‘CRESTED PLUMES AND SILKEN SASHES’
IN THE DISTANCE, they would have appeared a curious sight – a bit like rectangular hedgehogs, or shoeshine brushes with the bristles upraised.
Watching from the ramparts of Kinsale, Don Juan del Águila saw the grim column of English reinforcements march over the horizon and realised the seriousness of his predicament. With the arrival of every new English soldier, the odds against him were mounting. The Spanish had around 3,500 effective troops, and the number was dropping daily. By late October, Blount had 6,900 foot soldiers, increasing daily. Blount had 611 cavalry. Águila had none. You did not need to be a genius at mathematics to deduce the problem.
As Blount’s thousands of Irish-based reinforcements approached the English camp, the details became clearer. The spines or bristles were actually hundreds of fighting pikes carried across the shoulders of specialist infantrymen. Each pikeman bore a strong ashwood pole two and a half times the height of a tall man. At the business end was a long, sharpened steel spear-head designed to skewer a charging horse. These pikemen formed the core of defence in battle and were highly esteemed for their unflinching courage. Even for a son of royalty, it was a noble profession to ‘trail a pike’ – although royal pikemen were a rarity and the weapons were often wielded by pitiable conscripts.
A full-scale Elizabethan army on the march was an awesome sight – enough to make a lesser commander than Águila throw open the gates in despair.
‘All were exceedingly well furnished with all kinds of arms,’ Philip O’Sullivan wrote of a similar English column. ‘Foot and horse were sheathed in mail. The musketeers were equipped for the fight, some with heavy and some with light guns, girded with sword and dagger, and having their head protected with helmets. The whole army gleamed with crested plumes and silken sashes … brass cannon mounted on wheels were drawn by horses.’
A contemporary illustration gives a sense of the dread that such a force could inspire. The column is led by mounted cavalry officers, each with a long ‘partisan’, or half-sized pike, held vertically. Full-bearded and grim-faced under their shining helmets, they are followed by two flanking units of musketeers, with guns shouldered and swords sheathed at the hip. A fighting dagger is strapped at waist level behind their backs. A drummer keeps marching time with steady taps.
Here in Kinsale, it was late October, so the troops would be wearing winter gear. Common soldiers were issued – in theory at least – with a cotton-lined cassock or long coat, a canvas doublet or jacket lined with linen, a coloured cap, a shirt, long socks and leather shoes, and Venetians (long trousers) of ‘broad Kentish cloth’ lined with linen. The tough linen was strong enough to stop a weak blade-thrust from breaking the skin. Officers wore much the same basic gear, but with silk buttons and lace trimmings.
Body armour was out of favour. It was mainly designed to withstand arrows, but it had been sixteen years since the longbow had been seriously used in battle. A skilled archer could still fire faster than a good musketeer, but any idiot could be trained to use a gun. Many soldiers had discarded their cumbersome armour, although those in the front lines still opted for steel breastplates, backplates, and shoulder- and thigh-padding.
Many foot soldiers wore red, and not just because it matched the St George flag – one contemporary said the colour was chosen for soldiers ‘that they might not be discouraged by the sight of blood from their wounds’.
Depending upon the greed of their superiors, the troops could either be warmly equipped or shivering in rags. One Irish-bound unit mustered at Chester that year was so smartly dressed that the sight provoked a near-riot among others who had ‘no apparel’. According to Fynes Moryson, many of the troops that arrived at Kinsale from other Irish bases late in October were ‘very deficient in number, having been long worn out in skirmishes, journeys and sicknesses’.
Yet it seems that morale was high as they settled in. They were excited by reports that the Spanish had nine chests overflowing with gold. One official said: ‘Our soldiers are very anxious to fight and make booty of their treasure.’
By 26 October, Blount’s military experts had chosen a spot for a permanent siege camp. One location ticked all their boxes. It was Spital Hill, ‘somewhat more than a musket shot from town’. Today that hill is known as Camphill – recalling Blount’s encampment – although an adjacent townland called Spital keeps the old name alive. Lying almost directly north of Kinsale, it also sat astride what was then the main road from Cork. As part of the long and arcing Ardmartin Ridge, it also commanded the heights. It was less than a kilometre from the highest navigable point of the Oysterhaven. It was pretty much perfect.
Next night, the English scored an audacious coup. A cavalry officer named Captain William Taffe led a strike force fourteen kilometres through enemy territory to penetrate the Spanish-held promontory of Castle Park and steal hundreds of their cattle. There was ‘a hot skirmish’, according to Fynes Moryson, but Taffe managed to escape with all but twenty of the animals.
Soon ships from Dublin were regularly towing and warping to the head of the Oysterhaven. Their arrival was a godsend for Blount: at last, he could get his hands on heavy artillery and entrenching equipment.
It was time to begin the massive task of digging trenches and erecting fortifications. For that specialist job, they needed the best military engineer in the country. Fortunately for Blount, he had exactly the right man.