Kitabı oku: «Grace O'Malley. Machray Robert», sayfa 7
CHAPTER X.
A WOMAN’S WILE
“What news?” demanded Grace O’Malley.
Repeating Tibbot’s words to her, I asked what her commands were.
“This afternoon while you slept, Ruari,” she replied, “the idea of a certain artifice or stratagem came into my mind, and the darkness of the night is so much in favour of its successful issue that there is no reason why it should not be attempted. It was suggested to me as I went over the stores of the galleon by the quantities of all manner of garments on board of her – ”
So had spoken very rapidly, being conscious that with the galleons not far away there was no time to spare.
“Enough, at present,” she continued. “I will tell you more of it when I have made a disposition of our ships.”
“The prisoners?” I questioned. “They can scarcely be expected to join us in an attack on Spanish ships – even although these ships are in reality more the property of the merchants of Galway than of any others.”
“Transfer them,” said she, “to The Cross of Blood, which I shall leave here under Calvagh’s charge. When you have seen them safely in his hands come to me – I shall be on the Capitana.”
“The Capitana!” I exclaimed, surprised.
“Yes,” said she. “In a little while you will see why I say the Capitana.”
I hurried off into the cabin, and telling Don Francisco and Fitzgerald that they were to be put for the night aboard of my galley, and having whispered to Eva that there was something in the wind, but that I knew not quite what it was, I conducted the two men to The Cross of Blood, and delivered them over to Calvagh, bidding him keep a close guard over them. Then I got into a boat, and in a trice was on the Spanish galleon’s deck.
Just as I reached it the clouds drifted from off the face of the moon, and as I looked up around me I could scarcely believe my eyes at what I saw. Pausing not to think, I placed my hand upon my sword, and had pulled it half-way out of its sheath, when a voice which I recognised as Tibbot the Pilot’s, sang out close to my ear, while there was a splutter of laughter in his throat, as he said —
“’Tis a wise man who sometimes doubts his seeing aright, Ruari Macdonald. Know you not your friends from your foes?”
Tibbot, I perceived, was not attired in the Irish fashion, but had discarded his saffron mantle and his long, wide-sleeved jacket, and had replaced them by a sober Spanish suit, under which, one might be sure, was a shirt of mail.
And now I noticed that the sailors who moved about us, getting the galleon ready for sea, were no more our own wild kernes of Mayo, but all mariners of Spain!
“Tibbot,” said I, “what is the meaning of this? Wherefore is this mummery?”
“’Tis by our mistress’s order,” said he, “and ’tis herself will have good reason for it, I’m thinking.” And his cheeks creased with laughter.
Grace O’Malley had said something of a stratagem, – was this it? One quicker of apprehension than myself would have seen what her intentions were, but I had to go and ask her for an explanation.
And, lo, on the poop deck, where a few hours before there had been so great a struggle, I found not my mistress, but a youthful, handsome, smiling, debonair knight of Spain, who yet had the eyes and the accents of our princess! By her side there stood the captain of the Capitana, risen from the dead – or such a passable imitation of him in face and figure as might well have deceived the living.
I stared stupidly at them both, – and then I understood. For the nonce, we were no longer O’Malleys or other free Irish rovers of the sea, but dons and señors – if you please, – soldiers and sailors under the flag of Spain; the Capitana for the time being had not been taken, but was still bound in all security for the port of Galway – only haply, that being stayed by storms, she had taken shelter behind the island of Arran, from which she would presently emerge to meet the other galleons as they came up.
And then – the thing was plain enough.
A woman’s wit is a wonderful thing, and well is it for us men that the loves and the hates of women do dim the brightness of it, else would we be dazzled and blind and dumb all our days, and our strength be but a vain thing.
“What think you of my plot?” said the young gentleman adventurer, this Spanish knight, who was my mistress.
“You are a great magician, señor!” said I, taking her humour. “And what would you with this Ruari Macdonald – once the sworn servant of an Irish princess, known as Grace O’Malley?”
“By my faith,” cried she, “I would not have him changed for all the world.”
And the words were dear to me, so that my heart glowed within me – even as it does now at the memory of them.
Then she spoke to me with some fulness of the snare she was preparing for the two galleons, now beating up towards the Sound.
It was the case, no doubt, said she, that the five ships of the wine fleet had been scattered over the western seas by the storm, but those Tibbot had seen had managed to keep by each other or had come together again, and were travelling as slowly as possible, with a view to picking up their companion vessel, and, further, that their sailing powers would most probably have been reduced by the damage wrought upon them by the tempest.
Her purpose was to stand off and on in the Sound, manœuvring the Capitana in such a way as to indicate that she had also suffered from the violence of the weather; to allow the ships to come up within near hail of her – which they would be certain to do, as they could have no suspicion of what had befallen the Capitana, especially as they would be able to see nothing strange in the appearance of the galleon or in the dress of those on board of her – and then to trust to the chances of the hour for the rest.
When I raised the objection that this plot of hers necessitated the absence of the galleys from the attack, she replied that no more than a bare guard had been left on board of them, and that she had as many as eighty men out of them, and had placed them on the Capitana, a number which she thought more than sufficient for the enterprise.
“If all goes well,” said she, “I will myself lead the assault on the first ship, and Tibbot on the other – if they have to be fought together at the same time; do you remain on the Capitana, for she must be seen to by one who is a seaman, and much may depend on the way in which she is managed. Besides, you must still be weary of the fight of a few hours ago. But circumstances will guide us.”
“Surely,” said I, “there is no need for you to expose yourself, and my fatigue is gone.”
“Nay, nay!” said she, “let the thing stand.”
The anchor was gotten up, and out beyond the point of Trawkeera went the ship, the moon now shining more clearly, and the stars showing here and there like diamonds through a scarf of clouds. And there, not more than a mile away, loomed up the two galleons for which we were on the watch.
The wind was light, and the sails of the galleon, which was the nearer of the two to us, showed up in grey shadows against the velvety black of the sky. She was of the usual build of the merchant ship of Cadiz, with the same lumbering breadth, the same high castles at poop and bows, and the same rig in every respect as had that which we had captured, and was of much the same size. Some distance behind her was her companion, and the two vessels were so much alike that the second appeared to be the double of the first.
As soon as we were within view, a lantern was waved three times towards us from the bows of the leading ship – a signal to which we responded by also waving a lantern three times, surmising that some such answering sign would be expected back in return.
We waited with an anxious curiosity to see how this would be taken, and as we saw the dark figures of the watch hurrying, in evident alarm, to the bulwarks to gaze at us, and heard their voices raised in discussion coming faintly across the waters, we could not fail to understand that some other token had been looked for.
In their perplexity they knew not what to make of us, and we could see plainly enough that there was an argument going on among them in respect of us. As the distance between us slowly lessened, their uncertainty and indecision were increased when they beheld, as we took excellent care they should, a few of the O’Malleys standing on the fore-deck of the Capitana. Even had it been as bright as day, they could not have imagined that they were other than Spanish sailors like themselves.
Our men had been ordered to remain quite still and silent, and under the moon, over which a web of cloud was being spun, they appeared like figures carved out of stone.
The watchman on the bows of the galleon hailed us, and though his voice sounded clearly to us, we pretended not to hear; he called again through the quiet of the night, and when we returned no answer we could see that he ran with a sort of terror of he knew not what from his place, and was lost in the darkness of the forecastle.
In the meantime we had come close up to her, her sailors bending blanched, fear-stricken faces over her bulwarks upon us, and perhaps thinking that they saw before them the fabulous Ship of Death, upon which for ever sail the souls of those foully murdered on the sea, and which for the nonce had taken on the form of the Capitana to lure them to their doom, for never might human eyes behold that dreaded sight and live.
The two ships were now so near each other that it required but a touch of the helm and the quick ringing word of command from Grace O’Malley – the statues sprang to life, and a host of the O’Malleys jumped on board the galleon at different points.
It was all the work of a twinkling, so soon was the ship carried. The watch on deck were overpowered and made prisoners with scarcely a blow being struck. Tibbot crept through a window in the poop of the Spaniard, and, followed by a dozen of the Irish, had secured those who were asleep or half-awakened before they could make any resistance. In the forecastle alone was there any struggle, for there a handful of men stood to their weapons, and, refusing quarter, fought on till everyone of them was slain.
I had watched with straining eyes through the gloom for the form of that young Spanish knight who was my mistress, and, not seeing it anywhere, was in sore dismay; not many minutes, however, went by – the action had moved with the speed with which things change in a dream – when she appeared on the poop, as I thought.
Nor was I mistaken, for she called to me to trim the Capitana and to wear down upon the other galleon, which had changed her course, and was striving to make off southwards for the open sea. Her watch had given the alarm, and we could see the dark bodies of her crew and of her fighting men making to their posts.
Sending back to me some of our Irish for the better working of the Capitana, she caused the newly-captured vessel to be released from the grapplings and fastenings, by which I had had her bound to us while the attack was going on, and we swung apart. Crowding on sail in hot haste, we put about, and went in pursuit of the fleeing galleon, which not only had the start of us, but now also appeared to be a better sailer than either of us, as we did not gain on her, but, on the contrary, rather fell back.
It was apparent that she would escape us if we were to trust to our sailing powers alone. I had just determined to train one of the cannon on board the Capitana on to her, when a loud explosion shook the air.
Of what had occurred, then and afterwards on the Santa Ana, as the ship Grace O’Malley had just taken was named, I was not a witness, nor was Tibbot, who told me of it, either; but it is narrated here just as I heard it.
Seeing that there was a likelihood of the galleon, to which we were giving chase, showing us a clean pair of heels, she ordered Tibbot to the helm of the Santa Ana, and, telling him of what she intended, she herself went among the prisoners, who were lying bound in different parts of the ship.
Among them she found divers persons who understood the Irish tongue, and them, by both promises and threats, she compelled to bring before her the master of the ordnance and those who assisted him in loading and firing the cannon. Surrounding these men with her own, each of whom had sword, spear, or battle-axe ready in his hand, she marched them to the forecastle and forced them, on pain of instant death, to serve the two great cannon which were in the bow-ports. The first discharge of these was the explosion I had heard.
The balls from these pieces were so ineffective, passing wide of the mark and splashing into the sea a considerable distance from the galleon, that her anger was kindled, and she warned the master of the ordnance that if he were not more successful on a second attempt she would not spare him, being assured that he was merely trifling with her.
Whether it was because of the terrifying effect of her words, or because he was determined to give the galleon every opportunity for getting away from us, and was reckless of what became of himself, the succeeding shots flew as wide as before. When Grace O’Malley perceived this she was transported with rage, and, crying that he had brought his fate upon his own head, ran him through with her sword.
Had she not quickly interfered, all his companions would have been instantly despatched by the Irish, who were eager to emulate the example she had set them.
Aghast at the death of the master of the ordnance, and suspecting that there was no hope of anything else for themselves, they cried out sharply, breathlessly, tremblingly, each protesting and vowing by all the saints that he would undertake to do whatever he was bid, if only his life were promised him.
Seeing from their look that they were likely to do as they said, but fearing lest they should be unstrung, being so wrought upon by their terror, she agreed that they should not be slain, but commanded them to chose from out of their number him who was the most skilful cannoneer, so that there should be no mistake in regard to the fit service of the ordnance. At the same time she told them that all their lives depended on him, for if he failed at the next discharge to damage the galleon, not only would he be immediately killed, but that all of them would likewise suffer instant death.
They chattered for a second together, and then one of them, perhaps bolder or more desperate than the rest, stepped forward, and accepted her offer.
Having warned him again, Grace O’Malley had the guns loaded once more, and stood over the man with drawn sword as he applied the burning match to the touch-hole of first one cannon and then of the other. When the smoke had cleared away, it was seen that the mainmast of the galleon had been shot through and had fallen over, so that it lay partly across her waist and partly was in the water.
Thus impeded, the galleon almost at once lost her sea-way, and both the Santa Ana and the Capitana began rapidly to come up with her. Meanwhile shouts and shrieks resounded from her decks; her sailors ran about in fear and confusion, but after awhile they appeared to be got into some kind of order, and, as a ball from her boomed across our bows, it was evident that her captain was resolved to fight for his ship.
As our vessels approached, we received a broadside from her which did us both no little harm, especially to our hulls and rigging, and a shot tore along the forecastle of the Capitana in an oblique direction, killing two of my crew and wounding three or four men before it plunged into the sea.
But it was impossible for her to prevent us from coming up alongside of her, and so soon as we had made ourselves fast to her our boarders poured in upon her. And thereupon ensued a battle not more terrible than obstinate, while the faint streaks of a cold and troubled dawn stole upon us, shedding its gleams on the dead and dying as they lay in pools of blood upon her decks.
No quarter was asked or given. Whom the sword or the battle-axe or the spear smote not, him the sea received, for many of the Spaniards, crying that all was lost, threw themselves from the galleon into the water and were drowned. There remained, however, towards the end of the fight a small company of arquebusiers and swordsmen upon the poop, and among them was the captain of the ship, his clothing stained and disordered, and a great, red sword in his hand.
Seeing that no hope remained, he made signs that he wished to surrender, and begged that his life and the lives of those with him might be spared, to which Grace O’Malley straightway assented.
As he walked towards her with his sword in his hand, with the purpose apparently of presenting it to her in token of his submission, he seemed to stumble on the planks, which were slippery with blood, and then, suddenly recovering himself, he made a mad, swift rush forward, and would have wounded, perhaps killed, my mistress if his intention had not been guessed by Tibbot, who in the very nick of time dashed aside the point of the captain’s sword and brained him with his battle-axe.
So incensed were the Irish at this act of treachery that they would show no mercy, and not a soul was left alive.
Thus was the San Miguel, as she proved herself to be, taken.
Our first care now was to return to Inisheer, so the three galleons were trimmed as well as was within our power, and our course was shaped for the island, where our three galleys lay, and which was reached in due time without our seeing any more ships of the wine fleet.
And here we remained, among the islands of Arran, for several days, waiting for the other two galleons of which we had heard; but as they did not come into sight, we conjectured that they had either put into some port in another part of Ireland or had been driven on the rocks and wrecked.
Then we bore northwards with the Spanish galleons and our three galleys to a sequestered bay on the coast of Iar-Connaught, where we concealed in caves and other secret places well known to us a portion of the great treasure and of the rich stores that had been found in the merchant ships. Some of their ordnance was put on board the galleys and the rest cast into the sea.
As for the galleons themselves, they were steered within a mile of the harbour of Galway, in full view of its walls, set on fire, and then sent adrift, blazing, in the bay; while the prisoners, all save Don de Vilela and Fitzgerald, were landed on the coast, and left to make the best of their way to the city, where on their arrival they published abroad all that Grace O’Malley had done.
And I have not wit enough to describe the amazement and anger of Sir Nicholas, nor the disappointment and vexation of the merchants at the losses they had sustained through the destruction of the wine fleet.
But homeward to Clew Bay we sailed, and little cared we.
CHAPTER XI.
“REDSHANK AND REBEL.”
Before we had left the Bay of Galway for the north I had been so constantly occupied with the unlading of the galleons, the disposal of our plunder, and the care and the landing of the prisoners, that I had got no more than glimpses of my mistresses, and then they were seldom alone. For de Vilela and Fitzgerald, although they had a cabin given them on The Cross of Blood, were but rarely on my galley during the hours of day, spending most of the time with the two ladies on The Grey Wolf.
I perceived they were treated rather as honoured guests than as captives, and I knew that Grace O’Malley held many long and earnest conversations with Don Francisco, the subject of which was ever the same – to wit, what Philip of Spain would do on behalf of the Irish if they rose in rebellion against the Queen.
Now, it mattered not at all to me who was King or Queen of Ireland, whether it was Philip or Elizabeth who should be sovereign of the island, and I had as lief it were the one as the other.
I owed no fealty to England or to Spain, and, being a Macdonald of the Isles, no more to the Queen, King, or Regent of Scotland than could be forced from us Macdonalds of the West, and that was never overmuch. But I was sworn to the service of Grace O’Malley, and if she preferred Spain to England, then it was Spain for me! Yet what I had heard of Philip made me conclude that the Irish would not find him to their liking, as certainly he was not to mine.
For, as a thing of course, there arose this question: If Philip helped the Irish to drive the English out of Ireland, and the English were expelled from the island, what reward would Philip expect to receive in return? Would he not look to become its king? However, so far as I was concerned, the answer lay with my mistress and not with me.
What struck deeper to my heart, so that it was filled with aching every hour, was no such great affair as the possession of a kingdom; yet was it greater to me than all the kingdoms of the world. It was that I began to doubt – nay, to fear – that the dear, sweet, fair woman whom I loved would never be mine.
I had dreamed that I, too, would be a king – her king. Now I saw, or seemed to see, myself uncrowned, disrobed, and beggared, thrust outside the gates of the palace in which she dwelt. But I had never been crowned, nor robed, nor rich, save in visions, and was in truth the veriest beggar on the face of the earth.
Although I was able to be so little with my mistresses, I was not so blind as not to see that de Vilela was entirely fascinated by Eva O’Malley. She had impressed him from the first, and herein I blamed him not. And the more he saw of her the more her charm worked upon him. That surprised me not; it would have been surprising if it had not.
What stung me to the soul was that Eva was evidently interested in the man, listening absorbedly to everything he said. Many strange and curious tales had he to tell of Spain and of the Moors, and, most of all, of those new lands beyond the seas, inhabited by the Indians, with their magical cities of gold and their wondrous mines of gems and precious stones. Spoke he, too, of the mysteries of those far-off regions; of the lakes and forests and mountains that floated above the clouds, swimming in the silent air; of sacred temples rising tower above tower, exceeding majestical, out of wide plains of gleaming verdure; of their princes and priests and people – all themes as entrancing as any story of chivalry.
Nor lacked he such also, for he could tell of those splendid feats of arms which have made the glory of the world. He was a master, too, of the secrets of courts, and stood high in the councils of his King.
’Twas no wonder that that soft tongue of his wooed and won upon our women, who had so often heard with delight the ruder stories of our bards. Who was I to match myself against this paragon, this paladin, this gentle and perfect knight?
My thoughts were bitter and gloomy, like one walking in the shadow of death, and I had not even the poor consolation of saying to myself that Don Francisco was nothing more than a squire of dames – at home rather in my lady’s bower than in the tented field – for there was that about him which proclaimed him a soldier, and even a veteran of war. Good reason, too, had we to know him before many weeks were past for the bold and ready sword he was.
And when we had returned to Clew Bay, and the galleys were safe in the haven under Knockmore, both de Vilela and Fitzgerald accompanied us to the castle of Carrickahooley, where they were received by my mistresses as if they held them in their kindest regard. Indeed, they were so courteously entertained that the darkness of my spirits deepened, so that I hardly knew myself.
I was in as many moods as there were hours in the day, until I felt a shame of myself and of my weakness born in me. At first, I had chafed and fretted like a spoiled child; then a sullen and savage temper had possessed me, so that I could see that the crews of the galleys observed me, thinking that perhaps the bite of my wounds still hurt and galled; now, recovering myself, I bade myself endure hardness, and bear the lash of the whip of fate, and be a man.
But my dear was very dear to me, and my heart rebelled.
In the meantime I was going backward and forward among the islands and on the mainland, distributing portions of the plunder we had taken from the galleons to the widows and relatives of those who had fallen in the fighting, as was the custom of Grace O’Malley with her people. Other parts of the spoil were for greater security put into the strong chambers under the castle and elsewhere.
There remained the chest of gold and various vessels and chains and rings of silver and gold, many of them richly jewelled, to be hidden away, and, for this purpose, Grace O’Malley and I went in a boat by ourselves to the Caves of Silence under the Hill of Sorrow. And as I rowed, and considered the while what significance there was in the gold not being restored to those who made claim to being its owners, I experienced a sudden lightening of my spirits.
I reasoned that there must be some doubt in the mind of my mistress of the truth of the story she had been told of the chest of gold, or else she would not have kept it. She could not entirely trust them – de Vilela and Fitzgerald – or she would have returned the money to them. So I thought, but even this comfort was taken from me.
When we had reached the dark, narrow strait that lies between the high cliffs, the grim sentinels which guard the entrance to the caves, the boat shot into it like an arrow, and, without a word, we went swiftly for a distance of half a mile or more – the zip-drip of the oars alone being heard, eerie and startling, as the sound shivered up the black walls of rock.
There, jutting out from them, was the Red Crag, that is in shape like the head of a bull even to the horns; beyond, a strip of beach, and, at the side of it, a ledge of grey-blue stone; then again the rock walls, ever narrowing and becoming yet more narrow, until they closed in an archway, and we lost the light of day as the boat passed on up the fissure that runs deep into the bowels of the Hill of Sorrow. There was not room for rowing, and I forced the boat along with a hook, Grace O’Malley having lighted a torch.
Then we came to the black, slippery block of stone which seems to close up the passage, but the secret of which was known to us, and to us only.
Here we entered – by what way I may never tell – and were in the first cave of silence, a vast, gloomy, ghostly, dimly-lit hall, with tables and altars and seats carved out of the living rock by hands dead these many thousand years, and on the floor where it was stone and not water, a grey, powdered dust, faintly coloured here and there as with specks of rust – and all that dust was once alive, for these caves are the graves of men.
Out of this vast chamber opened a number of smaller caves, that looked not unlike the cells of monks – and monks of some sort perhaps were they who lived and died here. And everywhere silence – a chill, brooding, fearful, awful silence; and the living rock, hewn and cut; and the floors that were partly stone and partly water; and the grey, rust-spotted dust of death!
In one of these caverns we deposited the treasure taken from the galleon, hardly speaking except in whispers as we did so, for the hush of the place lay on us like a spell.
I ever felt a creepy horror of these dim, dumb shades, and was glad, when our work was done, to return again to the light of the sun.
It was on our way back to the castle that Grace O’Malley spoke of what was in her mind. Her face was stern and set and full of purpose.
“Ruari,” said she, “much has happened since last we visited these caves together with my father, Owen. Now he is gone, and I, his daughter, am proscribed by the English. To what better end could the treasure in these caves be put than to help to drive the English out of Ireland?”
“The treasure is yours,” said I slowly, for her words killed my new-found hope, “to do with as you list, and your will is mine. But the English are many, and brave and strong. Remember Shane O’Neil, and how he fell before them. It would be a terrible thing to lose the treasure, and still to have the English in the land.”
“We are at war with them in any case,” said she. “As for Shane O’Neil, he was unsuccessful because he stood alone, but if all the princes and chiefs of the island unite, the result would surely be different. Then there is the power of Spain to be thrown into the balance on our behalf. The King has promised to send both men and money, if we will but compose our own feuds, and band ourselves together for the one common object.”
I answered not a word, but pulled at the oars doggedly.
“Ruari!” she exclaimed. “Why this silence? It is not like you to be so quiet when the sound of battle is in the air.”
“Say on,” cried I, “I am your servant.”
She gazed at me, as one who considered anxiously a thing which puzzled her.
“It is not the treasure, surely?” said she. “When did you care for anything save the taking of it?” Then a light leaped into her eyes, and she laughed more heartily than she had done for days. “You do not like Don Francisco? That is it!” And she laughed again.
“Don Francisco is well enough,” said I, but she passed the empty words by.
“Eva is but a young lass,” said she, with the hardness gone from her face, so tender had it become all at once, “and the Don, who is certainly a gallant gentleman, and not a love-sick boy, gives her pleasure with his tales and romances. That is all!”
A love-sick boy! That was I, Ruari Macdonald. So Grace O’Malley knew my secret; did Eva know it also?
“Grace O’Malley,” said I, resting on the oars, in anguish, for her words brought no solace to me, “my heart is sore.”
“Ruari,” said she impatiently, “you are nothing but a big boy. Eva had a liking for de Vilela, and so have I, but neither of us has any love for him.”
“She does not love him!” cried I doubtfully, yet with a gladness unspeakable conquering the doubt; “she does not love him!”
