Ireland under the Tudors, with a Succinct Account of the Earlier History. Vol. 3 (of 3)

by Richard Bagwell

FOOTNOTES:

[131] Perrott to Walsingham, Nov. 16 and 27, 1584 (with enclosures); to Burghley (with enclosures), Jan. 15, 1585.—Gregory’s Western Highlands, chap. iv., where Perrott’s siege of Dunluce, and other matters belonging to 1584, are placed under 1585.

[132] Stanley to Walsingham, Jan. 5, 1585; George Peverley, victualler, to Walsingham, Jan. 5; to Burghley, Jan. 20; Perrott to Walsingham, Nov. 16, 1584; to Burghley, Jan 15, 1585. The Master of the Ordnance was the same Jacques Wingfield who so narrowly escaped professional ruin in 1561.

[133] Composition of Lord Deputy and Council with Sorley Boy, Oct. 17, 1575; Sorley Boy to Perrott and to Captain Carleile, Feb. 5, 1585; Captain Barkley to Perrott, Feb. 26; Norris to the Privy Council and Fenton to Walsingham, March 7; Beverley to Burghley, April 1; Perrott to Walsingham, April 24.

[134] Lists printed from the roll in Tracts relating to Ireland, vol. ii. p. 134. Kildare, who died in England this year, no doubt had his writ of summons, but does not seem to have attended. He was ill in London on Aug. 3.

[135] Lists as above.

[136] Lists as above. Perrott’s Life, p. 199; see also a partial list of members calendared at May 11, 1586. The Four Masters, under 1585, give a sort of Homeric catalogue of the chiefs present.

[137] Tracts relating to Ireland, vol. ii. p. 143. Ormonde to Burghley, Oct. 20, 1583; Sir N. White to Burghley, May 27, 1585.

[138] Sir N. White to Burghley, May 27, 1585; Perrott to Walsingham, May 30; the Poyning’s Suspension Bill is in Carew, June 1585, No. 578.

[139] Perrott to Walsingham, May 30 and June 18, 1585. He believed that the opposition would collapse if firmly handled, and that firmness would save the Queen’s pocket. ‘If they escape,’ he said, ‘farewell to my reputation both with Irish and English.’

[140] Irish Statutes, 27 Eliz.; Perrott’s Life.

[141] Norris to Walsingham, March 3; Fenton to Walsingham, May 24; Loftus to Burghley, May 31. ‘I am forced to play at small game to set the beasts here a-madding, merely for want of better game.... You think, as I ought to think, that it is time for me to have done with the world; and so I would, if I could get into a better, before I was called into the best, and not die here in a rage, like a poisoned rat in a hole.’—Swift to Bolingbroke, from Dublin, March 21, 1729.

[142] Perrott’s Life; James VI. to Perrott, Aug. 8, in Carew; Perrott to Walsingham, Aug. 10 and Nov. 11; to Burghley, Sept. 8 and 24; Sir H. Bagenal to Perrott, Sept. 3; Wallop to Burghley and Walsingham, Nov. 18; Walsingham to Archbishop Long, Dec.

[143] Composition Book of Connaught and Thomond, Oct. 3. Details may be studied in the appendix to Hardiman’s edition of O’Flaherty’s West Connaught. As to the measurement it may be observed that Clare, to take one county as an example, is estimated at 1,260 quarters. Making allowance for the difference between Irish and English measure, this gives rather less than 250,000 statute acres for all Clare. The real area is about 828,000 acres. The gross acreage of all Connaught and Clare is about five millions and a quarter, and a rental of 4,000l. gives much less than a farthing per acre.

[144] Perrott to Burghley, Sept. 8 and 24, 1585. The ‘Articles’ referred to were sent to Ireland by Fenton in the following spring, and are printed in Desiderata Curiosa Hibernica, i. 63.

[145] Perrott to Walsingham, Jan. 27, 1586; Sir G. Carew to Walsingham Feb. 27; to Burghley, Aug. 2, 1588, in Carew; Lord Deputy and Council to the Privy Council, Jan. 28, 1586; description of Munster, 1588, p. 530; Wallop to Burghley, Oct. 1585 (No. 19) and Nov. 18; to Walsingham, March 7, 1586; Vice-President Norris to the Privy Council, Oct. 18, 1586.

[146] Printed statutes, 28 Eliz. caps. 7 and 8; Perrott to Walsingham, June 18, 1585; Lords Gormanston, Slane, Howth, and Trimleston to the Queen, Dec. 10, 1585. Parliament was dissolved May 14, 1586; and see Speaker Walshe’s speech on that day.

[147] Perrott’s Life, p. 216; Hill’s MacDonnells of Antrim, pp. 171-187; the Queen to the Lord Chancellor and Council, Feb. 26, 1586; Captain Price to Walsingham, March 31; to Burghley, April 15; Fenton to Burghley, April 19 and June 14, 1586; Submission of Sorley Boy, June 14. The Indentures are in Carew ii. 427.

[148] Docwra’s Relation; Four Masters, 1586; Bingham to Walsingham, Feb. 5, 1586; to Perrott, July 30 and Aug. 16 and 26; to Loftus, Aug. 30; Wallop to Walsingham, Aug. 23. The execution of Richard Oge Burke, called Fal fo Erinn, was made a principal charge against Bingham in 1595 and 1596, when his accusers seemed to have driven him finally from Ireland. Bingham justified this execution, since most of the Burkes (including the Blind Abbot, afterwards MacWilliam) declared, under their hands and under the sanction of an oath, that Richard Oge had persuaded them to resist the Governor, to bring in Scots, and to hold the Hag’s Castle against him. Seven members of the Council of Connaught were present at the execution, ‘Sir Richard having no other means of ordinary trial at that time by reason of the great troubles.’—Discourse of the late rebellion of the Burkes, with all the signatures, Nov. 17, 1586; O’Flaherty’s West Connaught, p. 186.

[149] Wallop to Walsingham, Aug. 23, 1586; Maguire to Perrott, Aug. 28; Bingham to Loftus, Aug. 30; answer of Donnell Gorme, &c. (Sept. 22). Bingham says he marched seventy-two miles in two days.

[150] Docwra’s Relation (‘not slain past two persons’); Four Masters, 1586; Stowe’s Chronicle; Bingham to Burghley, Oct. 6, 1586, ‘not one man slain by the enemy;’ to Loftus and Perrott, Sept. 23; to Wallop, Oct. 18; Captain Woodhouse to Fenton, Sept. 23. Bingham owns to ‘divers men hurt and galled.’

[151] Bingham to Burghley, Oct. 8 and Dec. 5, 1586; to Wallop, Oct. 18; Wallop to Burghley, Nov. 15; Irish Council to Burghley, Sept. 27; true discourse of the cause, &c., Nov. 16 and 17; Perrott’s note of his expenses, Sept. (No. 43).

[152] The despatch sent by Fenton is printed in Desiderata Curiosa Hibernica, i. 49; Perrott to Walsingham, Jan. 12, 1586, and four letters to Burghley, on April 12, 15, 16, and 26, from White, Fenton, Perrott, and Wallop respectively.

[153] Perrott’s Life, p. 243. Loftus to Burghley, April 26 and Dec. 4 and 12 1586; to Walsingham, Sept. 30; Bingham to Burghley, Dec. 5 and Feb. 26, 1587; acquital of Bingham under the hands of the Council (Loftus, Bagenal, Bishop Garvey of Kilmore, Gardiner, C.J., and Fenton), Feb. 20, 1587; Wallop to Walsingham, May 31, 1586; Perrott to Leicester, April 18, 1587, in Carew; the Queen to Perrott, Feb. 9, 1587. For the altercation with Bagenal see the Marshal’s own passionate and affecting letter to the Privy Council, May 15, 1587, and another to Leicester in Carew; the Council’s account, May 15; and White’s account, May 23. See also, for Perrott’s behaviour, Wallop to Burghley and Walsingham, April 26, and July 5, 1588.

[154] Perrott to Sir George Carew, April 27 and Oct. 30, 1586, and Aug. 9, 1587; to Leicester, April 18, 1587 (all in Carew); Perrott to Walsingham, March 7, 1588.

[155] The above is chiefly from Motley’s United Netherlands, chap. xiii.; the story of Stanley’s ill-treatment at Seville is in a letter of Dec. 17, 1587, from Bishop Lyons of Cork to Fenton, on the authority of Galway merchants lately from Spain; Privy Council to Perrott, Jan. 30, 1587; warrant for arrest of Captain Jacques, Feb. 9. For reports about Stanley see the Irish and Foreign S. P. passim; the pardon for the eleven soldiers is in Morrin’s Patent Rolls 35 Eliz. No. 31. For Sir Rowland Stanley see Sir Roger Wilbraham to Burghley, May 10, 1590.

[156] Perrott to the Privy Council, Jan. 28, 1586; to Walsingham, Feb. 7, 11, and 20, and March 7; Examination of Miles Brewett, April 26, 1587; James Wyse, Mayor of Waterford, to Perrott, July 30; Perrott to Walsingham, Aug. 9; news by Tyrrell and Woode, Aug. 21; Gaspar Thunder’s report, Oct. 5; Instructions for Sir W. Fitzwilliam, Dec.; Perrott to Walsingham, May 12, 1588.

[157] Sidney’s Brief Relation, 1583; Sidney to the Privy Council, Jan. 27, 1577, in Carew; petition of N. Nugent and others, July 1563, in Carew; Answer of B. Scurlock and others, Jan. 11, 1577, in Carew; Fenton to Burghley, Aug. 22 and Sept. 4, 1586; Perrott to Burghley, June 10, 1585; Note of acts, 1586, in Carew, ii. 425. The composition is in Morrin’s Patent Rolls (note to 39 Eliz.)

[158] Acquittal of Sir R. Bingham, Feb. 20, 1587; his discourse, July; Bingham to Burghley, Oct. 3, 1587, and Feb. 13, 1588.

[159] Perrott to Walsingham, March 7, 18, and 21, and April 1, 1588, and Perrott’s Life; Fitzwilliam’s patent is dated Feb. 17, but he was not sworn till June 30.

[160] Perrott to Carew, March 27, 1587, in Carew; Sir N. Bagenal to Burghley, March 26; H. Sheffield to Burghley, March 29; Andrew Trollope to Burghley, Oct. 27 (for Lee’s case); Perrott’s declaration, June 29, 1588, and Fitzwilliam to Burghley, July 31.

[161] Wallop to Burghley, April 26, 1586; St. Leger to Burghley, May 30; Sir Roger Wilbraham, S.G., to the Munster Commissioners, Sept. 11, 1587; Arthur Robins to Walsingham, Sept. 17; Andrew Trollope to Burghley, Oct. 19; Sir W. Herbert to Burghley, April 30, 1587, and to Walsingham, July 12, 1588.

[162] Morrin’s Patent Rolls, May 10, 29 Eliz., and May 13; Tyrone’s answer, April 1587 (No. 58); Andrew Trollope to Burghley, Oct. 26, 1587; Tyrone to Perrott, Jan. 4, 1588; Perrott to Walsingham, May 12; Bingham to Burghley, May 15; Wallop to Walsingham, June 21.

[CHAPTER XLII.]

THE INVINCIBLE ARMADA.

The Armada expected.

On the death of Jacques Wingfield, Perrott had granted the Mastership of the Ordnance to his son, Sir Thomas. It appeared, however, that there had been a grant in reversion passed to Sir William Stanley, which was voidable, but not void, by that officer’s treason. On the place becoming legally vacant it was conferred upon Sir George Carew, the late Master’s nephew. He reported that almost everything in the Dublin store was rusty and rotten, and that the small remainder would soon be as bad, since no allowance was made for maintaining it in a serviceable state. The gunners and armourers were no better than the stores; while Cork, Limerick, and other places were as ill-provided as the capital. Yet the Spaniards were daily expected, and the whole population, exhausted by their late sufferings, stood at gaze, waiting in fear and trembling for the great event.[163]

The Spanish ships appear.

Admiral Recalde.

On the 2nd of August Drake made up his mind that the enemy could not land in any part of Great Britain, and left the Armada to contend with the elements only. The rumours of English defeat which reached Spain were industriously propagated in Ireland also, but on the 26th the discomfiture of the invaders was known as far west as Athlone, though no letter had yet arrived. In the first days of September the flying ships began to tell their own story. From the Giant’s Causeway to the outermost point of Kerry the wild Atlantic seaboard presented its inhospitable face, and the Spaniards who landed met with a reception to match. At first they were the objects of great anxiety, and if the fleet had kept together, the crews, sick and hungry as they were, might have made some dangerous combination with the natives. But the Duke of Medina Sidonia, with fifty-two ships, managed to weather the Irish coast. This was owing to the advice of Calderon, who was the only officer with him that knew our shores, and who had a proper horror of the terrible west coast of Ireland. Admiral Recalde, a distinguished sailor, but with less local knowledge, parted company with the Duke off the Shetlands. When the storm moderated he had twenty-seven sail with him, but by the time he reached Kerry these were reduced to three. There were twenty-five pipes of wine on board, but no water except what had come from Spain, ‘which stinketh marvellously.’ There was very little bread, and the thirsty wretches could not eat their salt beef. Recalde anchored between the Blaskets and the main land, and sent for water. But Smerwick was close by, and no Kerry Catholic cared to run the risk of comforting the Queen’s enemies. Recalde’s ship, ‘The Don John of Oporto,’ was one of the largest in the whole Armada, containing 500 men, but of these 100 were ill; some died daily, and the strongest were scarcely able to stand. The masts were injured by the English shot and would not bear a press of canvas, yet there was nothing for it but to trust once more to those crazy spars. When Slea Head was passed, the immediate danger was over, and Recalde ultimately reached Corunna, but only to die of exhaustion four days after. He seems to have had some presentiment of disaster. When Medina Sidonia was appointed to command the expedition, his Duchess wished him to decline the perilous honour. If he succeeded, she philosophically remarked, he could be no more than Duke of Medina Sidonia; whereas he would lose his reputation if he failed. ‘Yes,’ said Recalde significantly, ‘if he returns.’[164]

Misery of the Spaniards.

Wreck off Kerry.

Spaniards hanged at Tralee.

The noble landsman to whom Philip, with extraordinary folly, entrusted the greatest fleet which the world had yet seen, had probably no choice but to make his way homewards as best he might. Unable to cope with the English or to co-operate with Parma, a great seaman might perhaps have been equally unsuccessful in attaining the objects of the expedition. But a chief of even ordinary capacity might have managed to ship some fresh water on the Faroes or the Shetlands. Neither on those islands nor on the Norwegian coast could any serious resistance have been offered; but the chance was lost and the consequences of this neglect were frightful. Wine was but a poor substitute, and some of the victuals were as unwholesome as the foul water. Among other things lime had been mixed with the biscuit, and for this many bakers in Spain were afterwards hanged. The ships were so much damaged, and the men so weak, that it was often impossible to keep clear of the coast. One unfortunate vessel, named ‘Our Lady of the Rose,’ foundered in the Sound of Blasket, in sight of the open water which Recalde had reached. The Genoese pilot had probably no local knowledge, and steered her on to a sunken rock, where she went down with 500 men on board; but not before an officer had killed the poor Italian for supposed treason. The pilot’s son alone escaped, by swimming, to tell the tale. Among the doomed was the young prince of Ascoli, said to be a son of Philip’s, who had originally sailed with Medina Sidonia and had taken a boat at Calais, had failed to regain the admiral’s ship, and had sought refuge upon that which had now gone to the bottom. A small vessel, which seems to have had no boat, was driven into Tralee Bay. Three men swam ashore and offered to surrender, saying they had friends at Waterford who would ransom them; but the names of those friends they refused to disclose. Lady Denny hanged the whole crew, consisting of twenty-four Spaniards, on the ground that there was no way of keeping them safely. Norris afterwards regretted that this had been done, but he also at first dreaded a landing in force.[165]

Wrecks off Clare.

Seven ships were driven into the Shannon, and lay for a short time off Carrigaholt. The Spaniards burned one which was too leaky to go to sea again. Another was wrecked in Dunbeg Bay, on the other side of Loop Head, and between 200 and 300 men were drowned. Another was lost at Trumree, a few miles farther north, and the names of Spanish Point and Mal Bay are believed to commemorate the impression which these disasters left upon the native mind. 300 men who landed were slain by the sheriff, in obedience to Bingham’s orders. Another ship lay for a time at Liscannor, where there is little or no shelter, but the crew were unable to land; one of her two boats was washed ashore, and a large oil-jar found in her showed that water was the Spaniards’ great want. Other ships were seen off the Arran Islands, and one of 200 tons came within a mile of Galway. It is not recorded that any of these were lost; but neither does it appear that any were relieved. They drifted away in misery, the men dying daily, and the survivors having to work, though themselves in a condition very little better than that of the fabulous Ancient Mariner.[166]

Wreck in Clew Bay.

Spaniards slaughtered by the Irish.

The ocean waves which roll into Clew Bay are partly broken by the island of Clare, which belonged in the sixteenth century to the O’Malleys—a clan famous as sea-rovers and fishermen. The western half of the island consists of a heathery mountain, which is said to harbour grouse, though other grouse are so far away. The eastern half is cultivated; but as late as 1870 there were no roads in the island, no wheeled vehicles, and only a single saddle, reserved for the annual visit of the agent. A native leaning on his spade, and lamenting the badness of the potatoes, asked a stray visitor if there were any news of the world. Upon these lonely rocks a large ship, commanded by Don Pedro de Mendoza, foundered with 700 men. Less than 100 had landed two days before, and these were all slaughtered by Dowdary Roe O’Malley, for the sake of the gold which they had brought with them. Mendoza tried to escape with some fishing-boats, but he shared the fate of his men, much to Bingham’s regret. One poor Spaniard and an Irishman of Wexford were spared out of 800. At Ormonde’s village of Burrishoole farther up the bay a ship of 1,000 tons and fifty-four guns was driven ashore. Most of those on board were lost, but sixteen landed with gold chains and surrendered to the Earl’s tenant. It was reported in London that the Duke of Medina Sidonia was among them, and Ormonde sent over a special messenger with orders to seize all that was valuable, to let the Duke ride his own horse, and not to put him in irons, but to treat him as the greatest prince in Spain. But Ormonde was not fortunate enough to capture this rich prize, nor is it likely that any of the plunder was reserved for him.[167]

Wrecks in Connemara.

Spaniards executed.

In the western part of Galway two vessels were wrecked, one of them being the ‘White Falcon’ with Don Luis de Cordova and his company. The O’Flaherties were at first disposed to shelter and befriend the strangers, but Bingham made proclamation that anyone who harboured Spaniards for more than four hours would be reputed as traitors. Many were brought to Galway accordingly, where 300 were straightway executed by the Provost Marshal, who was then sent to exercise his office in O’Flaherty’s country and to do what he could towards saving ordnance and munitions; and other officers were sent into Mayo with similar instructions. Of the prisoners at Galway forty picked men were reserved for Bingham’s decision, of whom thirty were afterwards executed. Don Luis and nine others were spared, as likely to be worth ransom, or to be able to give useful information.[168]

Alonso de Leyva.

The most famous Spaniard in the Armada was Alonso de Leyva, who was in command of the troops, and who would have acted as general had the invaders effected a landing in force. Even at sea he was the second in command, and had a commission to take supreme direction in case anything should happen to the Duke of Medina Sidonia. De Leyva had been suspected of intriguing for the command during the life of Santa Cruz, and even of thwarting that great seaman’s preparations. He had served under Don John in Flanders, where he raised a famous battalion consisting entirely of half-pay officers, and afterwards in Sicily and Italy; and had resigned command of the cavalry at Milan on purpose to take part in the expedition against England. When the Armada actually sailed he had charge of the vanguard, and had pressed the Duke hard to attack the English in Plymouth Sound, where their superior seamanship would avail them little. The guns of the fort, he said, would be silent, for their fire would do as much harm to one side as to the other. This bold advice was probably wise, but Medina Sidonia was not the man to take it. At a later period De Leyva is said to have directly accused the Duke of cowardice, and to have been threatened by him with the penalty of death—his only answer to every criticism.

His ship and followers.

He himself sailed on board the ‘Rata,’ a ship of 820 tons, 35 guns, and 419 men, of whom only 84 were seamen. Among the landsmen were many noble adventurers, who were desirous of seeing war under so famous a captain. When the fleet parted company the ‘Rata’ remained with Recalde, and went as far as 62° north latitude; the object being to reach Ireland and to refit there. The increasing cold frustrated this plan, and the half-sinking ships staggered southward again in the direction of Spain.[169]

Alonso de Leyva wrecked in Mayo,

and again in Donegal.

The ‘Rata’ was driven, much disabled, into Blacksod Bay, and anchored off Ballycroy. The sailing-master was Giovanni Avancini, an Italian, who, with fourteen of his countrymen, being ill-treated by the Spaniards, stole the ship’s only boat and wandered off into the country, where they were robbed and imprisoned by the ‘Devil’s Hook’s son’ and others of the Burkes. De Leyva then sent men ashore on casks, who recovered the boat, and the whole ship’s company were brought safe to land. They then entrenched themselves strongly in an old castle near the sea. Two days later, the ‘Rata’ was driven on to the beach. A boat full of treasure, besides such unaccustomed wares as velvet and cloth of gold, fell into the hands of the natives, and the ill-fated ship was fired where she lay. Meanwhile the transport ‘Duquesa Santa Ana,’ of 900 tons, drifted to the same remote haven. She had 300 or 400 men on board, who had been specially levied in honour of the Duchess of Medina Sidonia, but room was somehow made for all De Leyva’s people, and the transport set sail for Spain. The overladen craft had no chance against a head wind, and was driven into Loughros Bay, in Donegal. The shelter was bad, the cables parted, and the ‘Santa Ana’ went on the rocks; but here, again, no lives were lost. The shipwrecked men encamped for several days, and heard that the ‘Gerona,’ one of the four great Neapolitan galleasses which the luckless Hugo de Moncada had commanded, was lying in Killybegs Harbour. De Leyva had been hurt in the leg by the capstan during the confusion on board the ‘Santa Ana,’ and could neither walk nor ride. He was carried nineteen miles across the mountains between four men, and encamped at Killybegs for a fortnight, while the galeass was undergoing repairs. He despaired of reaching Spain in such a crazy bark, and determined, if possible, to land in Scotland. The Spaniards were, in the meantime, dependent on MacSwiney Banagh for food, and that chief was afraid of bringing famine on his country. At first, the unbidden guests had beef and mutton, but afterwards they were obliged to buy horseflesh.[170]

Alonso de Leyva sails a third time,

Some of the Irish pressed De Leyva to stay and to be their general against the English heretics, but he pleaded that he had no commission to do any such thing. He does, however, seem to have had some idea of wintering in Ulster, which he abandoned either on account of the difficulty of getting provisions, or because he saw no chance of defeating Fitzwilliam, whose arrival in Ulster was constantly expected. And he may have thought that the MacSwineys were not altogether to be trusted. The ‘Gerona’ had been made seaworthy with MacSwiney’s help, and by using the materials of another wreck, but she would not hold anything like the whole of his people. The bulk of them were willing to take their chance of a passage to Scotland, and, in the meanwhile, to make friends with the natives, and to join their fortunes to those of their shipwrecked countrymen. The galeass originally carried 300 galley-slaves, who could not be dispensed with, and less than that number of soldiers and sailors combined. It may be therefore assumed that she put off from Killybegs with not far short of 600 men on board. Her pilots were three Irishmen and a Scot.

but is finally lost off Antrim.

The noble volunteers all shared the fortunes of their chief. The ‘Gerona’ was a floating castle rather than a ship, built for the Mediterranean, and for fine weather, and utterly unsuited for the work required. Nevertheless she weathered Malin Head, and may even have sighted the Scotch coast. The wind came ahead, or the leaks gained upon the pumps—no one will ever know exactly what happened. For some time the fate of Don Alonso was doubtful; but about the beginning of December it became certainly known that the galeass had gone to pieces on the rock of Bunboys, close to Dunluce. But five persons, of no consequence, escaped, nor were any of the bodies identified. Hidalgos and galley-slaves shared the same watery grave.[171]

Importance of De Leyva.

Alonso de Leyva is described as ‘long-bearded, tall, and slender, of a whitely complexion, of a flaxen and smooth hair, of behaviour mild and temperate, of speech good and deliberate, greatly reverenced not only of his own men, but generally of all the whole company;’ and Philip said that he mourned his loss more than that of the Armada. It was well for England that the sovereign who rated Don Alonso so highly had not given him the supreme command, for the ‘brag countenance,’ which stood Lord Howard in such good stead would not then have been allowed to pass unchallenged. The loss of the ‘Gerona’ brought mourning into many of the noblest houses in Spain and Italy. ‘The gentlemen were so many,’ says a Spanish castaway, who visited the fatal spot, ‘that a list of their names would fill a quire of paper.’ Among them were the Count of Paredes, and his brother Don Francisco Manrique, and Don Thomas de Granvela, the Cardinal’s nephew.[172]

Wrecks in Sligo.

Great loss of life.

Three large ships were wrecked on the seaboard immediately to the north of Sligo Bay. A survivor recorded their failure to double the ‘Cabo di Clara,’ owing to a head wind. Erris Head was probably the actual promontory, and the Spaniards must have thought it was Cape Clear. Their ignorance of the coast is evident, and it seems certain that they mistook the north-west corner of Connaught for the south-west corner of Munster. Cape Clear was well known by name, and they would have been in no danger after doubling it. As it was, the west coast was a trap into which they drifted helplessly. Even of those who succeeded in rounding the Mullet we have seen that few escaped. Of the three who were lost near Sligo, one was the ‘San Juan de Sicilia,’ carrying Don Diego Enriquez, son of the Viceroy of New Spain and an officer of high rank. They anchored half a league from shore. For four days the weather was thick, and on the fifth a stiff nor’-wester drove them all aground. The best anchors lay off Calais, and there was no chance of working her off shore, for sails and rigging were injured by the English shot. The beach was of fine sand, but there were rocks outside, and in one hour the three ships, badly fastened in the best of times, and kept afloat only by frequent caulking, had completely broken up. Don Diego, foreseeing this, got into a decked boat with the Count of Villafranca’s son, two Portuguese gentlemen, and more than 16,000 ducats in money and jewels, and ordered the hatches to be battened down. With a proper crew she might have reached land safely, but more than seventy despairing wretches flung themselves into her, and the first great wave swept them all into the sea. The imprisoned hidalgos had no control over the boat, which was driven on to the beach bottom upwards. More than thirty-six hours later the natives came to rifle her, and dragged out the bodies. Three were dead, and Don Diego expired immediately after his release. According to the Spanish account more than 1,000 were drowned altogether, and less than 300 escaped, and this agrees pretty well with what we learn from English sources. ‘At my late being at Sligo,’ says Fenton, ‘I numbered in one strand of less than five miles in length above 1,100 dead corpses of men which the sea had driven upon the shore, and, as the country people told me, the like was in other places, though not of like number.’[173]

The survivors are stripped and robbed by the Irish,

who rejoice over their prey.

But some are more humane.

The smallest of the three ships was that which carried Don Martin de Aranda, who acted as judge-advocate-general or provost-marshal to the Armada, and who had been ordered by the Duke of Medina Sidonia to hang Don Cristobal de Avila and Captain Francisco de Cuellar for leaving their places in the line. The first was actually hanged, and carried round the fleet at the yard-arm of a despatch boat to encourage the rest. Cuellar was spared at the provost-marshal’s earnest request, and with him he remained until the loss of the ship. He stood on the poop to the last, whence he saw hundreds perish and a few reach the shore astride on barrels and beams, to be murdered in many cases, and stripped in all, by ‘200 savages and other enemies,’ who skipped and danced with joy at the disaster which brought them plunder. Don Martin de Aranda came to Cuellar in tears, both sewed coin into their clothes and after some struggles found themselves together upon the floating cover of a hatchway. Covered with blood and injured in both legs, Cuellar was washed ashore, but Don Martin was drowned. ‘May God pardon him,’ says the survivor, and perhaps he needed pardon, for it was he who had signed the order to kill all the French prisoners after the fight at Terceiras. Unobserved by the wreckers, Cuellar crawled away, stumbling over many stark naked Spanish corpses. Shivering with cold and in great pain he lay down in some rushes, where he was joined by ‘a cavalier, a very gentle boy,’ who was afterwards discovered to be a person of consequence, stripped to the skin, and in such terror that he could not even say who he was. He himself was a mere sponge full of blood and water, half-dead with pain and hunger; and in this state he had to pass the night. Two armed natives who chanced to pass took pity on them, covered them with rushes and grass which they cut for the purpose, and then went off to take their part in the wrecking. Green as the covering was, it probably saved Cuellar’s life, but at daybreak he found, to his great sorrow, that the poor, gentle lad was dead.[174]

Adventures of Francisco de Cuellar.

A devout damsel.

Slowly and painfully Cuellar made his way to what he calls a monastery, probably the round tower and church of Drumcliff, which is about five miles from the scene of the shipwreck. He found no living friends in this ancient foundation of St. Columba, but only the bodies of twelve Spaniards, hanged ‘by the Lutheran English’ to the window gratings inside the church. An old woman, who was driving her cows away for fear of the soldiers, advised him to go back to the sea, where he was joined by two naked Spaniards. Miserable as they were, they picked out the corpse of Don Diego from among more than 400, and buried him in a hole dug in the sand, ‘with another much-honoured captain, a great friend of mine.’ Two hundred savages came to see what they were doing, and they explained by signs that they were saving their brethren from the wolves and crows, which had already begun their ghastly work. As they were looking for any chance biscuits which the sea might have cast up four natives proposed to strip Cuellar, who alone had some clothes, but another of higher rank protected him. While on his way to this friendly partisan’s village, he met two armed young men, an Englishman and a Frenchman, and a ‘most extremely beautiful’ girl of twenty, who prevented the Englishman from killing, but not from stripping, the wretched Spaniard. A gold chain worth 1,000 reals was found round his neck, and forty-five ducats sewn up in his doublet, being two months’ pay received before leaving Corunna. He protested that he was only a poor soldier, but it was nevertheless proposed to detain him as worth ransom. Cuellar records, with some complacency, that the girl pitied him much, and begged them to return his clothes and to do him no more harm. His doublet was restored, but not his shirt, nor a relic of great repute which he had brought from Lisbon, and which ‘the savage damsel hung round her neck, saying, by signs, that she meant to keep it, and that she was a Christian, being as much like one as Mahomet was.’ A boy was ordered to take him to a hut, to put a plaster of herbs on his wound, and to give him milk, butter, and oatmeal cake.[175]

A visit to O’Rourke.

Cuellar is enslaved by a smith;

but escapes to MacClancy.

Cuellar was directed towards the territory of O’Rourke, narrowly escaped a band of English soldiers, was beaten and stripped naked by forty ‘Lutheran savages’ not easily identified, mistook two naked Spaniards for devils in the dark, joined them, and at last, after enduring almost incredible hardships, reached the friendly chief’s house, partly wrapped in straw and fern. O’Rourke had many houses. This one may have been Dromahaire, near to the eastern extremity of Lough Gill. It was a castle, and Cuellar calls it a hut, the probability being that thatched outhouses were generally occupied, and that the stone keep was little used except for defence. Everyone pitied the stranger, and one man gave him a ragged old blanket full of lice. Twenty other Spaniards came to the same place, reporting a large ship not far off. Cuellar was unable to keep up with them, and thus failed to embark on a vessel which was soon afterwards wrecked. All that escaped the sea were killed by the soldiers. Cuellar then fell in with a priest, who was dressed in secular habit for fear of the English, and who spoke in Latin. Following his directions the Spaniard sought the castle of MacClancy, a chief under O’Rourke who held the country south and west of Lough Melvin, and who was a great enemy of Queen Elizabeth. A savage whom he met enticed him to his cabin in a lonely glen. The man turned out to be a smith, who set his prisoner to blow the bellows. This lasted for eight days, and as the old man of the sea refused to let Sindbad go, so did this old man of the mountains declare that Cuellar should stay all his life with him. The Spaniard worked steadily for fear of being thrown into the fire by this ‘wicked, savage smith and his accursed hag of a wife.’ The friendly priest then appeared, and owing to his exertions, four natives and one Spaniard were sent by MacClancy to release Cuellar. He found ten of his shipwrecked countrymen with MacClancy, and everyone pitied him, especially the women, for he had no covering but straw. ‘They fitted me out,’ he says, ‘as well as they could with one of their country mantles, and during my stay of three months I became as great a savage as they were.’ Cuellar seems to have been susceptible to female influences, for he remarks that his host’s wife was extremely beautiful and very kind to him, and he spent a good deal of time in telling her fortune and those of her fair relatives and friends. This was amusing at first, but when men and less interesting women began to consult him he was forced to apply to his host for protection. MacClancy would not let him go, but gave general orders that no one should annoy him.[176]

A wild Irish household.

An account of an Irish household by a foreigner who had lived among the people for months, and whose sight was not coloured by English prejudice, is so rare a thing that Cuellar’s may well be given in full.

The men.

The women.

The Irish rob the Spaniards, but save their lives.

‘The habit of those savages is to live like brutes in the mountains, which are very rugged in the part of Ireland where we were lost. They dwell in thatched cabins. The men are well-made, with good features, and as active as deer. They eat but one meal, and that late at night, oat-cake and butter being their usual food. They drink sour milk because they have nothing else, for they use no water, though they have the best in the world. At feasts it is their custom to eat half-cooked meat without bread or salt. Their dress matches themselves—tight breeches, and short loose jackets of very coarse texture; over all they wear blankets, and their hair comes over their eyes. They are great walkers and stand much work, and by continually fighting they keep the Queen’s English soldiers out of their country, which is nothing but bogs for forty miles either way. Their great delight is robbing one another, so that no day passes without fighting, for whenever the people of one hamlet know that those of another possess cattle or other goods, they immediately make a night attack and kill each other. When the English garrisons find out who has lifted the most cattle, they come down on them, and they have but to retire to the mountains with their wives and herds, having no houses or furniture to lose. They sleep on the ground upon rushes full of water and ice. Most of the women are very pretty, but badly got up, for they wear only a shift and a mantle, and a great linen cloth on the head, rolled over the brow. They are great workers and housewives in their way. These people call themselves Christians, and say Mass. They follow the rule of the Roman Church, but most of their churches, monasteries, and hermitages are dismantled by the English soldiers, and by their local partisans, who are as bad as themselves. In short there is no order nor justice in the country, and everyone does that which is right in his own eyes. The savages are well affected to us Spaniards, because they realise that we are attacking the heretics and are their great enemies. If it was not for those natives who kept us as if belonging to themselves, not one of our people would have escaped. We owe them a good turn for that, though they were the first to rob and strip us when we were cast on shore. From whom and from the three ships which contained so many men of importance, those savages reaped a rich harvest of money and jewels.’[177]

Wanderings of Cuellar.

A narrow escape.

A friendly bishop.

Cuellar helped MacClancy to defend his castle against the Lord Deputy, and the chief was as unwilling to let him go as the smith had been. He escaped with four other Spaniards, during the first days of the new year, and after three weeks’ hardship in the mountains found himself at Dunluce in Antrim, where Alonso de Leyva had been lost. He was told that his only chance of a passage to Scotland was by some boats belonging to O’Cahan, which were expected to sail soon. The wound in his leg had broken out afresh, and he was unable to stand for some days. His companions left him to shift for himself, and after a painful walk to Coleraine he found that the boats had gone. There was a garrison there, and he had to take shelter in a mountain hut, where some women compassionately nursed him. In six weeks his wound was well enough to enable him to seek an interview with O’Cahan, but that chief, who was afraid to help any Spaniard, had gone upon a foray with the soldiers. ‘I was now,’ he says, ‘able to show myself in the town, which was of thatched houses, and there were some very pretty girls, with whom I struck up a great friendship and often visited their house to converse. One afternoon when I was there, two young Englishmen came in, and one of them, who was a sergeant, asked me if I was a Spaniard, and what I did there. I said yes, and that I was one of Don Alonso de Luzon’s soldiers who had surrendered, that my bad leg had prevented me from going with the rest, and that I was at their service to do their bidding. They said they hoped soon to take me with them to Dublin, where there were many Spaniards of note in prison. I replied that I could not walk, but was very willing to accompany them. They then sent for a horse, and their suspicions being set at rest, they began to romp with the girls. The mother made me signs to leave, which I did very quickly, jumping over ditches and going through thick covert till I came within view of O’Cahan’s castle. At nightfall I followed a road which led me to a great lagoon.’ This was probably Lough Foyle, and here he was befriended by herdsmen, one of whom, after a visit to Coleraine, told him that he had seen the two Englishmen ‘raging in search’ of him. He kept his counsel, but advised Cuellar to remove into the mountains. He was conducted to the hiding-place of a bishop, ‘a very good Christian,’ who prudently dressed like the country folk. ‘I assure you,’ writes the devout Spaniard, ‘that I could not restrain my tears when I came to kiss his hand.’ It seems almost certain that this was Redmond O’Gallagher, papal bishop of Derry and acting Primate, one of the three Irish prelates who had attended the Council of Trent. He had twelve other Spaniards with him, and by his help Cuellar managed to reach Scotland. ‘He was a reverend and just man,’ says the latter; ‘may God’s hand keep him free from his enemies.’

Final escape of Cuellar.

Four shiploads of castaways from the Armada were ultimately despatched from Scotland, and were not molested by the English, to whom they were no longer dangerous; but Cuellar was wrecked once more near Dunkirk, and saw 270 of his companions butchered by the Dutch. At last, in October 1589, fourteen months after his narrow escape from swinging at the Duke of Medina Sidonia’s yard-arm, did this much-enduring man reach Antwerp, which was then in the hands of Alexander Farnese, and from thence he wrote the account which has been so largely used.[178]

More than twenty ships lost in Ireland

It is not possible to trace the history of every ship lost on the Irish coast. Bingham, in a letter written when all was over, says twelve ships were wrecked in his province, which included Clare, and that probably two or three more foundered about various islands. He particularly excluded those lost in Ulster and Munster. In a paper signed by Secretary Fenton the total number of vessels lost is given as eighteen, but full accounts had not yet come in, and that number certainly falls short of the truth. Cuellar says that more than twenty were lost in the kingdom of Ireland, with all the chivalry and flower of the Armada.[179]

Great loss of life.

Donegal.

Connaught.

Munster.

According to Fenton’s account 6,194 men belonging to the eighteen ships whose loss he records, were ‘drowned, killed, and taken.’ This does not include those who escaped, nor the men belonging to ships not comprised in his list. At the end of October the number of Spaniards alive in Donegal alone was not far short of 3,000. About 500 escaped from Ulster to Scotland—‘miserable, ragged creatures, utterly spoiled by the Irishry’—and some of their descendants remain there to this day, and preserve the tradition of their origin. Very few of them reached Spain, and on the whole, we may believe that the number of subjects lost to Philip II. out of that part of the fleet which was lost in Ireland, cannot have been much short of 10,000. ‘In my province,’ says Bingham, ‘there hath perished at the least 6,000 or 7,000 men, of which there hath been put to the sword by my brother George, and executed one way and another, about 700 or 800, or upwards. Bingham spared some Dutchmen and boys, as probably engaged against their wills, but these were executed by the Lord Deputy himself when he visited Athlone. Twenty-four survivors from a wreck were executed at Tralee, but this was done in a panic, and was quite unnecessary. Munster was indeed too thoroughly subdued to make the presence of a few Spaniards dangerous. In Ulster the arm of the Government scarcely reached the castaways until they were no longer of much importance. Even the native Irish did not always spare those who had come to deliver them. The MacSwineys killed forty at one place in Donegal. Plunder was no doubt the object, as it had been in Tyrawley and in Clare island, but a desire to curry favour with the Government had also a good deal to say to it. It was only in those parts of Ulster and Connaught where the power of the chiefs was still unbroken, that the Spaniards received any kind of effectual help.[180]

Tyrone and O’Donnell.

The Spaniards powerless.

Tyrone did what he could for the Spaniards by sending them provisions, and he bitterly reproved O’Donnell, who with his eldest son had helped the Government against them. Other O’Donnells joined the strangers, and the chief does not seem to have carried his country with him. His MacDonnell wife made no secret of her intention to employ the foreigners for her own purposes. Tyrone himself was careful not to commit any overt act, and indeed professed the utmost loyalty, but he took the opportunity to renew his complaints against Tirlogh Luineach. Two brothers named Ovington or Hovenden, who were partly in his service and partly in the Queen’s, skirmished with the Spaniards wrecked in Innishowen and brought most of them prisoners to Dungannon; but many of their soldiers ran away, and their own good faith was much suspected. The MacSwineys all helped the Spaniards more or less, and O’Dogherty complained that they transferred them to his country as soon as their own had been eaten up. With men and boats he had saved many hundreds from a wreck, but this was little more than common humanity demanded. There were at one time about 3,000 Spaniards alive in Ulster. O’Rourke had given them arms; MacClancy interrupted the communications; Ballymote, where George Bingham had a house, was burned by the O’Connors, O’Dowds, and O’Harts, who said they were making way for King Philip, and it was thought that Sligo must inevitably fall into their hands. Bingham’s vigour disconcerted the plans of the confederates, and a good many of the Spaniards made their way to Scotland. A few continued to lurk in different parts of Ireland, down to 1592 at least, but it is hardly possible to believe, what is so often stated, that they were in numbers sufficient to leave traces upon the features and complexions of the natives. Spanish blood there may be in Ireland, but it is surely more reasonable to attribute it to the commerce which existed for centuries between a land of fish and a land of wine.[181]

Wreck in Lough Foyle.

Officers ransomed.

The ship wrecked in O’Dogherty’s country was the ‘Trinidad Valencera’ of Venice. She had on board about 600 men—Spaniards, Greeks, and Italians; and of these 400, including more than 100 sick, were brought to shore, some of them with arms, but ‘without even one biscuit.’ ‘The natives, who are savages,’ had retired into the mountains, but they found some horses at grass, which they killed and ate. They were attacked by Tyrone’s foster-brethren, Richard and Henry Hovenden, who made much of the glorious victory of 140 over 600. The Spaniards said that they had surrendered on promise of their lives and of decent treatment; but that their captors nevertheless stripped them naked and killed a great many, not more than eighty being reserved as prisoners. Among these was one who seemed to carry ‘some kind of majesty.’ This was probably Don Alonso de Luzon, chief of the tercio or brigade of Naples, who was distinguished by a pointed beard and a large moustache. De Luzon with several other officers was brought to Drogheda, where they were told that those who had plundered them were not Englishmen but sons of the soil. Don Diego de Luzon and two others died after their arrival, and several had perished on the road. Don Alonso and Rodrigo de Lasso, who were both knights of Santiago, were sent to London for ransom, as well as Don Luis de Cordova and his nephew, the only prisoners whom Fitzwilliam allowed to live of those which Bingham had saved. More than fifty others were afterwards sent over, and something like 800l. appears to have been paid by way of ransom for them all.[182]

The Irish got the plunder.

Small gain to the Queen.

Relics and traditions.

The amount of plunder secured did not at all satisfy expectation. Much treasure fell into the hands of the Irish, who regarded the wreckage as a godsend. The small arms and the lighter pieces of artillery were appropriated in the same way. The larger cannon were not so easily moved, and a few were recovered by Carew and others. One wedge of gold found its way to the Queen, and there were rumours of various costly articles which had been seized by officers or adventurers. The guns rescued for her Majesty hardly exceeded a dozen, and a few others were sent into Scotland by the MacDonnells, who also got hold of a good many doubloons. The relics which have been handed down to us are very few, but the memory of the invincible Armada is preserved by the names which have clung to some points of the Irish coast.[183]

The Armada a crusade.

Irish priests on board.

Other Irishmen.

By a strange reading of history it has lately been attempted to divest the Armada of its religious character. It is very true that some of Queen Elizabeth’s subjects were conspicuous by their loyalty, though they adhered to the communion of Rome: they were Englishmen first and Catholics afterwards. But it was against heresy and against the queen of heresy that Philip shot his bolt. One Spanish poem in honour of the Armada begins with an invocation of the Virgin ‘conceived without sin,’ and ends with some lines about turning the Lutherans into good Christians. Another poet laments that the wise, powerful, and warlike island of Britain had been changed from a temple of faith into a temple of heresy. The land which produced the Arthurs, the Edwards, and the Henrys, was now, he says, condemned to eternal infamy for submitting to a spindle instead of the sceptre and sword; and he apostrophises Elizabeth as anything but a virgin queen, but rather as the wolfish offspring of an unchaste mother. Lope de Vega, who served in the Armada, contents himself with calling Philip the Christian Ulysses, and the Queen of England a false siren; and he avers that faith only despatched the vast fleet from the Spanish shore. 180 Spanish and Portuguese friars sailed in the Armada, Franciscans, Dominicans, Carmelites, Augustinians, and Theatins being all represented; and there were certainly some Irish ecclesiastics. ‘Tomas Vitres’ is probably Thomas White of Clonmel, who became a Jesuit in 1593. There was also a friar named James ne Dowrough, who originally went to Spain with James Fitzmaurice, and who was cast upon the coast of Donegal, where the people paid him much respect. Some few Irish laymen there were also on board, of whom the most important was a son of James Fitzmaurice, who died at sea and who was buried with a great ceremonial in Clew Bay. One or two other Desmond Geraldines are also mentioned. There were a few who belonged to good families of the Pale, the most important being Baltinglas’s brother, Edmund Eustace. Eustace was reported dead, but he got back to Spain. Cahil O’Connor, who killed Captain Mackworth, was another, and he also was afterwards alive in Spain. James Machary, a native of Tipperary, said he was impressed at Lisbon. On the whole it is clear that there was no thought at all of a descent on Ireland, though some Spaniards taken in Tralee Bay said that on board the Duke of Medina’s ship was an Englishman called Don William, a man of a reasonable stature, bald, and very like Sir William Stanley. But Stanley had not left the Netherlands, and there were other Englishmen in the Spanish fleet.[184]

Rumours from Spain.

A tradition.

As late as February, 1589, Irish merchants spread flattering reports in Spain. Alonso de Leyva was alive, they said, and held Athlone against the Lord Deputy with 2,000 men; but an Irish bishop at Corunna said there were no Spaniards in Ireland, and the tellers of both tales were arrested until the truth should be known. Norris had recommended that Irish auxiliaries should be used in retaliating on the coast of Spain, and when he visited Corunna with Drake they lamented that the advice had not been taken. ‘Had we had either horse on land, or some companies of Irish kerne to have pursued them, there had none of them escaped.’ There is a tradition in Munster, and the local historian fixes the date in 1589, that Drake was pursued by Spaniards into Cork harbour, that he took refuge among the woods in the secluded Carrigaline river, and that the foreigners sailed round the harbour and departed without being able to find him. It is not easy to say when this happened, but the place is called ‘Drake’s hole’ unto this day.[185]

The last of the Armada.

The Scotch Government did what it could to get rid of the Spaniards peaceably, but some were not shipped off until July 1589, and even then a remnant was left. They hung about the Orkneys, taking stray English vessels and even committing some murders on Scottish soil. In the correspondence to which they gave rise Bothwell’s name is frequently mentioned, and they continued to give trouble for some years. The few who lingered in Ireland could do but little harm, and the years which followed Philip’s great enterprise were unusually quiet.[186]