[[See larger version]]

Cuellar says they anchored half a league from the shore, where they remained "four days without being able to make any provision or do anything. On the fifth day there sprang up such a great storm," he says, "on our beam, with a sea up to the heavens, so that the cables could not hold, nor the sails serve us, and we were driven ashore upon a beach covered with very fine sand, shut in on one side and the other by great rocks. Such a thing was never seen; for within the space of an hour all three ships were broken in pieces, so that there did not escape 300 men, and more than 1,000 were drowned, and amongst them many persons of importance—captains, gentlemen, and other officials." Of the three vessels which were wrecked on the Streedagh Strand—(in a map of the coast, made in 1609, the rock, which is still called Carrig-na-Spaniagh, is thus marked: "Three Spanish shipps here cast ashore in Anno Domi, 1588")—the name of one was the San Juan de Sicilia. She was commanded by Don Diego Enriquez, "the Hunchback."

This officer, as Cuellar relates, came to his death in a sad way. Fearing the very heavy sea that was washing over the deck of his vessel, which was going to pieces on the strand, he ordered out his large boat, a decked one, and, accompanied by the Count of Villa Franca, and two other Portuguese gentlemen, they closed themselves into the hold of the boat, hoping to be washed ashore. Having gone below, and bringing with them sixteen thousand ducats in jewels and crown pieces, they ordered the hatchway to be tightly fastened down, in order to prevent the ingress of water; but just as the boat was leaving the disabled ship, more than seventy men, terror-stricken with the fate that awaited them, wildly jumped on the deck of the boat, hoping thereby to reach the land; but the small craft, unable to bear the great weight above water-line, and having been struck by a wave, toppled over and sank, all on deck being swept away. She afterwards rose to the surface, and was drifted about in different directions, ultimately reaching the shore upside down. Those unfortunates who were below were all killed, with the exception of Don Diego Enriquez, who, after being in such a sad condition for more than twenty-four hours, was found still living when the hold was broken into by the "savages" who were searching for plunder. They took out the dead men, and Don Diego, who only survived a few minutes; and, having secured the plunder—jewels and money—left the dead stripped and naked on the strand, denying them even the rights of Christian burial! Cuellar, though in great extremities, was not unmindful of the kindness he had received from the Judge Advocate, Martin de Aranda. "One touch of nature makes the whole world kin." Cuellar, the deposed captain, and the Judge Advocate, were standing on the same deck, with the horrors of death facing them on all sides. Martin de Aranda, seeing the destruction of all that was dear to him, had little energy left to make any effort to escape; but Cuellar endeavoured to rally his drooping spirits, and made every effort he could to help him, and bring him to shore. Taking a hatchway from the deck of the vessel they were in, Cuellar got it afloat, and succeeded in getting the Judge Advocate on also; but in the act of casting off from the ship, a huge wave engulphed them, and the Judge Advocate, being unable to hold on, was drowned. Cuellar, grievously wounded by being struck by pieces of floating timber, succeeded in keeping his footing on the hatchway, and at length reached the shore, "unable to stand, all covered with blood, and very much injured."[[1]]

Fenton, writing to Burleigh (State Papers, 1588-9), says: "At my late being in Sligo, I found both by view of eye and credible report that the number of ships and men perished at these coasts was more than was advertised thither by the Lord Deputy and Council, for I numbered in one strand [Streedagh], of less than five miles in length, eleven hundred dead corpses of men which the sea had driven on the shore. Since the time of the advertisement, the country people told me the like was in other places, though not of like numbers; and the Lord Deputy, writing to the Council, says: 'After leaving Sligo, I journeyed towards Bundroys [Bundrowse] and so to Ballyshannon, the uttermost part of Connaught that way, and riding still along the sea-shore, I went to see the bay where some of these ships were wrecked, and where, as I heard not long before, lay twelve or thirteen hundred of the dead bodies. I rode along that strand near two miles (but left behind me a long mile and more), and then turned off that shore; in both which places, they said that had seen it, there lay as great store of timber of wrecked ships as was in that place which myself had viewed, being in my opinion (having small skill or judgment therein) more than would have built four of the greatest ships I ever saw, beside mighty great boats, cables, and other cordage answerable thereto, and such masts, for bigness and length, as in my knowledge I never saw any two that could make the like.'"

The account given by the Lord Deputy of his journey from Sligo to Ballyshannon, though rather obscurely worded, points to the probability of there having been more than one spot on that coast which was a scene of disaster. It is evident that the entire shore from Streedagh to Bundrowse was littered with the wreckage of the Spanish vessels, and it could hardly be expected that all the "flotsam and jetsam" referred to in the report we have quoted would have come from the three vessels described by Cuellar.

To return to the narrative. Cuellar now found himself in a desperate plight; wounded, half-naked, and starving with hunger, he managed to creep into a place of concealment during the remainder of the day; and he says: "At the dawn of day I began to walk little by little, searching for a monastery of monks that I might repair to it as best I could, the which I arrived at with much trouble and toil, and I found it deserted, and the church and images of the Saints burned and completely ruined, and twelve Spaniards hanging within the church by the act of the English Lutherans, who went about searching for us to make an end of all of us who had escaped from the perils of the sea." Some writers on this shipwreck have been unable to explain this reference to a monastery in the vicinity of the sea-shore at Streedagh. No such difficulty, however, exists in identifying the place indicated; for within sight of the strand stood the Abbey of Staad, which tradition says was founded by St. Molaise, the patron saint of the neighbouring island of Inismurray. It was then to this monastery that Cuellar repaired, in the expectation of finding there a safe asylum in his dire necessity. He was, however, disappointed; for he found the place deserted, and several of his fellow-countrymen hanging from the iron bars of the windows. The ruins of Staad Abbey, which still remain, are inconsiderable, consisting of portions of the church, which was oblong in form, and measured, internally, 34 feet in length by 14 feet 5 inches in width. There are indications that a much older building once occupied the site of the existing ruin. Outside the walls of the old church it was customary to light beacons for the purpose of signalling with the inhabitants of Inismurray and elsewhere, and this mode of communication by fire-signals was adopted in Ireland from remote times, and its existence amongst us to the present day is an interesting survival of primitive life. Cuellar, sick at heart with the ghastly spectacle in the monastery, betook himself to a road "which lay through a great wood," and after wandering about without being able to procure any food, he turned his face once more to the sea-shore, in the hope of being able to pick up some provisions that might have been washed in from the wrecks. Here he found, stretched on the strand in one spot, more than 400 Spaniards, and amongst them he recognised Don Enriquez and another honoured officer. He dug a hole in the sand and buried his two friends. After some time he was joined by two other Spaniards. They met a man who seemed rather friendly towards them. He directed them to take a road which led from the coast to a village, which Cuellar describes as "consisting of some huts of straw." This was probably the village of Grange, a couple of miles distant; and the huts he refers to were the cabins with thatched roofs, still a common feature in the country. From descriptions of these, which are given by writers of the 16th century, there seems to be but slight difference in the mode of constructing cabins then and now. At Grange was a castle in which soldiers were stationed. It was an important outpost at the period, being on the highway between Connacht and Tirconnell. From this castle, bodies of soldiers used to sally forth, scouring the neighbourhood for Spanish fugitives and plunder. Fearing these military scouts, Cuellar turned off from the village, and entered a wood, in which he had not gone far when a new misfortune befel him. He was set upon by an "old savage," more than seventy years of age, and by two young men—one English, the other French. They wounded him in the leg, and stripped him of what little clothing was left to him. They took from him a gold chain of the value of a thousand reals; also forty-five gold crown pieces he had sewed into his clothing, and some relics that had been given him at Lisbon. But for the interference of a young girl, whom Cuellar describes as of the age of twenty, "and most beautiful in the extreme," it would have gone hard with him in the hands of these men. Having robbed him of all he had, they went on their way in search of further prey, and the young girl, pitying the sad condition of the Spaniard, made a salve of herbs for his wounds, and gave him butter and milk, with oaten bread to eat.

Cuellar was directed to travel in the direction of some mountains, which appeared to be about six leagues distant, behind which there were good lands belonging to an "important savage," a very great friend of the King of Spain. The distances in leagues and miles given in the narrative are in most cases considerably over-estimated, and cannot be relied on. Cuellar, it should be remembered, is describing events which happened to him in a strange country, wherein the names of the places, and the distances from place to place, were alike unknown to him; and the journeys he was forced to make, in his lame and wretched condition, must have seemed to him very much longer than they were in reality. A right understanding of this part of the narrative is important, as some writers have fallen into the error of supposing that Cuellar's course was in the direction of the Donegal Mountains, on the other side of the bay, visible, no doubt, from the locality of the wreck, but on the distant northern horizon. A careful reading of the text will show that this was not the direction he took. He says: "I began to walk as best I could, making for the north[[2]] of the mountains, as the boy had told me." This means that he kept on the north, or sea-side of the Dartry Mountains; and behind them (i.e., on the south side) were good lands belonging to a friendly chief. The word "north" does not here refer to the cardinal point, but is used merely as a relative term, just as "right and left," "back and front," are used in familiar conversation. Besides, Cuellar plainly states the name of the chief he was seeking to reach: he speaks of him as "Senior de Ruerque" (Spanish for O'Rourque), whose territory lay in the direction of the mountain range he was travelling towards. He calls him an "important savage"—a term which he applies to the Irish natives he met with, whether friendly or the reverse: it does not refer to their treatment of him personally; but he intends it to define what he considers their position in the scale of civilization as compared with his own country. Journeying on in the direction pointed out to him, he came to a lake, in the vicinity of which were about thirty huts—all forsaken and untenanted. Going into one of these for shelter, he discovered three other naked men—Spaniards—who had met the same hard treatment as himself. The only food they could obtain here was blackberries and water-cresses. Covering themselves up with some straw, they passed the night in a hut by the lake-side, resolving at daybreak to push forward towards O'Rourke's village.

The lake to which reference is here made is evidently Glenade Lough, from which it was an easy journey to O'Rourke's settlement at Glencar. O'Rourke had another "town" at Newtown, on the borders of the County of Sligo. It seems probable, however, that at this time he had removed his people to Glencar. In the Lough here were several crannogs, remains of which are still visible. Such lacustrine habitations were usually resorted to by the Irish chiefs in times of disturbance; for within their stockaded lake-dwellings they and their possessions were safest from the attack of the enemy. Having arrived at "the village," Cuellar found the chief absent, being at war with the English, who were at the time in occupation of Sligo. Here he found a number of Spaniards. Before many days passed, tidings came that a Spanish ship, probably one of De Leyva's vessels, was standing off the coast, and on the look-out for any Spaniards who had escaped with their lives. Hearing this, Cuellar and nineteen others resolved to make an effort to reach the vessel. They, therefore, set off at once towards the coast. They met with many hindrances on the way; and Cuellar, probably owing to the wounded state of his leg, was unable to keep pace with the others, and was consequently left behind, while the others got on board the vessel. He regards this circumstance of his being left behind as a special interference of Providence on his behalf, for the ship, after setting sail, was, he says, "wrecked off the same coast, and more than 200 persons were drowned."

Resuming the course of Cuellar's fortunes, we find him pursuing his way by the most secluded routes for fear of the "Sassana horsemen," as he styles the English soldiers. He soon fell in with a clergyman, who entered into friendly converse with him in the Latin tongue—a language, it may be observed, that did not at that period in Ireland rank as a "dead" one—men and women of various degrees, both high and low, spoke it freely; of this there is abundant evidence from contemporary writers. The clergyman gave Cuellar some of the food he had with him, and directed him to take a road which would bring him to a castle which belonged to a "savage" gentleman, "a very brave soldier, and a great enemy of the Queen of England—a man who had never cared to obey her or pay tribute, attending only to his castle and mountains, which [latter] made it strong." Following the course pointed out to him, Cuellar met with an untoward circumstance which caused him much anxiety; he was met by a blacksmith who pursued his calling in a "deserted valley." Here he was forced to abide, and work in the forge. For more than a week he (the Spanish officer) had to blow the forge bellows, and, what was worse, submit to the rough words of the blacksmith's wife, whom he calls "an accursed old woman." At length, his friend the clergyman happened again to pass that way, and seeing Cuellar labouring in the forge, he was displeased. He comforted him, assuring him he would speak to the chief of the castle to which he had directed him, and ask that an escort should be sent for him. The following day this promise was fulfilled, and four men from the castle, and a Spanish soldier who had already found his way thither, arrived, and safely conducted him on his way. Here he seems at last to have found kind and humane treatment. He specially mentions the extreme kindness shown him by the chief's wife, whom he describes as "beautiful in the extreme."