The Admiral

by Nigel Tranter

Genres: Historical Fiction

Synopsis

A humble laird from Largoshire, Andrew Wood's determination to avenge his father's murder by English pirates, led to his national renown as a pirate-slayer. This brought him to the attention of King James III, who asked Wood to build up a number of captured vessels to form the nucleus of a national fleet. Such was his success, that the King eventually promoted him to become Baron of Largo and Lord High Admiral of Scotland. Admiral Wood's bold defence of Scottish waters against the marauding English privateers was to incur the wrath of King Henry VII of England. Wood was now in great danger - but he survived to become Scotland's most famous sailor, and a skilled negotiator who greatly aided his nation's cause at a time of international unrest.

Release date: December 8, 2011

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 356

Sample

Andrew Wood: Small laird of Largoshire, in East Fife, of the family of Wood of Bonnytoun.

Janet Lindsay or Wood: Mother of above.

Sir John Lindsay of Pitcruvie: Kinsman of Janet.

Henry Lindsay: Son of above, merchant-trader at Leith and shipowner.

James Barton: Experienced shipmaster and trader.

James the Third: King of Scots.

James, Duke of Rothesay: Son of above, heir to the throne.

John Stewart, Lord Darnley, Earl of Lennox: Kinsman of the monarch.

John Laing, Bishop of Glasgow: Chancellor of the Realm.

Elizabeth Lundie: Daughter of Lundie of Balgony, notable Fife family.

Robert Lundie: Sheriff of Fife, and brother of Elizabeth.

Andrew Forman, Prior of Pittenweem: Later Bishop of Moray.

Hans Poppenruyter: Brass-founder and maker of cannon, at Antwerp.

John, Lord of the Isles, Earl of Ross: Great Highland leader.

Robert Cochrane: Mason and builder, favourite of the king.

Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus: Great Scots noble.

Stephen Bull: English privateer.

William Elphinstone, Bishop of Aberdeen: Chancellor of the Realm.

Robert Keith: Earl Marischal.

Patrick Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell: Master of the King’s Household.

Robert Blackadder: Bishop of Glasgow.

Mariota Hepburn: Wife of Bothwell.

Charles the Eighth: King of France.

Manuel: King of Portugal.

Queen Joan: Widow of King Alfonso of Portugal and aunt of Manuel.

Donald, Lord of the Isles: Highland leader, grandson of John, Lord of the Isles.

Mary Gunn: mother of Donald, above.

Margaret Tudor: daughter of Henry the Seventh of England and wife of James the Fourth.

John of Denmark: King, uncle of James the Fourth.

Henry the Seventh: King of England.

Henry, Prince of Wales: Son of above, heir to the throne.

De la Motte: French ambassador to Scotland.

James the Fifth: Infant King of Scots.

John Stewart, Duke of Albany: heir presumptive to James the Fifth.

Antoine de la Bastie: Noted soldier, friend of Albany and his envoy to Scotland.

James Hamilton, Earl of Arran: Friend of Albany, also envoy to Scotland.

Alexander Home, Lord Home: High Justiciar South of the Forth.

Archbishop Beaton of Glasgow: Chancellor of the Realm.

Prince Henry: Dauphin of France.

Marie de Guise, Duchess of Longueville: Second wife of James the Fifth.

The young man gazed out from the eastern horn of Largo Bay, as so often he did. Great was the prospect, south, east and west, across the Forth estuary, to the mighty rock-stack of the Craig of Bass sixteen miles off, rising out of the sea backed by the conical hill of North Berwick Law, westwards to the distant heights of Arthur’s Seat, Edinburgh Castle and the Pentland Hills, and much further. But it was rather nearer where his regard was fixed, a mere ten miles, this on the cliffs of the Isle of May, that mile-long island at the very mouth of the firth. For it was there, within a hidden inlet at its south end that the English pirates, or privateers as they called themselves, claiming their government’s permission, were apt to lurk, to issue out and attack any vessels that were unwise enough to sail the seas singly rather than in safe convoy. That trap of an island, holy as it might be, former hermitage of St Ethernan, one of Columba’s disciples, and seat of a little Benedictine monastery, was very much on Andrew Wood’s mind, always was, for there his father had been slain and his ship captured four years before, and he, his elder son, had vowed to avenge him one day.

He would do so, indeed.

Frequently Andrew came here to gaze, however much his good mother declared that he should be doing other things more useful, tending and herding their sheep on Largo Law, aiding her brother at La’hill Mill, working for their kinsman, Sir John Lindsay at nearby Pitcruvie Castle – or even spearing flukies, or flounders, in the shallows of the sands. This last was what he had come to do now; but as so often he got distracted by that Isle of May and its challenge – for that is what it was for him, where one day he would pay the debt to his father.

He well recognised, of course, that this might be quite a long way off. At eighteen years he could scarcely hope to be in any position to carry out his vow very soon. But he would, somehow.

He kicked off his boots, rolled his breeches higher, and picked up his pronged fork on its pole, to wade into the shallows. He quite enjoyed flukie-spearing however cold the water on his feet, this when the tide was right. The flatfish lay hidden just below the surface of sand and water, but they could be felt to wriggle when stood upon by bare feet. Then the spear had to be plunged down into them – with care not to spear the toes in the process, easily done. Then the fish had to be jerked up and caught before it could twist itself off the hook, fall back into the water and swim away free. Care also had to be taken not to make a splashing of the feet, which could warn the creatures, and they could slither away before they were reached.

Andrew had to wade that day for quite some distance through the shallows of the great six-mile-wide bay before he felt movement under his left foot, and he stepped aside and stabbed. But the flukie was too quick for him, and he missed it. However another wriggle quickly followed, and this time his point struck and penetrated. Expertly he hoisted the flapping catch up so as to keep it transfixed until he could grab it with the other hand, detach it, and stow it, still squirming, in the satchel slung from his left shoulder.

There were quite a number of flounders thereabouts, and before long he had as many as to fill his bag.

Before he turned for home, he gave another stare at the May island. That place preoccupied him, he admitted. Were there any English pirates hiding behind it now?

He had some distance to walk to his home. Largo community was odd in being divided between Upper and Lower, half a mile apart. His late father’s house stood between the two, as the ground began to rise towards the foot of Largo Law, the highest hill in what was known as the East Neuk of Fife, no mountain as it was. Largostone, as the house was named, after a standing stone in the grounds, was not what could be called a mansion, rather a medium-sized hallhouse, but a suitable and roomy establishment for folk who were not lairds but of lairdly background. His father had come of the Woods of Bonnytoun, in Angus, of which Sir Henry was the present head; and his mother was a Lindsay, kin to Sir John nearby at Pitcruvie Castle. So although his sire, another Andrew, had been a merchant-trader, with his own ship, he was well enough connected.

His mother, Janet, welcomed the flukies, even though she was apt to be critical of his frequent spearings, with her own ideas as to how her elder son should spend his time; while his young brother Jamie, aged ten, was reproachful that he had not been taken along to share in it. Andrew was fond of him, but found him no help at the fishing, for he ran about splashing and shouting, and thus warned the flounders so that they swam away.

Janet Wood had word for Andrew. Sir John Lindsay, at the castle, wanted him to call for some reason.

So, after a hasty meal, he set off on the mile northwards to Pitcruvie Castle.

This was no great fortalice but a fairly simple square tower-house within a barmekin or curtain wall, this containing the usual courtyard, with stabling, byre, brew-house and storage sheds. Sir John was a younger son of the sixth Lord Lindsay of the Byres, in Lothian.

Now elderly and a widower, his family grown and fled the nest as it were, he was always glad to see young Andrew, who was a frequent visitor and whom he quite often took hawking up the Boghall Burn and on to Norries Law, a lesser height. But this time he had a different proposal for the young man. One of his three sons was a merchant-trader based on Leith, the port of Edinburgh, as indeed Andrew’s father had been, a quite common activity for the younger sons of lairdly families. It seemed that this son had recently bought a second ship, this to take part in the increasing trade with the Baltic Hanseatic League, an ever-growing merchanting syndicate, and he wondered whether his far-out young kinsman would consider joining him in this venture, possibly as aide and companion? Andrew’s father had suggested a partnership with this Henry Lindsay when he had started up his enterprise at Leith, and been helpful. Now he might demonstrate his appreciation to the son.

Needless to say, Andrew was well pleased to hear of this, and said so. Better than herding sheep, milling and farm work. When did Henry Lindsay want him? He was told whenever he cared to go, the sooner the better probably.

Back at Largostone, his mother was in two minds over this suggestion for her son. She recognised the possibilities of it, but would miss Andrew’s company and assistance. Jamie was too young to go herding sheep on Largo Law, and a man about the house was always to be valued. But it could be the sort of start for his son that his father would have wanted. So be it.

A few days later, then, Andrew boarded one of the small vessels that frequently sailed over to Dunbar, North Berwick, Musselburgh or Leith with goods to be exported in larger ships to France, the Netherlands and the German dukedoms, this from Leven, Lower Largo haven being only capable of mooring fishing-boats. Across the Forth they went the fifteen miles, well west of the May, to Leith, with no sign of pirates, passing near the isle of Inchkeith.

At the mouth of the quite wide water of Leith, the port for Edinburgh, Scotland’s capital, they entered a major harbour, lining both sides of the river with docks, shipyards, warehouses, granaries, rope-works and sheds, backed by the premises of merchants, shipowners and craftsmen. The harbour was lengthy, half a mile of it along the riverside, but tidal, with its complications for docking, and the necessary “roads”, as they were called, offshore, for vessels having to wait for higher water. Their small craft, however, with shallow draught, did not have to linger.

Enquiries led Andrew across the river from where their vessel had docked, by one of the wooden bridges, to the eastern bank, he noting the three-arched stone bridge being built, he was told, by the Abbot of Holyrood, the churchmen ever foremost in encouraging trade. He found the house and merchant establishment of Henry Lindsay at the corner of Tolbooth Wynd and the Shore, the actual residence a tall gabled building of no fewer than five storeys.

Lindsay proved to be a cheerful bulky man of early middle years, who welcomed Andrew heartily, declaring that he was growing not unlike his father in looks. Was he interested in this of trading and shipping? Assured that he was, the position was explained. He, Lindsay, had long had a two-hundred-and-fifty-ton vessel, the Goshawk, with which he traded to the Netherlands, carrying wool and hides and spirits. But, for a year or two, the growing commerce of the Hansa merchants of Lübeck and Hamburg and the Baltic had been preoccupying them at Leith with its opportunities, and he had had a new ship built, which he was calling the Merlin, of three hundred tons, for this new Baltic traffic; and he was assembling a crew to man it. He would go with it himself for the first voyage to Lübeck; but with his other vessel and his established trading links with Veere and Rotterdam in the Low Countries, he would require a representative to sail in it for the Baltic venture, or so he intended if the Hansa merchanting proved worth while for him, as seemed likely, with the Baltic lands of Danzig, Riga, Latvia, Estonia, Finland and all the Russias hopefully to exploit. So it had occurred to him to approach the son of Andrew Wood, who had so greatly aided him to establish himself at Leith.

Andrew assured him that he certainly was interested. What was proposed?

Lindsay said that after his first visit to the Baltic in under a month’s time, with Andrew possibly accompanying him, to discover the situation and prospects there, if it all proved worthy, would he go again thereafter as his representative, and so initiate a trading arrangement with those eastern parts; for as well as the Baltic lands there were Denmark, Norway and Sweden to consider, providing surely great opportunities for commerce.

Andrew declared that he was ready to co-operate, and grateful for having been thus considered. How soon would he be required?

If he could come back to Leith in, say, two weeks’ time, to become acquainted with the trading matters, the cargoes, and the shipmaster and crew, that would be best. And they would sail thereafter.

This all very much commended itself to Andrew. Staying the night with the Lindsays, he found a vessel next day to take him back to Fife, not to Leven but to Buckhaven, this only a five-mile trudge from Largo.

His mother learned of it all with an odd admixture of doubts, concern and approval. She recognised that her elder son had reached an age when he demanded more of life than house-dwelling and tending a few sheep, and would wish to follow in his father’s footsteps. But she was going to miss him, and was unsure about him venturing to that outlandish and possibly heathenish country among Russkies and even worse. She hoped that he would take great care, and not be away for overlong. He could give her no indication as to when he would be back, but promised that he would bring her some gifts from foreign lands.

He took Jamie up on to Largo Law to instruct him in shepherding, how to pick out their sheep from those of others by the coloured markings on their fleeces, and urged his mother to obtain a trained dog from some shepherd or farmer, which he himself had always meant to get.

There would be no flukie-spearing for some time.

Two weeks later, then, he said his goodbyes, and sailed from Leven back to Leith. Still no sign of pirates or privateers in the estuary.

Henry Lindsay, whom he was now to call Harry, took him to inspect the Merlin, and meet the shipmaster, one Gavin Muir by name. It was a fine new three-master, high of forecastle and poop, with ample cabin space, and already laden with coal – which was apparently much sought after in the Baltic lands – ironware, salted mutton and whisky casks. Just what would be the best goods to take to these lands they would have to discover when they got there. This was to be a more or less exploratory expedition, with much to learn.

They were ready to sail the following morning, but had to wait for other ships, to form the necessary convoy as protection from the English attackers, those scourges of the seas. These tended to operate in pairs, so groups of five or six Scots or foreign vessels were advisable, their crews armed and on the alert.

It was learned that one other vessel was heading for Lübeck, the others for the Low Countries. So the Merlin would have company, which was always helpful for safety.

Andrew was able to go up to Edinburgh, as they waited, and visit the great fortress-castle on its rock, and the famous abbey of the Holy Rood. He also saw his father’s former quayside mooring place at Leith, and the warehouse behind it, now in the hands of strangers.

At length, with six ships assembled and ready, and the tide right, it was casting off, and heading out into the firth, Andrew interested especially in the piloting necessary when a group of craft were sailing in close formation, and the skippers had to work in careful harmony. He was eager to learn.

All aboard the ships were fairly confident that they would not be assailed, six of them, as they headed for the open sea. They had to pass near that Isle of May, but so far as they could see no pirates lurked there presently – although the southern end of the island did lend itself to craft wishing to remain hidden. At any rate, nothing emerged therefrom.

With the prevailing south-west wind they were able to make good headway, with a minimum of tacking necessary. The six would remain together for as long as was possible, due eastwards for fully one hundred miles, whereafter the two for the Baltic would have to swing off east-north-east while the others turned south. The privateers seldom operated that far out into the Norse Sea, preferring to work from their respective bases of Newcastle and Sunderland, Hartlepool and Scarborough, Grimsby and the Wash. There was a known rivalry between these various Englishry, their craft having fairly clearly defined areas to harry. The seas between Newcastle to Grimsby and the great Dogger Bank, that extensive shoaling where the water reached its shallowest at no more than a depth of fifty feet, and a menace to pirates as well as their intended victims, were the most perilous as to assault. Fortunately Baltic-bound craft did not have to go that far south, heading off to pass between the other navigational hazards of the Devil’s Hole and the Fisher Bank.

With the fairly favourable breezes they were able to cover the distance out to the parting area in a day and night’s sailing. They did see other vessels, single and in pairs, some of which looked suspiciously like privateers; but six ships sailing together were practically safe from attack, and only one other vessel approached them, this coming out from Berwick-upon-Tweed, and joining them for its own protection.

Andrew took much heed of all this, making only a short night of it in his bunk.

Lindsay and his shipmaster, Gavin Muir, reckoned that they were safe by the following midday; and with the other Lübeck-bound vessel, just south of the Devil’s Hole, they left the others to make for the Skagerrak, another one hundred and fifty miles eastwards.

Fascinated by all the shipboard work, especially the navigation and compass-bearing, Andrew sought to aid as well as learn. This was the life for him, ships and the sea. To be a merchant-trader, as had been his father, was well enough; but it was this of the ocean and great waters that drew him: the spread, the far-flung vastnesses of it, the endless surge and power of the waves. When storms came, of course, it could be testing; but that would make the greater challenge.

Harry Lindsay was amused at his young friend’s enthusiasm.

In just over a day’s further sailing they descried land ahead. This, Muir told them, was what he called the Skaw, the most northerly point of Denmark. They had to round that to reach the Kattegat from the Skagerrak, which they were now entering.

Andrew had heard of these channels or straits. Now he was to see them both, these the access to the all but inland sea of the Baltic.

The first seemed to be lengthy, over one hundred miles altogether and perhaps half that in width, with Norway on the left and Denmark on the right, the former a more rugged coastline, with cliffs and mountains and islets, not unlike Scotland’s own west coast, the Danish side more level, but with some spurs and hillocks, atop one such what was pointed out as Frederikshavn Slot, a seat of the King of Denmark. Lindsay had been to Copenhagen, the capital and greatest port, but not beyond. He would be interested to see what lay further.

The Kattegat was merely a right-angled extension of the Skagerrak, heading southwards down the coast of the province of Jutland, with Sweden now at the other side. Andrew had heard of Jutland, whence came the Jutes, who with the Saxons and Angles had invaded and colonised what was now England, part of ancient Britain. Here was Jutland, and he knew approximately where Saxony was. But where was the country of the Angles, who gave name to England, Angle-land? Lindsay said that there was a district of Jutland known as Angeln, in Schleswig, further south; presumably that must have been their homeland, small and unimportant as it now was. It seemed strange that its folk should have given name to the invaded land rather than the Jutes and Saxons.

The Kattegat divided into two channels eventually, the area between the great island of Zealand, on which lay Copenhagen. Even Gavin Muir had never been further. They must be almost entering the Baltic. Would they need a pilot in these narrow waters?

Still southwards they sailed, along the shoreline of what must be Schleswig. Lübeck must be not far ahead. The Norse Sea now seemed far off.

Muir decided that they should pick up a pilot to guide them among the scatter of Danish islands. This they did at Svendborg. The pilot told them that Lübeck lay another seventy miles due south, after the last of the Danish isles, and across the huge bay of Keil, with the likewise great bay of Lübecker Bucht itself, this cutting a score of miles into the Germanic province of Hamburg, and narrowing into the Trave River.

They indeed needed a pilot, for now they found themselves having to navigate among and past a seeming legion of ships instead of the islands. Something of the mercantile importance of Lübeck was becoming very evident. Andrew was kept busy noting all the various types and sizes of the vessels.

Their pilot led them into the Trave, not so much an estuary as a very wide river-mouth, where the shipping had to marshal itself in disciplined fashion, so many were the craft coming and going. Here the wind was easterly, coming from the vast hinterland of all the Russias; sails were lowered to a minimum for slow and ordered progress. They had to go quite a long way upstream before docks began to line the riversides, and they could see ahead of them a vast array, a forest, of spires and steeples, of towers and domes, all rising from a slight upthrust of ground on the east side of the river. They were reaching their destination at long last.

The pilot, a Dane but speaking fair English – and no doubt many another tongue – told them that, . . .