manner of sense of it at all; but I saw the meaning of it plainly enough in the years that followed.
I felt a gentle touch upon my arm, and Eva was by my side.
“Grace wishes you to go to her at once,” she said. “O Ruari, Ruari, dissuade her from going.”
“I will do what I can,” I replied; but I knew beforehand that if Grace O’Malley had settled what she was to do, nothing I could urge was likely to change her purpose.
Slowly I went into her presence.
“Eva has told you,” she said, “that we set out at once for Galway.”
“Yes,” I answered, “but I pray you to consider the matter well.”
“I have considered it well,” she replied; “but say on.”
“Is it a necessity,” I asked, “that you should go to Galway? Are there not many more places in Ireland for us to go to? Is not the north open to us, and the west, with plenty of Spanish merchantmen and English trading on the broad waters?”
“All in good time,” said she, smiling at my eloquence.
“Here,” said I, emboldened to proceed, “here you are among your own people, on your own land, and no one will seek to molest us. But in Galway – everything is different.”
“That is it,” she said earnestly. “That is the very reason – everything is different there.”
She stopped as if in thought.
“Listen, Ruari! My mind,” said she, “is made up to go to Galway to talk over our affairs with the English governor.”
So this was the reason.
“You say I am safe here,” she continued, “but am I? Word was brought me only yesterday by a trusty messenger from Richard Burke, the MacWilliam, that my father’s old-time enemy, Murrough O’Flaherty, is whispering in the ear of Sir Nicholas Malby, the Colonel of Connaught – perhaps into the ear of the Lord Deputy himself, for I hear he is expected about this time in the city – that my father was an enemy of the Queen, Elizabeth, and that I, his daughter, am sure to follow in his steps.”
“Murrough O’Flaherty!” cried I, “is he not content with his own wide lands of Aughnanure?”
“Content,” said she. “Such a man is never content! Then this insidious whisperer goes on to hint that I am only a young woman, and that my father has left no heir. It is plain enough, is it not, what he means?”
“Sir Nicholas Malby,” said I, “is reputed to be a just man and a good soldier.”
“A just man – perhaps, who knows! That is why I am going to Galway. I must make clear my right and title to my father’s possessions.”
“Right and title,” I exclaimed, and unconsciously I placed my hand on the hilt of my sword.
She saw and interpreted the action.
“Our title-deed,” said she, “has been that of the sword – ”
“And so shall it always be,” I broke in.
“In one sense, yes,” she assented; “but we live in times of change, and things are not as they were. All the chiefs and lords of Ireland are now getting a title for their lands from the queen. Even my father did something of the sort. If I go not to Galway to put forward my claims it will be said that I am disloyal and a traitress.”
“So,” I said, “it may be an evil to go, but it is a worse thing to stay here.”
“Yes,” she answered; “but I have other reasons. It is not that I put so much trust in a piece of parchment, signed and sealed, although I see no harm in getting it. Ruari, I have purposes that reach far beyond Galway, and Connaught even, and for the present I deem it not well openly to incur the enmity of the English.”
This speech was beyond me, so I held my peace until I remembered what the “Wise Man” had said; but when I mentioned it she replied that she knew of the matter, and though it troubled her, it would make no difference to her plans.
Then she fell to brooding and thinking, as was her way, whereupon I left her to get the ships ready for sea even as she wished.
So, before another day was passed, the three great galleys drew away from the shelter of Clare Island, and, speeding before a fair wind, made for the south. Grace and Eva O’Malley were on The Grey Wolf, Tibbot, the pilot, was in command of his dead master’s ship, The Winged Horse, while I was on my own vessel, The Cross of Blood.
We took a great company with us of nearly one hundred and fifty men, including a band of arquebusiers, besides bards and pipers, and a priest on each ship. The priests were not much to my liking on shipboard, but Grace would have them. Both Grace and Eva brought of the finest of their garments, all made of rich Spanish stuffs, so that they might appear before the Governor as befitted their rank. I myself took with me two full suits, also of Spanish make, and such as were worn at courts, that I might not appear unworthy of my mistress.
As the wind was steady, the black cliffs of Achill, with the mass of Cushcamcarragh and the dome of Nephin behind them, soon grew distant in our wake. The glowing cone of the Holy Hill of St. Patrick, a wonder of light and shade as beam of sun or shadow of cloud fell upon it, sank behind us.
And on we went through a sea of silence, whereon we saw never another ship; on past the grey or green islands off the coast, until the wind dropped at sunset. Then the rowers bent their backs and knotted their muscles over the oars, and so drove the galleys up the long, narrow arm that is called the Bay of Killery, until we found anchorage under the mighty shoulders of that king of mountains, the lonely Muilrea.
At early morn, before the sun was up, albeit a far-off tender flush had sprung up, like something magical, upon the western rim of the world, the dirl, dirl, dirl, and the clamp, clamp, clamp, of the oars, as they smote the groaning pivots on which they swung, was heard, and the galleys went foaming out from the bay, the spray rising like a fine dust of gems from under the forefeet of the ships. Then we caught a breeze, and the sails swelled and drew, while the sailors gat them to their places with shouts and laughter.
Is there any coast in the four quarters of the globe where you will find more splendid havens than in the portion of Ireland lying between the Bay of Killery and the Bay of Galway? Well has that land been named Connemara – that is, the “Bays of the Ocean.” The rugged cliffs, whereon the weather and the wave have combined to throw all manner of cunning colours far beyond power of painter to copy, still less devise, are everywhere broken by inlets, in many of which all the fleets of Spain and of England together might have ridden safely – hardly one of these bays but has its island breakwater in front of it for its protection from the storm and tempest.
’Tis a rare home for seamen!
As the day wore on we fell in with a Scottish ship hailing from Wigtonshire, called The Lass of Carrick, going to Galway like ourselves. But Grace O’Malley had given command that until her business was finished with the Governor, we were to continue peacefully on our course, so we left her without scathe, whereat our men were in no way offended, there being but little profit to be got out of a ship coming from Scotland.
A vessel going back from Galway to Scotland was another thing, for she generally carried a cargo of wines of divers sorts, to say nothing of silks and other valuable materials. Therefore
