From John Thurloe's letters

Madrid, August 18, 1655. [N. S.]

Vol. xxix. p. 150.

It is here said, that Blake hath order to take Spaniards since the first of this instant; and it is well found to be truth, for the last week two Dunkirk ships, which it is said were worth 300,000 ducats, these same fought one whole day, and sunk two of Blake's ships, but at last took them. Thursday, the 12th instant, came out of Cadiz the fleet, which the traders of Seville did set forth: it is compounded of 28 sail of men of war, and 6 fire-ships. They carry 6,000 men, brave soldiers, and 36 long boats. It is said, they would soon fight them, which we shall soon know. God help ours, and send the galleons in safety; so that I believe it will be a breach.

Cutter The Promise

Position: N47 55' 20" W4 07 00"

Odet River, southern Brittany

The river is quiet. It is around low water springs and the banks look perilous steep and close. The black hull of the cutter is beginning to swing on her anchor rode as the ebb becomes flow and the sleek, mercury coloured mullet, that suck and sip at the scum on our waterline, cruise stem to stern and idly hold station as the warm salt water from the sea lifts their gills. The forested banks of the Odet are dense with pines, oaks and laurels. There is a heronry in the trees and their calls echo along the waterway, making the tranquility sometimes less than peaceful. Egrets too, and cormorants haunt the river but we haven't seen much of mankind, as this is far from the cafés and bars of Benodet, and not yet close to the more cultured, cobbled streets of Kemper. I use the Breton word, to keep in character and to savour the sounds of a bygone time, and place, and people.

The weather has been kind. It is warm now, if a little overcast and May rain is in the offing. This southern coast is still liable to Atlantic tantrums, Though the English Channel is well to the north and the horizon we left to seaward is actually the Bay of Biscay, we are not south enough to feel a real difference. Not before high summer anyway. That is something to look forward to. To la Rochelle with its pantile roofs, shady arcades and palm trees. Now that is South. I can almost smell it. Meanwhile, we are in Finisterre, where they have only one word for blue and green - glas - and the land is as old as granite and as hard. The crew are ashore, shopping, victualing I imagine, or they have found the bar in the village open and locals to share a pastis and yarn with. Fine. The tide is too low and the ship's boat will be stranded high above the slippery river. They know that, and will enjoy stretching their legs a while longer. I shall brew another decent coffee for myself and take it easy. Plenty of time here. Plenty of time.