The battle between Richard Bingham and myself will not be over until one of us dies.
‘We must expect an attack on Umhall Ui Mhaille,’ she warns. ‘Fight with guns or swords or spears or bare hands, but fight. Do not surrender one more cow, one more horse, one more clod of earth, to the English!
‘As for me, I will not allow Bingham to trap me and seize my ships.’ Granuaile doubles her hands into fists. Her eyes blaze. ‘If necessary I shall burn the galleys myself, keeping out one so I can make a break for freedom.’
Chapter Thirty–One
The Spanish Armada
The Spanish Armada is met with a stiff defence in the English Channel. Elizabeth’s warships carry fewer men, but they are lighter and faster and their artillery is better. They do considerable damage to the clumsy Spanish vessels , but cannot overcome them. Gales in the Channel finally force the invaders back to Northern Spain, where they refit their ships.
In July the Armada sets forth again.
English and Dutch warships are waiting for the invaders at the mouth of the Channel. They launch fireships into the heart of the Spanish fleet, breaking its formation . In the battle that follows, a number of Spanish ships are sunk, damaged or scattered among the Channel Islands. The English harry them like hounds. The Spaniards are in danger of being driven aground. All hope of victory is lost. They try to escape, but the combination of pursuing warships and a strong wind forces them to sail north up the Channel, rather than south.
The English are forced to turn back by a shortage of supplies. What remains of the Armada reaches clear water in the North Sea. They round northern Scotland and chart a course down the west coast of Ireland, heading wearily home.
Meanwhile a huge storm has been brewing in the Atlantic. When the fleeing ships reach the west coast of Ireland they are battered by terrible winds. They struggle on. Their sails are torn from the masts. Helpless, they are driven onto the rocks. As the bulky warships break up, their timbers cry out like dying animals.
Aristocratic Spanish officers and common seamen are plunged together into the violent ocean. Those who can, swim desperately for shore.
September, the Year of Our Lord 1588, Achill Island
My dear Toby,
Disaster! All is undone. The Spanish fleet has been destroyed, and only a few will ever reach their home port. I fear Spanish support for Ireland’s cause is lost as well. Why? Because as the survivors from the wrecked Armada came ashore, we slaughtered them.
We had been watching the coast in anticipation of an attack by Bingham. When the storm blew up we could see ships battling against the wind. By their shape I knew them for Spanish, not English. I tried to tell people this but they would not listen. I cannot say what tookhold of their minds. They went wild with excitement. They leaped up and down, screaming and waving their arms about as they watched the ships break up on the rocks.
There is no excuse for what they did next.
As the half-drowned Spaniards came staggering out of the sea, men, women and even children waded into the surf to take hold of them. The unfortunates were stripped of whatever valuables they carried, then battered to death there on the shore.
I ran up and down the beach, screaming at people to stop. They had never failed to obey me before. But in that howling wind, they were howling too. They were deaf and blind to everything but violence. Is this what Bingham and his kind have done to us? Have they made us so fearful and frantic we kill without reason?
We have slain those who should be our allies, Toby. If word of this gets back to Philip, what help can we expect from him? We will be left alone against the English. But whilst there is life left in us, we must fight to keep go on living.
Always,
Granuaile
Heartsick, Granuaile prowls a coast littered with broken ships’ timbers and dead bodies.
Her son-in-law, The Devil’s Hook,
‘We must expect an attack on Umhall Ui Mhaille,’ she warns. ‘Fight with guns or swords or spears or bare hands, but fight. Do not surrender one more cow, one more horse, one more clod of earth, to the English!
‘As for me, I will not allow Bingham to trap me and seize my ships.’ Granuaile doubles her hands into fists. Her eyes blaze. ‘If necessary I shall burn the galleys myself, keeping out one so I can make a break for freedom.’
Chapter Thirty–One
The Spanish Armada
The Spanish Armada is met with a stiff defence in the English Channel. Elizabeth’s warships carry fewer men, but they are lighter and faster and their artillery is better. They do considerable damage to the clumsy Spanish vessels , but cannot overcome them. Gales in the Channel finally force the invaders back to Northern Spain, where they refit their ships.
In July the Armada sets forth again.
English and Dutch warships are waiting for the invaders at the mouth of the Channel. They launch fireships into the heart of the Spanish fleet, breaking its formation . In the battle that follows, a number of Spanish ships are sunk, damaged or scattered among the Channel Islands. The English harry them like hounds. The Spaniards are in danger of being driven aground. All hope of victory is lost. They try to escape, but the combination of pursuing warships and a strong wind forces them to sail north up the Channel, rather than south.
The English are forced to turn back by a shortage of supplies. What remains of the Armada reaches clear water in the North Sea. They round northern Scotland and chart a course down the west coast of Ireland, heading wearily home.
Meanwhile a huge storm has been brewing in the Atlantic. When the fleeing ships reach the west coast of Ireland they are battered by terrible winds. They struggle on. Their sails are torn from the masts. Helpless, they are driven onto the rocks. As the bulky warships break up, their timbers cry out like dying animals.
Aristocratic Spanish officers and common seamen are plunged together into the violent ocean. Those who can, swim desperately for shore.
September, the Year of Our Lord 1588, Achill Island
My dear Toby,
Disaster! All is undone. The Spanish fleet has been destroyed, and only a few will ever reach their home port. I fear Spanish support for Ireland’s cause is lost as well. Why? Because as the survivors from the wrecked Armada came ashore, we slaughtered them.
We had been watching the coast in anticipation of an attack by Bingham. When the storm blew up we could see ships battling against the wind. By their shape I knew them for Spanish, not English. I tried to tell people this but they would not listen. I cannot say what tookhold of their minds. They went wild with excitement. They leaped up and down, screaming and waving their arms about as they watched the ships break up on the rocks.
There is no excuse for what they did next.
As the half-drowned Spaniards came staggering out of the sea, men, women and even children waded into the surf to take hold of them. The unfortunates were stripped of whatever valuables they carried, then battered to death there on the shore.
I ran up and down the beach, screaming at people to stop. They had never failed to obey me before. But in that howling wind, they were howling too. They were deaf and blind to everything but violence. Is this what Bingham and his kind have done to us? Have they made us so fearful and frantic we kill without reason?
We have slain those who should be our allies, Toby. If word of this gets back to Philip, what help can we expect from him? We will be left alone against the English. But whilst there is life left in us, we must fight to keep go on living.
Always,
Granuaile
Heartsick, Granuaile prowls a coast littered with broken ships’ timbers and dead bodies.
Her son-in-law, The Devil’s Hook,
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