The morning of the 20th was brilliant and clear, but before midday a strong north-west wind sprang up. It blew straight in to Betanzos Bay. I thought, another day gone. For much that I had said about the weather though exaggerated was true: there was at best a month’s sailing weather ahead. No English captain kept his fleet at sea beyond the end of October. That evening there was another conference aboard San Pablo to which all senior captains were summoned. On the following morning the wind had somewhat abated but we did not sail.
I had an unwelcome visitor. Across a choppy wind-flecked cable’s length of sea six dark-haired Spanish sailors rowed Captain Richard Burley from San Mateo to San Bartolomeo. He had a meeting with Captain Quesada and then I was sent for.
Burley’s narrow savage face moved in a sneer of welcome. “Well, fellow countryman, I rowed across for a word with you. We’ve been having a little trouble this last day or so, as you may guess.”
“Trouble? “
“Yes, with our foreign captains. Else we’d have sailed.”
I looked through the lantern-shaped window. “We were well advised not. The wind has sprung up again.”
“Once we was out we could have stood clear of the land and made some small headway. Leastwise we should have begun.”
“Why did we not, then?”
His blue suit was as shabby as ever; there was a split in his sleeve and the cuffs were frayed; he always looked a pirate. “Well might you ask, fellow countryman, since it seems you have been doing your best to prevent it by spreading lies and rumour.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Not for instance giving it as your considered opinion that instead of us cheating the English, the English are cheating us? “
“I did not say that, Captain Burley. But it was Ralegh’s plan last year and I thought there was a risk.”
Burley spat on the floor of the cabin and then, seeing Quesada’s fastidious frown, rubbed it in with his foot. “You on our side, Killigrew? Or are you trying to make delay worse’n worse until it is too late?”
“I wish no delay. I only want to get home.”
“That’s what you say. And there’s those at the top as believe you. Me for my part, now I’d string you up and have done. Better to be sure now than sorry later, I’d say. What do you think?”
“I think you’re wrong.”
“Ah … Ah well, maybe. They’ve plans at top that I know nothing of. Where we’re bound for f’rinstance. But if so be as it was your idea to put doubts in men’s heads, maybe now you think you’ve succeeded. But I’d not like you to be carried away at the success. The doubts was there before ever you spoke. What you said was a straw on a hay-load.”
I glanced at Captain Quesada, who I saw was catching a word here and there.
“What is wrong?” I asked. “These foreign captains …”
“They’re cautious, see? Jumping at their own shadows, like. Yesterday morning early, two Portuguese fishing smacks came in reporting Ralegh was still cruising off Lisbon with 150 sail. Stuff and nonsense. Lying nonsense. There’s not 150 sail in the whole English fleet, nor 100. We know that. And threequarters of it is in the Azores, if not all. If Ralegh’s not followed the rest he’s disobeyed orders and commands not twenty sail anyhow.”
“Why did we not leave, then?”
“They want to be sure. And you and your sort don’t help. There’s rumour flying through the fleet quicker than fever. Back and forth it go and multiplying all the while. So the Adelantado, to calm them, agrees to wait his next despatch from the Azores, due tomorrow. Meantime he’s sent word to the King and waits that also.”
“So when do we sail now?”
“Tomorrow or the next day. We can’t afford to wait longer. De Soto and Brochero are fuming. Twas de Soto sent me here to see you today; he’s too busy himself. He said I was to see you and tell him what I think. What am I to take back, eh? Are you just craven or a turncoat?”
“I spoke out of turn. But I only answered the questions put to me.”
Captain Burley rubbed his boot which he had crossed on his knee. Hair fell over his forehead. “Well, if you’ll take the advice of a fellow countryman, answer no more. Else you’ll be on that yard-arm. Understand? I’ll string you up meself.”
He got awkwardly to his feet. He was a big man and seemed to occupy the room. “Right. I’ll be going. See you in England if you’re still alive by then. Adios, captain.”
We saw him over the side. The sun was sinking into a smear of white cloud. The heat had gone from the day. Captain Quesada grimaced at me.
“Ill-mannered and a knave. What was his business?”
I gave him an altered account, aware that I should have been the knave in Quesada’s eyes and not Burley. But sometimes I suspected that, with a Spaniard such as this captain, even treachery could be borne before ill-manners.
The next two days were fine and warm; there was a strong breeze from the east but that would not have prevented our sailing. On the second day the expected despatch came from the Azores. Ralegh had rejoined the rest of the fleet, which had reached Flores and was making in full strength towards Fayal. So they were some 1,200 miles from Spain. There could be no doubt about this; the commander of the flyboat was a Spanish officer of the greatest reliability: he had seen the squadron himself. At Admiral Brochero’s suggestion all the captains in the fleet were assembled on San Pablo and heard the dispatch read by the officer himself. While they were assembled there a communication came to the Adelantado from the King, now fully recovered.
This also Don Martin read out to the assembled company. It promised that Admiral Don Marcos de Arumburu would leave Lisbon at once and sail with his Andalusian squadron for England. The Adelantado, though commanding the entire fleet, was not to wait for Arumburu but was to sail without any further delay. The King added that any captain who created difficulties in the way of sailing at once, whether of supply, navigation or command, was to be summarily hanged from his own yard-arm.
Nothing could be said, no more objections could be raised now, but on San Bartolomeo I knew that the delays had consumed a substantial part of the supplies, some of the rest as always had gone rotten, and we had no more than three weeks’ food and water to begin this voyage.
That night when at last we got to bed I lay awake thinking of home and listening to the wind. Enrico Caldes was asleep in the next hamaca; beyond him two young officers and then the Irish priest, Father Donald. The creak and groan of the timbers, the whisper of the water, the whine of the wind, these had all once again become part of every moment and as such were accepted and almost unheard. But there was still the thud of feet overhead as some of the sailors worked on. It would soon be dawn, for we had not retired until four.
Last evening at dusk every member of the ship’s complement had assembled on deck and we had celebrated a solemn mass. Afterwards the company of 356 sang a plain chant together. The blessing of Almighty God was humbly asked for the success of this great mission, and my lips had moved with the rest in saying ‘Amen’. Months now in the company of these men had given me a respect for them. Their friendship and generosity towards me was at odds with their behaviour in battle, the fury and cruelty of their reputation. Storm and shipwreck were the only hope now. The only hope, said the creak and groan of the ship’s timbers, the only hope. Delay, delay, autumn was coming. Equinox and the high tides and gales. And perhaps in another week or so the English fleet would turn for home. Delay, delay...
The gun woke us at dawn. The first squadron, I thought, under Don Martin de Padilla was already moving off. Still half asleep, I dragged on my clothes and went on deck. The sky was grey and the sea heaving; clouds scurried before a howling westerly wind. It was true that two of the smaller galleons had beaten their way out of the bay, but their frantic pitching and lurching, the small area of sail they could safely carry, was proof enough that, whatever King Philip said, we could not sail today.