… Some will turn that argument against me. Saying either that he could have rented or purchased one of the King’s ships or some merchant vessel for much less cost; or that he only built the Destiny because there were no English ships able to make the voyage. And then, with a smile, they’ll touch their temples with a finger. As if this was proof of folly. They can be ignored. No madman can design and build a stout sailing ship. Nor would Phineas Phett squander his time upon a mad notion. Not only, sir, that a shipwright of good repute cannot afford to risk work on building a poor ship for an ill-conceived voyage. But it is an honorable custom that the builder must make the first voyage of a new ship himself, if he is asked to. If Ralegh asked him, Master Phett would have gone to Guiana too, like it or not. So I’ll warrant Phett considered carefully the building of Destiny, and weighed well the destination and purpose of the voyage he might have to make.
… Phett’s not the only shipwright in England. But I have yet to hear him called a mad fool.
… Or some say Gondomar offered Ralegh a safe conduct if he would sail a small number of ships and, once arrived at Guiana, lead his men to the mine without arms, the Spanish promising protection.…
… Notice, I do not let go and laugh like a wild monkey. Nor laugh at alehouse philosophers who say he was a bigger fool for not accepting safe conduct, then, thousands of miles away, ignoring, if he chose to, the provision to disarm his men.
… I cannot conceive of a crew of Englishmen who would obey a captain who ordered them to go defenseless among Spaniards.
… As for the other, that clever stratagem dreamed up by alehouse admirals, well, whether well armed or naked as quimmy bitches on the block of a Barbary market, if he was to meet the Spaniard to wave his safe conduct like a battle flag, they must know when he is to arrive and the place of his coming. Half the ships and ordnance of England, all primed to fire, would do him little good if he sailed into harbor to find the fleet of Spain waiting to greet him and Spanish infantry upon the shore, pikes shining and their muskets primed for more than shots of courtesy.
… Not worth the mentioning, the Ambassador’s offer, except to prove Ralegh was no fool. Gondomar may have deemed him old enough to dupe. But I never yet heard of a Spaniard, even a half-wit one, who would trouble himself to prepare a stratagem to frustrate a fool.
… Likewise they tell that Ralegh was too old and sick, unable to command. The power of a lie is in its threads of truth. Ralegh was old for seafaring when he came out of the Tower. No doubt, he never denied it, he had been ill and was not the man he had been. But he gave best proof of his own intent and belief, putting money of his estate into the voyage, not stinting so far as anyone could tell. More than that, though, I say it for Gospel that never a man in England, from master to ship’s boy, will freely sail on a voyage that looks doomed. Nor serve under any man, be he ever so worthy, if that man looks likely to die on them. The truest friends will risk life and limb for each other. And they will do so blithely enough, but not to hasten the death of the friend or to push him into folly.
… No, the builder and investors took him in earnest. Also the King of England and his Council. Also the Spaniard. Also the masters, officers, and seamen. Likewise many of his kinsmen, the flower of Westcountry families linked to him by blood. If Ralegh was mad, then so were they all, and so was all of England.
… Which, I’ll allow, may be the truth. But who shall be called mad in a nation of madmen?
… I think those who are so quick to judge weigh only the evidence on his return. When fever and sorrow had wasted and aged him. When, it is told, he feigned madness, frothed and barked on all fours, to gain time to outwit the King and his enemies. And only this morning his appearance and demeanor at Westminster Hall confirms that.
… If he is mad now, has left his wits somewhere, no man can dare blame him. But the truth remains to be seen. Long before they called him fool, they named him Fox.
… For certain it was foxy, when he made a great show of the building and arming of the Destiny here on the river for the whole world to see. And next assembled a fleet of ships, well armed, victualed, and stored for a long voyage. Rumors flew about the city and all England, as thick as a sky full of larks. Many notions were suggested, the most likely being he would lead his ships to seize Genoa for Savoy. It was bruited about that once at sea he would turn pirate. A gossip he would not stifle, for when some man asked him what his course would be if he failed to find his gold mine, it is said he laughed and said perhaps he would seek another mine, meaning the Spanish plate fleet.
… It did no harm to let men think so. Would serve to keep the Spaniard doubtful and guessing. Doubt of enemies can preserve a voyage without a cannon being fired. Besides which he was gathering, as best he could, from what sort of able-bodied men we have in England nowadays, a crew. Who would be the more eager to join if they imagined such things.
… This much we could see with our own eyes. Could also read the orders he published in Plymouth in May of ’17 for his whole fleet. For many these may be without great import, excepting that there are so many orders for ways of fighting an enemy if engaged at sea. But to any old seaman they are curious. The fullest orders he ever published. And including much that was, in our time common custom at sea. Though never so brief as, say, Sir John Hawkins, Ralegh had not before been so exact and full in his commands.
… This tells me something. Tells that before he was prepared to brave the open sea and before he had tried and tested his men, he knew full well the shabby quality of seamen nowadays. Knew they knew next to nothing. Knew that, as much as is ever possible, all things had to be anticipated. Not merely the unexpected, but the common as well. Knew that most of his men, whether worthless rogues or men of good will and intent, could not be left to act upon wisdom and experience.
… So, no matter who says so—and to defend his life he has said so himself—Ralegh cannot have been astonished that his men were not the best seamen he had sailed with.
… Likewise his orders tell something about his captains and his view of them: that he did not trust them and therefore would keep strict watch. He was to lead in everything, they to follow and obey.
… Not the signature of a timorous man, but the sign of a skeptical one.
… The published orders would be studied by many, both friendly and hostile. His friends and stockholders in the venture who, at the last, may have suffered second thoughts, could be reassured. They could comprehend that he was primed and cocked. King and Council could ponder too. See signs of care and planning. Be prickled by those orders for fighting, their doubts being kept sound and solid, intact. Knowing his plans were in all likelihood betrayed, he knew his greatest defense was the doubt of others. No need to discourage them from doubting. Likewise with Spain; oh, the Spaniard would peruse the orders, word by word, as if written in cipher, studying and sifting everything.
… And Ralegh knew that among his crew, at all ranks, would be intelligencers. Some in the service of stockholders. Some in the service of other nations, including Spain. Some agents of the King and Council. Even Sir Francis Drake could not escape it. The trick Ralegh knew by heart was to keep close-mouthed, though he might seem to babble like a brook. To preserve doubts and suspicion. To trust no man. And to use his own means for intelligence elsewhere. With so much at stake, he would have ways and means to learn the plans and secrets of others. He could not sail without this kind of surety, though he was too crafty to imagine his enemies were not as careful as himself.
… From London he sailed down the Thames with ceremony, Destiny leading his flock of ships, each carrying a full crew, together with gentlemen adventurers and some soldiers. Sailed in good time for the crossing, the middle of March. Beat about the Channel awhile, on account of weather, but also to train and try his men somewhat. Visited the Isle of Wight. Unhurried it seems.…
… From there to Plymouth for a final refitting, revictualing and repairs. There were delays and accidents, and he was forced t
o wait a fortnight or more for one Captain Bailey, who would later leave him. Lay idle at Plymouth until the middle of June, letting fair wind go wasted.
… Here begins more mystery. The route and dates of his voyage are record. But who shall know, now or in time to come, the reasons?
… Seven ships, four of them good-size galleons, left London in March. Among them they carried 138 pieces of heavy ordnance. A formidable fleet. At Plymouth he was joined by six more vessels. Thirteen sailed out of Plymouth with him. And there were rumors he would join forces with a squadron of French, that he planned to join with more English ships off Trinidad.
… Even without the French or more English ships, it was a large fleet of ships. Able to give battle to all but the greatest fleet, with the power to pick prizes like plums off a tree. Able to sack all but the strongest ports. Able to sweep up the Indies like a broom.
… The largest fleet he had ever commanded. Excepting that one day in Cadiz when he led on the Warspite, and then it was the Lord Admiral who was truly in command. Too large and unwieldy. For, I confess, the English have never worked well except in small packs.
… Yet Ralegh knew the risks. One guess is that he never intended to cross to Guiana with all; but, keeping all in doubt and chiefly Spain, he proposed to hold them together as long as he could until he caught the trades and went westward. He knew the Spaniards had sent out packet boats to the New World warning of his coming. This served his advantage, the more so if he delayed. For it placed Brazil, Guiana, the Indies, and Florida into a flurry of preparation and confusion. Each looking to protect his own. All seeking the most protection and defense, and devil take the others. This kept the main fleet of Spain tied to strings, like a puppet. They could not—not in direct offense to a friendly English king—come forth directly to intercept him. They must wait for him to move.
… And the more he delayed, the better. For there is no danger so great that time and the weariness of waiting will not blunt the fear of it. With enough time, he could, if he chose, have the advantage of surprise despite all warnings and preparation.
… He broke land at Plymouth on 12 June. Then encountered fierce contrary winds, storms, foul weather, and tall seas. The winds of June can do that. But what did he do? Most curious, he made a new course to his lost estates in Ireland, to port of Kinsale in County Cork. Where he lingered, visiting old friends and Lord Boyle, who holds title to Ralegh’s estates there. Revictualed and managed to feed his men well while there. Lay idle for seven weeks. Waiting against unfavorable winds is his report.
… Please pardon me for doubting that. I have waited long for winds, but never so long as that. Never so long there was not a breeze a man could sail by, though it might not be the weather he would choose or the breeze he would blow himself. In short, he sailed out of Plymouth and vanished. Reappeared at the port of Kinsale, and there he sat quietly. While many pondered and worried.
… The record tells of no great losses, no major repairs done. There is always some refitting after a storm, but I’ve seldom heard of seven weeks of it except when a ship was near wrecked or broken apart in some distant land. If it was so terrible a storm, how comes it he did not lose one ship?
… No matter, in August he was off again, sailing south toward the islands. Off Cape St. Vincent Captain Bailey took French prizes. French pirates they were. But Ralegh made him pay them for all he took. Not pleasing Bailey, astonishing the Frenchmen, and further confusing all who would, soon enough, have news of it.
… In the first week of September he reached the Canaries. Sailed first to Lanzarote. Which, of all the islands, is poorest for provisions. All mountain and cinders. They make a fine wine there, but not much more. The natives refused to trade or sell anything. They ambushed his men on shore. Ralegh made no retaliation. Which must have surprised his own men as much as the people of the island. Instead, he sailed to the port of Gomera, exchanging shots of courtesy and all honors, dropped anchors, and proceeded to trade with the governor, paying the full price for everything. All was amiable and cordial between Ralegh and the Spanish governor and his English wife. The crew were given liberty of the town, though they, too, must be exemplary in behavior. Must pay for everything. His orders being that the man who stole so much as one orange, nay, one grape, would hang for it. There are no reports of complaints by the natives. And no one was hanged.
… All of which proves, if nothing else, his discipline was absolute and unquestioned. So far it had been an idle, lazy voyage with no scarcity of victuals or water, with almost as much time on land as on sea. No prizes or profit, it is true, but beyond the complaint of Captain Bailey, there were no troubles. No fleet of ships was so fit for the crossing.
… Meanwhile, piece by piece, the reports had gone their ways. Report on Ralegh’s slow sailing and scrupulous conduct. Outwardly pleasing the King of England and the King of Spain. Inwardly increasing doubts and suspicion. To ask themselves why, they must unpack a full chest of other quesions. Meanwhile those who had warned against the venture, like Gondomar, were left to gnash their teeth and hope he would do something to give weight to their warnings.
… Ralegh sailed out of Gomera and, again astounding, paid in full for some fresh fish he took off vessels near Grand Canary.
… From here on, it seems, the reins fell loose in Ralegh’s hands. Wind and weather turned, and he was forced to sail southward. More serious, there was fever on his ships now. His men began to sicken and die. He made for the Cape Verde Islands, with difficulty, for he was being driven westward by the trades. Which was what he was seeking. Then why did he not go west and make a swift crossing? Came to Brava at last, a poor place with poor harbor, and heavy blown by the trades. He attempted to procure more provisions. For what purpose, seeing he was so recently victualed? Failing, he turned west with the winds and set course for Guiana. But by then he was sick himself with the fever. Many were sick and dying.
… In the end, then, after the longest prologue and preparation, it was an unlucky voyage and came to no good. Captains deserted, taking their ships. Fever swept through his men more fierce and final than any battle. And he was first nearly dead, then weak and out of mind—the head and mind which kept the truth of his purpose, which had kept the secret, until it was too late to tell, then kitten-weak, helpless to lead his men at San Thomé.
… In the end he lost friends and kinsman. His son and namesake, Wat, killed in a skirmish. His closest man, Keymis, killing himself. Keymis, who either failed him because of his fever or betrayed him. No matter which. Keymis failed him and all was over and done with, lost.
… Yet even after all this, Ralegh sailed the Destiny all the way north to Newfoundland. Where she could be cleaned and careened and made ready for the final voyage home.
… Began with power enough to so scourge the Spanish Main that they would think the ghosts of Drake and Hawkins had come back to haunt them. If they had ever joined with the French or gathered separate Englishmen under his command, they could have picked the Indies clean as a Christmas goose.
… Except for the clash at San Thomé he fought no Spaniards, but he was armed with ordnance, small arms, soldiers, and powder sufficient to be called a cargo for fighting. It was a mighty fleet to be looking for a gold mine, with more muskets than shovels on board. The long delays, the leisurely sailing seem deliberate, by choice. But to what end? There are a dozen and more good explanations, not counting lunatic ones.
… I have one guess myself, for what it may be worth. Taking him at his word. If he set off alone or, with little support, to Guiana, there was nothing to keep the Spaniards from taking him. The show of preparing his ships, the long slow voyage and visit to all the islands kept Spain in doubt and her ships and men tied down and busy preparing for … anything. It may be he intended, before fever took command, to break up the fleet of ships or to slip away suddenly on his own, to arrive at Guiana with an advantage of surprise and with the Spaniards there fearful of his whole force. That stratagem could have wor
ked.
… But no man will know until Ralegh chooses to speak. And he gives no sign he will break his silence. Perhaps there are reasons for that. Perhaps it is more than his secret. Think: if the King knew his plan from the beginning, if the King is partner to the secret …
… Think no more about it. It is safer to take things as they seem to be.
… From Newfoundland he brought the Destiny home. And that baffled as many as anything he did on the voyage.
… He has said that his men made a mutiny against him, that he was forced to promise to bring them home. No surprise if they did so, but surprising they waited so long. So he sailed across, pausing in Ireland to let the chief mutineers go free. Then, lightly manned, he sailed the Destiny home to Plymouth Harbor. Strange, where the last place for safety for him was England.…
… Some call that pride and some say folly. Call it the pride of a seafaring man. He came home to port, as he said he would, brought his ship and his men to harbor. Which some call foolish, because his life was in the balance. But that may be no mystery.
… Ralegh’s a seafaring man. To bring Destiny safe home was his seaman’s pride and honor. Without both pride and honor he could never have gone to sea at all. Some men change their character in times of danger. But a sailor learns a different lesson. When he is caught in a storm, there is no place to go. The end is in the hands of God. Until that end he must trust in the ship, his mates, and his skill, and ride out the storm.
… As for that mutiny. No harm was done to him. He continued to command. He was merciful to the mutineers, and the rest of the crew sailed to Plymouth by his command. All of which leads an old sailor to suspicion the mutiny was a ruse. Perhaps his men hoped to help him save his life, to give him some excuse with the King.
… Who knows? There’s no one living or dead who will tell.
… Others can think what they please and go and be hanged for all I care.
Death of the Fox Page 36