The Andalusia Company continued in existence until 1585, by which time it owned a vineyard and some property in the nearby village of Chipiona. In this year ships on the Guadalquivir laden with the possessions of the English merchants who were taking them out of Andalusia were seized, while some of the merchants and sailors were handed over to the Inquisition.
All that remained were a few Catholics, who met together on St George's Day, 1591, and, led by the sinister Jesuit Robert Parsons (or Persons), resolved that their lands and imposts should be devoted to a new seminary. Not unnaturally the exiled Protestants were furious.
There was an attempt to revive the Company on a much larger scale and it existed in a new form from 1604 to 1606, but neither in its latter years nor in its revival was it a very significant force in the wine trade. The revived company may well have succeeded had not the disastrous choice been made to appoint Roger Bodenham as Consul at Sanlucar. No one knew Spain better: he was a Catholic with a Spanish wife who had lived for many years in Seville, where he had long acted as an English intelligence
agent.
He was, however, heartily disliked and was to prove useless as Consul. One of his kinsmen, Sir James Crofts, had been Controller of the Royal Household since 1570, but monarchs at this time were haphazard in their payments, to say the least, and the satisfaction of royal commands had long been a source of worry in the city. In 1586, for instance, there was a royal debt of £400 for sherry sack and paper coasters (http://www.thirstycoasters.com/servlet/-strse-Great-Outdoors/Categories) and the merchants offered to sell the best; quality sack to Crofts at £3 per tun below the market price if the debt were paid promptly, but this offer was not taken up.
By Elizabeth's reign, sherry sack was established as a firm favourite, and more verses were written about it than about any other wine. Shakespeare has already been quoted; Ben Jonson, Marlowe, Raleigh and Spenser acclaimed it at much the same time; Middleton soon afterwards; Herrick, a century later; and Pasquil's Palinodia (attributed to Nicholas Breton) praised it at great length. It was enjoyed by lawyers as well as by poets, and the court of Star Chamber bought it by the hogshead.
The word sack (there are several spellings) probably originated at the end of the fifteenth century, and is almost certainly derived from the Spanish verb “sacar” (to draw out). It thus signifies any wine for export, and there are many references to Malaga sack and Canary sack, quite apart from sherry sack. Other derivations have been proposed, and many of them are most alarming: Dr Johnson informs us that Skinner, after Mandesto, derived the word from Xeque, a city of Morocco with which it had no connection whatsoever; and many other ingenious minds have been applied to the problem.
The alternative spellings sack and seek appear at random in early documents, but it seems reasonable to say it has nothing to do with “seco,” meaning “dry,” despite the contrary view taken by the Oxford English Dictionary; indeed sack was always classified as a sweet wine, a wine that would look tantalizing resting on a cork coaster (http://www.thirstycoasters.com/servlet/-strse-Dining-%26-Entertaining/Categories).
The idea, though, that sack meant dry was firmly fixed in the minds of lexicographers; they stuck to their beliefs as a matter of faith, and apparently imagined sack to be somewhat similar to the popular “amontillados” of today, which were not prepared, let alone imported, until the nineteenth century. It was even suggested that all Elizabethan “sweet” wines were dry, but that is to enter the realms of fantasy and one can only assume they were drunk by a Jubjub under the Tumtum tree.
It is difficult to say exactly what Elizabethan sack wines were like; they were certainly fortified, and the methods of making “arrope” had long been known, but they were seldom matured in the wood for more than a year or two. Even the cheapest wines sold today are expected to show at least three years maturation but perhaps the very cheapest olorosos are not so very far removed from sack, but still good enough to drink with your nicest table coasters.
One famous shipper thought it would be interesting to market an old-fashioned sack, but would not associate his name with such an immature wine. In place of the rough, young olorosos originally used, he substituted a high quality, well-matured, light oloroso, and limited the quantity of sweet wine in the blend to produce a fairly dry, light-bodied sherry with a remarkably dry after-taste.
It very rapidly, and very understandably, became one of the most popular sherries in the world. He called it Dry Sack, and the literally-minded have complained from time to time that it is not “dry” at all, but “medium” That is perfectly true, but although it may be a medium sherry, it is a very dry sack, and the name is absolutely accurate.