Grace O'Malley. Machray Robert

“They say that it was because of the chest of gold,” she replied. “The captain is dead, so that we shall never hear his version of the affair, but they affirm he could not withstand the temptation of the gold. Brave, as we know he was, and an excellent sailor, as they say he was reputed to be, yet would he have sold his very soul for gold.”

“How did he know of it?”

“So heavy a chest could hardly have been brought on board without his knowledge, and to conjecture what it contained was no such difficult matter. They did not conceal from him their anxiety for its safe-keeping, and one or other of them was always on guard over it. Anyone would have known, therefore, that it held a treasure of some kind. All went well until they reached the coast of Kerry, when, reminding the captain of their agreement with him, they requested him to send them, the chest, and the rest of their belongings ashore in a boat. The sea was very rough, however, and he assured them the thing was impossible.

“That might well have been the case,” said I.

“They therefore confided to him – what he most likely knew already – that they had come over on a secret embassy from the King of Spain, and besought him, by his fidelity to his King, to put them ashore. He protested that their landing at the time would be attended with difficulty, and even danger, and again refused their request.

“They expostulated with him, but in vain; he was not to be moved, having already, they say, determined that they should never deliver their message. Next they offered him a large sum of money, and, when he asked where they were to get it from, told him of the gold, but without informing him of the amount they had in the chest. Still, he would not give way, and, at length, on their continuing to urge him, he became sullen, angry and abusive, hurling many hurtful words at them in his wrath. His real reason, they began to fear, was not the roughness of the sea, for some sheltered bay or inlet with calm water might have easily been reached, had he so desired, but that he had resolved to possess himself of their treasure.”

“They had played into his hands by speaking of the contents of the chest,” I said.

“That was their mistake, and they have had to repent themselves of it. That same night, while they slept, they were seized, put into manacles, and thrown into the close and filthy den in which they were discovered by us.

“They saw the captain but once after their imprisonment, and he had told them – for their comfort – that it had been his original intention to fling them overboard, but that he had changed his mind, and would deliver them up, instead, to the English Governor of Connaught, when the ship arrived at Galway, as plotters against the peace of Ireland. Then they never would be heard of again, for all men knew of what sort of stuff Sir Nicholas Malby was made, and how short and sharp were his dealings with those who conspired against the Queen, once they were in his power.”

This was an evil hearing in regard to one who in his dying had shown a not unmanly kind of virtue; but who is there that does not know that gold is for most men the god of the whole earth? The story of the two struck me as being true, as it was stamped through and through with a sort of human naturalness. And I said as much.

“When the captain told them,” continued Grace O’Malley, “of the fate in store for them, they offered him all the gold they had in the chest if only he would let them go. But he answered them that it was his already, and that he had no intention of parting with it. If they lived, he would never feel safe – and the dead had no tongue. Hearing this, they gave up all hope, and abandoned themselves to the gloom of despair, cursing the captain for his perfidy.

“Then the storm came on, and the galleon drove hither and thither with the tempest. Their wretchedness increased, until they reflected that it would be better to perish by drowning than to live to undergo the torture and miserable death which Sir Nicholas would be certain to inflict upon them.”

“The tale,” I said, when I had pondered it for a few minutes, “does not sound to me as if it were false.”

“It was so far confirmed,” said Grace O’Malley, “inasmuch as the chest of gold, the possession of which worked their undoing, lay concealed in the cabin which the captain had occupied. For safe-keeping I had it removed to this galley.”

“Did they tell you,” said I, my thoughts reverting to what, after all, was the most important part of their statements, “what was the burden of their message from the King of Spain?”

“Not fully,” she replied, “and I forebore from questioning them more narrowly until they had recovered. They did say that Philip wishes well to Ireland, or rather, he loves not the English, who condemn him to his face, and singe his very beard. They hinted that the King had sent Don Francisco to spy out the land, and to become acquainted with the wishes of the princes and chiefs of the island.”

“For what purpose? To what end?”

“To encourage them to rebel against the Queen, by giving them such help as is within his power. At the same time, he does not wish to appear to be concerned in the affairs of Ireland at all.”

I had heard of Philip before as a man who was uncertain of purpose and infirm of will, timid when he should have been bold, and bold when he should have been timid; one who covered himself and his designs with a cloak of clumsy cunning which it required no skill to see through, and of deceit which deceived none of the least discerning of his enemies. Therefore said I not a word, but contented myself to wait for what my mistress might say further on the matter.

She was silent, however, and I could see from her rapt, indrawn look, that her thoughts had wandered far away from us and the galleys and the wine fleet – perhaps to Spain and its shifty King. I, too, was busy thinking, and, as I conceived that we had affairs immediately before us of more importance than even Philip of Spain, I made bold to interrupt her reveries.

“We can at least gather from the two men,” said I, “how many ships were in the wine fleet. The rest of them cannot now be far off from us.”

“Yes,” said she, rousing herself from her musings like one from slumber, “they informed me that there were nine galleons in the fleet when they left Cadiz, four of them were bound for Limerick and five for Galway.”

“Then there are still four ships for us to fight,” I exclaimed. “Let the chest of gold and the King of Spain wait, say I. Would it not be well, now that the wind has fallen, to send one of the galleys to keep a look-out?”

“Tibbot the Pilot,” she replied, “already watches the Sound in The Winged Horse. The galleons will most likely have been separated from each other by the recent storms, but if any one of them comes into sight we will quickly be apprised of it.”

“Have you not had enough of fighting for one day?” asked Eva.

“We have vowed vengeance on Galway,” I said, and Eva said no more, but sighed deeply.

There was a knocking at the door of the cabin, and a servant entered with the message that Don Francisco de Vilela and Dermot Fitzgerald desired speech of Grace O’Malley, to thank her for her kindness to them. Permission being granted, the two men soon made their appearance. They had eaten, had washed themselves, and were attired in fresh clothes taken from the supplies on board the galleon, and looked very different, I imagine, from what they had done when they had emerged from the hole in the Capitana, where they had been imprisoned.

Both of them bowed with a profound reverence to my mistresses, and I took note, even in the half-light, of the contrast they made as they stood together. The Irishman was fair and ruddy, the Spaniard dark and swarthy as most Spaniards are. Fitzgerald was tall – nearly as tall as myself – Don Francisco of the middle height, but having a very soldierly bearing and an air of resolution which his comrade lacked. Thus much I saw at a glance.

De Vilela was the first to speak, and his accent had all the smooth deference of the court rather than the rough sincerity of the camp.

“Señorita,” said he, “if you will suffer a poor gentleman of Spain to offer you his thanks – ”

“Madame,” said the Irishman, interrupting him impulsively, “I never dreamt the day would come when I should be glad to be a prisoner – ”

“Nay, nay!” quoth Grace O’Malley, “no more of that, I beg.”

The glance of the two men swept past her, de Vilela’s to fasten on Eva O’Malley, Fitzgerald’s on me, while my mistress made us known to each other. Then they entreated her to say what was her will in regard to them, and what ransom she demanded for their release. But she replied that she had not yet determined, and so put them off.

She conversed for some minutes with de Vilela, speaking to him of the West Indies, whither, it appeared, he had been in one of the very ships for which Tibbot the Pilot was watching – the San Millan de Simancas.

I now had had leisure to observe him more closely, and he gave me the impression of a man of high breeding. He discoursed with a tongue of winning sweetness, more like a woman’s than a man’s, and yet one had only to examine with a little carefulness the lines of his face to be convinced that these soft tones were like the fur over claws, and that there was nothing else of the feminine about him.

His companion, Fitzgerald, was of a very different type, although he, too, was of knightly birth – rash, unstable, easily swayed, but generous and warm of heart, with quick, unstudied manners, and no capacity for much besides the wielding of his sword.

Ever as the Spaniard spoke his dark, eloquent eyes wandered from one to another of us, resting with an absorbed intensity longest on Eva – a thing in no wise to be wondered at, but which I did not care to see, although I had no right to be jealous.

And then there broke upon the hush of the night, now grown still and calm, the zip-zap-swish, zip-zap-swish of the oars of a galley, quickly driven by its rowers through the water; there was the low, clear call of Tibbot as The Winged Horse came up towards us, while at his word the oars hung motionless and glistening in the pale moonlight, and I went out to hear what tidings he brought.

He reported that the tops of the masts of two large ships were to be seen on the horizon, and that there might be more, as the light was but faint owing to the clouds that still passed over the sky. I hastened back to inform my mistress of Tibbot’s news. The door of the cabin opened before I had reached it and Grace O’Malley appeared upon the scene, and as the door closed behind her I saw that Don Francisco was speaking earnestly to Eva, who, for her part, was listening to him with deep attention.

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.