I did not stay to sup after all. When it came to the point I could not bear to see Philip Reskymer again. To wish a man dead, to rejoice in his ill health, is a damned thing. I rode home in the dark. Always, I thought, it was a mistake to come this way.
CHAPTER FOUR
Sir Walter reached Plymouth aboard his flagship with the supply ships straggling out behind him at nine o’clock on the morning of Friday the 21st. I transferred at once to Warspite where I shared a tiny cabin with Victor Hardwicke, but I saw little of Sir Walter during the next ten days, he being more often on some other ship than on his own. A great quarrel broke out at dinner aboard Due Repulse the first night Sir Walter dined there, it being concerned with some question of precedence between himself and Sir Francis Vere, leader of the land forces. Victor said he thought Sir Walter, bent on unity and agreement among the commanders, had been prepared to smooth the thing over; but his brotherin-law took up the quarrel and if Essex had not intervened there would have been a duel. As it was Arthur Throgmorton, though a Lieutenant-Colonel in Gerard’s, was dismissed the army and put under guard. It was not a pretty omen for the success of the expedition.
Even less so was the fact that the Lord Admiral and Lord Essex were almost at each other’s throats. Only my master’s new harmony with Essex was unimpaired.
Every day the army drilled on the Hoe, forming squares, advancing in line, wheeling in strict formation, while the gentry sat their horses discussing strategy or partook of dummy charges across the green. Two deserters were hanged by Essex’s command as a warning to the others.
At length orders were issued that all land companies should embark on the ships, this on the 31st, and the embarkation was complete by midnight. I have seldom seen a finer body of men: veterans nearly all, well clothed and well armed, over 6,000 strong, though short in cavalry: the army had perhaps 200 horses and the gentry a like number.
In the night three quarters of the great fleet warped out of Catwater into the Sound. At four o’clock in the morning of the Tuesday a gun fired from Ark Royal intimated that the fleet was ready to leave. At six Sir Walter was rowed back from a last conference saying that on Essex’s generous intervention Arthur Throgmorton had been released and allowed to rejoin his company.
It was a fine sunny morning with a fresh breeze from the north-west, not warm but invigorating. We had finished prayers and breakfast when Lord Admiral Howard flying his crimson flag set sail, followed by his squadron; the Earl of Essex, fluttering the biggest flag of all, orange tawny on a white ground, was next to go. The Hoe and all the land round was bordered black with tiny people waving and watching. Next came the Dutch fleet, and then Lord Thomas Howard flying blue. It was after midday before we ourselves were under way, bringing up the rear.
Out of the harbour the wind had much freshened and the sea ahead was dotted as far as the eye could see with lurching and tossing ships. This was to be an exercise in manoeuvre before the fleet sailed in earnest. We warped and tacked all day between Rame Head and Fowey, for the most part in confusion but as the day wore on falling into a greater order.
Sir Walter went quickly to his cabin and was not seen again they had joked at Sherborne that he was a poor sailor but I had no better fortune and vomited from four in the afternoon until nightfall. Hardwicke, the delicate, stood the pitching and tossing without discomfort and laughed at my antics.
We passed the night uncomfortably off Blackbeetle Point near the entrance to Fowey Haven, and all the following morning plied up and down in pursuance of orders from the Lord Admiral; then, the wind backing about four in the afternoon, the whole fleet put back into Plymouth Sound and anchored in line all the way across to Cawsand. At eight a counsel was called aboard Ark Royal, and Sir Walter, his hair and beard looking blacker against his sallow face, commanded me to go with him.
It was a full Council of War, and for the most part I stood on deck with midshipmen, secretaries and others in attendance on the great men. But towards the end I was sent for and carried up papers Sir Walter had brought setting forth his views on fire-power in relation to shore batteries, a subject on which as usual he had original and controversial views.
In the great cabin were yellow lanterns hanging and gently swaying; lattice windows still light with the evening light; ten principal captains and five admirals; gold braid on blue velvet, silver braid on scarlet; jewelled sword belts with wrought leather. Wine cups stood on a baize-covered round table like sentinels about the littered charts; a few men were smoking, and the smoke rose to mix with the hazy breath and argument and wine fumes and the smoke of the lanterns.
Essex was speaking, his face flushed, as if argument had ruffled him. “Let us remember, my Lords, that this is a sacred cause, undertaken not primarily in search of gain but to preserve our country and our religion. To remind all of that purpose, services shall be performed thrice daily, at the morning, in the evening, at the cleaning of the glass…”
Presently Sir Walter spoke. I do not remember a word he said, only the tone of his voice. It was a tone I had heard him use only once or twice before. It deferred too obviously; it was full of flattery and ingratiation. For one who knew him well it was plainly insincere and used only with a purpose. In the seat of honour beside Essex sat the old Lord Admiral, white-bearded, hawk-nosed, a jewelled skull cap over his scant hair. On the other side of Essex was Lord Thomas Howard, the third in command. A man in his thirties with a sailor’s face, weather-beaten but arrogant and lean, he watched Sir Walter carefully while he spoke. These were the first two Howards I had ever seen, and after what Sue had said I stared at them with a new interest. As if some communication passed between us he lifted his head and his eyes looked me over assessingly; then he turned away and took snuff. A moment later and I was out in the summer evening again breathing a fresher air.
The following morning, which was the 3rd of June, the fleet set sail in earnest, Lord Admiral Howard leading off his squadron at ten, and ourselves weighing anchor shortly before four in the afternoon. The north-west wind had by now returned and it blew intermittently throughout the next days.
On the Friday Sir Walter called me up to his cabin. His desk was littered with books pulled from their shelves, and he was considering the optimum length-to-weight ratio of the galleon. From the behaviour of Warspite in the short time he had been sailing in her he had come to the strong conclusion that she was too short for her width, being in length only two and a half times her beam, which in Sir Walter’s opinion was a backward step in design; and that she was much over-gunned for a vessel of 648 tons: 36 guns, twenty of them heavy culverins, being likely to over-charge the ship’s sides in any grown sea. On these matters he wrote and talked for upwards of two hours; then, looking as exhausted as I felt, he dropped his pen and rang the bell for a cup of the cordial he had brought with him for seasickness; I took a cup as well, though I should have had more confidence if Katherine Footmarker had mixed it.
He was in a natural and approachable mood, and I asked him whither we were bound.
He said: “Our captains, except those at the council, still sail under sealed orders. If any are separated they make for Cape St Vincent.”
“Which is not Ireland or Blavet.”
“Which is not Ireland or Blavet.”
“I have heard it said, sir, that the Spanish fleet is concentrated in two ports: Ferrol and Cadiz.”
The ship lurched over a wave and slithered down the hind side.