as part payment for the sight drafts, but Winston had refused the bait.
It was men and provisions, he insisted, nothing else.
Winston. May God damn his eyes. . . .
Footsteps sounded along the gravel pathway and he turned to examine the
line of planters approaching through the dusk, all wearing dark hats
and colorless doublets. As he watched them puffing up the rise of the
hill, he found himself calculating how much of the arable land on the
island was now controlled by himself and these eleven other members of
the Council. Tom Lancaster owned twelve hundred acres of the rolling
acres in St. George's parish; Nicholas Whittington had over a thousand
of the best land in Christ's Church parish; Edward Bayes, who had
ridden down from his new plantation house on the northern tip of the
island, owned over nine hundred acres; John lynes had amassed a third
of the arable coastal land on the eastern, windward side of the island.
The holdings of the others were smaller, but together they easily owned
the major share of the good cane land on Barbados. What they needed now
was the rest.
"Your servant, sir." The planters nodded in chorus as they filed into
the darkened curing house. Every man had ridden alone, and Briggs had
ordered his own servants to keep clear of the curing house for the
evening.
"God in heaven, this much already." Bayes emitted a low whistle and
rubbed his jowls as he surveyed the long rows of sugar molds. "You've
got a fortune in this very room, sir. If this all turns out to be
sugar, and not just pots of molasses like before."
"It'll be white sugar or I'll answer for it, and it'll be fine as any
Portugal could make." Briggs walked to the corner of the room,
returning with two flasks of kill-devil and a tray of tankards. "The
question now, gentlemen, is whether we'll ever see it sold."
"I don't follow you, sir." Whittington reached for a brown flask and
began pouring himself a tankard. "As soon as we've all got a batch
cured, we'll market it to the Dutchmen. Or we'll ship it to London
ourselves."
"I suppose you've heard the rumor working now amongst the Dutchmen?
That there might be an embargo?"
"Aye, but it's no more than a rumor. There'll be no embargo, I promise
you. It'd be too costly."
"It's not just a rumor. There was a letter from my London broker in the
mail packet that came yesterday on the _Rotterdam_. He saw fit to
include this." Briggs produced a thin roll of paper. "It's a copy he
had made of the Act prepared in the Council of State, ready to be sent
straight to Commons for a vote." He passed the paper to Whittington,
who un-scrolled it and squinted through the half-light. Briggs paused a
moment, then continued, "The Act would embargo all shipping into and
out of Barbados till our Assembly has moved to recognize the
Commonwealth. Cromwell was so sure it'd be passed he was already
pulling together a fleet of warships to send out and enforce it. Word
has't the fleet will be headed by the _Rainbowe_, which was the king's
flagship before Cromwell took it. Fifty guns."
A disbelieving silence enveloped the darkened room.
"And you say this Act was set to pass in Parliament?" Whittington
looked up and recovered his voice.
"It'd already been reported from the Council of State. And the letter
was four weeks old. More'n likely it's already law. The _Rainbowe
_could well be sailing at the head of a fleet right now as we talk."
"If Cromwell does that, we're as good as on our knees." Tynes rubbed
his neck and took a sip from his tankard. "What do you propose we can
do?"
"As I see it, there're but two choices." Briggs motioned for the men to
sit on a row of empty kegs he had provided. "The first is to lie back
and do nothing, in which case the royalists will probably see to it
that the Assembly here votes to defy Commons and declare for Charles
II."
"Which means we'll be at war with England, God help us." Lancaster
removed his hat to wipe his dusty brow.
"Aye. A war, incidentally, which would force Cromwell to send the army
to subdue the island, if he hasn't already. He'd probably post troops
to try and invade us, like some people are saying. Which means the
Assembly would doubtless call up every able-bodied man on the island to
fight. All the militia, and the indentures. Letting the cane rot in the
fields, if it's not burned to cinders by then."
"Good Jesus." Whittington's face seemed increasingly haggard in the
waning light. "That could well set us back years."
"Aye, and who knows what would happen with the indentures and the
slaves? Who'll be able to watch over them? If we have to put the island
on a war footing, it could endanger the lives of every free man here.
God knows we're outnumbered by all the Irish Papists and the Africans."
"Aye, the more indentures and slaves you've got, the more precarious
your situation." Lancaster's glazed eyes passed down the row of sugar
molds as he thought about the feeble security of his own clapboard
house. He also remembered ruefully that he owned only three usable
muskets.
"Well, gentlemen, our other choice is to face up to the situation and
come to terms with Parliament. It's a bitter draught, I'll grant you,
but it'll save us from anarchy, and maybe an uprising."
"The Assembly'll never declare for the Commonwealth. The royalist
sympathizers hold a majority." Whittington's face darkened. "Which
means there's nothing to be done save ready for war."
"There's still a hope. We can do something about the Assembly." Briggs
turned to Tynes, a small, tanned planter with hard eyes. "How many men
do you have in your regiment?"
"There're thirty officers, and maybe two hundred men."
"How long to raise them?"
"Raise them, sir?" He looked at Briggs, uncomprehending. "To what
purpose? They're militia, to defend us against attack by the
Spaniards."
"It's not the Spaniards we've to worry about now. I think we can agree
there's a clear and present danger nearer to hand." Briggs looked
around him. "I say the standing Assembly of Barbados no longer
represents the best interests of this island. For any number of
reasons."
"Is there a limit on their term?" Lancaster looked at him
questioningly. "I don't remember the law."
"We're not adjudicating law now, gentlemen. We're discussing the future
of the island. We're facing war. But beyond that, it's time we talked
about running Barbados the way it should be, along economic principles.
There'll be prosperity, you can count on it, but only if we've got a
free hand to make some changes." He took a drink, then set down his
tankard.
"What do you mean?" Lancaster looked at him.
"Well sir, the main problem now is that we've got an Assembly here
that's sympathetic to the small freeholders. Not surprisingly, since
thanks to Dalby Bedford every man here with five acres can vote. Our
good governor saw to that when he drew up the voting parishes. Five
acres. They're not the kind who should be in charge of governing this
settlement now. I know it and so does every man in this room."
"All the same, they were elected."
"That was before sugar. Think about it. These small freeholders on the
Assembly don't understand this island wasn't settled just so we'd have
a batch of five-acre gardens. God's blood, I cleared a thousand acres
myself. I figured that someday I'd know why I was doing it. Well, now I
do."
"What are you driving at?" Bayes squinted past the rows of sugar cones.
"Well, examine the situation. This island could be the finest sugar
plantation in the world. The Dutchmen already claim it's better than
Brazil. But the land here's got to be assembled and put to efficient
use. If we can consolidate the holdings of these small freeholders, we
can make this island the richest spot on earth. The Assembly doesn't
understand that. They'd go to war rather than try and make some
prosperity here."
"What are you proposing we do about it?" Lancaster interjected warily.
"What if we took action, in the interests of the island?" Briggs
lowered his voice. "We can't let the Assembly vote against the
Commonwealth and call down the navy on our heads. They've got to be
stopped."
"But how do we manage it?" Tynes' voice was uneasy.
"We take preventive action." He looked around the room. "Gentlemen, I
say it'd be to the benefit of all the free Englishmen on Barbados if we
took the governor under our protection for the time being, which would
serve to close down the Assembly while we try and talk sense with
Parliament."
"We'd be taking the law into our own hands." Tynes shifted
uncomfortably.
"It's a question of whose law you mean. According to the thinking of
the English Parliament, this Assembly has no legal standing anyway,
since they've yet to recognize the rule of Commons. We'd just be
implementing what's already been decided."
"I grant you this island would be wise not to antagonize Cromwell and
Parliament just now." Whittington searched the faces around him. "And
if the Assembly won't take a prudent course, then . . ."
"What we're talking about here amounts to overturning the sitting
governor, and closing down the Assembly." Lancaster's voice came
through the gloom. "We've not the actual authority, even if Parliament
has . . ."
"We've got something more, sir." Briggs met his troubled gaze. "An
obligation. To protect the future of the island."
What we need now, he told himself, is responsible leadership. If the
Council can deliver up the island, the quid pro quo from Cromwell will
have to be acting authority to govern Barbados. Parliament has no brief
for the Assembly here, which fits nicely with the need to be done with
it anyway.
The irony of it! Only if Barbados surrenders do we have a chance to
realize some prosperity. If we stand and fight, we're sure to lose
eventually, and then none of us will have any say in what comes after.
And in the long run it'll be best for every man here, rich and poor.
When there's wealth--as there's sure to be if we can start evicting
these freeholders and convert the island over to efficient sugar
plantations--everybody benefits. The wealth will trickle down, like the
molasses out of these sugar cones, even to the undeserving. It's the
way things have to be in the Americas if we're ever to make a go of it.
But one step at a time. First we square the matter of Bedford and the
Assembly.
"But have we got the men?" Lancaster settled his tankard on a keg and
looked up hesitantly.
"With the militia we already have under our command, I'd say we've got
sympathetic officers, since they're all men with sizable sugar acreage.
On the other hand, it'd probably not be wise to try calling up any of
the small freeholders and freemen. So to get the numbers we'll be
wanting, I'd say we'll just have to use our indentures as the need
arises."
"You've named a difficulty there." Whittington took a deep breath.
"Remember the transfer over to Winston takes place day after tomorrow.
That's going to leave every man here short. After that I'll have no
more than half a dozen Christians on my plantation. All the rest are
Africans."
"Aye, he'll have the pick of my indentures as well," Lancaster added,
his voice troubled.
"He'll just have to wait." Briggs emptied his tankard and reached for
the flask. "We'll postpone the transfer till this thing's settled. And
let Winston try to do about it what he will."