Having come to the conclusion that Sabina Lynch should be set at liberty when a suitable opportunity presented itself, I acquainted her with my decision. She could scarcely believe her ears, and was not convinced that I meant what I said until I informed her that she might move about the galley as she pleased, and that I would put her ashore at Liscanor if she wished it, or take her on with us if that was her will.
When she saw that I did not intend to deceive her, nor to do her any hurt, she told me that she was going to Limerick. Inquiring why she had left Galway, I now heard of the rising of the Upper Burkes under Ulick, the son of the Earl of Clanrickarde, which had caused Sir Nicholas to hurry back to that city—as I have before recorded. It appeared that the people of Galway were in the extreme of terror, as nearly all the fighting men of the place had been withdrawn from it, and from Athlone, where was the next English garrison, as well, for the expedition against Grace O’Malley, and the city was thus left without defenders.
The Burkes had met with no resistance on their march to Galway, and the city was in great danger of being taken and sacked. A way out, however, remained, by the sea; and so grave was the state of affairs that Stephen Lynch, the mayor, had gladly availed himself of an opportunity of sending his daughter away for safety by The Rosemary, which happened to be leaving for Limerick. Along with her had also gone several ladies of Galway, but they had all perished in the wreck.
I now informed Sabina Lynch that I was bound for the Shannon, and that I would put her ashore at some point on the river near Limerick, if our voyage had a favourable termination, but that I thought it would be better for her to land here at Liscanor.
However, she replied that she had friends at Limerick, but knew no one in Liscanor, and so begged to be allowed to remain on The Cross of Blood. She prevailed upon me with her entreaties, and I consented—wherein, God wot, I was weak enough, though nothing short of her death could have prevented what was to occur.
There is a saying among us Celts, “What will be, already is,” and this saying is true.
The day which succeeded that on which The Rosemary was destroyed saw us out of the Bay of Liscanor, and, the weather being propitious, the next found us entering the mouth of that most beautiful of all the beautiful rivers of Ireland, the Shannon. But it was not until two days later that I brought the galley into the bay of the creek upon which, some miles inland, stands Askeaton, the fortress of the Desmonds.
During this time, being fully occupied with the working of the ship, I had seen little or nothing of Mistress Lynch, who, however, had had many conversations with Fitzgerald, and often did I hear them laughing and jesting, the one with the other, as if there were no such things in the world as bad weather and storms, and shipwrecks and war, and the deaths of men.
Now the bay in which the galley lay was no great distance from Limerick, and as it would have been the height of madness to go any nearer that city, which could not but be very hostile to us, I told Sabina Lynch that our journey was at an end, and that she was free to go. Whereupon she thanked me, and along with Fitzgerald, who had offered himself as her escort for part of the way, and who was well acquainted with the country—for it was all the territory of the Geraldines—left The Cross of Blood.