by Dudley Pope
“It was from the Viceroy. It listed all my titles.”
“What did it say?” Secco prompted because it seemed that Arias regarded the fact that the Viceroy listed all his titles as the climax of his narrative.
“Ah, the Viceroy was giving me the commission of a major, and this aide was a mere lieutenant, so I told him to get out of my office and find himself a bed in one of the brothels, or sleep under a table in a taberna.”
“Where did he go?” Ned asked, curious about the way Arias was fiddling with his moustaches.
The man flashed, his face becoming an angry purple, his eyes looking as though they might pop from their sockets. “He knew my wife,” he said. “I don’t know where he went. I had too much responsibility now to be bothered with him.”
“The Viceroy’s orders?” Secco prompted.
“Ah yes. He put me in command of the whole garrison of Portobelo, one thousand men. And the five hundred levies when they arrived. And two thirds of the garrison of Old Providence.”
“To do what?” Secco asked sarcastically.
“Why, to recapture Jamaica, of course.”
“How were you to get there?” Ned asked.
“I was given authority to requisition as many ships as I needed. There were three in Portobelo, unloading grain, and two more came in from Cartagena next day to load hides. I requisitioned them all in the name of the Viceroy.”
“And they’re the five ships anchored down there now?”
Arias nodded, and to save time Ned said: “You embarked the Portobelo garrison and the levies, sailed for Old Providence to collect the rest of the men, and then went to Jamaica.”
“No,” said Arias triumphantly. “First I loaded the ships with provisions, and powder and shot.”
“Good for you,” said Ned ironically, “that was thoughtful planning.”
“One must,” Arias said seriously. “It took four days to unload the rest of the grain.”
“Why did you not just dump it over the side?”
“Dump it?” Arias could hardly believe his ears. “But it was my grain. The shipments were consigned to me.”
“I quite understand. There was no need for haste.”
“None at all,” Arias agreed, realizing that this Englishman with the bandaged arm was more understanding than he had seemed at first.
There was a pause, interrupted by Secco. “You’ve provisioned the ships, have the troops on board, and arrive at Jamaica. What then?”
“I order the troops to land.”
“Where?”
“On the north coast.”
“Then what happened?”
“Again I ordered the troops to land.”
“Then?”
“Well, they were not enthusiastic. But the Portobelo garrison landed after I made certain suggestions.”
“Such as?” Ned asked, intrigued by the tone of the man’s voice.
“Well, I pointed out that their wives and families were still in Portobelo and that if the men did not carry out the duties of soldiers, then the families could not live in soldiers’ families’ quarters. I reminded them they had sworn loyalty to the king. Those kind of things.” He dismissed the problem with a wave of the hand, as though such threats were routine.
“So you led your men ashore?”
Arias looked uncomfortable and his eyes moved from side to side like the flame of a candle flickering in a draught. “No, of course not. I remained at my headquarters in one of the ships with the reserves. One must always have reserves.”
“What happened to your troops when they landed?”
Once again the evasive shrug. “Many were killed, many were captured, many were wounded, I suppose.”
“Suppose?”
“How do I know? I was in the ship: I could not see what was going on up in the hills. The fighting went on for two days. We were betrayed, obviously: the English were waiting in ambush for us.”
“And the men you have on board the ships now, who are they?”
“My reserve, because I could see there was no point in landing them. The enemy had five or ten thousand men waiting in the hills. My reserve of five hundred men – poof, they would not have crossed the beach before the enemy massacred them.”
“So you brought them back?”
“Yes, I must have some protection for Portobelo.”
Ned saw why the wily mayor-turned-major had kept a reserve – an insurance rather – never intending to land them on Jamaica unless his men met with complete success. He wanted to be sure that Portobelo would be safe, and one way of not losing all his men in Jamaica was to keep some in the ships: a course of action he could justify by calling them his “reserve”.
“The Viceroy will not be pleased, if he ever hears the truth of what happened.” Ned said quietly.
Arias understood immediately what Ned was hinting. The Englishman would have no difficulty in passing the story to Panama. That came of speaking honestly to foreign heretics.
“Can’t I be ransomed?” he asked. “What would you gain by taking me to Jamaica as a prisoner? The Viceroy will punish me; surely that is enough?”
“Why will the Viceroy punish you? You say your men were ambushed by five or ten thousand English soldiers. How could you have succeeded?”
Arias held out his hands, palms uppermost. “One is not allowed to fail on the king’s service. The king’s men always say that failure must be due to treachery. Never,” he added bitterly, “because one was asked to achieve too much with too few men, or the gunpowder is of poor quality, or the soldiers sullen and mutinous because they have not been paid for a year and their families are starving…the king and the king’s servants, men like the Viceroy, can never be wrong, so people like me have to take the blame.”
“You were talking of ransom. You may not have any possessions of any value left.” Ned said pointedly, remembering Thomas leading the buccaneers through the town, and hurriedly deciding on the price.
“It depends on how much you demand.”
“Well, the mayor of a big place like Portobelo is a very important man. Important enough for the Viceroy to entrust him with the task of recapturing a big island like Jamaica.”
Sanchez’s laugh was frank and bitter. “Señor, already you have a bad opinon of me. This man, Arias, you think, he is a coward: he does not lead his troops ashore when they land in Jamaica; instead he stays on board his ships and keeps back a reserve of five hundred men, presumably to defend himself. Yes, I can see from your face that I am correct. Those were your thoughts.
“And you are quite right. But you have not considered all the factors. For example, why should the Viceroy put the mayor of an insignificant place like Portobelo in command of an important military expedition to Jamaica? Everyone knows Arias has no military training. Everyone knows Portobelo has no connection with or interest in Jamaica. It is many miles away.
“Now this buffoon Arias, when he opens the Viceroy’s letter, asks himself why the command was not given to one of the elegant and well trained military officers in Panama. The Viceroy does not lack for generals and colonels and majors who were trained in Europe and blooded in the campaigns in the Netherlands. Then they are sent out to Panama, which, unlike places like Portobelo, Santa Maria, Riohacha, and the smaller towns south of Panama, is regarded as a comfortable posting, very suitable for hidalgos, because the Viceroy has his own court in Panama, with his own favourites – and no doubt his own jester.
“Arias wonders why he is sent five hundred levies – the rubbish to be found in town jails, or begging in the plaza – and not a thousand men taken from the trained troops that the Viceroy has in Panama. Arias knows the Viceroy is aware that the English have at least five thousand men in Jamaica, as well as many ships.”
Ned noted that the Spaniards really had little idea h
ow weakly Jamaica really was held: he thought of Heffer’s men building batteries for the Spanish guns the buccaneers had captured at Santiago.
“And Arias tells himself,” the Spaniard said, “that the Viceroy knows it is all useless, a forlorn hope made to show the king he is alert and doing his best. Losing five hundred from the jails and plazas, and the garrisons of Portobelo and Old Providence, is a small price to pay, and why put one of his favourite officers in command? The leader, like the levies and garrisons, is going to be sacrificed. What the Viceroy needs is a scapegoat, and who better than that man Arias, who has no influence anywhere?
“No one could have guessed that, while Arias is away, the English buccaneers would arrive in Portobelo,” the mayor said with a wry grin. “Anyway, at least Arias cannot be blamed, because he was not here!”
Ned halved the man’s ransom. The way he had told his story, with a kind of rueful honesty, showed that he did not yet know just how much trouble he would be in with the Viceroy. He did not realize that the buccaneers had found the bullion in San Gerónimo and removed it before blowing up the fortifications. Arias obviously thought that the bullion was still safe in the dungeons, although buried under tons of rubble. The king was going to need more than one scapegoat over the loss of an entire year’s income.
It took two days to divide up and load the bullion in the five prize ships and to take some seamen from the twenty-eight buccaneer vessels to provide crews. The Spanish seamen and soldiers were marched on shore and locked in the dungeons of Todo Fierro and San Fernando, and, once the bullion was removed, Triana. Feeding the prisoners provided no difficulties: Secco found the deputy mayor – having been given his name by Arias – and told him bluntly that the prisoners in the forts and castles were the responsibility of Portobelo, since their families lived there. The town would have to provide food for them, and it should be delivered each day at the appropriate fort.
On the third day Burton went round to the parapets of each of the forts with a party of buccaneers and, cutting the rope breechings and turning the guns so that their breeches pointed through the embrasures and their muzzles into the centre, loaded each of them with a double charge of powder and three roundshot and then fired them with slow-match, the linstocks secured to the guns with line. As each gun fired it recoiled violently and, without any breeching to hold it and aimed in the opposite direction, slammed back in recoil, hit the retaining wall at the bottom of each embrasure, and flipped through the slot, spinning in the air like a windmill blade come adrift and crashing to the ground, smoking and with the barrels split open like a flower.
The only exceptions were bronze guns, five in Triana, seven in San Fernando and seven at Todo Fierro. These were rolled down to the water’s edge, slung one at a time between two boats, and rowed out to the prizes and hoisted on board. Other boats brought out shot for the bronze guns, and Ned and Thomas discussed their sighting in Port Royal. To strengthen the batteries Heffer was now building, or provide guns for a couple of new ones?
Thomas gave a chuckle. “You know, we behave as though we own the island: we tell Heffer what to do and he does it!”
“I should think he does! Right at the moment he doesn’t know whether or not the next ship from England confirms his appointment, replaces him or arrests him. In the meantime we, the buccaneers, are his only defence because his own men are in a state of mutiny. Now we’re bringing him nineteen more bronze guns, and we might as well take those falcons: they are handy enough in case he wants to fire a couple of pounds of langrage into the middle of a mutineers’ meeting.”
“Yes,” said Thomas. “If he has any sense he’ll parade a falcon round with him like a dog on a lead. As good as a lucky charm!”
“Thomas, you are wiser about money than I. Have you thought what happens when we arrive in Port Royal with all this money, gems and bars of silver?”
“One thing is certain – Heffer won’t be able to change them into English money! The island has no currency, really. People seem to trade with sugar and beeves and hogs: just exchange. Sugar is the currency in Barbados, I know, but it all seems a bit crude.”
“The island needs its own currency.” Ned eased his broken arm in the sling, silently cursing the itching caused by the heat.
At that moment Burton, who had fallen naturally into the role of the armourer to the buccaneers, came up to report. “All the cannon and shot are loaded in the ships and stowed, sir. I’ve inspected the iron guns that blew off the parapets and all but one burst. That one I’ve nailed. I drove the nail into the vent so hard that when I cut off the extra length it looked as though it was part of the gun casing. Not enough sticking out to rivet over. They’ll never drive it out, so the gun’s finished.”
“The falcons,” Ned said, but as he paused to complete the sentence Burton thought it was a brief question.
“All stowed, sir, in the ships we brought them in from Old Providence. And the shot. I presume we don’t want any of this Spanish powder, sir?”
“It’s poor quality, isn’t it?”
“About as fine as coarse gravel, sir: beats me how we get it to go ‘pop’ in the great guns, let alone ‘bang’.”
“So, apart from blowing up the other forts, we’re ready to sail, as far as your department is concerned?”
“Quite ready, sir: I’ve had fuses run down into all three magazines. Just need lighting. Half an hour…”
“But we have to free the prisoners. Supposing they go back and put out the fuses?”
Burton looked crestfallen. “I had forgotten them,” he said. “We could leave them there…”
“We could, but we won’t. Don’t give the Brethren the reputation of murdering their prisoners…”
“They’ve a worse reputation than that already, sir!”
“I know. Most Spanish mothers along the coast keep their children quiet at night with the warning that if they make a noise the filibustero will eat them up. Still, we might have to leave the prisoners here in Triana and not blow it up. Destroying three out of four forts and castles leaves the place defenceless.”
Ned stood up and looked round the room that had been his headquarters for several days. The only thing of his remaining there was his sword, and Burton picked it up and carefully placed the leather shoulder belt, adjusting the sling holding the broken arm at the same time.
“Yes, Burton, take away the fuse here. It might get lit by accident. Then you can start lighting the other fuses.”
Fifteen minutes later, as he was hoisted from a boat on board the Griffin, an anxious Aurelia making sure the rough and ready chair did not swing him into the ship’s side, he called: “Todo Fierro and San Fernando will blow up in a few minutes…”
“What about Triana?” the mate asked.
“We’re leaving them that. To keep the oxen in. Now, fire three guns to wake everybody up, and then weigh the anchor. Stay over to the southern shore in case Burton and his men were late with the fuse of Todo Fierro. Send a boat to pick him up; he’ll be at the first landing spot he can find to seaward of Todo Fierro. We’ll wait for him.”
The three guns fired as seamen worked the Griffin’s windlass: the anchor was hoisted up and lashed in position as the ship’s sails began to draw. As she passed the buccaneer ships still at anchor, Ned heard the men cheering, and with Aurelia standing beside him, he waved back. It took only a few minutes to get Burton and his boat on board. They were clear of the headlands when the two forts exploded.
At sunset the convoy was reaching northwards with a brisk easterly wind just strong enough to whip into spray the bow wave curling out from the Griffin’s stem. The Peleus was abeam to windward and the Phoenix to leeward, and following the three ships was the rest of the buccaneer fleet. In the Griffin’s wake came one of the prize ships, with a buccaneer ship on each side; astern of her, each flanked by a buccaneer vessel, came the rest of the prizes.
The remaining buccaneers were sailing in an untidy squadron to windward, ready to race down to cover the prizes should any threat appear.
Ned and Aurelia stood at the taffrail, looking aft.
“Just think,” Aurelia said, quietly, “what all that money would have meant for His Most Catholic Majesty…”
“It still does mean it,” Ned said cheerfully. “He must owe much of it to the bankers in interest and repayment of principal; he probably needs as much again to pay, feed and supply his army in the Netherlands. And once again his navy received nothing.”
“How do you know? Why do you say ‘again’?”
“Well, obviously the navy hasn’t had anything for years because they have no ships out here, yet they want to destroy us filibusteros. Can you imagine all the complaints the mayors of towns along the Main have been making to the Viceroy in Panama? And the complaints in turn he has been passing along to the Ministry of Marine in Madrid, and probably to the king. No, if the king had the money he would build more warships. But,” and Ned gave a dry laugh, “you’ve seen the fix the king is in?”
Aurelia looked puzzled, and finally shook her head.
“Well, without money he can’t build more ships. Without more ships he can’t send the galleons to Cartagena and the flota to Vera Cruz for the bullion! In the meantime the filibusteros keep raiding the Main…”
“Well, hardly ‘keep on’. This is only the second raid by filibusteros. I wonder what we’ll find when we get back to Port Royal,” Aurelia said.
“I’m looking forward to hearing Heffer’s story of how he defeated those thousands of Spanish troops landed on the north coast. He will be as reproachful as he dare that we let the Spanish ships get there.”
“Well, you’ll have the satisfaction of pointing to the ships at anchor and telling him that although you missed them coming to Jamaica, you caught them on their way back.”
“And then the satisfaction of telling him what they are using as ballast!”
Chapter Twenty
The Griffin led the squadron into Port Royal and, as Ned commented to Aurelia, they could not have timed it better: the Blue Mountains had first come into sight the previous evening, a faint bruise on the northern horizon, and at dawn the island was stretched athwart their course, close enough that by ten o’clock the land was taking on colours.
