Armada

He checked the line of his ship and immediately called for a minor course change, hoping to garner an extra half or even quarter knot of speed from his bark, the Golden Hind. He looked to the coastline off his larboard beam. Plymouth was at least another hour away and he searched for any sign of smoke from the signal beacons. The Golden Hind had been sailing some ten miles off the Lizard when they sighted the Armada. Visibility had been limited and it was evident that the watchmen on land had yet to sight the enemy. Fleming had to reach Plymouth as swiftly as possible. When lit, the beacon fires would overtake and outrun his ship, but they could only tell the fleet in Plymouth that the Armada had been sighted. Fleming could show them exactly where the enemy was on his chart and give details of their displacement and direction.

The renewed realization caused him to glance over his shoulder again. He ordered their speed to be checked again. Eight knots. The course change had had no effect and he searched his store of local knowledge for some advantage of current or conditions he might have overlooked. There was none. He would have to rely solely on his 50 ton bark. He uttered a silent prayer that the fleet at Plymouth would be ready to sail upon his arrival. The situation there had been critical when he had sailed out days before. The fleet was shackled to the port by the shortages in rations, unable to sally out until sufficient victuals were secured, and in the confines of the inner harbour, they would be easy prey should the Spanish attempt a blockading attack.

The Golden Hind sailed on. Over the horizon the Armada pursued in her wake, the south-westerly bearing all towards their fate. On the eve of battle in an undeclared war all uncertainty had now been banished. The Armada, so long in coming, had arrived. The future of one nation and the ambition of another would be decided by the chosen sons of each realm. Faith against faith, ship against ship, man against man, they would fight. Two naval powers set in opposition, their strength distilled and fed into the hearts and souls of men ready to die for their cause. God’s will was unfolding, and the day so long prayed both for and against, was at hand.

CHAPTER 13

2 a.m. 31st July 1588. Plymouth, England.

The crewmen of the Retribution grunted and strained through the pull, their backs bent against the bars of the capstan, shoulders bunched and muscles trembling as inch by inch, foot by foot, the anchor rope snaked in through the hawsehole. Seawater streamed from the rope, each drop catching and reflecting the dull lantern light that illuminated the low ceilinged gun deck. The air was musky with the smell of sweat and the bare-chested men cursed and cajoled the dead weight they pulled against as they slowly marched in a fixed circle.

Robert watched them without comment, studying each man, searching for signs of weakness. He indicated one of the men to Shaw and the boatswain tapped the sailor on the shoulder, signalling him to step out from the bar. Another rushed forward from the waiting ranks to take his place, maintaining the strength of the whole. Robert glanced at the relieved man. He was doubled over, breathing heavily and Robert acknowledged his hard work with a curt nod. On all sides the crew continued to shout encouragement to those men at the bars. They laboured on, not to lift the anchor, but to haul the entire weight of the 450 ton Retribution.

Like a lighted taper cast into an arsenal, the arrival of the Golden Hind in Plymouth harbour the evening before had set the English fleet ablaze with frenetic activity. Every ship had immediately cleared their decks for action but the order to sally out could not be given. The tide had been in full flood, rushing against them through the outer headlands and the English crews had been forced to wait in agonizing dread of a Spanish blockading attack. By God’s grace it had never materialized. When the tide finally turned before midnight the crews had cheered the order to make all haste out of the lethal confines of Plymouth harbour.

Without an assisting wind the ships were warping out of the harbour with the ebb tide. It was a laborious and excruciatingly slow process. The ship’s anchor was carried forward in the longboat to the full extent of the line before being dropped overboard. Once secured, the line was then hauled in, dragging the ship forward using the strength of the crew. More than half the fleet had already completed the task and were now waiting in the lee of Rame Head.