"Heaven help us. To think the Lord Protector's proud Western Design has
been reduced to assaulting this worthless backwater." Edmond Calvert's
voice trailed off gloomily as he examined the blue-green mountains of
Jamaica. Then he turned to face Colonel Richard Morris, standing beside
him on the quarterdeck. "No silver mines, no plantations, doubtless
nothing save wild hogs and crocodiles."
"Well, sir, at least this time the navy has landed my men where we'd
planned." Morris was studying the Passage Fort that loomed above them.
Amidships, moored longboats were being loaded with helmeted infantry,
muskets at the ready. "Their culverin seem to have quieted. If the
town's no better defended, there should be scant difficulty making this
place ours."
"That, sir, was precisely what you were saying when we first sighted
Santo Domingo, scarcely more than a fortnight past--before those craven
stalwarts you'd call an army were chased back into the sea."
Morris' eyes narrowed. "When the accounting for Hispaniola is finish'd,
sir, that debacle will be credited to the incompetence of the English
navy."
"All the same, you'd best take your stouthearted band of cowards and
see what you can manage here." Calvert dismissed the commander with a
perfunctory salute. Rancor no longer served any end; what was lost was
lost.
What had been forfeited, he knew, was England's best chance ever to
seize a portion of Spain's vast New World wealth. Oliver Cromwell's
ambitious Western Design had foundered hopelessly on the sun-scorched
shores of Hispaniola.
He reflected again on the confident instructions in his secret
commission, authorized by the Lord Protector himself and approved by
his new Council of State only four months earlier.
_"The Western Design of His Highness is intended to gain for England
that part of the West Indies now in the possession of the Spaniard, for
the effecting thereof we shall communicate to you what hath been under
our Consideration.
Your first objective is to seize certain of the Spaniards' Islands, and
particularly Hispaniola. Said Island hath no considerable place in the
South part thereof but the City of Santo Domingo, and that not being
heavily fortified may doubtless be possest without much difficulty,
which being done, that whole Island will be brought under Obedience.
From thence, after your Landing there, send force for the taking of
Havana, which lies in the Island of Cuba, which is the back door of the
West Indies, and will obstruct the passing of the Spaniards' Plate
Fleet into Europe.
Having secured these Islands, proceed immediately to Cartegena, which
we would make the Seat of the intended Design, and from which England
will be Master of the Spaniards' Treasure which comes from Peru by the
way of Panama in the South Seas to Porto Bello or Nombre de Dios in the
North Sea . . ."
_
How presumptuous it all seemed from this vantage. Worse still, the
Council of State had not even bothered taking notice of Jamaica, an
under-defended wilderness now their only chance to seize _anything_
held by the Spaniards.
Most depressing of all, Cromwell would surely be loath to spend a
shilling on the men and arms needed to hold such a dubious prize.
Meaning the Spaniards would simply come and reclaim it the minute the
fleet set sail.
Surely, he told himself, Cromwell was aware they had shipped out
without nearly enough trained men to attack Spanish holdings. Even his
Council of State realized as much. But they had nourished the delusion
that, once Barbados was bludgeoned back into the Commonwealth, its
planters would dutifully offer up whatever first-rate men, arms, and
cavalry were needed for the campaign.
What the Council of State had not conceived was how indifferent those
islanders would be to the territorial ambitions of Oliver Cromwell.
Barbados' planters, it turned out, wanted nothing to do with a conquest
of the Spanish Americas; to them, more English-held lands in the New
World only meant the likelihood of more acres planted in sugar one day,
to compete with the trade they hoped to monopolize. Consequently,
Morris' Barbados recruits consisted almost wholly of runaway indentures
eluding their owners and their creditors, a collection of profane,
debauched rogues whose only boldness lay in doing mischief.
Sugar and slaves. They might well have undermined Barbados' brief try
for independence; but they also meant there would be no more English
lands in the Americas.
Calvert's heart grew heavy as he remembered how their careful strategy
for taking Hispaniola had been wrecked. They had decided to avoid the
uncharted harbor of Santo Domingo and land five miles down the coast.
But by a mischance of wind on their stern, it was thirty. Then Morris
had disembarked his troops with scarcely any water or victuals. All the
first day, however, he had marched unopposed, his Puritan infantrymen
even pausing to vandalize Papist churches along the way, using idols of
the Virgin for musket practice.
The Spaniards, however, had a plan of their own. They had been busy
burning all the savannahs farther ahead to drive away the cattle,
leaving a path of scorched ground. Soon Morris' supplies were exhausted
and hunger began to set in; whereupon his infantry started stealing the
horses of the cavalry, roasting and devouring them so ravenously the
Spaniards reportedly thought horsemeat must be some kind of English
delicacy.
Then came another catastrophe. For sport, the army burned some thatched
huts belonging to Hispaniola's notorious Cow-Killers. Soon a gang of
vengeful hunters had massed in the woods along the army's path and
begun sniping with their long-barrelled muskets. After that, whenever
fireflies appeared in the evenings, the English sentries, never before
having seen such creatures, mistook them for the burning matchcord of
the Cow-Killers' muskets and began firing into the night, causing
general panic and men trampled to death in flight. Also, the rattling
claws of the night-foraging Caribbean land crabs would sound to the
nervous English infantry like the clank of the Cow-Killers' bandoliers.
An alarm would raise--"the Cow-Killers"--and soldiers would run blindly
into the forests and deadly swamps trying to flee.
When they finally reached Santo Domingo, Morris and his demoralized men
gamely tried to rush and scale the walls, whereupon the Spaniards
simply fired down with cannon and slew hundreds. Driven back, Morris
claimed his retreat was merely "tactical." But when he tried again, the
Spanish cavalry rode out and lanced countless more in a general rout,
only turning back when they tired of killing. It was the most
humiliating defeat any English army had ever received--suffered at the
hands of the supposedly craven Spaniards, and the wandering Cow-
Killers, of Hispaniola.
Back at sea, they realized the foolhardiness of an attempt on Havana or
Cartegena, so the choice they were confronted with was to return to
England empty-handed and face Cromwell's outrage, or perhaps try some
easier Spanish prize. That was when they hit on the idea of Jamaica--
admittedly a smaller island than Hispaniola and of scant consequence to
Spain, but a place known for its slight defenses. They immediately
weighed anchor and made sail for Jamaica Bay. . . .
"Well, sir, I take it the shooting's over for now. Mayhaps this time
your rabble army will see fit to stand and fight like Englishmen."
Edging his way cautiously up the smoky companionway, in black hat and
cotton doublet, was one of the few Barbados planters who had offered to
join the expedition. He glanced at the sunlit fortress, then stared at
the green hills beyond. "Though from the looks of the place, I'd judge
it's scarcely worth the waste of a round of shot. 'Twould seem to be
damn'd near as wild as Barbados the day I first set foot on her."
"I think Colonel Morris knows his duty, sir." Calvert's tone grew
official. "And I presume some of this land could readily be put into
cultivation."
Why, Calvert puzzled, had the planter come? He'd not offered to assist
the infantry. No, most probably he volunteered in hopes of
commandeering the choicest Spanish plantations on Hispaniola all for
himself. Or perhaps he merely couldn't countenance the thought he'd
been denied a seat on Barbados' new Council. Yes, that was more likely
the case. Why else would a sugar grower as notoriously successful as
Benjamin Briggs have decided to come with them?
"Cultivation!" Briggs turned on him. "I see you know little enough
about running a plantation, sir. Where's the labor you'd need?"
"Perhaps some of these infantry will choose to stay and settle. With
the Spaniards all about, this island's going to require . . ."
"This set of layabouts? I doubt one in a hundred could tell a cassava
root from a yam, assuming he had the industry to
hoe one up." Briggs moved to the railing and surveyed the wide plain
spreading up from the harbor. "This batch'd not be worth tuppence the
dozen for clearing stumps and planting."
. . . But, he found himself thinking, maybe things would be different
if you went about it properly. And brought in some Africans. Enough
strapping blacks and some of these savannahs might well be set to
production. And if not along here, then maybe upland. The hills look as
green as Barbados was thirty years ago. Could it be I was wise to come
after all? Damn Hispaniola. This place could be the ideal spot to prove
what I've always believed.
Aye, he told himself. Barbados showed there's a fortune to be made with
sugar. But what's really called for is land, lots of it; and half the
good plots there're still held by damn'd ten-acre freeholders. The New
World is the place where a man has to think in larger terms. So what if
I sold off those Barbados acres, packed up the sugar mill and brought
it here, cut a deal with the Dutchmen for a string of quality Nigers on
long credit . . .?
All we need do is send these few Spaniards packing, and this island
could well be a gold mine.
"If you'll pardon me, Mister Briggs, I'll have to be going ashore now."
Calvert nodded, then turned for the companionway.
"As you will, sir." Briggs glanced back at the island. "And if it's all
the same, I think I'll be joining you. To take the measure of this fish
we've snagged and see what we've got."
"You might do better to wait, Mister Briggs, till we've gained a clear
surrender from the Spaniards."
"Well, sir, I don't see any Spaniards lurking about there on the
plain." He headed down the companionway after Calvert. "I'm the
civilian here, which means I've got responsibilities of my own."
"Hugh, are we going to just stand here and let these bastards rob us?"
Katherine was angrily gripping her musket. "We took this fort, not
Morris and his Roundheads."
Winston stood staring at the warships, his mind churning. Why the hell
were they here? Cromwell had better things to do with his navy than
harass a few Spanish planters.
Whatever they want, he vowed to himself, they'll damn well have to
fight for it.
"'Tis the most cursed sight I e'er laid eyes on." Guy Bartholomew had
moved beside them. "Mayhaps that rumor about some fleet trying Santo
Domingo was all too true. An' when they fail'd at that, they decided to
pillage Jamaica instead."
Next to him was Timothy Farrell, spouting Irish oaths down on the
ships. "Aye, by the Holy Virgin, but whatever happen'd, I'll wager you
this--it's the last we're like to see of any ransom for the town." His
eyes were desolate. "The damn'd English'll be havin' it all. They've
never heard of dividing a thing fair and square, that I promise you."
"Well, they can't squeeze a town that's empty." Winston turned to
Bartholomew. "So why don't we start by giving this navy a little token
of our thanks. Set these Spaniards free to go back and help clear out
Villa de la Vega. By the time the damn'd Roundheads get there, there'll
be nothing to find save empty huts."
"Well, sir, it's a thought, I'll grant you. Else we could try and get
over there first ourselves, to see if there's any gold left to be had.
These Spaniards' Romanish churches are usually good for a few
trinkets." The _boucanier_ looked down again. A line of longboats was
now edging across the bay below, headed for the shore beneath the fort.
He glanced back at his men. "What say you, lads?"
"There's no point to it, Cap'n, as I'm a Christian." One of the
grizzled _boucaniers_ behind him spoke up. "There're lads here aplenty
who've sailed for the English navy in their time, an' I'm one of 'em.
You can be sure we'd never get past those frigates with any Spanish
gold. All we'd get is a rope if we tried riflin' the town now, or
holdin' it for ransom. When an honest tar borrows a brass watch fob,
he's hang'd for theft; when the generals steal a whole country, it's
called the spoils of war. No sir, I've had all the acquaintance I
expect to with so-called English law. I warrant the best thing we can
do now is try getting out of here whilst we can, and let the whoresons
have what they came to find. We took this place once, by God, and we
can well do it again."
There was a murmur of concurrence from the others. Some experienced
seamen were already eyeing the stone corridor, reflecting on the
English navy's frequent practice of impressing any able-bodied man
within reach whenever it needed replacements.
"Well, sir, there's some merit in what you say." Bartholomew nodded
thoughtfully. "Maybe the wisest course right now is to try and get some
canvas on our brigs before this navy starts to nose about our anchorage
over at the other side of the _cayo_.
"That's the best, make nae mistake." The Scotsman MacEwen interjected
nervously. "An' if these Spaniards care to trouble keeping the damn'd
Roundheads entertained whilst we're doin' it, then I'd gladly hand them
back every gunner here, with a skein of matchcord in the trade.
Whatever's in the town can be damn'd."
"Then it's done." Winston motioned for the Spanish commander. Captain
Juan Vicente de Padilla advanced hesitantly, renewed alarm in his dark
eyes.
"Do you wish to receive my sword now, capitan?"
"No, you can keep it, and get the hell out of here. Go on back to Villa
de la Vega and let your governor know the English navy's invaded."
"Capitan, I do not understand your meaning." He stood puzzling. "Your
speech is Ingles, but you are not part of those _galeones_ down below?"
"We're not English. And I can promise you this island
hasn't heard the last of us." Winston thumbed toward the corridor. "Now
you'd best be out of here. I don't know how long those Roundheads
expect to tarry."
With a bow of supreme relief, Captain de Padilla turned and summoned
his men. In moments the Spanish gunners were jostling toward the
corridor, each wanting to be the first to evacuate his family and
wealth from Villa de la Vega.
"In God's name, Hugh, don't tell me you're thinking to just hand over
this fort!" Katherine was still watching the shore below, where
infantrymen were now forming ranks to begin marching up the slope. "I,
for one, intend to stand and fight as long as there's powder and shot."
"Don't worry, we've got the heavy guns. And their damned warships are
under them." He signaled to Tom Canninge, master gunner of the
_Defiance_. "Have the boys prime and run out these culverin. We need to
be ready."
"Good as done." Canninge shouted an order, and his men hurriedly began
hauling the tackles left lying on the stone pavement by the Spanish
gunners, rolling back the iron cannon to reload.
By now the infantry had begun advancing up the hill. Winston watched
them long enough through the sparse trees to recognize Richard Morris
at their head.
So we meet again, you Roundhead bastard. But this time _I_ start out
holding the ordnance.
"Masters, cover us with your muskets." He motioned for Katherine and
together they started for the corridor. The hallway had grown lighter
now, a pale gold in the early light of dawn. At the far end the heavy
oak door had been left ajar by the departing Spanish gunners.
As they stepped into the sunshine, Atiba suddenly appeared beside them,
concern on his face. "Senhor, I think it is no longer safe at the
damnable _vigia_ on the hill. I must go back up there now."
"All right." Winston waved him on. "But see you're quick on it."
"I am a man of the mountains. When I wish, I can travel faster than a
Spaniard with a horse." He began to sprint across the clearing, headed
for the trees.
"Katy, hang on to this." Winston drew one of the pistols from his belt
and handed it to her. "We'll talk first, but if we have to shoot, the
main thing is to bring down Morris. That ought to scatter them."
As they rounded the corner of the fort. Colonel Richard Morris emerged
through the trees opposite, leading a column of infantry. The commander
froze when he saw them. He was raising his musket, preparing to give
order to fire, when his face softened into a disbelieving grin.
"God's blood. Nobody told me you'd decided to join up with this
assault." He examined them a moment longer, then glanced up at the
breastwork, where a line of seamen had appeared, holding flintlocks. He
stared a moment in confusion before looking back at Winston. "I suppose
congratulations are in order. We had no idea 'twas you and your men
who'd silenced their guns. You've doubtless saved us a hot ordnance
battle. Bloody fine job, I must say." He lowered his musket and strode
warily forward. "What have you done with all the Spaniards?"
"They're gone now." Winston's hand was on the pistol in his belt.
"Then the place is ours!" Morris turned and motioned the infantrymen
forward. "Damned odd I didn't notice your . . . frigate in amongst our
sail. We could've used you at Hispaniola." He tried to smile. "I'd say,
sir, that an extra month's pay for you and your lads is in order, even
though I take it you joined us late. I'll see to it myself."
"You can save your eighteen shillings. Colonel. We plan to hold this
fort, and maybe the island to go with it. But you're free to rifle the
town if you think you can still find anything."
"You plan to hold what, sir?" Morris took a cautious step backward.
"Where you're standing. It's called Jamaica. We got here first and we
intend to keep however much of it strikes our fancy."
"Well, sir, that's most irregular. I see you've still got all the brass
I recall." He gripped the barrel of his musket. "I've already offered
you a bonus for exceptional valor. But if you're thinking now to try
and rebel against my command here, what you're more likely to earn is a
rope around your neck."
Winston turned and yelled up to Canninge. "Tom, ready the guns and when
I give the order, lay a few rounds across the quarterdeck of the
_Rainbowe_ anchored down there. Maybe it'll encourage Colonel Morris to
reexamine the situation."
"Good God!" Morris paled. "Is this some kind of jest?"
"You can take whatever you want from the Spaniards. But this harbor's
mine. That is, if you'd prefer keeping Cromwell's flagship afloat."
"This harbor?"
"That's right. We're keeping the harbor. And this fortress, till such
time as we come to an understanding."
While Morris stared up again at the row of cannon, behind him the last
contingent of infantry began to emerge through the trees. Leading it
was Admiral Edmond Calvert, and beside him strode a heavyset man in a
wide, dark hat. They moved through the row of silver-helmeted
infantrymen, who parted deferentially for the admiral, headed toward
Morris. They were halfway across the clearing before Benjamin Briggs
noticed Katherine and Winston.
"What in the name of hell!" He stopped abruptly. "Have the both of you
come back to be hanged like you merit?"
"I'd take care what you say, Master Briggs." Winston looked down the
slope. "My lads up there might mistake your good humor."
Briggs glanced up uncertainly at the breastwork, then back.
"I'd like to know what lawless undertaking it is brings you two to this
forsaken place?"
"You might try answering the same question."
"I'm here to look to English interests."
"I assume that means your personal interests. So we're probably here
for much the same reason."
"I take it you two gentlemen are previously acquainted." Calvert moved
cautiously forward. "Whatever your past cordiality, there'll be ample
time to manage the disposition of this place after it's ours. We're
dividing the skin before we've caught the fox. Besides, it's the Lord
Protector who'll . . ."
There was a shout from the breastwork above, and Calvert paused to look
up. Tom Canninge was standing beside one of the grey iron culverin,
waving down at Winston.
"Cap'n, there's a mass of horsemen coming up the road from the town."
"Are they looking to counterattack?"
The gunner paused and studied the road. "From here I'd say not. They're
travelin' slow, more just walkin' their mounts. An' there're a few
blacks with them, who look to be carry in' some kind of hammock."
Now Morris was gazing warily down the road toward Villa de la Vega. He
consulted briefly with Calvert, then ordered his men to take cover in
the scattering of trees across the clearing.
Coming toward them was a row of Spanish horsemen, with long lances and
silver-trimmed saddles, their mounts prancing deferentially behind a
slow-moving cluster of men, all attired in the latest Seville finery.
In the lead was an open litter, shaded from the sun by a velvet awning,
with the poles at each of its four corners held shoulder high by an
aged Negro wearing a blue silk loincloth.
Katherine heard a rustle at her elbow and turned to see the admiral
bowing. "Edmond Calvert, madam, your servant." He quickly glanced again
at the Spanish before continuing. "Colonel Morris just advised me you
are Dalby Bedford's daughter. Please allow me to offer my condolences."
She nodded lightly and said nothing, merely tightening her grip on the
pistol she held. Calvert examined her a moment, then addressed Winston.
"And I'm told that you, sir, were gunnery commander for Barbados."
Winston inspected him in silence.
Calvert cleared his throat. "Well, sir, if that's indeed who you are, I
most certainly have cause to know you for a first-rate seaman. I take
it you somehow managed to outsail the Gloucester." He continued
guardedly. "You were a wanted man then, but after what's happened
today, I think allowances can be made. In truth, I'd like to offer you
a commission here and now if you'd care to serve under me."
"Accept my thanks, but I'm not looking for recruitment." Winston
nodded, then turned back to study the approaching cavalry. "The
'commission' I plan to take is right here. And that's the two of us.
Miss Bedford and I expect to make Jamaica home base."
Calvert smiled as he continued. "Well, sir, if you're thinking now you
want to stay, there'll surely be a place for you here. I'll take odds
the Spaniards are not going to let us commandeer this island without
soon posting a fleet to try and recover it. Which means we've got to
look to some defenses right away, possibly move a few of the culverin
from the _Rainbowe_ and _Marsten Moor_ up here to the breastwork.
There's plenty to . . ."
"What are you saying!" Katherine stared at him. "That you're going to
try and hold Jamaica?"
"For England." He sobered. "I agree with you it'll not be an easy task,
madam, but we expect to do our best, I give you my solemn word. Yes,
indeed. And if you and the men with you care to assist us, I will so
recommend it to His Highness. I fear we'll be wanting experienced
gunners here, and soon."
While Katherine stood speechless, Benjamin Briggs edged next to them
and whispered toward Calvert, "Admiral, you don't suppose we'd best
look to our defenses, till we've found out what these damn'd Spaniards
are about?"
"This can only be one thing, Mister Briggs. Some kind of attempt to try
and negotiate." Calvert examined the procession again as it neared the
edge of the clearing. "Not even Spaniards attack from a palanquin."
Now the approaching file was slowing to a halt. While the horsemen
reined in to wait in the sunshine, one of the men who had been walking
alongside the litter began to converse solemnly with a shadowed figure
beneath its awning. Finally he reached in and received a long silk-
wrapped bundle, then stepped around the bearers and headed toward them.
He was wearing a velvet waistcoat and plumed hat, and as he approached
the four figures standing by the breastwork, he appeared momentarily
disoriented. His olive skin looked sallow in the early light and his
heavy moustache drooped. Finally he stopped a few feet away and
addressed them collectively.
"I am Antonio de Medina, lieutenant-general to our governor, don
Francisco de Castilla, who has come to meet you. He regrets that his
indisposition does not permit him to tender you his sword from his own
hand." He paused and glanced back at the litter. An arm emerged feebly
and waved him on. "His Excellency has been fully advised of the
situation, and he is here personally to enquire your business. If it is
ransom you wish to claim, he would have me remind you we are but a poor
people, possessing little wealth save our honesty and good name."
"I am Admiral Edmond Calvert, and I receive his greeting in the name of
England's Lord Protector." Calvert was studying the shrouded litter
with puzzlement. "Furthermore, you may advise don Francisco de Castilla
that we've not come for ransom. We're here to claim this island in the
name of His Highness Oliver Cromwell. For England."
"Senor, I do not understand." Medina's brow wrinkled. "Ingles
_galeones_ such as yours have come in times past, and we have always
raised the ransom they required, no matter how difficult for us. We
will . . ."
"This time, sir, it's going to be a different arrangement." Briggs
stepped forward. "He's telling you we're here to stay. Pass that along
to your governor."
"But you cannot just claim this island, senor." Medina examined Briggs
with disbelief. "It has belonged to Spain for a hundred and forty
years."
"Where's your bill of sale, by God? We say it belongs to whoever's got
the brass to seize hold of it. Spaniards took half the Americas from
the heathen; now it's England's turn."
"But this island was granted to our king by His Holiness the Pope, in
Rome."
"Aye, your Pope's ever been free to dispense lands he never owned in
the first place." Briggs smiled broadly. "I seem to recall back in King
Harry's time he offered England to anybody who'd invade us, but none of
your Papist kings troubled to take up his gift." He sobered. "This
island's English, as of today, and damned to your Purple Whore of
Rome."
"Senor, protestante blasphemies will not . . ."
"Take care, Master Briggs." Winston's voice cut between them. "Don't be
so quick to assume England has it. At the moment it looks like this
fortress belongs to me and my men."
"Well, sir, if you're thinking to try and steal something from this
place, which now belongs to England, I'd be pleased to hear how you
expect to manage it."
"I don't care to steal a thing. I've already got what I want. While
we've been talking, my lads down on the _Defiance_ were off-loading
culverin there at the Cayo de Carena. On the Point. As of now, any
bottom that tries to enter, or leave, this harbor is going to have to
sail under them. So the harbor's mine, including what's in it at the
moment. Not to mention this fort as well."
"Perhaps you'd best tell me what you have in mind, sir." Calvert
glanced up at the breastwork, its iron cannon now all directed on the
anchored ships below.
"We might consider an arrangement." Winston paused, then looked down at
the bay.
"What do you mean?"
"These men sailing with me are _boucaniers_, Cow-Killers to you, and we
need this harbor. In future, we intend sailing from Jamaica, from right
over there, at the Point. There'll be a freeport there, for anybody who
wants to join with us."
"Are you saying you mean to settle down there on the Point, with these
buccaneers?" Calvert was trying to comprehend what he was hearing.
Could it be that, along with Jamaica, Cromwell was going to get armed
ships, manned by the only men in the Caribbean feared by the Spaniards,
for nothing?
Perhaps it might even mean Jamaica could be kept. The Western Design
might end up with something after all . . .
"Well, sir, in truth, this island's going to be needing all the
fighting men it can muster if it's to defend itself from the
Spaniards." Calvert turned to Briggs. "If these buccaneers of his want
to headquarter here, it could well be a godsend."
"You'd countenance turning over the safety of this place to a band of
rogues?" Briggs' face began to grow dark with a realization. "Hold a
minute, sir. Are you meanin' to suggest Cromwell won't trouble
providing this island with naval protection?"
"His Highness will doubtless act in what he considers to be England's
best interest, Mister Briggs, but I fear he'll not be too anxious to
expend revenues fortifying and patrolling an empty Spanish island. I
wouldn't expect to see the English navy around here, if that's what
you're thinking."
"But this island's got to have defenses. It's not the same as Barbados.
Over there we were hundreds of leagues to windward. And the Spaniards
never cared about it in the first place. But Jamaica's different. It's
right on the Windward Passage. You've got to keep an armed fleet and
some fortifications here or the Spaniards'll just come and take the
place back whenever they have a mind."
"Then you'd best start thinking about how you'd plan to arrange for
it." Calvert turned back to Medina. "Kindly advise His Excellency I
wish to speak with him directly."
The lieutenant-general bowed and nervously returned to the litter.
After consulting inside for a moment, he ordered the bearers to move it
forward.
What they saw was a small, shriveled man, bald and all but consumed
with venereal pox. He carefully shaded his yellow eyes from the morning
sun as he peered out.
"As I have said, Excellency, we are pleased to acknowledge your
welcome," Calvert addressed him. "For the time we will abstain from
sacking Villa de la Vega, in return for which courtesy you will
immediately supply our fleet with three hundred head of fat cattle for
feeding our men, together with cassava bread and other comestibles as
we may require."
After a quick exchange, Medina looked back, troubled. "His Excellency
replies he has no choice but to comply."
"Fine. But I'm not quite finished. Be it also known without any
mistaking that we have hereby taken charge of the island of Jamaica. I
expect to send you the terms to sign tomorrow morning, officially
surrendering it to England."
Winston stepped forward and faced Medina. "You can also advise His
Excellency there'll be another item in the terms. Those slaves standing
there, and all others on the island, are going to be made free men."
"Senor, all the negros on this island have already been set free, by
His Excellency's proclamation this very morning. To help us resist. Do
you think we are fools? Our negros are _catolico_. They and our Maroons
will stand with us if we have to drive you _protestante_ heretics from
this island."
"Maroons?" Calvert studied him.
"Si. that is the name of the free negros who live here, in the
mountains." He approached Calvert. "And know this, Ingles. They are no
longer alone. The king of Spain will not let you steal this island, and
we will not either. Even now, our people in Villa de la Vega have taken
all their belongings and left for the mountains also. We will wage war
on you from there forever if need be. You may try to steal this island,
against the laws of God, but if you do, our people will empty their
_hatos_ and drive their cattle into the hills. Your army will starve.
This island will become your coffin, we promise you."
"That remains to be seen, sir." Calvert inspected him coldly. "If you
don't choose to honor our terms and provide meat for this army, then
we'll just take what we please."
"Then we bid you good day." Medina moved back to confer with the
governor. After a moment, the bearers hoisted the litter, turned, and
headed back down the road, trailed by the prancing horses of the
cavalry.
Calvert watched, unease in his eyes, as they moved out. "In truth, I'm
beginning to fear this may turn out to be as bloody as Hispaniola. If
these Spaniards scorn our terms of surrender and take to the hills, it
could be years before Jamaica is safe for English settlement."
Behind them the infantrymen had begun to emerge from the woods across
the clearing, led by Morris. Next Guy Bartholomew appeared around the
side of the fortress, his face strained and haggard in the morning
light. He watched puzzling as the Spanish procession disappeared into
the distance, then turned to Winston.
"What's all the talk been about?"
"There's going to be a war here, and soon. And we don't want any part
of it. So right now we'd best head back over to the Point. That spot's
going to be ours, or hell will hear the reason why. John's been off-
loading my culverin and he should have the guns in place by now. We
don't need these cannon any more. Get your lads and let's be gone."
"I'd just as soon be out of here, I'll tell you that. I don't fancy the
looks of this, sir, not one bit." With an exhale of relief, Bartholomew
signaled up to the breastwork, then headed back. "God be praised."