by Tim Severin
Christmas came and Paita’s sow was slaughtered and eaten under a clear blue sky while waiting for the fickle doldrum winds. By that time the men were so anxious for the voyage to end that they clustered around Hector and Ringrose as they took each midday sight, demanding to know how much progress had been made. Ringrose’s health had improved with the warmer weather, and he had regained his usual cheerful manner. It was he who finally declared that they must make their landfall very soon. The following dawn a low, green island on the horizon was recognisable as Barbados, though the unwelcome sight of an English man-of-war in the offing led to a hastily called general council. It was decided to find a more discreet place in which to dispose their booty, and on the last day of January Trinity dropped anchor in a deep and deserted inlet on the rocky coast of Antigua. They had completed eighty days at sea.
‘No one is to go ashore until I’ve had a chance to learn our situation,’ warned Sharpe for perhaps the twentieth time. The crew were gazing impatiently at a small stone jetty and a handful of whitewashed houses nestled in the farthest curve of the bay. ‘If the governor receives us, there’ll be time enough for every man to enjoy his rewards. If he’s hostile, then we go elsewhere.’ He turned towards Hector. ‘Lynch, you come with me. You look more presentable than most.’
Together the two men clambered down into the cockboat and were rowed towards the jetty. Seated beside Sharpe on the after thwart, Hector found himself recalling the last time he had gone ashore with a buccaneer captain so warily. That had been with Captain Coxon more than two years earlier and so much had happened since then: his own flight from Port Royal, the hurricane among the logwood cutters of Campeachy, the steamy march across the isthmus and the near-fatal charge on the stockade at Santa Maria, then the long plundering South Sea cruise that followed. He wondered what had happened to Coxon, whom he had last seen after the frustrated attack on Panama. Perhaps the buccaneer captain had given up seafaring and retired with whatever plunder he had amassed. But Hector rather doubted it. Coxon was the sort of person who would always be seeking to make one last lucrative coup.
The cockboat scraped against the rough stones of the jetty and Hector followed Sharpe up the steps. No one greeted them or paid the least attention. Indeed the few people on hand, a couple of fishermen mending nets and a man who might have been a minor government official, deliberately looked the other way.
‘That’s encouraging,’ grunted Sharpe. ‘It seems we don’t exist. So no questions asked.’
Without even a nod to the onlookers, he began walking up the unpaved road that led past the little houses and over the brow of a low hill. At the point where the road began to descend they had a fine view over a larger, busier anchorage than the one they had just left. Sharpe paused for a moment to check what vessels lay at anchor.
‘No sign of a king’s ship,’ he observed. Spreading across the slope below them was a modest-sized town of stone-built houses. A single, rather ugly church tower rose above their roofs. To Hector’s eye the place looked haphazard and chaotic compared to the orderly Spanish towns he had become used to.
‘Are we going to meet someone you know?’ he asked.
Sharpe shot him a sideways look, full of cunning. ‘Depends who is in charge. Antigua’s not as prosperous as Jamaica, or even Barbados for that matter. Only a few plantations as yet, though doubtless they will come. The place is happy to make a bit of money with whoever comes to trade, if the price is right.’
He started down the hill and evidently knew his way for he went briskly along the main street and halted before the front door of a two-storey building more substantial than the others. A black servant answered his knock and when Sharpe asked if Lieutenant Governor Vaughan was at home, the black man at first looked puzzled, then beckoned them inside before retreating down a hallway. A few moments later a loud voice called, ‘Who’s looking for James Vaughan?’ and a stout, red-faced man appeared. He was in undress, had removed his wig to reveal a scalp covered with a crop of short, sparse bristles. Draped around him was a loose dressing gown of patterned calico, and he was sweating heavily.
‘My name is Captain Bartholomew Sharpe,’ the buccaneer captain said. ‘I’m looking for Lieutenant Governor Vaughan.’
The red-faced man took out a large handkerchief and wiped his forehead. ‘Jim Vaughan is no longer the lieutenant governor,’ he said. ‘He’s retired to his estate. Cane is the thing now.’
‘Then perhaps I can speak with the governor, Sir William Stapleton,’ Sharpe suggested.
‘Sir William is not on the island. He’s visiting Nevis in the course of his official duties.’
All this time the man’s shrewd eyes had been sizing up his visitor.
‘Captain, I did not see your vessel enter harbour. What did you say is the name of your ship?’ he asked.
‘We arrived only this morning, and are anchored in the next inlet.’ It was clear that Sharpe did not wish to give further details. ‘I had hoped to engage in a little discreet commerce during the visit.’
The man in the calico gown needed no further prompting. ‘If you would step this way into my study, we can discuss matters in private,’ he said.
He led them into a side room which had the bare look and slightly musty smell of a little used administrative office. On the shelves were several ledgers and minute books whose spines were mottled with mildew. The furniture was a plain wooden table and a cupboard, several chairs, and two large chests, one of which was securely padlocked and marked with a government crest.
‘My name is Valentine Russell,’ said their host, closing the door firmly behind them. ‘I have replaced James Vaughan as lieutenant governor.’ He crossed to the cupboard and took out three glasses and a squat dark green bottle. ‘Perhaps I can offer you some refreshment. My rumbullion is prepared with a dash of lime, some tea and red wine. I find that it relieves the heat.’
The two men both accepted a glass of the liquid which Hector discovered left a metallic aftertaste in his throat. Valentine Russell drank off the contents of his glass in a single gulp and then poured himself a second helping from the bottle.
Sharpe came straight to the point. ‘I have some merchandise aboard whose sale could be of mutual benefit.’
‘What sort of goods?’ enquired the lieutenant governor.
‘Some silks, a quantity of plate, curiosities, lace . . .’
Russell held up his hand to stop him. ‘Can you supply documents to say where the goods originate?’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
The lieutenant governor took another sip of his drink, his small, covetous eyes watching Sharpe over the rim of his glass. Hector thought that the lieutenant governor had a slight resemblance to Trinity’s Christmas pig. Then Russell set down his glass with a rueful sigh.
‘I’m afraid, Captain Sharpe, things have changed entirely since the time of my predecessor. More rules, more questions. The authorities in London are very keen to encourage trade with our neighbours, especially those in the Spanish possessions. There have been a number of complaints from Madrid. They refer to hostile acts by foreign ships and their commanders. Much of it is nonsense, of course.’
Sharpe said nothing, but stood gently twirling the stem of his glass between finger and thumb, waiting for the lieutenant governor to continue.
‘His majesty’s representatives throughout the colonies have been instructed to put a stop to these alleged unfriendly deeds,’ said Russell.
‘Very laudable,’ commented Sharpe dryly.
Russell treated him to a conspiratorial smile which, however, contained an undercurrent of warning. ‘The commanders of the king’s ships, both here in the Windward Caribees and in Jamaica, have lists of those who are suspected of harrying our new Spanish friends. I myself have not seen such a list, but I understand that they are remarkably accurate. The same commanders have instructions to seize any vessels which may have been implicated in lawless activities, arrest their crews, and hand them over for justice. All goods f
ound on board are to be confiscated.’
‘And you say that these strictures apply throughout his majesty’s possessions?’
‘Indeed.’
‘Even in Jamaica?’
As Sharpe put the question, Hector wondered if the buccaneer captain was implying that he would dispose of his plunder in Jamaica if Russell was uncooperative. If so, Russell’s response must have come as a shock.
‘Above all in Jamaica,’ said the lieutenant governor firmly. ‘Sir Henry applies the law most strictly. Last month he presided at the trial of two most notorious villains found guilty of taking part in the late raid into Darien. One of the accused saved his life by turning state’s evidence. The other, a most bloody and obdurate rogue, was found guilty. Sir Henry ordered that he be hanged from the masthead of a ship in harbour. Later his corpse was transferred to the public gibbet in Port Royal. It dangles there still, so I’m told.’
Hector had rarely seen Sharpe taken aback. But the mention that Morgan was executing his former accomplices made the wily buccaneer pause, though only for a moment. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a double-stranded bracelet of pearls, holding it up just long enough for Russell to appreciate the lustre of the pearls.
‘Please give my compliments to James Vaughan when you next meet him,’ he said. ‘I brought with me this little trinket as a gift for Mrs Vaughan, but as I shall not have the opportunity of seeing them on this visit, perhaps you would be kind enough to hand it on with my respect and compliments.’
He passed the necklace over to the lieutenant governor who admired it for a moment before slipping it into the pocket of his dressing gown. Watching the charade, Hector was sure that the necklace would never reach Mrs Vaughan. Russell gave a small bow and said, ‘Captain Sharpe, your generosity is to be commended. I feel that I should await further instructions from my superior before deciding whether or not you may do business on this island. Governor Stapleton is not expected to return to Antigua for another ten days. Should you wish to remain at anchor during that interval, you would be most welcome.’
‘You are very kind,’ replied Sharpe, ‘and as there is much to be done aboard my ship, I wish you good day.’ As Hector followed his captain out of the room, the young man was still puzzling where Sharpe had obtained the pearl bracelet which he had used as his bribe. Then he remembered the velvet purse of jewels which Donna Juana had handed over after the capture of the Santo Rosario. The jewels were general plunder and should have been distributed equally among the crew. But it seemed that Sharpe had helped himself.
‘THE ADVENTURE is over and finished!’ announced Sharpe on Trinity’s main deck in the cool of the same evening. His audience was the general council of the crew, and a long silence greeted his declaration. Looking around, Hector counted less than sixty men. They were all that were left of more than three hundred raiders who had marched inland from Golden Island with such jaunty hopes of winning riches. The survivors were gaunt and shabby, their clothes a mass of patches and mends. Their vessel was equally care-worn, ropes knotted and frayed, sails threadbare, woodwork bleached to a dingy grey by months of sun and scouring spray.
‘The lieutenant governor has granted us leave to stay at anchor here for ten days, no more. After that we must depart or face the consequences.’
‘Where will we go?’ demanded an elderly sailor. Hector remembered him, a cooper by trade. He had made the barrels that had held their water supply for the long voyage around the Cape, a vital role. Now he was at a loss what to do. For him, like many of his shipmates, Trinity had become home.
‘It must be each man for himself,’ announced Sharpe. ‘We go our separate ways. The authorities have lists of some of those who went to the South Seas. Any person on those lists is a wanted man.’
‘Who made those lists and who is on them?’ The question came from Gifford, the quartermaster. His bald scalp had turned the colour of mahogany, and his skin hung loose on his frame. He looked to have aged by at least ten years in the last few months.
Sharpe shrugged. ‘I was not told. But some have already danced the Tyburn jig. Henry Morgan strung up one of our comrades recently.’
Gifford turned to address the entire crew. ‘Does anyone wish to elect a new captain and continue with the cruise?’
His question was met with a silence. There was resignation in the expressions of the men. They were weary of voyaging. Those who had kept their plunder were eager to spend it.
‘Very well,’ announced Gifford. ‘As quartermaster my duty is to supervise the final distribution of our prize. As soon as that is done, the company is dissolved.’
There followed an extraordinary ransacking of the ship. Men brought up on deck, piece by piece, all the items that Trinity had captured during her cruise and had not as yet been turned into cash – bolts of cloth for sail repairs, kegs of dried fruit, a firkin of wine, some painted church statues looted in La Serena, a spare ship’s compass robbed from the Santo Rosario, even the lump of lead from her bilge which they had thought to melt down for musket balls. Everything was carried to the capstan and stacked in an untidy heap.
Abruptly, Sidias spoke up. Until now, the Greek had been standing to one side. He was not a member of the company and had no vote in the council. Nor was he entitled to a share in plunder though he had amassed considerable winnings from backgammon.
He walked over and stood by the pile of ship’s goods. ‘My name does not appear on any of the lists. Therefore I propose that I go ashore and find a broker to purchase these items.’
‘How do we know you will not cheat us?’ The question came from one of the men who had lost heavily to Sidias.
The Greek threw out his hands in a gesture of resignation. ‘I will put down a deposit of fifty pounds in coin for this material. If I sell the stock for more, then I get to keep the profit as reward for my troubles. If I cannot find a buyer, then I would accept the loss. Surely that is fair.’
There was some murmuring among the men, and it was clear that Sidias was not entirely trusted. But when Gifford put the matter to the vote, it was agreed that £50 would cover the value and that the ship’s launch would ferry Sidias and his goods to the jetty. After that, he was on his own.
The quartermaster moved on to other matters. ‘It will be too dangerous to land as a single group. To do so would draw the attention of the authorities. Instead we go ashore in small groups, over the next few days, no more than ten or twelve at a time and disperse.’
‘How do we do that?’ asked the cooper.
Sharpe intervened. ‘Buy passage on local ships and quietly leave. Your silver will open many doors.’
‘And what about those who have no silver?’ Hector searched the faces of the crowd, to see who had asked the question. The tone had been bitter. He saw it was one of a dozen or so men who were inveterate gamblers. During the return voyage they had wagered away all their plunder, mostly to Sharpe himself.
There was an awkward silence and for a moment Hector thought that there might be violence. He sensed a wave of sympathy wash through the assembled crew. A couple of the malcontents were armed. They could set upon Sharpe and give him a beating.
Sharpe must have spotted the danger for he turned to Gifford. ‘Quartermaster, I propose that Trinity is given to all those who have no money. They can use the vessel in whatever manner they wish, though I suggest they sail her to a port where she will not be recognised as a Spanish built. Thus they get away from Antigua and may have a chance to earn some capital.’
There was a murmur of approval from the crew, and the moment of tension passed.
‘Neatly done,’ murmured Jacques beside Hector. ‘Our captain is as slippery as ever. He’s got rid of Trinity and saved his own skin.’
Gifford was already drawing lots to decide the order of disembarkation. Hector and his friends were among the earliest to be set ashore, and they had barely time to collect their share of plunder which amounted to some three thousand pieces of eight each, mostly in coin but also
in broken pieces of plate before they were on their way to the jetty.
As they climbed up the steps they found Sidias already there, seated on a roll of sailcloth and looking very satisfied with himself.
‘How will you get all this stuff to the town for sale?’ asked Hector.
‘I won’t bother,’ the Greek replied. ‘It can stay here and rot.’
‘But you just paid fifty English pounds for it,’ Hector said.
‘And I’ll pay your giant friend another five shillings if he carries this into town.’ With his foot Sidias nudged the heavy ingot brought up from Santo Rosario’s bilge.
‘Lead’s not that valuable,’ said Hector.
‘It’s not lead,’ answered the Greek with a crafty grin. ‘Those nincompoops wouldn’t recognise raw silver if they shat it out of their posteriors. This “lead” as you call it is a half-smelted silver from the Potosi mines. Fifty per cent pure. On its way for further smelting in Panama. I’d say it’s worth seventy or eighty English pounds. Enough to set me up here as a shopkeeper.’
Jacques let out a groan, ‘Hector, do you remember how many more of those ingots were in the Santo Rosario’s bilge? Seven or eight hundred wasn’t it? So many that we thought it was nothing more than ballast and paid no attention. We gave away a fortune. The Spaniards in Paita must still be laughing themselves sick at our stupidity.’
