WAR AND PIRACY
CHAPTER THREE
“Men, we are about to go into battle once again,” Venables was saying, speaking loudly in a speech to his officers on board the flagship. “Where we failed in Hispaniola, we will succeed in Jamaica. We cannot afford another act of cowardice like the one we had outside Santo Domingo. Let me say that you have the authority to shoot any man next to you who turns his back on the enemy. Please tell this to your men.”
It was the tenth of May, and Penn’s fleet was sailing into the largest harbour on the south coast of the island of Jamaica. While they made their way into the bay, Owen Glenn was surprised to see that all it had was a small fort made of red brick and wood at one of the entrance points. This fort was no larger than the smallest ship in the fleet, even though there were several cannon poking between the turrets.
Admiral Penn gave the order to fire, and all thirty eight ships sent cannon-balls hurtling towards the Spanish fort. Brick and wood crumbled under the assault. The Spaniards replied with shots of their own, but the noise was a squeak compared with the previous blast from the English. There were far less cannon on the island than the Englishmen expected. Then came Penn’s order again, and the fort was under siege. When the smoke cleared, Owen could see Spaniards running for cover. It was then that Penn gave the order to attack the mainland.
Owen was among the first group of soldiers to feel the earth of Jamaica under his feet. He waded through the water on to the beach, a musket in his hand, and with a sword swinging at his side, while a step behind him walked Henry Morgan, similarly attired, and with a burning fire in his eyes. With Morgan behind him, seemingly unafraid of impending danger, Glenn felt safe and secure, almost invincible. With the anticipation of potential conflict, he felt a rising excitement in his bowels. He followed Captain Barnett as they stormed the fort. They kicked down the main door with ease, the rusty hinges giving way after barely an effort. There were no Spanish lancers waiting for them this time. Instead, the Spaniards were already in full flight.
“I want prisoners,” Barnett hollered.
This time, the Englishmen enjoyed the reversed roles, and they tried to catch as many Spaniards as they could. The fort was apparently only sparsely occupied, and the able-bodied men had already fled. Those that were left behind were the elderly and the infirm – Spaniards who could not move so quickly. Barnett rounded up a few of them, and summoned Glenn.
“Lieutenant, find a Spaniard who can speak English.”
Glenn’s jaw dropped. How was he to go about carrying out that task?
He grabbed one old man, and said, “Do you speak English?”
The elderly Spaniard looked puzzled. Morgan moved up beside him, and said, “Habla Ingles?”
The old man shook his head, so they moved on to the next one. The ritual was repeated three times before they struck lucky. One lame, middle-aged man answered Morgan’s question, “Si, senyor.”
“Como te llama,” Morgan asked.
“Roberto de Souza,” the captive muttered.
He was not as old as most of the other captives, but his mobility was affected by an infirmity. He had only one leg, with the other cut off at the knee, and its place was taken by a wooden stump. He was probably in his mid-thirties, though his face was drawn as a result of hardships felt and experienced, and Glenn guessed that he looked older than he really was. They took him to Barnett, who immediately started an interrogation of his own.
“Can you speak English,” Barnett shouted, as if the man was deaf.
Owen frowned at the question. Surely he had already established that for Barnett. Still, maybe it was his way of saying hello.
The frightened man nodded.
“Si, senyor,” he said feebly.
“What is your name?”
“Roberto de Souza.”
“Well, Roberto, who is the governor of Jamaica?”
“Don Juan Ramirez.”
“And where can we find him, Roberto,” asked Owen, his first and only question.
“In the capital, senyor.”
“Where is the capital, Roberto,” queried Barnett.
“To the west, about dos, tres horas ride by horse. Dos, if you ride fast.”
Barnett looked puzzled, and Morgan interjected, “Two or three hours.”
Barnett raised an eyebrow. “Can you speak Spanish, Morgan?”
Morgan shrugged, and allowed himself a small smile.
“A little, captain. Just a little.”
At that moment, Venables entered the room, flanked by several senior officers. The General immediately took over the interrogation, relegating Barnett and Owen to the background. From the subsequent question-and-answer session, the Englishmen found out that there were no more than one thousand five hundred Spaniards on the whole island, and of that number, only a third could bear arms. They also realised that Ramirez was now an old man, and seriously ill at the time of the invasion. Venables wrote down the terms of the surrender, and told de Souza to deliver them to old Ramirez.
“What shall we do while we wait, sir,” D’Oyley asked of Venables, who coughed, and waved away the query.
“Under my terms, those who want to leave the island will be allowed to get their things together, and do so. They think we are here for plunder. They did not realise that we are not buccaneers. We are here to conquer.”
“That is ridiculous, General,” Penn countered. “By giving them time, you will lose the advantage.”
“Don’t you dare contradict me, you damned Quaker,” shouted Venables. “I am the soldier here. Go and play with your boats!”
“The soldier, indeed! There are times when I doubt that.”
With that, Admiral Penn turned on his heels and left the small fortress, cursing Venables with every breath he took.
“Let him go,” Venables snickered. “There will be lots of spoils for us when we march into the Spanish town. The Spaniards will be so keen to save their own skins that they will hand over Ramirez to us, and the town will be ours.”
“I believe it is called Saint Jago de la Vega, sir,” Barnett suggested.
“What does it matter,” Venables asked irritably. “It is ours now, and no Englishman will call it Saint Jago, or Santiago. We will just call it Spanish Town, after we take all its jewels.”
As the Englishmen marched on Saint Jago, they could not help feeling that this island would be more hospitable than Hispaniola. They camped outside the town, and waited for word from the governor about their terms for surrender. They camped for a day before de Souza rode out to meet them, looking much more relaxed than when he was their captive.
“What word do you bring for us,” asked Barnett.
“The governor’s word,” de Souza replied, giving the captain a letter.
Barnett handed the letter to Venables, who opened it.
“It is in English,” Venables said, slightly surprised.
“I translated it for them,” de Souza said.
Venables frowned. “It is not signed by Ramirez.”
“He is ill. His affairs are being handled by Don Cristoval de Ysasi and Don Duarte de Acosta.”
Those names rattled past Venables ears without registering.
“Don whoever and Don whatever – have they agreed to our terms?”
“Si, senyor,” de Souza said, and rode back towards the town.
The Englishmen followed de Souza into the town, and they soon realised that the settlement was deserted. There were more cows in the Spanish town than people. When the English soldiers raided the Catholic churches and the places of business, they found that there was no booty to be had. The inhabitants had escaped with all their valuables. Venables marched into the governor’s residence in a rage, and put Ramirez in chains. But there was no sign of either Ysasi or Acosta.
Morgan was furious. He vented his anger in Glenn’s ear.
“General Venables is incompetent,” Morgan fumed. “If I was in charge, I would never have given them the chance to escape with their valuables. Mark my words….”
These were all valuable lessons that Morgan would take on board for future endeavours. In the meantime, the English soldiers were in a foul mood. Deprived of their loot, they went on the rampage. Before nightfall, the entire town was on fire, as soldiers burnt buildings in frustration, and melted church bells for shot.
While they watched the charred buildings collapse under the blaze, a despondent Venables and his officers planned their next move. Venables sent soldiers into the hills to flush out the resistance, but instead they encountered fierce fighting from freed Spanish slaves. Ysasi himself had taken command of the freed slaves, and had organised them into a guerrilla force to resist the English invasion. Trained by Ysasi himself, this formidable fighting force came to be known as the Maroons. Venables found that he was making little headway trying to fight the Maroons in the hilly interior of Jamaica.
So, the English invasion force had to find ways to survive until the island could be properly secured by the Commonwealth. Venables ordered his men to raise crops until the English ships came to take them off ‘this God-forsaken island’, but instead of planting, the English soldiers took to slaughtering the wild cattle for food. The rations of clothing and medicine had run out, and many men were falling like flies to the ravages of unknown diseases and deadly fevers.
William Penn, who had been critical of Venables’ failure to secure the booty, also voiced his approval of Ysasi’s decision to free the slaves. Venables turned on him, calling him a Quaker who was a threat to the Commonwealth for voicing such treasonable statements. It was well-known that the Quakers were opposed to slavery in principle, and Venables was accusing Penn of not being patriotic for criticising a system that was supported by the Commonwealth. The battle-lines were drawn. Shortly afterwards, Penn left for England to explain the state of affairs to Cromwell. Fearful of the slant Penn might present to the Lord Protector, Robert Venables decided to write a letter to Cromwell explaining his side of the story. Still nervous about being in Jamaica while Penn was in London, General Venables decided to set sail for England. But he only took a small group of ships and soldiers with him. The majority he left in the newly-conquered territory of Jamaica.
During this period of confusion, Owen Glenn stayed in Spanish Town, occasionally participating in excursions into the hills for wild cattle. As more and more were slaughtered, wild cattle was becoming increasingly harder to find. So now the British soldiers were forced to forage in the hills north of Spanish Town for beef. Shortly after Venables left, Major General William Brayne led an expedition into the hills, with Captain Barnett as his deputy, and Owen as his third in command. It was there that Owen had a close encounter with Juan de Bolas.
One of the men had just brought down a cow with a musket, when the Maroons hit them. They came out of the bushes swiftly and silently. A large, muscular black man, clad only in a pair of trousers cut off at the knees, appeared in front of Owen, and felled the man next to him with a single swing of his machete. Owen drew his sword, and fended off the Maroon’s next blow. As the black ex-slave pressed against him, Owen could see his bright, white teeth, his menacing smile, and large angry eyes. Owen tried to push the Maroon away, but found that he was no match for the black man’s strength. Losing ground, he quickly stepped to the left, and watched as the Maroon lost his balance and fell forward, staggering to keep his footing. Swinging his sword in an arc, Owen severed the black man’s head with a single blow.
Looking up, Owen saw that his men had suffered serious losses against the Maroons. They were in a narrow pass, surrounded by thickets on either side, and while the Englishmen relied on the path, the Maroons thrived in the jungle. The Maroons were attacking his men with great ferocity. Then, out of the bushes jumped another Maroon, wearing a faded white shirt, and tattered dark blue trousers, and a white bandana was wrapped around his forehead. He had bulging biceps, and he swung his sword with great ability, killing two Englishmen with remarkable ease. Overcome with anger, Owen raised his sword and charged at the Maroon. There was a clash of steel, as the Maroon backed down in the face of Owen’s relentless onslaught. Then, the Maroon sidestepped a blow, and Owen watched in horror as his weapon buried itself in the bark of a large tree, and refused to budge. Owen then felt a strong, black hand roughly grab him by the neck, and the metal of the blade pricked his side.
“I could keel you, blanco,” the Maroon sneered. “But I will not. Remember, my name is Juan Lubolo. You will hear from me soon.”
Owen expected to meet his maker any moment now, despite what the Maroon just told him. Instead, he felt a strong hand push him from behind, and he collapsed on the ground. There was the sound of a horn, and the Maroons retreated into the bushes as swiftly as they had come. Owen felt a comforting hand on his shoulder, and he looked up into the eyes of Jonathan Barnett.
“Are you hurt, Glenn?”
“Nay, sir,” Owen replied, shaking his head. “But I think I was nearly killed by a man called Juan de Bolas.”
“Juan de Bolas? Really? I think he’s supposed to be one of Ysasi’s deputies.”
The trip back was a long and arduous one, carrying the sick and the wounded. Several more died along the way, and the Maroons picked off the stragglers. When they arrived back at Spanish Town, Colonel Edward D’Oyley called Owen into his office.
“What happened, Glenn?”
“It was Juan de Bolas, sir. The Maroons ambushed us.”
D’Oyley raised an eyebrow.
“Juan de Bolas? Are you sure that’s his name?”
“Aye, sir. He told me his name.”
D’Oyley was now smiling broadly. “He told you his name? Are you good friends now?”
“Nay, sir.”
“Relax, Glenn. I am only jesting. You never know. This might be an introduction you can use in the future.”
Owen was never sure how to respond to D’Oyley. He was normally serious and strict. To see him in a jovial mood was unsettling. The Welshman decided to play it safe.
“Aye, sir.”
“By the way, did you hear that both Penn and Venables have gone to England to tell the Lord Protector their versions of the invasion of Jamaica and Hispaniola?”
Warning bells were ringing again.
“Aye, sir.”
“Well, did you know that Cromwell had them both thrown into the Tower of London?”
“Nay, sir.”
“Aye, that he did. And it serves them right, too. Tell me, Glenn, was your father a Royalist?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Well, I am too, which is why the Lord Protector does not trust me. But fret not, for Cromwell cannot live forever, and when he dies, the Commonwealth will die with him, and the Stuarts will be back on the throne. England cannot put up with the puritanical tyranny for much longer. We just have to bide our time.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Listen, Butler is dying of fever, and already the letters have been dispatched from London appointing Brayne as the new Commissioner. I am telling you this, Glenn, because I happen to know that Brayne will be trying to set up a permanent settlement here in Jamaica. My advice to you, Glenn, is to take advantage of the offer.”
D’Oyley was right. Oliver Cromwell was disappointed at not getting Hispaniola, but decided to make the most of Jamaica. He offered several concessions for settlers willing to migrate to the island, painting a glorious picture of Jamaica, as a place where futures could be made. However, while this was being done, men were now dying of famine. The Commonwealth gave away grants of land, rights to mining and fishing, exemption from custom duties, and rights equal to those in Great Britain. A number of Irish and Scottish immigrants arrived, including white bondsmen, but the latter fell ill rapidly in the harsh tropical climate. It was then that Brayne applied to Cromwell for permission to import slaves from Africa.
More and more settlers came in, but many did not last the year. The elderly governor of Nevis, Luke Stokes, migrated to Jamaica, settling in the eastern end of the island with his family and nearly two thousand colonists. Within three months, Stokes, his wife, and more than half the immigrants were dead. The fever also claimed the life of Brayne, and he was mourned by the entire island, because he had added stability to life in early Jamaica. For the third time, D’Oyley was appointed interim governor by Cromwell, who was still suspicious of the Royalist.
But while D’Oyley went through the local rituals of being sworn in, Morgan, who was now a lieutenant in the militia, approached Owen with a letter. Morgan had a very concerned look on his face. Owen opened the letter, and noticed that it was hastily written, without care for penmanship. However, he was captivated by its contents. As he read it, his jaw dropped, and his face went white.
“Where did you get this,” he asked Morgan.
“A messenger just rode into town with it.”
Colonel D’Oyley had to see this as soon as possible, Owen told himself. We are in great danger. The Spaniards had invaded Jamaica….
-----------------------
No comments:
Post a Comment