by Doug Walker
CHAPTER TWENTY
The following morning at breakfast, he told his three cadets about the English victory over an uprising in Ireland in 1580. At that time a band of Irish exiles with Vatican blessing returned to the western tip of Ireland and launched what they hoped would be a general uprising. Their pleas for help brought up to 800 Spanish and Italian volunteers.
“A small squadron of English vessels, including the Tiger and the Revenge, attacked the rebel forces located on a peninsula that pushed into the bay. Here’s the tactic that I’m certain will be repeated against our Armada,” García said. “The larger ships lay somewhat off the coast in deep water. Their sails were furled, but they were not anchored. They bombarded the fort, it was called the Golden Fort, or Castello del Oro, with their bow guns.”
“These were effective?” Jose asked.
“Very,” García replied. “There were three small, swift vessels. They came into shallower water loaded with sail, firing as they came, then turned at the last moment to fire broadsides, then turned and ran firing their stern cannon.”
“And?” Don Diego asked.
“After three days the defenders surrendered upon a promise of fair terms.”
“And they were permitted to leave Ireland?” Francisco asked.
“No. All but 15 were executed.”
“The bloody English,” Don Diego spat.
García shrugged. His was the certain knowledge that the Armada was standing into danger.
What might be called the first day of the battle did not go badly for the Spanish. The English were duly impressed by the mighty flotilla and the seamanship to hold it in formation. They failed to close and fired from long range, moving in a line down the length of the armada, discharging their broadsides, then turning and sailing back, permitting the other side of their vessels to fire broadsides.
However, the Spanish lost a pair of important ships. First the San Salvador, which was heavily armed and the seat of the fleet’s paymaster, suffered a tremendous explosion from within. Many survivors, along with the royal treasure, were evacuated and the ship left to the English, who towed it to Weymouth.
The second ship lost was the Nuestra Señora del Rosario, which suffered a series of mishaps, finally losing its foremast and left floundering. A decision was made not to delay the Armada, and the ship fell into the hands of Sir Francis Drake of the Revenge the following day. Drake came under the suspicion of some English captains who believed he neglected certain fleet duties to enrich himself.
Meanwhile, the former merchantman La Anunciada plodded along in the middle of the Armada, protected by vessels more skilled at warfare. And García continued his training of the cadets, having García instruct them in the firing of small muskets from the quarterdeck. Approximately half of the troops were equipped with primitive firearms.
His frequent inspections of the troopers continued, always accompanied by Sergeant Jesus and usually one of the cadets. Jesus with his short, muscular body and bad eye was feared by the men, and García’s cold-blooded slaying of the best swordsman in Spain had become legend. The occasional discipline problem was dealt with swiftly and harshly.
García fretted daily over the health of his men and their dietary needs. After the mishaps that plagued the Armada on leaving Lisbon, it was forced to put in at Coruña where it was reassembled and resupplied. García took care in restocking to insure his salted and smoked food supplies would not suffer the same spoilage afflicting many of the Armada vessels.
And García continued his whisper campaign to María during the dark hours between the sheets. “If you aspire to rise to power in England, it would be wise to learn English.”
“The English heretics would be wise to school themselves in Spanish,” she replied.
“It works both ways. Do you know any English?”
“Of course. How about you?”
“I speak that language.”
“I guessed you might. There is a suspicion that you might be an English agent sent to throw the Armada into disarray. Your accent is strange, and your background non-existent.”
“If I were capable of such a thing I would be a dark genius.”
“I know. You work in Spain’s interest. When young, we had an English gardener. They are good gardeners, but notoriously bad cooks. He taught me several things.” She paused, and García waited to hear her English. “Good morning, or good day, a greeting. How are you, inquiring after health. Good-bye, a farewell. And the last one was ‘dumbfuka.’”
García stifled a laugh. “Is that a greeting, or a farewell?”
María was serious. “It’s a phrase you might use in a restaurant.”
“In what way?”
“You could say it to a serving person, or possibly a cook. Although it’s rather difficult to understand.”
“I’ll say. Not to make a pun, but it’s not what you’d call in good taste. In fact tasteless would sooner apply.”
“Oh, so you’re the expert.”
“Your gardener was having fun at your expense. You understand.”
“I suppose. Anyway, we seem to be in the thick of things now. Bombarded from afar by the English fleet. We had better use this night to our advantage. Tomorrow belongs to no one.” She turned and cuddled near.