Voyage of Reprisal

By Kevin Glynn

An English sea-captain sailing to plunder a Spanish treasure fleet faces the elements, internal discord and a squadron of war galleons lurking in his path. If he prevails, rewards and retribution await in the wilds of the New World.

Voyage of Reprisal draws on the author’s extensive research and presents a careful reconstruction of life at sea aboard an Elizabethan war galleon. Charismatic characters come alive, from crude sailors to arrogant lords. The pains, joys, sorrows, and hopes of the age are explored aboard a 16th century privateer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781665531146

Kevin Glynn

Kevin J. Glynn earned a Bachelor of Arts degree in Journalism from the University of Rhode Island and is a former US Navy Reserve Officer. He was employed by the US Department of the Navy for 24 years. This is his first novel.

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© 2021 Kevin J. Glynn. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 07/13/2021

ISBN: 978-1-6655-3115-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-3114-6 (e)

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Contents

Chapter 1     Homecoming

Chapter 2     London Town

Chapter 3     The House of Hawthorne

Chapter 4     Affairs of the Heart and of the Sword

Chapter 5     Farewells in Gravesend

Chapter 6     Plymouth Harbor

Chapter 7     Outfitting

Chapter 8     A Day on the North Atlantic

Chapter 9     Naissance of a Warship

Chapter 10   In Spanish Waters

Chapter 11   Tenerife

Chapter 12   The Siege of Garachico

Chapter 13   Accommodation

Chapter 14   Atlantic Passage

Chapter 15   Dominica

Chapter 16   Across the Antilles

Chapter 17   Puerto Plata

Chapter 18   Partings

Chapter 19   The Voyage South

Chapter 20   Trinidad

Chapter 21   Gallic Interlude

Chapter 22   Fractures

Chapter 23   Crossing the Line

Chapter 24   The Isle of Saint James

Chapter 25   The River of Plate

Chapter 26   Reckonings

Chapter 27   Reward and Retribution

Chapter 28   The Armada of the Ocean Sea

Chapter 29   The Tower of London

Postscript

Glossary of Terms

CHAPTER I

Homecoming

Can you smell it, Riggs? That mixture of fresh water and growing things; the refuse burning and the food cooking. Look to the sky! What a beautiful spring evening to be borne up the Thames on a flood tide; to be coming home.

Robert Lawton stood astride the low sterncastle of the bark. His hands were on his hips and his head was held high as he surveyed the forward view of the curving river. His chest expanded as he breathed deeply and savored the cool, moist air of England.

Walter Riggs, the ship’s boatswain, manned the whipstaff behind Lawton. He joined in gazing along the river at the long-awaited destination lying ahead: the docks of London. Dusk was falling about them. Scores of gently glowing lights began emerging in the twilight marking the homes, shops and inns of London’s eastern suburbs along the north shore of the Thames and those of Southwark on the opposite bank. The last of the day’s fading light reflected softly on red-tiled roofs. Dead ahead, less than half a mile distant, the arching stone expanse of London Bridge stretched across their path. Thin spires of smoke issued from the chimneys of the multi-storied buildings which covered most of the span. Scattered lights twinkled from the buildings’ many windows.

The bark passed the lofty spires of Saint Katherine’s on the right. She then came abreast of the high, pale walls of London Tower rising from behind layers of ramparts and battlements. Situated between the Tower and the bridge’s north end was an area of quays and watergates. One of these would serve as the bark’s mooring place.

Yes, Mr. Lawton, the moment is dear, immersed as we are in the sights and smells of England, Riggs said, but I don’t envy your having to explain the results of this trading venture to the Company, and to the Queen’s men.

Lawton ignored the comment. He placed his hands upon the rail and looked down at the ash sweeps protruding from the sides of the bark. Observing the sweeps dip and pull against the smooth surface of the Thames, he noted how well his men assumed a natural rhythm as they rowed. Even now, so close to home port, they each pulled their weight as one. He beamed with pride. Such professionals. The men were singing old river chanteys as they labored at the sweeps, bringing a smile to Lawton’s otherwise weary face.

Take us to Billingsgate should there be room; if not, we’ll moor just off the quays on either side.

Aye, aye, came the boatswain’s response. You pick a good spot, sir. There’s many a tavern thereabouts where crusty seamen can wash the taste of salt from their throats.

Lawton turned to Riggs. I’ll mull over my report to the Company and the Queen’s men on the morrow. Business can wait. For tonight, I, for one, aim to drown my troubles in sack or ale. What say you to that, my trusted man?

Riggs smiled in turn. You know me, sir. I’ll be carried out of some tavern tonight if I don’t sleep there. I’m only a simple sailor with simple needs. Unlike you, I’m not burdened with the yoke of command, but the bite of treachery smarts as keenly. I can use some mind-numbing drink to ease my ill feelings for a short while. I’ve got just the spot in mind.

Lawton gently whacked Riggs’ shoulder before moving to the bow. He placed a hand lovingly on the sea-stained wooden structure of the forecastle gunwale and let out a sigh. His cheerful facade had suddenly drifted away. The end of such voyages usually had him feeling ecstatic and carefree, but this venture had left Lawton a changed and bitter man. He dreaded the certain interrogations awaiting him once he stepped foot on English soil. Bitterly, he reflected yet again upon the loss of three of his men and the confiscation of his cargo at the hands of the Spanish. As knots of anger began forming in his gut, he chose to bend his mind away from such morose thoughts. Instead, he again pondered the loveliness of the closing day.

Lawton was pleased at the timing of this final river leg. The tide was rising, nearing its height. His bark was carried up the stream with a host of other vessels just returned from the sea. Among them were ocean-going ships ranging from 100 tons burthen (slightly larger than Lawton’s bark) to 20 tons or less. Competing for water space were scores of small boats and wherries [water taxis]. Together they plied a watery highway carrying the bulk of London’s east-west traffic. The June evening was cool but fair. Already wisps of fog were rising from the surface of the river and would soon fill the air after combining with coal smoke wafting from ashore.

Lawton moved aft and down the short stairs of the forecastle to the main deck of the small vessel. The deck was occupied by most of the eighteen surviving crewmen not manning the sweeps. With the sails furled, little work was left to do aloft. Once docked, what remained of their supplies would be hauled off by stevedores contracted out by the Company. Between chanteys the men talked eagerly about their favorite haunts or favorite London women. Others were lost in thought as they contemplated the conclusion of a long and grueling voyage. Despite a disappointing venture, the spirits of the men had been invigorated during the day’s movement upriver as familiar marshes, woods, villages and churches had slowly slipped by.

Lawton proceeded aft to the sterncastle. Stooping, he passed through a low-roofed threshold and entered his cabin. The small compartment housed a fold-out bunk, a desk and a chart table (which doubled as the officers’ mess and medical dressing station, as required). Lawton unlocked his sea chest and removed both the ship’s official log and his personal log. Seating himself at the desk, he made a final entry in the ship’s log:

Arrived at twilight, Thursday, 10 June, 1585 at Billingsgate, London. Approximate supplies remaining: 60 lbs of dried cod; 90 lbs of salted pork; 125 lbs of hardtack; 120 gallons of fresh water. 81 lbs of iron shot were expended in anger during the voyage.

Lawton sighed as he wrote the next entry:

Excepting for the earlier loss of John Whately, Thomas Heatherby and Anthony Smithe, all of the crewmen are accounted for. Substantial damage was sustained to the larboard side gunwale of the quarterdeck, the bulwark below the gunwale, and the forecastle bulkhead. All were holed by enemy ordnance. The ship is otherwise intact and seaworthy. Our cargo of wheat was seized by Spanish officials. No returning cargo to declare.

Lawton closed the ship’s log and opened his personal log. After dating it he wrote:

Thus ends our humanitarian expedition to Cadiz, Spain. At the behest of King Philip II, we delivered a cargo of English wheat to his subjects caught in the grip of a famine, in their hour of need. As recompense, our ship was almost captured or destroyed. We escaped only by the kind hand of Providence. Three crewmen were taken and executed by the Spanish Inquisition. Our cargo was seized by Spanish Crown authorities without remittance. May I never return to Spain again except to reap vengeance on the Dons with all guns blazing upon their towns and ships.

Lord God; forgive my prideful thoughts and my lapses of faith during this voyage. Thank you for delivering your faithful one home to safe haven.

Lawton closed the book with a sigh. He arose from the desk and stretched his tall frame as best he could beneath the low ceiling, then he stooped down once more to his sea chest and carefully removed the gentlemanly clothing that had laid there since the day of his departure to Spain nearly two months ago. He removed his stained and worn sea clothes, sprinkled some perfumed lotion onto his skin and donned doublet and breeches. He stuffed several handfuls of rags inside the breeches to round it out, then he pulled on silken, knee-high stockings and a pair of shoes.

Lawton secured a decorative linen ruff around his neck. The stiffly starched and plaited fabric stood out a good eight inches from his neck in all directions. He combed thick, brown hair and a neatly trimmed and pointed goatee. He appraised his face in a small mirror hanging on the wall. The clear, gray eyes staring back at him were rimmed with dark circles. Faint traces of lines-of-care etching his otherwise youthful features were evidence of a hardy life outdoors.

Lawton slung a rapier, sheathed in a fine leather scabbard, onto a baldrick about his waist. Donning his cape and grabbing his wide-brimmed felt hat, he walked confidently back to the main deck to oversee the approach to the quay.

In time, the bark turned in to Billingsgate and headed for a vacant spot along the stone quay on the west side of the watergate. Lawton positioned crewmen along the larboard side. They tossed lines to longshoremen spread out atop the quay. Slowly, the bark was hauled in and secured bow-in along the quay. After the vessel was safely docked, Lawton’s men hurriedly gathered up their seabags and arranged themselves on the main deck to receive a final addressal by their shipmaster.

I want to thank each of you for helping us to pull through back there in Cadiz, Lawton began. Without your courage and discipline, we never would have gotten out. You are each most splendid examples of English sailors and fighting men. I’d stack you up against the best sailors or soldiers the Spanish can muster, either on land or at sea.

The men beamed at Lawton’s praise. Let’s hear it for the Master, Riggs prompted after a pause. The men let out a cheer.

Mr. Lawton showed those landlubbing soldiers in those tubs they call galleys how real seamen fight, one man exclaimed.

Thank you very much, Lawton said with a grateful smile. His demeanor quickly grew solemn. Now let us offer a moment of silence for our martyred compatriots, Whately, Heatherby and Smithe. May the Lord keep their souls.

The men dropped their heads and muttered silent prayers. Once finished, Lawton dismissed them with the understanding they would meet at the ship for their pay on the morrow. The gangplank was slid over the side of the ship to the quay. All but the four sea officers hoisted their seabags and headed out for the night seeking taverns, brothels or their families.

Groups of onlookers had gathered on the quayside. Some awaited loved ones from other ships coming in on the tide, others were merely curious passers-by. Members of both groups sauntered over to the bark. Soon a fair-sized crowd was formed. Many onlookers gestured at the bark and spoke excitedly amongst themselves after learning from disembarking sailors the name the ship and from whence she had returned. A man discovered the smashed section of the ship’s stern and a hubbub of excited voices began to rise.

Presently a slightly out-of-breath, porty man in fancy dress edged his way through the crowd and boarded the ship. He was followed by a customs official and by three halberd-wielding men wearing livery. Lawton greeted the older man grimly but with familiarity. The man represented the bark’s proprietor, the Spanish Company of London.

Before you continue, the gentleman began, "let me inform you that the Primrose made it back before you. It was thought she was the only one of the wheat ships to escape from Spain, until now. Her master relayed to England the news of King Philip’s treachery. He has seized every English and Dutch ship in Spanish ports along with their cargoes and crews. Some say Philip is retaliating for the Queen’s recent pledge to send troops to fight beside the Dutch rebels in the Spanish-occupied Netherlands. Tell me, did you get away with your cargo?"

We had to fight our way out of Cadiz, Lawton replied. We lost three men. They were captured and murdered by the Inquisition. The Spaniards off-loaded the wheat but tried to take us before on-loading their trade goods. We were lucky to get out alive.

Indeed, indeed. God be thanked for your safe return. The Company man was pacing across the deck in consternation. His prayer for Lawton’s men rang hollow. You lost all your cargo and sustained ship damage, to boot. The voyage has been a failure. That is…most unfortunate. At least you brought the ship back. We lost several over there. My cousin, the Director, may be placated in some measure by that fact. I guess you should be congratulated in some measure.

Lawton glanced at Riggs with distaste clearly showing on his countenance. Riggs returned a look of agreement; the fat landlubber cared only about his investments, not a wit about the death of three of their fellow crewmen. Lawton was confident that this Company man, eager for a scapegoat, would fry him if he could find reason. The Spanish Company cared more for balanced account sheets than for the welfare of its hirelings, Lawton mused: ‘Their dealing with the enemy reflects a certain lack of fortitude. Nothing else about these moneylenders should surprise me.’

I’ll give you a full narrative in the morning, Lawton said while brusquely handing the Company man the ship’s log. Meanwhile, you can study this while we put our feet on dry land again. Good night, sir.

The Company man spoke to Lawton’s retreating backside as the customs man studied the ship’s log: Without cargo there will be no need for inventories or a declaration of goods. There’s no need for you to remain here, nor me either, at that. He then dismissed his private guards, muttering that there was nothing on board worth guarding.

Lawton and the officers walked across the plank without looking back. Once ashore, Lawton shook the hands of each of his officers on the dusty, stony quay and wished them goodnight. Each man went his own way. Lawton brushed aside questions from onlookers about his voyage. He proceeded off the quay to Thames Street and headed for a pre-selected tavern for food, drink and merrymaking.

Lawton reveled in newfound freedom among open spaces away from the close confines of the bark. Still feeling his sea legs, he nevertheless gave his best effort at effecting the swaggering yet measured stride he preferred when in public. He adjusted the rapier hanging unfamiliarly about his waist. He had not borne the weapon, except for one fateful night in Spain, within the last two months. His studied courtier facade rewarded him with the admiring stare of more than one woman strolling down Thames Street taking in the evening air. At each silent greeting, Lawton tipped his hat with a flourish.

Upon the waterfront, sailors roamed in small boisterous groups as they made their ways to nearby taverns. Along the street stood wooden structures of shops, warehouses and tenements. Seldom did any of them rise more than two stories in height. Many of the ships moored or docked along the riverfront echoed with activity as supplies were laden or unladen by a host of laborers. From trade shops came the din of over-worked coopers and blacksmiths. Carpenters and sailmakers were finishing last-minute repairs on nautical equipment needed for the next day’s sailing.

A few blocks east of the watergate, Lawton turned north onto a dark, narrow lane between silent warehouses and closed shops. He walked carefully up the street, probing with his feet for potholes as he proceeded. Within the many dark alleys and overhangs of London, the specter of robbers and thieves was ever present. Out of habit, Lawton placed his sword hand on the hilt of his rapier as he continued toward his destination. Presently, he heard a gradually increasing, riotous clamor denoting his proximity to the pub he was seeking. Several buildings up ahead, isolated among warehouses, a friendly light emanated from the open door of The Barnacle. Lawton smiled in anticipation. Slurred verses of sea songs and a general babble of merrymaking issued from the pub. Lawton knew the place well. It was a haven for swarthy sea dogs, sailors, rivermen and pirates. He usually made it his practice to spend his first evenings back from sea in this establishment. He enjoyed the rowdy atmosphere and the steady flow of sack and ale. Inside, he hoped to greet old acquaintances, gather the latest news and gossip, make contacts for future sailing endeavors, and rub elbows with fellow seamen.

As Lawton approached the inviting door, a chorus of yells presaged the precipitous flight of two men onto the street directly in front of him. They were locked in a violent embrace and continued their struggle in the dirt. Lawton gingerly sidestepped to avoid the rolling flesh, stepped over a huge pile of manure, and finally crossed the threshold into the pub. Inside was a hearth holding a huge crackling fire which lighted a large, single room. A flickering orange glow revealed about a score of men seated at benches or standing beside a bar running the length of the far wall. The low ceiling, which barely cleared the top of Lawton’s plumed hat, was supported by several thick, axe-hewn, oaken trunks carved with the figures of ships, sea-serpents and exotic flora and fauna. The bar consisted of a low wall of crudely mortared flintstones topped by a worn wooden covering. A dozen wooden tables and benches rested precariously upon a cobblestoned floor. The benches were occupied by men in various stages of intoxication. They were served by buxom young lasses wearing low-cut woolen gowns and maiden caps. A few women lingered between the arms of patrons, laughing eagerly in their friendly embraces.

The rustic look of the tavern was augmented by souvenirs adorning the mantelpiece of the fireplace and the shelves on the wall behind the bar. Among the items were Spanish helmets (some with gaping tears in their crowns), rusted swords, a disabled arquebus, the front half of a metal breast plate (with a round hole punched through it) and a pair of pewter goblets. Additionally, a Spanish Hidalgo pennant, bearing an ornate coats-of-arms embroidered on silk, hung from the ceiling. A crude map of the New World was affixed to one wall. It purportedly originated from a 1520 Heidelberg School of Cartographer collection.

Lawton took in the familiar surroundings with a quick glance while scanning patrons for familiar faces or hostile intent. Eyes turned appraisingly on him as patrons noted his nearly six-foot stature, broad shoulders and gentlemanly attire. Three men, still laughing at the two they had just precipitated through the doorway, moved quickly to one side. Lawton strode across the room to the bar. He ordered a deep tankard of ale and settled down to business.

Lawton leaned one elbow against the bar and raised the tankard until the frothy head of the beverage touched his mustache. At that moment, his eyes met those of a sea-weathered, wind-hardened face set above a gray-flecked brown beard at the far end of the bar. Lawton continued tilting the tankard as coarse, cool draught poured down his throat. His Adam’s apple rose and fell with each gulp until the tankard was empty. All the while his eyes remained fixed on the mariner. With a deep, throaty gasp, Lawton banged the empty tankard on the bar and licked the ale foam from his mustache.

A faint smile stretched the mariner’s lips within a full but well-trimmed beard which formed a point below the chin and tapered back toward his ears. Brown, wavy locks, with just a touch of gray along the temples, hung down below the mariner’s ears. The mariner’s head was covered by a large broad-brimmed hat with a long, white plume sweeping up and back along one side. A great starch-stiffened ruff encircled his neck above a richly embroidered doublet.

Lawton smiled as recognition of the mariner’s indelible features solidified in his mind. The mariner’s face was stern of countenance, unmoving as a rocky shoal against a wave, yet when he smiled, lines of mirth and roguish dimples adorned ruddy cheeks. A prominent, but finely chiseled nose filled the mariner’s face, suggesting a noble character, if not a noble birth. His eyes were colored a deep green flecked with gray. His eyes were pierced by wide, coal-black pupils, like windows into the depths of the sea. His large round head rested upon a bullish neck, suggesting a stubborn and indomitable spirit lied within.

The mariner reached for his own tankard. Raising it in salute, he pursed his lips and nodded in greeting. He placed the tankard to his mouth and drained the contents dry with only a single downstroke of his Adam’s apple. With a thud, he slammed the empty tankard on the bar, swallowed once and let out a long, low rumbling belch.

Fill me up again, barkeeper, and my friend here. Let us drink to the health of a thirsty sea dog fresh from the bosom of the sea and the very jaws of a Spanish trap. Addressing Lawton in his deep, rumbling voice the mariner continued: Good to see you again, my good man. He reached across and slapped Lawton’s shoulder with a thick, broad hand. You’ve made a name for yourself, Robert, as the son of William Lawton should. You’ve got your father’s sea blood, God rest his soul, and his fiery spirit.

Lawton’s smile faded to a grim line but returned following the jolt of another slap of the mariner’s hand to his shoulder.

Captain Richard Hawthorne, scourge of the Atlantic and the Mediterranean, Lawton said. Foe of all Catholics that dare to sail upon the Narrow Seas. It is no wonder finding you anchored in this pleasant cove. It’s been many fair summers since I last laid eyes on your fearsome visage.

As he spoke, Lawton clasped hands with Hawthorne and came near to having his hand crushed in a powerful grip. In a lower voice, he continued. Gossip often travels fast, but I find it has been exceptionally prompt to precede me to this place. Cadiz was a grim affair. I’m not ready to flaunt it yet, if ever. I’ve not yet fully briefed the Company, nor the Queen’s men. I’ve many sobering concerns about my future welfare. I fear that this formerly anonymous and lowly merchantman has rather rapidly earned the scrutiny of the courts of both England and Spain.

Sobering thoughts and counsel can wait until the morrow, Robert, Hawthorne said. I have friends at court, England’s court, who can speak fair words of you to the Queen. As for the other court of which you speak; cannon fire and sword thrusts are all we need to answer with to them. You have crossed a great line, my lad, from the realm of the trader to the fighter. You have bitten the hand that feeds your fat, comfortable, landlubbing London merchants, and bitten it well. Tell me all about the episode so I can get it straight from the source.

Hawthorne scanned the room as he spoke. All eyes were upon them, and people were starting to flock to the bar from all corners of the room. Men even set aside the friendly bar maids to get a closer audience to the discourse.

These are all faces I know, Hawthorne said reassuringly. You can speak freely. There are no Catholics here, nor Marionites. This is not the place for either.

Lawton took a deep draught of ale and began. I’ve lost three good men: brave sailors and proud Englishmen. It grieves me to speak of it, but I can’t be silent. Anger wells up inside me whenever I recall their twitching bodies aflame at the stake and their screams as the barbaric flames of those demon spawn, those papist devils of the Inquisition, consume their flesh. Those Spanish followers of the Antichrist took my lads because they were English and followed the church of our good Queen Bess and not that of the foreign Pope of Rome.

Cries and gasps echoed in the tavern at Lawton’s words. A tumult of voices expressed shock and indignation. Hawthorne raised his hand and the babble subsided. Lawton continued.

I mastered a bark that brought us to the port of Cadiz in Spain with a cargo of English wheat destined for famine relief. I had sailed for the Spanish Company of London dozens of times previously to Spain. We had always been decently treated there, and why not? Spain has great need for our goods, especially with pirates and ships of reprisal raiding their sea lanes. Spain and England have a long history of trade and cooperation between them going back to the days of Henry VII. The Spanish Company itself had been trading since 1577. My ventures with them had been profitable and far less risky and bloody than reprisal ventures, until now. My crew was betrayed, three of my men were cooked, my cargo was taken, and my ship was attacked. We barely got out of Cadiz harbor alive and would not have but for the grace of God.

Tell us how you escaped, a voice cried out from the crowd. Lawton took another long draught on his tankard which was instantly filled by an attentive bartender.

"We sailed from London to Cadiz in the latter part of April. There are Spanish traders in Cadiz with whom we have regularly dealt so we headed there instead of closer harbors like Corunna or Vigo in the north of Spain. The weather was contrary for most of the voyage, so we were compelled to put in to Lisbon for several days. Our reception was tense, but the Portuguese and their Spanish masters were finally satisfied we were innocent traders and left us alone. King Philip had signed terms of safe passage for the London Merchants months before. When we finally put into the outer harbor of Cadiz, we were challenged by one of the galleys that guards its entrance. Spanish officials examined our trading pass and inspected our cargo. They let us proceed to berthing in the inner harbor. All seemed normal, and we had not an inkling of impending trouble.

"We tied up along the quayside of Cadiz. I supervised the unloading of cargo which took up the remainder of the day and much of the evening. Fortunately for us, though I didn’t consider it at the time, we were berthed very near the north entrance to the inner harbor. No ships could block the way out unless they moored behind us, which none did.

"For those of you who have never been to Cadiz, you must understand the arrangement of the city and harbor. Cadiz is built on a narrow spit of land which stretches in a northerly direction. It shelters a large outer harbor, a smaller inner harbor and a narrow entrance between them. Many deeper draught ships cannot enter the inner harbor due to the shallowness of its entrance. The passage from the outer harbor to the Atlantic is guarded by a great stone fort built on the northernmost expanse of a spit of land. The guns from the fort command the outer harbor, the passage to the sea and the seaward approaches to the harbor.

"Now, after the ship was unloaded, a Spanish trader named Lorenzo Ramirez, whom I know well and trust, informed me that due to the festival in the city and the lateness of the hour, the loading of our returning cargo and supplies would have to wait until the morrow. There was nothing unusual about this, so I bid him goodnight and released some of my men to their liberty. I left a small crew to guard the bark. This was common practice. I had satisfactorily impressed upon the men the need to keep a low profile and to stay out of trouble for obvious reasons. In fact, most of us attended dinner at the home of an Italian trader I have known for some time through my travels. Everyone but Smithe, Whately, Heatherby and Tompkins were either aboard the bark or with me. The four lads were all very trustworthy and I didn’t worry for their safety: a fatal error.

"The main course of the dinner was over, and it was a very sumptuous dinner I might add, when a Spanish official who had been invited to the dinner arrived late. He informed us that an anti-English demonstration was expected imminently, reflecting some turn in international affairs and Philip’s fickle temperament. The official advised us to get underway as soon as possible and not to wait for our return cargo. Knowing well the avaricious nature of my employers I decided to wait until the morning to sail with the cargo: my second error.

I sent two men to the familiar haunts to find the four crewmen and bring them back to the ship. I had decided to ready the ship for hasty departure should it become necessary. The two men had not been gone fifteen minutes when Ramirez the trader arrived breathlessly. He had heard from an officer of the Spanish garrison that an order had been received to impound all English ships, crews and cargoes in Spain. More ominous was the news that the Spanish Inquisition was in town pledging to arrest any Lutherans" who might be among the crews.

"At this point I became alarmed. I bade farewell to my Italian friend and ordered all the crewmen to the bark except for a few doughty men with whom I intended to search for the rest of the crew. Before we ventured forth, the two men I had dispatched returned at a dead run with Tompkins along, nursing a wound in his arm. Tompkins relayed how he and the three missing men had been drinking at a cantina when their presence and nationality had been betrayed to the Inquisition. A gang of soldiers led by clergy had seized all but Tompkins who had managed to escape after wounding two soldiers. Tompkins said there had been a brief but fierce fight and that the others had been taken.

"Ramirez begged me to return to the ship and get underway, but I was determined to find, and if possible, rescue my men. I wasn’t thinking clearly in my rage. I felt as if I could tear the whole city apart with my bare hands to find them. I brought five men with me. We took back alleys to the cantina. Crowds of onlookers were observing the removal of several dead or wounded Spaniards. There was no sign of any Englishman, but we could hear a din coming from the direction of the city square. We approached the square warily, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. In the Square were gathered scores of onlookers. They were cheering throatily as a priest shouted condemnations against three men tied to stakes at the center of the square and surrounded by a cordon of soldiers. They were Smithe, Heatherby and Whately.

"What followed next was horrible. Oil was poured on the three men and burning brands were thrust into faggots strewn about their feet. The sounds of their screams were horrible. My men had to drag me away. I was trying to draw my sword and charge into the mass of priests and soldiers, intent on killing as many of them as I could before the end. I recovered my senses as we hurried to the harbor.

"We again used back alleys, so much as our limited knowledge of Cadiz allowed. We had just rounded the corner of a warehouse and caught the first sight of our bark when I called to the men to duck back around the structure. I had seen a number of soldiers posted around the quay in front of the bark with weapons displayed. They were shouting to the English sailors aboard the bark. I called a hasty council. Our options were limited as the guards outnumbered us three-to-one, at least. As we discussed our perplexing situation, a young boy came running breathlessly down the street behind us. I recognized him immediately as one of Ramirez’s servants. I grabbed him and pulled him aside. Ramirez had sent him to relay that those crewmen whom I had earlier dispatched to the ship were hiding in a nearby warehouse used by Ramirez to store trade goods. The servant had warned them about the soldiers at the quay and they were awaiting my orders.

"The servant led us to the warehouse where we were reunited with the rest of my men still ashore. Together we numbered fourteen. All of us were trained in weapons and some of us were veterans of bitter deck fighting. We each carried swords and there were a few braces of pistols between us. I organized a tight formation with pistoleers in front with swords in their free hands. I instructed them to fire point-blank at the Spanish halberdiers. The rest of the fight would be hand-to-hand or as the Spaniards like to say, mano a mano.

"We moved stealthily to the quayside without being noticed and then we rushed silently at the soldiers. Their attention was riveted to four Englishmen aboard the bark with whom they traded insults. One of them, Walter Riggs, was brandishing a gunwale-mounted swivel gun which held the soldiers at bay. The soldiers barely heard our footfalls before we were upon them. The fighting was bitter. The reports of pistols, the clash of swords and the screams and oaths of men echoed off the hulls of nearby ships. The fight was over within minutes. Several Spaniards were dead, several were wounded, and the rest ended up wallowing in the harbor whither they had fled. We suffered some minor wounds amongst us but nothing serious, so fierce and sudden was our onslaught.

"We crossed the gangplank as soon as it was laid out. I ordered men into the masts and to the lines in preparation for getting underway. Riggs explained he had been parleying, as he put it, with the Spaniards for almost three-quarters of an hour. He had offered them silver he claimed we had on board and then he had threatened them with the swivel gun. We were fortunate Riggs had the sense not to use the swivel gun on the Spaniards at the start of our charge, as its report would surely have roused the Cadiz fortress. As it was, we had to get out of the outer harbor before the garrison was alerted to our escape lest we be blown out of the water by their great guns.

"God was with us that night for there was a stiff breeze blowing from the far inland hills. Our sails filled as soon as they were let out. We worked silently and showed no lanterns as we crept out of the inner harbor and made our way across the outer harbor toward the entrance to the sea. There was no moon that night, but the faint glow of daylight grew in the eastern sky as we slowly approached the fortress. All hands strained attentively on the sheets to catch every bit of wind. The tide was going out, fortunately, for the land breeze was beginning to slacken. With torturous slowness we approached the walls of the fortress while entering the seaward passage. Still there were no signs of alert or pursuit.

"The breeze was almost down to nothing, and time seemed to crawl as we were ever so slowly drawn out to sea on the tide beneath the guns of the fortress. There was no sign of any activity along its walls. I was willing to wager most of the garrison were drunk from the festival.

We still had some distance to go to bring us out of range of the guns and still no increase in the wind when we saw the shape of a man silhouetted against the false dawn as he ran up to the fortress from the city. We feared that soon an alarm would be raised prompting the great guns of the fort to open fire. I prayed, I believed then, in vain.

Lawton paused and took several deep draughts of ale. He waited to let it settle, then he took some more mouthfuls until the tankard was empty. The faces in the crowd all bore the same expressions of keen anticipation. Lawton rubbed his hand across his brow then belched long and low.

Hurry, dammit, man. Hawthorne exclaimed. Get on with the story, the suspense is killing me.

"I ordered all the sweeps to be manned to quicken our departure. I was no longer concerned about the telltale sounds of their deployment. Seconds crept into minutes yet still the guns were silent. Then, as we cleared the shelter of the northern hill, the breeze picked up again. I praised God and Spanish wine that the sleepy drunkards at the fortress had not abstained that night. The growing light made us a plain target, but we were almost out of maximum accurate range of the fortress guns. Presently, however, a flash of light followed by a rumbling blast and a cloud of black smoke, issued from one of the fortress guns. The cannon ball splashed the water harmlessly, far behind us. Within the next ten minutes several cannon balls impacted the water, never coming within 100 yards of us. Soon it became clear to all that we were effectively out of range. Their guns fell silent.

"My men let out a cheer that proved short-lived. A lookout cried out. Looking aft, I saw a harbor galley bearing down upon us. Her many oars were dipping rapidly in and out of the water. The galley’s single square sail was straining to the same breeze that was blowing us out to sea. Presently the galley’s huge, bow-mounted demi-cannon opened fire, and a ball impacted the water less than 30 yards from the bark. We were still too close to the coast and the fortress’ guns for effective maneuvering room, so we continued straight out to sea. The Spaniards’ demi-cannon boomed again and again, as fast as their gunners could load and fire it, which was not fast at all. Round shot was splashing into the water closer and closer as the galley gained on us. Once within range, that gun could have sunken us for certain.

"My insistence at being heavily armed at the onset of the voyage now paid off. I ordered our four demi-culverins loaded with crossbar and primed with fresh powder. I had the stern chaser and the two sakers and swivel guns loaded, as well. I had all four demi-culverins hauled over to the starboard side. The men I could spare from the sails armed themselves with every available arquebus. They deployed against the gunwales, kneeling behind the thick wood. I was waiting for the galley to close well within range of our long-barreled stern chaser which, normally, would have outdistanced the galley’s monstrous gun. I wanted to ensure that each of our shots were effective, but I waited a little too long. As I was giving the preparatory commands for a turn to starboard, the galley’s demi-cannon scored a hit against the aft section of the sterncastle. The massive iron ball smashed through the superstructure and bounced along the half and main decks, ultimately lodging in the fo’c’sle bulkhead. A splinter took Bowman in the cheek giving his countenance a rather bloody look. I wager he’ll bear a scar for life.

"I ordered the stern chaser to fire and sent a ball into the low forward superstructure of the galley among the crowded soldiers. Smoke largely obscured the carnage I knew we had wrought.

"I then brought the ship about into a hard starboard turn. Once the galley’s line of bearing was crossed, I brought all starboard guns to bear. The galley was within 200 yards and three of the four shots caught it nicely. One smashed a row of oars, the other pierced the hull of the bow at the waterline and the third took the rail off the forecastle. This last shot impacted the mainmast, breaking it in twain. The wind-swollen sail pulled the mast over forward, where it fell among the soldiers on the crowded deck. I gave the order to turn hard to larboard to bring the wind behind us again and the stern chaser to bear. Once done, we sent round shot into the galley’s demi-cannon, silencing it forever. A truly incredible shot, that one.

"It was now time for the kill, time to seek revenge for our losses. I ordered the demi-culverins reloaded and moved over to the larboard side. We sailed close-hauled on the larboard tack on a northeast track a distance, then we came about head to wind, close-hauled on the starboard tack. We veered back toward the galley next on their weatherside with the wind behind us. The galley was lumbering about on its larboard side oars and was quite helpless. We sailed within musket range and gave them a broadside while sailing on a more-or-less parallel course to them on a slanting run to the southwest. Our range was so close, less than 100 yards, that three of our balls pierced the galley’s gunwale. One slammed into its hull at the waterline between wind and water. The screams of their wounded and dying could be heard plainly from across the intervening distance.

"As we made this closest approach of the encounter, we let fly with small arms fire and discharged our swivel gun. We scored several hits among the soldiers, only some of whom attempted ineffectual return fire.

"The galley was dead in the water now and clearly listing to starboard by the bow, so we continued on our way. We shaped a course to the northwest and England. Another galley soon emerged from Cadiz harbor but found easier work helping its stricken comrades than pursuing us.

During the return voyage we encountered no more enemy ships but grew rather short on supplies. We returned with barely a few days remaining. We had to do a little belt tightening before we reached the glorious sight of Gravesend at the mouth of the Thames. Which reminds me, I’m hungry for enough good food to feed several Englishmen.

And you shall eat well tonight, my treat, Hawthorne said. The men in the crowd were heaping praise on Lawton for his ship handling and sea fighting skills. Lawton nodded his head grimly and stared at the base of the tankard. He fingered the bronze handle as the bartender eagerly poured him another round.

Nothing changes the fact that I lost three good men back there, Lawton said. I’m finished with the Spanish Company. I’ll never treat with a Spaniard again except at the end of a gun barrel or the point of a sword. Death to Philip!

Lawton raised up his tankard and drank its contents as a tumult of voices arose into bitter discourses against the Spanish. The patrons recounted all past transgressions they could recall by the King of Spain against the subjects of Queen Elizabeth.

Hawthorne had been listening intently during the story. His hand had gripped his tankard until his knuckles whitened.

Quite an imaginative maneuver, crossing their line of bearing, with so little time to consider tactics, Hawthorne said. You definitely have the ear of the crowd here tonight, my friend, but come with me. Let us find a table and fill that gut of yours before you have anything more to drink. We have some catching up to do.

Hawthorne led Lawton to a table in a far corner of the tavern where surroundings were more amiable to private conversation.

The plate here is as good as ever, Robert, Hawthorne said as they sat down on the benches. He lit a candle in the table’s midst with a neighboring table’s candlewick.

I admit it has been some time since I last lingered in this cheery establishment, den of pirates though it may be, Lawton said. It was not long enough to forget the wholesome board kept here...nor the wholesome lasses. Lawton put an arm around the full waist of a bonneted hostess. She giggled delightedly and placed a hand on Lawton’s broad shoulder. She squeezed the hard muscles there before slipping out of his grasp to take their orders.

When she had gone, Hawthorne visually searched Lawton’s face for several moments. He beheld a man still flush in the prime of his life, brimming with youthful exuberance, yet looks of weariness and sorrow clouded his countenance. His handsome face was still full, however, his vitality unabated. Hawthorne was reminded of how his own reflection might have appeared only a few years back. Though only 38, Hawthorne could easily be taken for much older. The elements and long years at sea, often undernourished, overstressed and weighed down by responsibilities and disappointments, had taken a heavy toll on Hawthorne’s visage. Indeed, among his peers Hawthorne was coming to be considered an old man. Youth commanded the seas, Hawthorne mused. Men Lawton’s age, and even those younger, had captained many fighting ships in recent years.

You look more and more like your father; the sea is shaping you to his image, Hawthorne said. I miss him even more when I see you. How is your family? Is all well at home?

Last I saw of them, Lawton said, Mother was still hale, working hard running the family home in Faversham. Constance and Ruth still live with her as does Harold, Ruth’s husband. Ruth married Harold three years ago. He is a stout fisherman from Rochester who brings much sustenance to the household, for which I am grateful. I’ll be heading home soon for a spell, unless a trading venture awaits me in London. My last was not exactly a financial success and I’ll need employment soon.

How is your brother William faring? You haven’t mentioned him. I’d heard he went off to Ireland with the Earl of Essex.

Yes, indeed he did. Bill’s a hardy fighter. He hoped to make his fortune by doing great deeds against the Irish rebels. He longs for an estate with land to farm. I’ve heard naught from him nigh on a year. I hope that with the rebellion over he has found his dream there at last. I long to one day hear from him and I pray that he remains unscathed from his service.

Fortunes made by the sword. Hawthorne mused wistfully as he gazed into the candle flame. `Tis an age-old quest which too often yields only ruin. I should know; my sword has been bloodied many a time. We live in an age where fortunes can be found over each horizon, but it’s not a land horizon I speak of, not that of Ireland. Ireland possesses naught but earth which is doled out at the whim of lords. The fortune I speak of plies upon the wide Atlantic and among the isles of the New World beneath canvas sails adorned with Spanish crosses. The treasure of the world in silver and gold is being plundered by the Spanish and sailed east across the Atlantic beneath our very noses. Meanwhile Philip and his lords and bishops grow fat on the riches they exclude all others in the world from partaking.

Hawthorne’s eyes widened as he spoke. Lawton could see the candle reflecting on his dark pupils, as if the flames of perdition were burning within.

I have gone that route before, Lawton said, with my father in his flyboat in the Channel, waylaying Flemish, French and Spanish prizes. The cost was high: my brother Donald lost, Father’s leg made lame, his ship ultimately ruined beyond repair.

Yes, but it brought him the wherewithal to build a gracious country home for a charming lady, your mother, Hawthorne said. From the profits he made in the Channel, often in consort with yours truly, he was able to partially finance several profitable ventures to Muscovy and Sweden. Your father turned from privateering to trading. A wise choice at the time. There lied the greater returns, but today the wind is changing. War with Spain is quickening. A struggle for the seas goes on, and the victor will take the New World and maybe the Old World as well. You exemplify this situation with your sudden transition from trader to warrior. Cadiz was your awakening.

Cadiz, I fear, was my transition to poverty, Lawton replied. If I find no ship on which to venture before the end of summer I might as well join my brother in Ireland. I’ll not sail as a deck hand or a simple mate on a Channel scow; I’ve paid my dues. I want to partake in a venture as a ship master, or at least as a senior sea officer on a galleon. Unfortunately, all the good ships this season have either sailed or have officer billets filled. Positions are scarce with these popular… Lawton looked around and spoke lower, ‘armed trading ventures’ that have been outfitting of late.

The waitress returned with ale and bread, cheese and meat pies. Lawton and Hawthorne dug in. Lawton relished every bite of the first wholesome food he had consumed in weeks.

Hawthorne spoke between mouthfuls. "There’s always the Queen’s ships with the Channel Guard or a billet with an impressed great ship provided by noblesse oblige. Good, patriotic duty. Maybe you should head for Chatham."

Lawton scoffed, filled his mouth with pie and chased it down with ale. The royal dockyards are close to home, yes. The pay in the Queen’s service may keep me alive until spring, barely, if I get it at all. Besides, wallowing about home waters waiting for the Armada to come this year or the next or the next while fever spreads from man to man…no thank you.

You’ve no stomach to fight then? Hawthorne shot a piercing glance over the lip of his tankard at Lawton. Was someone else the master of that bark at Cadiz?

I’ve a stomach for fighting, Lawton said, but a mind for profit. There’s no profit to be had in the Channel Guard; that much is obvious. And I’ve seen enough damaged hulks left with only half a crew of starving and sickly men limping in from the New World or the Azores with little to show for the effort. I’ve a stomach for fighting, yes. I’ve a score to settle with the Spaniards, but I’ve got my future too. I’ve got dreams of my own merchant vessel and a house on an ocean-side cliff in Dover.

You have not been to Plymouth, man, nor Devonshire, not in recent years, Hawthorne said. "There lies the wealth of the sea dogs. Drake, Hawkins and Grenville have brought a fortune of Spanish silver and gold to England. You should see the estates these men have built from what they reaped from the sea. The petty profits our forefathers made smuggling into the Medway are put to shame by comparison. The sea dogs of Plymouth are gathering to give or take the first blows in the war against Spain; for it is by Plymouth that the Armada must first pass to enter the Channel.

You have a grudge against Spain, you say. You wish to earn profits, you say. Look to Plymouth, Robert. Leave your trading ventures behind. Duty calls. A strike at Spain is a strike for England and a chance for wealth and glory.

Hawthorne lowered his voice and leaned forward with eyes narrowed and brows furrowed in a conspiratorial manner. "I am putting together a venture to the West Indies, to the trading routes of the Spanish Main. A squadron is being assembled. Certain merchants are pooling their resources for an enterprise against the Spanish that, if successful, should yield great dividends for all involved. I, for one, plan on being successful. I’m to be captain and master of the Elanor Rose of Deptford and her controlling owner. Keep this to yourself, for now, Robert.

"The Queen, God save her soul, is a fickle ruler. Her policies towards Philip swing from appeasement to confrontation and back again. The intricacies of court politics are beyond my humble scope, but I have a finger on the pulse of its current trend. I’ve friends at court who tell me now is not a good time for reprisal ventures, not official ones at least. But with a one-third share of all profits bound for Whitehall, the Queen will doubtless turn her head the other way if we cover our tracks. It may be soon, however, that letters of reprisal are granted. Talk to no one about this matter; Spain has ears in London.

If you are interested in more talk on these matters -- and knowing you are your father’s son, I’m sure you are -- come to my house Wednesday for dinner, say four o’clock. Several members of my syndicate will be meeting there and, of course, Emily will be there, too.

I’d be honored, sir, to dine at your proud table, if for no other reason than to enjoy the gracious company of your lovely wife, Elanor, and your niece. I have not seen Emily since childhood. How fares she?

She is grown into a beautiful woman like her mother, my sister, was. She is like my own daughter now. Since the fire took her father and the plague, her mother, Elanor and I have been her only family. No man has claimed her yet, though at nineteen she is overdue in that regard.

Hawthorne finished the last of his ale. He pushed aside his empty plate and dropped some coins on the table in its place.

Well, Robert, it’s time for me to head home to Elanor. It’s a bit of a walk and the night is late and dark. I’ve chores to do on the morrow and I must be going. It was truly a pleasure to see you again, to behold the fullness of a man your father had begotten. When I sailed with your father years ago in the Channel and watched you work the sails as a lad, I suspected you would someday amount to something. Enjoy dry land while you may. The sea will beckon soon. It always does.

Lawton stood up with Hawthorne and bade him goodnight with a warm handshake and a thanks for the meal. Hawthorne adjusted his rapier, cast his cloak around him and stepped beyond the tavern’s threshold into the night.

Lawton settled down for some hearty sea stories with other patrons before retiring to a guest bed upstairs for the night. In the final moments before sleep sent his ale-soaked mind wandering on distant nocturnal journeys, Lawton imagined a shifting wooden deck beneath his feet under the hot tropical sun of the Caribbean - a place he had never been, yet somehow perceived in his mind’s eye. He dreamed of booming cannon, open chests of gleaming silver, and a house of his own upon a cliff in Dover.

CHAPTER II

London Town

Lawton removed his hat and used a handkerchief to wipe away the perspiration remaining on his brow that had formed during his just-concluded interview with the Queen’s officials. He stood upon a wharf just outside the Traitor’s Gate of the Tower of London. Before him was a wide cobblestoned area adjacent to the Thames, upon which were placed numerous pieces of the Queen’s heavy ordnance. Soldiers in the livery of the Queen were on parade. An ornately decorated barge was pulling up to the watergate directly in front of him. He decided it was time to leave the environs before he crossed the path of some great lord, one of the Queen’s ministers, or even the Queen herself. His brief introduction to the interior of the Tower was the closest he ever wanted to the inner workings of the government. He had heard too many stories of people entering the Tower but not returning, especially from this gate.

Lawton turned to the west and walked quickly along the low wall on his right. Beyond the wall was a moat surrounding the outer ramparts of the sprawling Tower complex and the grounds on all sides. Beyond the moat, high double walls surrounded the inner grounds where the blocky stone pile of the White Tower arose into the sky. Upon reaching the west end of the wharf, Lawton made his way through a gate into an enclosed courtyard which faced north along the west moat. The courtyard was bordered on the west by the backs of row houses which stood along a street on the opposite side known as ‘Petty Wales.’ As he walked north, the courtyard widened as the south moat curved sharply back upon itself to join the waters of the west moat. A stale smell of stagnant water mixed with human effluvia accosted Lawton’s nostrils. After crossing the courtyard, he exited on its north side through the Bulwark Gate which ran between the row houses and the low wall beside the moat.

Lawton found himself in an open field which stretched north beyond the area of the moat to form a gentle rise called Tower Hill. At the northwest part of Tower Hill were gallows used for executing Tower prisoners. Tearing his gaze quickly away from the ominous sight, Lawton began traversing Petty Wales. He passed through the entrance to Tower Street and headed west into the heart of London.

The sun was beginning to peak through gray clouds following a morning rain. Lawton thought it fortunate that his first day back in London should grow so fair. He pushed aside thoughts of his interview in the Tower about the Cadiz affair as he prepared to take in the familiar sights of the bustling city.

As Lawton proceeded, the amount of people increased in proportion to the wooden homes and shops which began crowding the muddy road. Pedestrians and an occasional horseman moved briskly by on errands or strolled along in a leisurely