Apocalypse 1692

by Ben Hughes

  CHAPTER 6

  The Decline and Fall of the Earl of Inchiquin

  THE ASSEMBLY, THE WRECKERS, AND THE DEATH OF A GOVERNOR

  June 1691–June 1692

  People die here very fast & suddenly, I do not know how soon it may be my turn . . . I find I decay apace, insomuch that I must desire His Majesties leave to recruit my self with a little English aire if I do not mend, and hope your lords will favour me with ye obtaining of it.

  —Governor Inchiquin to the Lords of Trade, August 12, 1691

  BY MID-1691 Governor Inchiquin was beginning to loathe Jamaica. The searing heat and enervating humidity was only broken by torrential downpours; the clouds of “stinging and tormenting” muscatas, merrywigs, botleears, galanippers, and chegars “miserably plagued” the island’s residents after dusk;1 there was a constant threat of French attack and slave rebellion; moral and physical decay abounded; and the inhumanity and cruelty which punctuated daily life was shocking even for one hardened by the brutalities frequently committed in seventeenth-century Ireland. Jamaica’s infamous insalubrity was another concern. Inchiquin had suffered “twelve days” of “violent fever” in August 1690, and a virulent illness in the new year had led him to contemplate the possibility that he would never set foot on home soil again.2 “People die here very fast & suddenly,” he wrote to the Lords of Trade on August 12, 1691, “[and] I do not know how soon it may be my turn . . . I find I decay apace, insomuch that I must desire His Majesties leave to recruit my self with a little English aire if I do not mend, and hope your Lords will favour me with ye obtaining of it.” In a letter to William Blathwayt written on the same date Inchiquin added that he found himself “much weakened, particularly in my right arm.”3

  If there was one thing that aggravated the irascible Inchiquin even more than his health, it was the inhabitants of Jamaica. The slaves were little better than beasts; the poor whites were degenerates—the sweepings of English, Scottish, and Irish society; while the plantocracy and governing elite were the worst of all. Factionalism, corruption, and infighting were endemic, there was no sense of the common good, and private interest and the accumulation of wealth ruled above all. Nevertheless, the governor felt he had made much progress since his arrival. The “unquencionable flame” of animosity he had noted within days of stepping off the Swan had been “much allayed,” both by the suspension of Sir Francis Watson and his supporters and by Inchiquin’s own wise governance.4 This, at least, is what the governor told his superiors. It also seems to have been what Inchiquin himself believed, as evidenced by his decision to reconvene the Assembly on June 9, 1691. That such divisions were merely awaiting the appropriate time to resurface would soon become abundantly clear.

  The Assembly was Jamaica’s equivalent of England’s House of Commons. It had the power to challenge the authority of the Council and the governor himself. As no bills could be passed on to the king for ratification without the approval of all three parties, it was essential they work together. Things did not always proceed so smoothly, as Edward Long, a historian, resident planter, and one-time speaker of the Assembly explained in his three-volume History of Jamaica, published in 1774: “The Assembly consider[ed] their privileges as derived to them from their constituents; and that they are not concessions from the crown, but the right and inheritance of the people; and that the privileges which they claim are absolutely necessary to support their own proper authority, and to give the people of the colony that protection against arbitrary power, which nothing but a free and independent Assembly can give.”5 While some may have maintained such high ideals, the plantocracy also used their dominance of the Assembly to force the governor to implement bills which went against not only his own interests, but also those of the crown. The Assembly of 1691 would prove no different.

  In the first week of June the elections were held. In thirteen of Jamaica’s fifteen parishes two assemblymen were chosen, while Port Royal and St. Catherine’s, in recognition of their larger populations, elected three. Only freeholders who could demonstrate a minimum annual income of £10 “arising from lands, tenements, or hereditaments” could vote, while those who stood for office, ostensibly “the fittest and discreetest” of all freeholders in the parish, were required to prove “possess[ion] of 300 l. per annum, or 3000 l. in gross, over and above what is sufficient to pay his debts.”6 Such, at least, was the theory. While those elected were invariably from the propertied elite, the rules governing those who were allowed to vote were frequently twisted. The most common way was for candidates to grant parcels of land to their tenants, thus making them eligible, in return for their promise to elect them. Intimidation and physical force were also employed. In Sir Francis Watson’s time such practices had been widespread.7 Although the use of physical threats seems to have diminished following his dismissal, the creation of new freeholders for electoral purposes was still relatively commonplace.

  Among those elected that year were several of the island’s leading lights. James Banister, son of the former governor of Suriname, was chosen to represent St. Dorothy’s; Thomas Ballard, one of the few surviving veterans of the 1655 invasion and the owner of a 2,391-acre estate, was elected in St. Catherine’s; John White, Jamaica’s longest serving Council member, was chosen for the much-ravaged northern parish of St. Ann’s; respected physician and long-standing plantocrat Fulke Rose was elected in St. John’s; attorney general Simon Musgrave was chosen in both St. Thomas’s and Port Royal; while Thomas Sutton was chosen in Clarendon.8 The other assemblyman in Sutton’s parish, Charles Boucher, was a creature of Inchiquin’s.9 No doubt placed in the role as a result of the machinations of the governor, Boucher was a former Council clerk who had been excused from his duties in February to care for his sick mother.10 A keen astronomer, Boucher was the proud owner of what was perhaps Jamaica’s only astronomical telescope and maintained a lively transatlantic correspondence with fellow Oxford graduate and heavenly enthusiast Edmund Halley, of comet fame.11

  Several other Assembly members elected that June were firmly placed in the planters’ camp and opposed to the governor’s interests. Chief among them were Richard Lloyd, the third candidate elected for St. Catherine’s, and Edward Harrison of St. Andrew’s.12 The former was a “wealthy lawyer” and a major of horse in the militia who had registered a claim for a 1,370-acre estate in St. David’s Parish in 1670. More recently Lloyd had cemented his position among the plantocracy by obtaining the post of Clerk of the Crown and Peace of Jamaica and by marrying the wealthy heiress Mary Guy, the daughter of the deceased invasion veteran Richard Guy, who had earned a fortune as a privateer in the early 1660s and gone on to become one of the island’s leading planters.13 Edward Harrison, for his part, was chief judge of St. Andrew’s parish court.14 He also owned a plantation in St. Andrew’s which Hans Sloane noted was “the best furnished of any in the island with European Garden plants” due to its “lofty situation” in the foothills of the Blue Mountains.15 Both Lloyd and Harrison were close associates of Peter Beckford, Samuel Bernard, and Nicholas Lawes, planters and Council members who sought greater independence for Jamaica’s leading businessmen.16 While Inchiquin was concerned with raising money, either via direct taxation or by selling goods, principally slaves, to the Spaniards via the asiento, the planters’ focus was ensuring the Royal African Company delivered sufficient slaves to run their plantations. They also sought to secure lower tariffs and the abolishment of restrictions on trade. To Inchiquin’s frustration, the two positions would prove incompatible.17

  The Assembly first convened at Spanish Town on June 9, 1691. The presence of so many wealthy and influential men would transform the capital for the next ten weeks. As the islands’ planters flocked to town in their carriages, accompanied by their families and troops of liveried domestic slaves (for whom the occasion was of equal social importance), the population swelled with salesmen and other opportunists keen to profit from the new arrivals, while local businesses thrived on the extra income. Others profited
by renting out properties, and lodging houses did good business, as did the capital’s “ordinaries,” the restaurants of the day. The hub of all this activity was the old Spanish Market Place, the square that stood at the heart of town at the junction of the capital’s principal commercial thoroughfares: White Church Street and Barrett Street both of which were lined with shops and overlooked by the Brick Red Church. A residence for Dominican friars under Spanish rule, the building had been turned into an Anglican cathedral by the English in 1655. It is also believed that it housed the Assembly meetings that June.18

  Besides the Assembly, Spanish Town would also play host to a series of events timed to coincide with the gathering. Horse races were held on the outskirts of town; plays were put on in the theater; banquets, feasts, and dances were given in the major houses; and the capital’s taverns did a roaring business.19 Other visitors may have had more high-minded pursuits. Boucher perhaps took the opportunity of conversing with others who shared his interest in astronomy and swapped a book or two, while Harrison may have met with some fellow horticulturalists. Perhaps James Harlow, the Irish botanist who had sailed to Jamaica with Inchiquin, was also present. Harlow had been busy touring the length and breadth of the island collecting a dizzying array of specimens. By the time he returned to the Carrickfergus home of his sponsor, Lord Rawdon, in April 1692, Harlow would have gathered one thousand live shrubs and trees, a number of dried plants, including a large selection of ferns, and well over one hundred live seeds—many of which had never been catalogued by scientists before.20

  On the morning of June 9, the thirty-four Assembly members swore allegiance to William and Mary and took “the oath of qualification.”21 A welcome message from Inchiquin was then read which “recommended to them amongst other things the Lamentable Condition of some of our settled planters who have been plundered & undone by the Invasion of the french.”22 Chosen as the Assembly’s speaker, Thomas Sutton of Clarendon Parish proceeded to the Council chamber to inform Inchiquin of his selection. According to the Council minutes, Sutton was a picture of modesty. At first he “endeavoured to excuse himself,” but Inchiquin announced his approval and “told him he was Glad the . . . [Assembly] had made choice of so worthy a man.”23 Sutton then made claim, “in the name of the house, [for] their ancient rights and privileges, freedom of debate, liberty of access to his excellency’s person, and exemption from arrests during the sitting.” The formalities concluded, all returned to the meeting room where two further appointments were made: Modyford Freeman, a planter and lieutenant colonel in St. David’s Parish militia, was chosen as officer for the Assembly, while John Gay was appointed clerk. The “standing rules” were then read and, with that, the first session broke up. Some headed for the races held on the outskirts of town, but “at least two thirds,” according to a scandalized Inchiquin, made directly for the capital’s taverns, where they “s[at] . . . up drinking all night.” It was during such informal reunions that Richard Lloyd and Edward Harrison began to sow the seeds of discontent which would later enable them to use the Assembly to further the interests of the island’s plantocracy. Considered by Inchiquin as “heroes of faction . . . whose advice tends to the destruction of all government,” over the next few weeks Lloyd and Harrison would convince their fellow assemblymen that their interests and those of England were diametrically opposed.24

  At the Assembly’s next meeting, Sutton introduced the first vote: what allowances were to be made for fighting the French. “We were at first soe sensible of the suffering of our neighbours & soe desirous to secure our selves agt. the like attempts,” Musgrave recorded, “that it was resolved to Raise the Sume of £4700 for fitting out one man of warr sloope or vessell with 60 men besides 3 officers, & to turne the Quaker Ketch into a three mast vessel to mend her Saileing & to add tenn supernumerary men on board her at the Countrys Charge for Six months.”25 The bill was drawn up, read aloud three times, and approved by the majority. “The very next thing done by the Assembly,” Inchiquin later informed the Board of Trade, “was a bill repealing all laws made in the last Assembly [held under Albemarle’s governorship], which are still under the King’s consideration.”26 According to a letter written by several Assembly members, the reason for such a sweeping proposal was the widespread corruption that had characterized the final period of the duke’s governance and Sir Francis Watson’s brief period in charge.27 While such logic appears reasonable, the real motive behind the Assembly’s decision was more controversial. Included in the bills they proposed to strike from the record was one stipulating a perpetual revenue for the king. As it, in its turn, had replaced a prior bill concerning taxation, its repeal would have left William and Mary without so much as a “farthing” from Jamaica, something which no doubt held strong appeal for the plantocracy, who would have had to pay the lion’s share. When first read out, the proposal proved divisive. On one side were those who curried Inchiquin’s favor; on the other were those more concerned with their own financial interest. Leading the latter, on behalf of their masters in the Council—Bernard, Beckford, and Lawes—were Harrison and Lloyd. Their late-night campaigning now proved invaluable. Having “violently pressed the passing of this bill,” they persuaded their supporters to back them. “The only opposers,” according to Inchiquin, “were Judge [John] White, my son, Peter Heywood and Charles Knight, on the ground that it was disrespectful to the King, destroyed the whole revenue, and tended to destruction of the Government.” Nevertheless, the bill was passed.28

  As June turned to July, three more acts were debated. First came a proposal for three new taxes: ten shillings to be charged on each pipe of wine imported; forty shillings on each slave exported; and an extraordinary tax to be imposed on Port Royal’s Jews. While the first was sure to upset the island’s merchants, it would leave the plantocracy relatively unaffected while perhaps also acting as a sop to the governor. The second tax, on the other hand, was a direct attack on the much-hated asiento. By discouraging Walter Ruding and Charles Penhallow from selling their cargoes to the Spanish, the planters hoped to ensure themselves a better supply of slaves. As Inchiquin profited personally from the Spanish trade, the bill was sure to prove controversial despite the addition of a placatory clause granting the governor £2,000 per year from the money raised, a figure which gives some indication of just how much money Inchiquin was making from his dealings with the Spanish. The second bill debated by the Assembly was a proposal for an allowance to be paid to agents in England to solicit Parliament for the furtherance of Jamaica’s affairs. Between £300 and £800 per year was deemed sufficient for the task. The money was to be paid to a seven-man committee, later to be known as the Sugar Lobby, which would be selected by Beckford, Bernard, and Lawes. The final and least controversial bill was a proposal to build a road along the undeveloped north coast of the island, linking St. George’s Parish to St. Mary’s and St. Ann’s, thus not only facilitating the transport of the region’s sugar to market, but also allowing the rapid movement of troops to areas threatened by seaborne raiders.29

  On July 16, the Assembly’s five bills were brought before the Council. Those concerning the defense of the island and the road-building project were soon accepted. The remaining bills proved more controversial. Inchiquin thought the proposed taxes on imports of wine and exports of negroes would have a disastrous effect on the economy. “Trade and the Assiento . . . are the life of th[is] . . . place,” he explained, “and ye encouragement of which . . . were specially recommended to my care. The last fleet carried home £100,000 in bullion, thanks to the Assiento, but the Assembly are bent on destroying it just when the Dutch are longing to get it.” The proposal to instigate an extraordinary tax on the Jews was also dismissed, perhaps in part due to the bribe they had given Inchiquin on his arrival in May 1690. The governor thought the two final bills the worst of all. “Besides the disrespect of it,” he explained in reference to the act proposing the abolishment of all bills passed under the Duke of Albemarle’s governance, “[it wou
ld also] take . . . away the last farthing of the King’s revenue.” The bill proposing a fund for solicitation of the island’s affairs was deemed “equal[ly] insolen[t].” Taking personal offense at the fact that he was not to be included among the commissioners charged with spending the funds, “as if . . . [I] were a Judas, not to be trusted with the other seven apostles,” the governor refused to allow the bill to be read aloud.30

  On July 24, the road bill was passed while the defense bill was returned with the Council’s amendments for the Assembly’s final approval. The three remaining acts were rejected. Rather than being cowed into compliance as Inchiquin had hoped, on receiving word of the Council’s decision the assemblymen dug their heels in. By refusing to ratify the defense bill unless the Council reconsidered, they hoped to blackmail the governor into changing his mind. By July 29, Inchiquin was growing desperate. He insisted that the Assembly ratify the defense bill immediately so that a request for the funds required could be dispatched with the Quaker ketch which was soon to depart for England. The Assembly proved equally stubborn. They sent a message imploring the governor to approve the other bills so they could comply with his request. Inchiquin had had enough. First he asked the Council to refuse to acknowledge the Assembly’s message. When they balked, he summoned the entire Assembly to the council chamber “in some passion,” accused them of showing disrespect to himself and the king, and claimed their proposals were “an indignity and an affront.” With that he tore up the Assembly’s final message, threw it down among them, and announced that the body was to be dissolved immediately.31

  Although Inchiquin’s decision was seen as scandalous by some, the controversy soon died down. Such were Jamaican politics in the seventeenth century. It was not the first time an Assembly had been dissolved, and by mid-July rumors of an even more newsworthy event had reached Port Royal.32 Three Spanish ships had been wrecked at Point Pedro Cays, an archipelago of sand spits and half-submerged coral islets sitting astride the sea-lanes linking Cuba and the Spanish Main some fifty miles southwest of the westernmost point of Jamaica. The vessels in question had been part of a fleet of four galleons commanded by the Marquis de Bao. Said to be “floor’d with silver,” they had been sailing from Cartagena to Havana when they had run aground on the shoals due to an error of navigation. At least one of the ships had subsequently caught fire: “all her upper parts were burnt” and quantities of the silver plate loaded into her hold had melted. Fortunately for the marquis and his men, several Jamaican sloops had been in the area at the time. Although the governor of Portobelo—one of several distinguished passengers on board—was “cast away & . . . drown’d,” the sloops were able to rescue 776 men, women, and children as well as salvaging part of the treasure and other cargo.33