by J. D. Davies
When the Spanish guns fired again, they wreaked havoc. One destroyed the bowsprit, then shattered the starboard side of the fo’c’sle. The other smashed into the larboard beam, shaking the entire hull and smashing a great hole through the timbers. Tom could hear a scream below decks, but had no time to go in search of the casualty.
‘Hal Ashby! Get four more men on the capstan! The rest of you, take a weapon, then forward with me!’
As more men went to join Ashby, who was in charge of the warping effort, Tom and a dozen men of Suffolk ran forward, found a position at the rail with a field of fire, and opened up with arquebuses or crossbows. If only they could force the gunners ashore to keep their heads down until the ship was clear of the berth…
The next two shots hit the Jennet. One, a lucky effort, struck the mainmast itself, and Tom saw with horror that the great timber was toppling. He barely had time to register this before a ball struck the hull close to him, ripping loose great splinters and sending them into the very heart of his crew. Knocked back as he was by the impact, it took him a moment to recover and look around. He saw at least a dozen corpses, or parts of corpses. One of them belonged to Hal Ashby, a splinter three feet long protruding from his breast and another, smaller, from his forehead. The deck was a pond of blood, and dying men were screaming for mercy. The mainmast tilted at a crazy angle, held up only by some of the standing rigging.
The Jennet was lost, as was the Swallow, close by her. Ashore, Spanish troops were rushing forward to man boats. Away to the west, the wreck of the Spanish almirante still burned, while the flagship, the capitana itself, was settling lower and lower in the water. But the Jesus and the Minion were under increasingly heavy and sustained gunfire from the largest guns in the fort and elsewhere on the island; guns that until barely an hour earlier had been in English hands.
To the east, though, Drake had got the Judith clear of its mooring, and was unfurling its sails. Hawkins had placed no batteries that far from the Spanish fleet, their intended target, and as the outermost of the English ships, the Judith was able to manoeuvre as she willed, free from hostile fire. Drake was conning the ship’s head toward the south-east, into open water and away from the battle, but Tom could not fault him in that; the Judith was a small ship, like the Jennet, and could do nothing to affect the outcome, which was now surely obvious. But God willing, some Englishmen might yet escape with their lives from the disaster at San Juan.
‘All hands!’ cried Tom. ‘With me, to the pinnace! We’re abandoning ship!’
* * *
The Jesus was taking shot after shot, and her own return fire was weakening. She was the largest ship in the English fleet and still flew the tattered rag that had been the royal standard of England, so she was naturally the principal target for the Spanish gunners ashore. The great old hull, already weakened by the storms encountered during the voyage, was taking on water and listing. Jack heard the ship’s carpenter report to Hawkins that the mainmast had been struck by several shots, saw the admiral nod, and observed the confident expression he put on to face the men, even sending his page Samuel to fetch him a tankard of beer. But he also turned momentarily toward Jack, and raised his eyes to the heavens in a gesture of utter despair.
The page brought the admiral a silver goblet, and even as Spanish shot continued to hammer the hull and rigging of the Jesus, and sweep her decks, Hawkins raised it to the men within earshot.
‘God bless you, boys! And with His blessing, the day will still be ours! Fire again as your guns bear, then again, and then yet again! God save the queen!’
Hawkins put down the cup, but even before the echoing shout of ‘God save the queen!’ had died away, a cannonball struck it and drove it clean off the ship. A second earlier and it would have done the same to the body of John Hawkins. As it was, England’s admiral saw the horrified expressions of all those around him, Jack included, and put on a broad smile.
‘Have no fear, men,’ he cried, ‘for God, who has saved me from this shot, will also deliver us from these traitors and villains!’
He had hardly finished before another Spanish salvo struck the ship: chain shot, now, and aimed high. There was a sickening cracking sound, and Jack looked up to see the foremast torn in two, the upper part dangling precariously amidst the rigging. The fallen foremast and weakened mainmast meant that the huge old ship would never be able to bear sail again, certainly not that day in the harbour of San Juan de Ulúa. In that moment, it was clear to Jack Stannard that the flagship was doomed.
Hawkins had been silent for some moments, staring at the scene around him. Jack wondered if he was blaming himself for letting the Spaniards into the harbour, for trusting them to keep the truce, for ignoring the possibility that they might overwhelm and take control of the very gun batteries he had ordered to be erected.
At last, the admiral seemed to come to a decision, and Jack heard the order he barked at John Sanders, boatswain of the Jesus and her acting master in the absence of Robert Barrett.
‘Signal to Minion and Judith to come alongside – our lee will protect them from enemy fire. We’ll move as much as we can into them, then try to get out of the harbour.’
No order to Jennet. Jack could not see what was happening out to the east, where the view was obscured by the Spanish hulk, now empty and swinging from the few ropes that continued to secure it to the fort, and the wreck of the Swallow beyond it. But Hawkins’ lookout, still at his station in the crow’s nest high up on the shattered mainmast, would be able to see, and would have communicated that knowledge to the admiral. It meant only one thing: the Jennet, Jack’s ship, built to his specifications and named for his second wife, was lost. Whether his son was lost with her – whether he would ever know Tom’s fate at all – was in God’s hands. The thought was too dreadful, and Jack dared not even pray, for he knew if he did, he might lose the tight grip he was keeping on his tormented feelings. Instead, he raised his arquebus and fired in the general direction of the fort, although he knew it was well beyond his range.
During the next half-turn of the glass, the two great English ships edged together, the smaller and nimbler Judith responding to the signal to abandon its safe station near the eastern channel, coming alongside the Jesus rather more swiftly than the Minion. The Spanish continued to concentrate their fire on the flagship, leaving the other vessels, protected by the towering sides of the Jesus, relatively undamaged. The Judith, in turn, came in under the lee of the Minion. The ship’s officers of the Jesus organised parties of men to move anything valuable into them, ready for transfer to the other two ships. On the other side of the ship, men continued to fire the great guns, albeit raggedly, and some of what had once been Edward Dudley’s company of soldiers were still firing arquebuses. Their salvos would have no effect on the fort or the other Spanish batteries, but they might at least deter the viceroy and his officers from sending troops in boats to try and board the English ships.
All available hands were engaged in bringing up essentials and valuables from below decks on the Jesus, then throwing or hauling them over to the slightly lower upper deck of the Minion, where men lined the rail to receive them. Barrels of food and water came up with bags and boxes of gold, weapons with the officers’ navigational instruments. It was frantic work, all of it conducted to the accompaniment of gunfire from the Jesus and its enemies, but Jack played his part, going below decks to search for anything portable that might be worth saving. At the very least, it took his mind off what might be happening with Tom and the other men of the Jennet – if, that was, they still lived.
He was making his way through the gloomy and nearly empty gun deck of the Jesus when he heard a pitiful wailing from the hold below, together with other shouts in a language he recognised but did not understand. He knew the source of the cries at once: the forty or so slaves that remained unsold, along with the ten Spanish hostages. He saw Boatswain Sanders at the other end of the deck, overseeing a party of men bringing up swords from the armoury, and hail
ed him.
‘Sanders! Those below – are we freeing them?’
‘Just more mouths to feed, the admiral says. The Spaniards can do what they like with them when they take the ship.’
‘But what if the ship sinks?’
The boatswain shrugged and made no answer. Jack thought to say more, but both their heads turned upward as a first scream, then a second, came from the upper deck, above their heads. Both bore just one word.
‘Fireship!’
Twenty-Eight
For two hours or more, the Jennet’s pinnace had held its position off the eastern end of the island. The Spaniards showed no sign of wishing to pursue it, massing all their troops further west at the fort and the batteries. But unless Tom steered a course far to the south, out of range of the Spanish guns, it would be impossible for him to reach the remaining English ships, even if his exhausted men were then able to beat back up into the teeth of a continually strengthening northerly breeze. No: if Hawkins hoped to escape, as he surely must, then Tom needed to hold the Jennet’s boat where it was and pray that one of the fleeing vessels picked up him and his men. And if none of the ships escaped the onslaught taking place to the west, then Tom Stannard had only one course of action left: beaching his boat and surrendering to the Spanish.
From their makeshift position, the survivors of the Jennet could see both the Minion and the Judith come under the lee of the flagship, and Tom guessed what must be happening; the shattered condition of the Jesus, especially of her masts, was clearly visible even from such a distance. At length, he saw the Judith unmoor from the flagship and set course eastward. The Spanish continued to concentrate their fire on the two large ships, so the Judith was able to proceed relatively unhindered, beam-on to the stiff northerly breeze. Her course would carry her directly to the pinnace, and Tom gave the command to turn the boat’s helm to carry it westward to intercept her.
When the Judith was within range, Tom hailed her. Francis Drake’s head appeared above the fo’c’sle rail.
‘For mercy’s sake, throw us a line!’ cried Tom.
‘Fend for yourself, Stannard! We’re overladen as it is!’
Tom could not believe what he heard.
‘Overladen? How?’
‘Overladen, I say! Men and goods from the flagship! There’s no room for you here!’
‘Christ’s nails, Drake! Mercy, man! We’re all Englishmen – save us, for God’s sake!’
Drake made no reply. Instead, he lifted an arquebus, levelled it at the Jennet’s pinnace, and signalled for a good dozen more of his men to do the same.
‘Save yourselves, Stannard of Dunwich,’ he cried angrily. ‘I told you in Plymouth that it was only just beginning between us, but this is where it ends.’
Tom stared at the receding hull of the Judith, then raised two fingers toward Francis Drake before ordering his crew, with Mark Ferris at the helm, to bring the boat about and make for the far distant Jesus and Minion instead, even if it meant being sunk by a shot from one of the shore batteries. They were barely level with the shattered remains of the Jennet, over which Spanish troops swarmed, when he saw the fearful sight of the fireship emerge from behind the west rampart of the fort, its course set for the Jesus and the Minion.
* * *
The fireship was a terrifying spectacle, bearing down on the northerly wind toward the English ships. Dusk was now falling, and the twilight only added to the fearful effect. Flames spat and danced the length of its upper deck, up its masts and along its yards. It was shrouded in a vast pall of smoke, through which sparks blew out toward its targets. It was as though hell itself had been set afloat, and was bearing down directly to claim all their souls for Lucifer. Aboard both the Jesus and the Minion, men were screaming and praying – not a few, Jack noted, crossing themselves in the old way, even aboard the flagship of Protestant England’s admiral.
‘Damn fools,’ said Hawkins. ‘Nine times out of ten, fireships miss – no man aboard to steer them. The tenth time, a good crew simply pushes it aside with poles. But for that to happen, the good crew has to be stout-hearted.’ He raised his voice to shout at both crews. ‘Hold your nerve, men! Hold your nerve, and all be well! Be stout-hearted Englishmen, in God’s name!’
But on the Minion, his injunction was falling on deaf ears. Although Captain Hampton and the ship’s officers tried to prevent it, the men were taking matters into their own hands, cutting through the cables that secured the Minion to the Jesus. Slowly, a gap began to grow between the two ships.
‘Thomas Hampton!’ cried Hawkins. ‘Damn it, Captain Hampton, control your men!’
Hampton looked across, a grief-stricken expression on his face, then raised his hands abjectly.
The first man jumped from the deck of the Jesus onto the slightly lower one of the Minion. Another half-dozen followed him at once, but others, already nervous about the width of the gap between the two ships, held back. All the while, the smoke from the fireship grew thicker, the heat from its blaze became more intense, and more sparks fell on the deck or onto men’s clothing and hair.
‘Jesu!’ said Hawkins suddenly. ‘Where’s my nephew? Where’s Paul?’
‘I saw him a moment ago, Admiral!’ cried Jack. ‘He’s up forward, afraid to jump!’
‘Then go to him, Jack Stannard, for God’s sake! Get him safe to the Minion! I’ll see you both aboard her!’
‘Aye, aye, Admiral!’
Jack ran forward. Paul Hawkins was standing at the ship’s rail, holding a plate and goblet adorned with precious stones, no doubt part of the treasure from the admiral’s cabin.
‘Paul!’ cried Jack. The lad looked at him, uncomprehending. ‘Paul Hawkins! Your uncle orders you to jump to the Minion, lad! Can you do it?’
The boy looked at the gap, then back up at Jack. He nodded, dropped the valuable objects to the deck, and went to the rail. John Hawkins saw this from the quarterdeck, nodded and smiled. Then another thick pall of smoke from the fireship enveloped the deck, and the two parties lost sight of each other.
For a man standing close to Jack and Paul, this was the last straw. He climbed onto the rail and attempted to jump, but fell short and plunged into the sea between the two hulls. Jack murmured the Ave Maria, but Paul Hawkins watched in horror as the doomed man flailed and screamed before disappearing below the waves. The boy turned as if to run below decks, but Jack took his arm and led him back to the ship’s side.
‘You’re young, Paul Hawkins,’ he said. ‘Would you think twice about jumping that distance over a stream in Plymouth? No, you would not. Trust in God, lad, and you’ll be safe.’
He did not add that although a youth could easily jump such a distance, a man of his own age probably could not.
The admiral’s nephew readied himself, but just then the smoke from the fireship cleared briefly, and Jack and his young charge turned to see the admiral leap the few feet onto the starboard side of the Minion, landing heavily on its quarterdeck. Men scrambled to assist him. Paul shouted to try and attract his uncle’s attention, but the admiral was too far away, the roar of the Spanish guns too loud, and just then a powder barrel on the fireship exploded, causing a chorus of screams from the men of the Minion. Jack looked around to see if another English boat was nearby, but there were none, and the Minion was pulling away rapidly. The gap was now too great for either of them to jump, even if they could pluck up the courage to attempt it.
Jack turned to look in the other direction. The fireship was very close now, its heat warming his face and that of the admiral’s weeping nephew, but it was clear that the blazing hull was going to drift harmlessly past the stern of the Jesus. Perhaps the Minion would send a boat back for the many men who remained on the lost flagship, beseeching and howling oaths from the ship’s side. But in his heart, Jack knew this was a forlorn hope. The only boats he could see through the gathering gloom were Spanish ones, pulling away from the hulk and the fort, intent on boarding the abandoned Jesus.
No, there was one more
boat, just visible in the distance, seemingly steering directly for the Minion from the east. Even in such poor light, and at such a distance, Jack recognised it instantly as the Jennet’s pinnace. Why the men of Dunwich had not reached sanctuary aboard Drake’s Judith, which must have sailed straight past them, was a mystery; but, praise be, Jack saw a line being thrown from the Minion, and the boat – his boat – being drawn in.
All around him, men were weeping, praying or both. Young Paul Hawkins was still watching the departing Minion, perhaps yet hoping against hope that his uncle would somehow return and rescue him from the fate that otherwise awaited him. But the first of the Spanish boats was already coming alongside the hull of the Jesus.
It was over. Paul Hawkins looked up at Jack, his young eyes tearful and imploring. Jack made an effort to smile, and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
‘Whatever happens, lad,’ he said, ‘remember this. Always believe you will return home again. Believe that you’ll go back to Plymouth one day, as I believe I will return to Dunwich. Aye, lad, believe that you will see England once more. But until that day dawns, you are England. It is in your heart. It is in your soul. Wherever you may be, England remains in the essence of you, and you in it.’
He had no idea where the words came from; perhaps they had been in a sermon he had once heard, or in something Thomas Ryman had said to him. They could not have been his own, that was for certain. After all, he was naught but a mere sailor of Dunwich.