John Prebble

by The Darien Disaster (v1. 1) (epub)

  Inevitably, the man finally chosen belonged to no faction. If he could not be trusted to favour one party before another, he might at least report impartially upon all. Alexander Hamilton, the Accountant-General of the Colony, was a sober, sensible man who had kept apart from the more acrimonious disputes of the settlement. He was still accepted reluctantly by some of the leaders within the Council and out. Paterson thought they could ill afford to lose the man's knowledge of the cargoes and stores, and said that his departure would cause even more disorder and confusion. The Drummonds and Vetch objected to him because they believed him to be a friend of Robert Jolly, whose weak, vacillating humours they now detested.

  Cunningham was also told that he might go with the sloop. The other Councillors had given in to his nagging, as men agree to the extraction of an incisor, considering the relief from pain against the loss to their appearance. "After weighing his temper," said Paterson, "they consented to his going, but thought it were prudent to part with him in friendship than otherwise, lest any that might espouse his humour in Scotland should prove a means of retarding or frustrating our needful supplies." He was given a letter of recommendation, but it was made clear to him that Hamilton, not he, was the emissary.

  Now there was a great writing of letters throughout the Colony, a parcelling of journals and small gifts—an arrow, a silver disc, the wing-feathers of a parakeet, a wondrous sea-shell, a pressed flower. Though many were homesick, disillusioned, despairing, at the least full of doubt, there was an almost unanimous desire to reassure their friends and families, to pretend that New Edinburgh was not a mean huddle of palmetto huts, that Fort St. Andrew was not an unfinished palisade, that sickness and death were not commonplace. "Being in haste," wrote Colin Campbell to his brother, "else I would have writ to my mother, and other friends, but let me be remembered to all." Surgeon Mackenzie's letter to Haldane of Gleneagles said nothing of his distressing failure to check the fever and flux, it glowed with praise of the abundant land, and only at the end betrayed the colonists' fear that Scotland would forget them and abandon them. "I very heartily wish that a mistaken notion ... may not occasion the old mother to obliviate her new-born babe before it is fit for weaning and in a condition of doing for itself." One phrase occurred again and again in many of the letters, in Hugh Rose's journal and Pennecuik's log, as if there had been some agreement to use it and it alone. Mackay used it when he wrote to the Earl of Leven. Darien, he said, was "one of the fruitfullest spots of ground on the face of the earth" And being a Highlander, with an ability to confuse hope with certainty, he added that "it will make the Scots nation more considerable in the balance of Europe than ever, and you'll have such a settlement in the Indies in a few years as scarce any European nation could brag of."

  Writing to the Earl of Panmure, one of the Councillors- General, Pennecuik blithely said that all things had succeeded beyond expectation, and that nothing could go wrong if the Company's friends in Scotland did as much for the Colony as Heaven had already done. To another Councillor he wrote of gold mines within three days' march, of a country that was "one of the most fruitful and healthy upon earth." He sent them trinkets for their wives, nose-plates and rings which Ambrosio had given him. And also "a little instrument of silver which I beg your Lordship will not expose to the view of the fair sex, for if they measure the country by the magnitude of that instrument I am sure they'll have no inclination to visit these parts."

  All members of the Council signed a brief letter to the Court of Directors which was to go as a cover for the journals and dispatches. Although it declared that God Almighty must have preserved the country for their occupation, that its "fruitfulness" was unequalled anywhere, it ended on a note of uneasy urgency. Supplies were needed, provisions and stores, and it was hoped that they would be sent with the least delay. "But however it be, by the help of God we shall not fail to do our utmost "

  As the year ended, bad weather delayed the departure of the sloop. Obstinate winds closed the harbour, and although Edward Sands could have warped her out he was unwilling to risk his ship in the gales beyond. The Maurepas had been forgotten by all except Herries, who was still aboard her. On the evening of December 23 there was not a sober man among her officers and crew, and most of them were still drunk the next morning when Captain Thomas unaccountably weighed anchor, set his topsails and mainsail and moved toward the sea-gate. Great rollers were coming through it, but by fool's luck his helmsman managed to ride them well until the wind dropped abruptly. The ship swung to leeward and on to the sunken rock.

  Pennecuik, who had been watching in astonishment from the Saint Andrew, ordered his longboat away and was rowed across to the Maurepas. He took command with a rare decisiveness, calling for more boats and hauling the Frenchman off the rock. Little serious damage had been done, and when the ship had weathered the point he advised Thomas to drop his bow and stern anchors and wait for a gentler sea. Forty-five minutes later both cables broke, which was what Pennecuik should have foreseen, the ship spun about and back on to the rock, this time tearing a great hole in her hull. She sank slowly, her timbers parting and her masts snapping, but Pennecuik bravely stayed aboard until he had seen Thomas lashed to a raft. He then stripped off his clothes and walked from the deck into the water. "Naked as I was born, with much ado I swam ashore. The seas broke over me, under each of which I was at least twenty seconds, and indeed two such more had done my business." He found Thomas along the beach, half-drowned, and ordered him to be hung up by the heels until the water had run out of his lungs. Nearly half the crew of the Maurepas had been lost, including all her officers with the exception of Thomas and a lieutenant, and the angry survivors would have cut the throats of both had not Pennecuik sent them aboard the Saint Andrew.

  There they were to remain for the next two months, and never, thought the Scots, were men "more ungrateful, unreasonable, and uneasy." They had good reason to be. According to Pennecuik, there had been 60,000 pieces of eight in gold and silver aboard their ship, and 30,000 more in trading goods, and the thought of this, lying out there in the bay, would plague the greed of the Scots for weeks. Thomas made some attempts to dive for the treasure, without success, and gave up when Pennecuik promised him that all that came ashore from the wreck would be his. He was cheerfully unconcerned when a package of letters was washed up on the beach. Some were for delivery to the Indian captains, threatening them with the anger of France and Spain if they continued to support the Scots. Others were from Spaniards of Carthagena and Portobello, promising the support of the Indies for the Dauphin's claim to the throne of Spain when His Catholic Majesty, who had been making a long business of dying, finally expired.

  Walter Herries also escaped from the wreck. Though he lost his baggage, and his unfortunate servant, the purse of gold-dust was in his pocket when he swam ashore.

  Christmas was a day of rest, and was celebrated by a great feast aboard the Saint Andrew. Andreas and Ambrosio were both invited, nobody realising or caring that each had a hearty dislike of the other. They were civil enough at first, but as the bottles passed they began to quarrel. Herries was there again, and his story may perhaps be believed against the indignant denials of others who were not. From a wordy quarrel the Indians went on to brawl, until they were separated by Pennecuik. Drunk himself, he was still jealous of his own dignity and the solemnity of the day. The next morning no one could remember much of what had happened, and it was assumed that both Indians had gone happily away in their canoes some time before dawn. And then Andreas was found in the hold below the main hatchway, unconscious and with a bloodied head. Little was done for the man. He was hauled up to the waist and left on deck until his wives and his bodyguard came to collect him.

  Once the desperate, self-indulgent carousal of Christmas was over, the year ended on a high and noble note. Edward Sands said that he would sail on Thursday, December 29, and on Wednesday the Council hurriedly published a declaration constituting the settlement as a Colony of the Company of Scotlan
d. Drawn up and written by Hugh Rose, it repeated the substance of the Act and the Company's right to the land. It established that all who were then, or who might thereafter come to be associated with the Colony were free men, with equal privileges, immunities, and rights of Government. It declared "a full and free liberty of conscience in matter of Religion, so as the same be not understood to allow, connive at, or indulge the blaspheming of God's holy name." Freedom and liberty of conscience are words that always have the inherent and expedient qualifications of the age which uses them, and in this case no one took the first to mean that the Colony would not buy or employ slaves, or that the second included the toleration of Papists.

  The declaration was read to all as they stood on the wet earth about New Edinburgh, to tired men and sick men in stained scarlet, yellow duck and rusty broadcloth. They were told that not only were they here in "one of the most healthful, rich and fruitful countries upon earth", but that they were also to live by reason, by the Scriptures, and by the example of the most wise and just among nations. From truth and righteousness would come the blessing or prosperity.

  And now, by virtue of the before-mentioned powers to us given, we do here settle and in the name of God establish ourselves; and in honour and for the memory of that most ancient and renowned name of our Mother Country, we do, and will from henceforward call this country by the name of Caledonia; and ourselves, successors, and associates, by the name of Caledonians.

  There was little but this to show for the first two months. An uncertain foothold on an exposed peninsula, a ragged village of huts and an uncompleted fort. The price paid so far had been high, though it seems to have been accepted stoically. For dispatch to Edinburgh, Mr. Rose had drawn up a list of those who had died, seventy-six between July 23 and Christmas Day. The greatest number in one group were Planters, men with little stake in the Colony except the obligation to defend it and the hope of fifty acres when the land was broken. For many of these the venture had been no more than an alternative to a beggarly life as a disbanded soldier. Few of them, certainly not the Highlanders who were cut off from the rest of the settlers by their knowledge of no language but Gaelic, shared the youthful zest of the Volunteers. Both ministers had died, and since November 20 the Colony had thus had no one to intercede on its behalf with a quixotic Almighty. There had died the trumpeter whose music had been a solace, two surgeon's mates from exposure to their patients, five young midshipmen and the junior mate of the Saint Andrew, whose splendid name was Recompense Standburgh. The last name on the list was Thomas Fullarton, captain of the Dolphin, who "died suddenly after warm walking." He had eaten and drunk well at the Christmas feast, taken a stroll to clear his fuddled mind, and was dead of the flux before nightfall.

  "No doubt," wrote Roderick Mackenzie when he published the list later in Edinburgh, "everyone will justly regret the loss of his own nearest friend.... As even a greater number of so many as went might have died by this time, had they all remained at home, so it may be some satisfaction to the nearest friends of the deceased that their names shall stand upon record as being among the first brave adventurers that went upon the most noble, most honourable, and most promising undertaking that Scotland ever took in hand."

  The sloop sailed, taking with her Hamilton, Cunningham, and Walter Herries. The decks and yards of the ships, the high ground of the peninsula were crowded to watch her going. The watchman on Point Look-out was the last to see her as her sail went down over the horizon to the north.

  "An Address to His Majesty in such terms as shall please him" Edinburgh, August to December 1698

  When Robert Blackwood returned to Edinburgh from Kirkcaldy on the afternoon the expedition sailed, he brought the shocking news of the desertion of young David Dalrymple and John Wilson, both of the Dolphin. The Directors were incensed, and particularly noted that the boy had gone with two months' advance pay in his pocket. Before the Court resolved anything else it ordered that the deserters be pursued, arrested, and prosecuted with the utmost severity. The incident was a clashing note, and spoilt the harmony of the fleet's departure. The Company's affairs were at stake in the arena of Parliament House, and it would have been a comfort to know that its ships had sailed without fainthearts and cowards. There was also John Dickson, the clerk who had gone with Blackwood to Kirkcaldy, and whose deplorable bookkeeping had caused the delay in sailing. He was told to bring his accounts to order before the end of October or forfeit half of his year's salary.

  The seventh session of Parliament had assembled. The King's servants had come to town from London or their estates, determined to defend their paymaster against the Company's adherents who wished to send him an angry Address of protest, one which complained most bitterly of the behaviour of his Agent in Hamburg. His Majesty's Commissioner, the Earl of Marchmont, was especially concerned for the honour of the king he had served with devotion and loyalty. He had once been "handsome and lovely", but tireless service had aged him prematurely and much of the work of bribery, corruption and oratorical persuasion would necessarily fall upon Seafield as President of Parliament. When this Ogilvy came to Edinburgh he looked anxiously from the window of his coach, doubtful of the welcome he might receive. He was relieved, he told Carstares, to see "many coaches and horsemen ... most of the nobility and parliament men .. and a very great confluence of the common sort", all, apparently, greeting him with joy. He was thus hopeful that things would go well for the King. Reason and persuasion, of course, would not be enough. "We do treat and caress the members, and have our friends at work doing all they can with them."

  Softer than silk would be that caress of gold. This Parliament was a paradox. Though it introduced legislation of the most humane and enlightened nature, it was also one of the most corrupt in Scotland's history. Eight years before, William had told his Scots Secretary, Lord Melville, that he was to be generous to those who would favour the King's cause, that "what employment or other gratification you think fit to promise them in our name we shall fulfill the same." Few public men resisted such bribes, and fewer still protested against them or saw that the nation suffered by them. The sickness was endemic. "Let no man say," Fletcher would write, "that it cannot be proved that the

  English court has ever bestowed any bribe in this country. For they bestow all offices and pensions; they bribe us, and are masters of us at our own cost."

  But within a parliamentary government it was still necessary to bargain with the as yet unbribed, to persuade or corrupt the honest men. The Address before the Estates boldly asked the King to give the Company of Scotland that support and protection the Act demanded. Seafield and Marchmont, Argyll and Queensberry, could not hope to see it voted out of Parliament Hall, but they could soften its language—take out its sting, as Argyll proposed—and delay its dispatch. This they had to do without loss of reputation, for although the King was their master he could not save their windows from being broken. "God knows what trouble this matter is to me," Seafield told Carstares, "and what anxiety is upon my spirit to get fairly out of it, which I am hopeful I shall."

  The debate opened on August 1 with long speeches on behalf of the Address as drafted. One was made by Tweeddale, and another by Tullibardine who was still trying to ride two horses and in opposite directions, to be the King's faithful servant in London and the Company's supporter in Edinburgh. Seafield listened to him without alarm, knowing just how far the young man might run when his pockets were filled with the right metal, or his ambition diverted by brighter promises. To the President this debate was tiresome, but not greatly to be feared. A month before the fleet sailed he had shaken the support of many peers in the Company's party by letting them know of the King's resolve that "no man who opposed him should enjoy either place or pension." He had since been buying others on the lower benches of the Estates, taking a boyish pleasure in outwitting or outbidding the Company. "I have gained the Commissioner for the town of Brechin, under my Lord Panmure's nose." Argyll also boasted of having won over some purse-greedy
members of the Hamilton clan. "All the heads of the opposite party are broke," Seafield reassured Carstares, "except the Earl of Tullibardine, and I believe his wings are clipped."

  The case for the Address was presented with passion and urgency. The country had subscribed a great sum of money. Fine ships, brave men, and rich cargoes were already on their way to found a Colony. If the Company did not get the support and encouragement it deserved from Parliament, if its privileges and immunities were not confirmed by the Throne, if the King did not protect his Scottish subjects then the noble undertaking would be ruined.

  For a week the supporters of the Address spoke without serious opposition. The King's men, from whom Seafield had expected an early return on the payments made them, were silent. Many of them were probably waiting for a lead from him or Argyll, but others were uneasy, uncertain of the volatile passions outside Parliament Hall. The anger of the people, their resentment of English arrogance and English contempt, their joyous pride in their Company, separated them from their time-serving representatives. A few months later, Andrew Fletcher would put his people's defiance of the English into angry words.