learned to look for Bedlam courage, beyond all reason. They might not find that courage in all Englishmen, but they could never be sure, could they?
… Let some old scholar or a feisty young clerk who’s in love with his own thoughts try that on for size like a new hat. Consider Grenville’s defeat may have done more to save England than even the winds which broke up the Armada. And afterwards the Spaniard could picture a whole squadron of Grenvilles, each vessel a Revenge, and conceive that such a squadron could beat off all the navies of the world.
… Let scholars and ambitious clerks scoff and forget us. For if we are to be remembered, let it be as men of flesh and blood who suffered and rejoiced for their allotted time. Do not dismiss us as lying clowns for doing what is difficult to believe. It would be more charitable—and shouldn’t we try to live in charity with the dead as well as the living?—to look through a fog of words and dusty thoughts and grant we lived like all men until we died.
… Some of our captains, who cared to write it down, have said we sailed for gold and glory. And there’s some truth in that. You can wager the sum of your wife’s nether hairs we did not sail out to find December roses. Nor to lower breeches and bare a puckered arse, clinging to the wild-riding head, because we took pleasure in crapping in cold-boiling waves. But you can believe that the prospect of all the gold in the history of this world could not be enough to warp us out of harbor.
… Some call us heroes. Well, I thank them. Flattery is the strongest drink I know of to turn a man’s brain inside out. But truth is the cordial that purges and cures. There may have been heroes as in books and fables. I can only say I’ve never yet met one. Meantime I know that good men make best shipmates.
… A good man has his craft and takes an honest pride in that; and that pride need not be vanity. There was talking and dreaming of gold and glory, but our true labor was handling ships. And, God is my witness, we sailed our tall ships with as much pride and skill as any man can muster.
… None any taller or prouder than Sir Walter Ralegh. See it in him now, even now, sick and in disgrace in the gatehouse prison.
… Remember, and he was first to confess it, he never had much stomach for the sea. No shame there. Even the toughest mariner with guts of bronze must take his turn leaning over the wale to puke with the wind. There may be some jest in a seasick man. But there’s no shame in suffering what you must suffer.
… Ralegh sailed out divers times after that first privateering voyage, when he commanded old Falcon and had the good fortune to have Simon Fernandez for master. Fernandez could teach him navigation and caping. There is some shadow of mystery about that voyage. Partly because it was a voyage of no great importance. Partly because Ralegh wished to keep it that way. He may not have returned rich with the booty of prizes. But he could not have come home empty hold and empty-handed. Six months’ voyage with nothing to show for it would have finished him then and there.
… Success or failure of that voyage cannot be proved or disproved, anyway. Remember Falcon was an old, leaky ship, caused troubles and delays at the beginning. But once they stood out to sea and the wind was shaking all the ships and the sea went high and the ships took to rolling and working, then it was the others who turned back. He took the Falcon, which he did not own and could not have paid for, out for six months and brought her safe home. And the least he learned was the captain’s craft.
… Not much chance to put that craft to work again for a while or even to sail on a ship, excepting a passage or two to Ireland and across the narrow seas to the Continent. He was of the Court and not free to go voyaging. He saw Sir Humphrey Gilbert off on his last voyage. He spent his money sending out ships trying to plant a colony in Virginia.
… Myself, I don’t believe his true purpose in Virginia, or Guiana either, was to raise up new English villages and counties. It looks to me he was aiming to make ports for English ships at both places and then bottlecork the Indies and the Main: Guiana at the end of the trade-winds crossing, Virginia where the Gulf Stream meets with the easterlies. Together they could have ruined the Spaniard.
… It takes peacetime to plant a true colony. Now that there’s a kind of peace perhaps some colonies can take root.
… In the time between the voyage of the Falcon and the Armada, Ralegh was not idle. He schooled himself beyond the teaching of Fernandez. He put scholars and craftsmen to work at making better ship’s instruments. He studied the shipwright’s craft. He built Bark Ralegh, of 800 tons, and sold it to the Queen. And that great ship, named Ark Royal, was the Lord Admiral’s flagship in ’88.
… Charged to defend the coasts of Devon and Cornwall, Ralegh held no command in the fight in the Channel. But he joined a ship to see the last of it after the fire ships had scattered the Armada and wind drove them north. By the time they came south he held a command, patrolling the Irish coast.
… In ’95, a free man from the prison of Court, he could finally make a venture of his own. Made the first voyage of exploration to Guiana and back.
… In ’96 he prevailed over bad planning and led the fleet into the harbor of Cadiz.
… The first plan was none of his doing. Ralegh commanded one squadron, not the fleet. They planned to bottle up the harbor from the sea, land soldiers to take the forts guarding the entrance to the harbor, and move on Cadiz. A fine plan, no doubt, when drawn on a chart, but most difficult under even the best conditions. Which they did not have. The fleet arrived by daylight and the Spaniards were alerted. A wind came up, stirred swells, and made off-loading of armed soldiers a disaster. Essex was sending soldiers toward shore and drowning them by the boatload when Ralegh persuaded him to desist. They called a council and agreed to Ralegh’s plan; which was, like Drake’s years before, to sail into the harbor, engage the Spanish galleons and oared galleys, and land the troops at the undefended quays. To do so they would have to sail the narrow channel between the Spanish forts and this time without Drake’s advantage of surprise. And they had lost a day. Ralegh was given the honor of leading in the fleet with his vessel—the Warspite.
… At dawn the wind and sea were right; he pointed Warspite for the mouth of Cadiz and sailed. As they passed beneath the forts they got a greeting of heavy cannon fire. His crew—a
nd who could blame them?—fearful and huddling with no place to hide, Ralegh stood tall on the open poop, an unruffled, perfect standing target. Instead of wasting powder and shot on the forts, he signaled his trumpeter to face the forts and blow a raucous blast, defiance and a fart at the Spanish gunners. Which bravado cheered and restored his crew, many sure to die or be crippled that morning. And the Warspite led the English ships to victory.
… It was on that day Ralegh himself was crippled, maimed his leg, and was carried half-dead ashore when the harbor and port were ours.
… Essex, of course, told another story. And his lackeys published it as truth. God save the Queen and Council, they did not give his story a moment’s belief.
… In ’97 Ralegh made the Islands voyage under command of Essex, who now was bound to prove he was a seaman and proved beyond doubt he was not. But Ralegh took and sacked Fayal. And, again, the cock-and-bull tales and excuses of Essex received—from all who counted, all but the landlocked city rabble—the acceptance they deserved. Which was none at all.
… There is a cloud of ill luck over Ralegh’s ventures and voyages. He planned many, but could make few. Must be content to invest money and send out ships while landlocked himself. Others, kinsmen and friends, especially John Davis, who was as a brother to him in childhood, sailed more widely than he. And the fortunes of his plans and investments were poor. The luck of adventures he intended to join in, but could not, was disastrous. He was to go with Gilbert. He would have commanded Revenge if the Queen had allowed it. Grenville took his place. Still all his own voyages, excepting this last one, went well enough.
… Damnable pride has been named his great flaw. So named by courtiers and envious, better-born gents. But if pride was his canker on land, it was what won the respect of the seafaring men. They took off their caps and cheered him when he came down with Robert Cecil to end the pillage holiday aboard the Madre de Dios. Which he would have taken himself had the Queen set him free to sail. He had courage and all the craft of a good captain. He is entitled to pride.
… When no one else, not even Sir John Hawkins, could stop the looting and pillage of the Madre de Dios, Ralegh, sent from the Tower under Cecil’s guard, came aboard and ordered an end to it. And was not only obeyed, but cheered by the men. And so he saved a fortune for the Queen from the richest prize taken in her reign, at next to no gain for himself. Even Robert Cecil, not an easy man to move to praise of another, was impressed and so reported to Queen and Council.
… Of the last voyage to Guiana, there is much that is unknown. Only one man knows the whole truth and he will not say. Others can only guess and imagine.
… Can do no more than share opinions why the voyage was made or what happened beyond the bare bones of reports and contradictions. But I know the way well enough. I can picture it, out of memory, from beginning to end.…
(… Take London and the towns around. For it was there he and Phineas Phett saw to the building of the Destiny. It was there he assembled ships and crews, took on stores and victuals. And down the Thames in early summer, he first set out.
(… Take the easy-flowing Thames and a breeze easterly, light, but fair. A fair day. Weigh anchors and ply slow downriver, the men clean in their best, walking the hatches or climbing shrouds to wave farewells to friends and strangers all the way past the palaces of Greenwich.
(… Coming, all in due time, into the gusts and hard chops of the Channel, those short, rough, ship-trying seas, where we can test our timbers, our ballast, and the balance of loading. Rough sea and changing winds. Then we beat down to Plymouth, enter, anchor, and wait. Tend to repairs and revictualing. Waiting for a fresh norther to lead us past Biscay and clear of Finisterre, to carry us southward to islands to greet the trade winds.
(… Then to sail westward with a good wind filling sail all the way toward the Indies. Blue sea, bluer than before, bluer than remembered, long swells, and the flying fish, porpoise and dolphin for company. Sailing westward toward flaming sunsets and dominions of sunlight.
(… If the first winds are piping east and northeast, they lead to the Azores. Islands of green with mist-wreathed mountains rising out of the blue swell. Come closer and see the rainbow-tinted towns with walls of gray stone, pale as the mist of the mountains, and white houses capped with red tile roofs. By night the dull glow of volcanoes offers the shine of doorways to hell. Sailing to islands of flowers.…
(… I’ve seen Fayal, where the women are hidden in sea-blue capes and hoods. On festivals and feast days they cover the cobbles of streets with carpets of fresh flowers. There they strap huge wine casks beneath their high-wheeled carts. Good wine, too, for the sweetness of the grapes and oranges grown there defies talking of it.
(… I’ve steered clear of Terceira and its deep wide oval bay. But come ashore at Pico, where the strongest, head-reeling wine is made, and they pull all carts with donkeys. At Pico you can see the whale fishermen. From a peak above the sea a lookout will call “Baleia!” And the men come running to longboats to hunt and kill the great whale. You can buy whale’s teeth there. And they will sell you fine carving from the pith of the fig tree.
(… If it’s good water and fresh beef you want, then go to Flores. They have sweet water, and cattle graze there.
(… The Azores are not much use if it’s ship timber you require. Their trees do not grow tall.
(… If, coming south, you ride a northwesterly wind and find no sign of freshening trades, you can sail on far, as far as the Cape Verde Islands. And there you shall find the trades for certain. Those islands ride rough, facing the winds like ships ahull in a gale. The winds blow hot and heavy. And the bilge makes such a stink you must pump and keep pumping as if in a storm. You come to landfall at the islands, fifteen large enough to be lived on, which the Portuguese named green. But they are dry and barren, short of water or timber, abundant with fevers. Mountainous islands, and the people, hostile and suspicious, live high, halfway up the mountains. There are few good landings, even for a ship’s boat riding surf. Most bays and coves are open to the ceaseless trades. Bravo offers a shield and is the best place for anchorage. Santiago’s the better, deeper harbor, but too easterly. They have some beef and hides and God’s plenty of salt, some oranges to sell, mustard and strong distilled spirits. But water is scarce. Even the rainfall has a bitter taste.
(… Chiefly the islands of Cape Verde will reward you with fever and flux. No good place to land unless it’s your purpose to trade with black Africans nearby to the east.
(… Best a northwesterly should take you to the Canaries, islands of pleasant weathers. Can be seen first from the glow of volcanoes, dim in the sky like lanterns hung on the poop of flying ships. Then, by day, the tall smoke. And rising hugely out of the sea, ruffed and capped with snow, is Tenerife, which some say is the highest mountain in the world. Not having seen all the world, I cannot say. In the Canaries you can find excellent sea timber, tall and strong, especially from the forests of Las Palmas. But water is scarce on all; for it rains seldom there, and they water everything they grow from their own wells.
(… No matter, their wines are a wonder. And they have little singing birds in cages, birds which can more please the ear than any piper I ever heard. Their fruit and fish are excellent. I have sat at table with them and dined upon a stew made of many fish, which they call caldo de pescado. And I also have drunk deep of the liquid flame they name majo.
(… They keep camels from Africa for beasts of burden. And there are strange and marvelous things to behold. Like the dragon trees, formed of as many trunks as a quiver of arrows.
(… And, ah, the women of the Canaries! They say of themselves and it is no lie, they are like their own mountains, tall with snow on the face, but wild burning within …)
… Thinking of Ralegh’s voyage, which is a mystery, best to stick close to what is known.
… He was set free from the Tower to lead an expedition to Guiana and bring back gold for a spendthrift King. Had sailed there twen
ty odd years before to claim it for the Queen. And he had never lost touch, sending other ships and investing in voyages there even while in the Tower. He had been visited by some of the chiefs of that land, including the one they named Leonard.
… Set free to make an expedition to find and mine the gold he said was there. With orders not to do battle with the Spaniards except in self-defense. Set free and soon enough found the money for it, his own and his wife’s, and plenty of prudent men, too, for partners.
… All men are fools to one degree or another, just as all men have a streak of the rogue in their nature. But see how even a fool, all but those born foolish, will become the model of prudence, wise and thoughtful, when it comes to investing his money for a venture. Gamblers, men who bet gold on anything, from a game of bowls to a race between ship’s rats, will pause before parting with money for adventures at sea. Yet those who came to join with Ralegh were rich merchants, well-respected gentlemen and nobles.
… There are some who say Ralegh was crazed by long confinement. Some say it was deluded memory and wishful fancy. An old fool, dreaming a fool’s dream.
… Whatever his reasons, the King let him go. And not out of kindness or folly, shrewd men gave him money which, together with his own, was more than ample. And first he set out to build himself a proper ship. Hired the best of shipwrights, Phineas Phett. They conceived and built the Destiny, a ship of 500 tons; but for all size and weight, a yare ship, a bone sailer and swift. And most heavily armed. She had thirty-six pieces of heavy ordnance listed, as many of the best ships of the King’s Navy Royal and no doubt superior to most, being new made.
Death of the Fox Page 35
