By capturing the two barcas we gained an immense replenishment of cutlasses, guns, powder and balls, so that we had suddenly become not a group of Indian canoas but two small, swift men-of-war, capable, because of our superior English fighting ability, of menacing even the biggest galleons could we get close to them. And I too was changed, because I now knew that I was capable of leaping out of my boat onto the deck of a larger ship and sweeping the deck of Spaniards. I think my companions gained the same assurance, for in this battle we forty-six defeated four times that number, with only two killed and three seriously wounded. Our dead Indians and blacks who had helped us we did not count.
Captain McFee replenished our losses in a curious manner, for as we were preparing to send our prisoners ashore, he stood by the railing of the barca into which I had leaped for the battle and there he peered into the faces of all the Spaniards, and by this device alone, selected five that seemed most intelligent and strong and held them back. Since he does not speak Spanish, it fell to me to serve as translator, and I learned several valuable facts. The richly laden galleon which comes across the Pacific from Manila never puts in to Panamá. It goes only to Acapulco. The galleon that fled Panamá during Morgan’s raid on the city stayed at sea until we were gone and then came back, so that a huge treasure is now ashore, awaiting us if we can get there. And the galleon that brings the silver from Peru has not yet arrived, but when it does, it will be attended by numerous fighting ships. With that intelligence I go to sleep tonight in a new ship, a new hammock, and inspired by new dreams.
FRI 7 APRIL: One of the most disappointing days of my life. We have tried in vain to penetrate the defenses of Panamá, lured passionately by the knowledge that the great treasure Morgan missed awaits us. I would like to meet the scoundrel who started the rumor that Spaniards are cowards. Not when they have treasure to defend. We tried every way to best them and failed. At sea they fended us off with a battery of great guns and by land they overwhelmed us with numbers. I felt we were no more than a flight of pestiferous gnats trying to attack a lion, for no matter where we headed we got slapped. At sea we lost two Englishmen killed by gunfire, on land two more, so that our original forty-six are now no more than forty, and I see that buccaneering can be triumphant when things go well, perilous when they don’t. Beaten and bested, we are heading home, but whether by Cape Horn or Good Hope, we have not yet decided. At Panamá the Spanish were too much for us.
MON 10 APRIL: Day of glory, day of mystery! Yesterday when we stood at 6° 40′ North of the equator by my reckoning on the crude forestaff we have with us, our lookout shouted: ‘Lima galleon two points east of south!’ and when all in my barca crowded forward, we saw the most gallant sight our eyes have ever beheld, a small, trim Spanish galleon, aft tower riding high in the air, gilded ornaments glistening in the morning sunlight. It rolled majestically, like some enormously wealthy grandee out for a morning stroll, now to port, then gently to starboard, and at each roll proclaiming: ‘Gaze upon me, heavy with treasure.’
The sight of this galleon so inflamed our hunger that as we closed upon her, there was no man amongst us who was not prepared to capture her or die in the attempt. Captain McFee, drawing our two barcas together, addressed us: ‘This is the target we dreamed of. We shall go at her from their port side, midships. Our best men will scale her with pistol and cutlass, no quarter. Our slaves we leave tied up in our barcas under guard. All men on the boarding party follow me, for I shall lead.’
These were stern orders, and all of us who heard knew that on this day we proved our worth or went to perpetual sleep at the bottom of the sea. I was not frightened at the prospect, but my breath came uneasy and my mouth was very dry. My uncle, who rode with me, said only: ‘Well, lad, this is what you came seeking. There she rides.’ And when I looked at that huge Spanish ship towering above us, I must confess that I wondered to myself: Can she be taken by forty men? But as immediately as the thought came, I corrected it: By forty Englishmen? And I answered myself in words shouted aloud to sustain my bravery: ‘Yes, by St. George and England, we can do it!’ and men about me took up the cry: ‘George and England!’ and even though our captain was a Scot, he joined us in the shouting.
The Spanish captain, seeing us coming and well aware that this would be a fight to the finish, adopted the same tactics as the galleons had done at Panamá. He launched three barcas, each larger than ours, in an attempt to keep us away from his sides. When the vessels approached us, we tore into them as if they were sheep sent out to pasture and we ravenous lions.
‘Leave them drown!’ my uncle shouted as the Spanish barcas foundered, throwing their sailors into the water, and then occurred one of those vast mysteries of fate, for as we regrouped and sped toward the galleon, whose officers must have been terrified to see how quickly we disposed of their first line of defense, a stupendous fire swept the deck above us. Some careless act aboard the galleon must have thrown a fire of some kind into a barrel of powder, killing far more Spaniards than we did when we climbed up to take command.
Once in control, my uncle and I rampaged through the lower decks, finally locating the huge stores of silver, each bar marked with its Potosí number, and we realized that we had taken a prize of immeasurable value. Will cried in joy: ‘No division this time of eleven pounds each!’ And we knew, there in the dark hold, that we would be wealthy men if we could but sail this great ship back to Port Royal in Jamaica.
While we were in the bowels of the galleon we heard a confused shouting on deck, and fearing that a sortie of armed Spaniards might have hidden against the moment they could spring out upon us and retake their ship, we rushed aloft, our faces grimed from the hold, our guns and swords at the ready. Instead, I found myself standing face-to-face with the most beautiful young woman I had ever seen. She was, I judged, about seventeen, fair of skin as if the sun had never touched her pretty face, dressed in fine fabrics more suited to a ball than to a galleon, with perfect figure, dark hair and eyes of an exquisite quality that danced with excitement, even in these uncertain surroundings.
She was accompanied by a woman I took to be her mother, a stately creature of some forty years perhaps, or more, for I am no judge past the age of twenty, and of an austere character which disapproved of all that had happened this morning and especially of the black-faced English rogues who were now taking control of her and her daughter.
Later that afternoon, when we found out who they were, we were astounded at our great good fortune, for the tall, solemn priest who had accompanied them told us in polished Spanish: ‘They are the wife and daughter of the governor of Cartagena, the most honorable Don Alfonso Ledesma Amadór y Espĩnal. They’ve been visiting in Peru, and if you mar either of them in any way, the wrath of the entire Spanish empire will hound you to your graves.’ And with that he introduced us to Doña Ana Ledesma y Paredes, and her beautiful daughter Inez. He informed us further that he was Fray Baltazar Arévalo of the town of that name in the province of Ávila on the borders of Segovia. He rattled off these names as if each bestowed a special grandeur upon his family heritage.
He was a tall man with dark visage, and he looked as if the burden of leading a flock of Catholic Spaniards in the New World was a dismal business, which I have no doubt it was, but he obviously intended defending his two present charges with his life. When my uncle saw him, he whispered in my ear: ‘That one looks just like the Inquisition man who sentenced me to death in Cádiz,’ and I think he would have thrust a poniard into the gloomy priest right then had I not restrained him.
I have not gone to sleep as yet, because Captain McFee assigned me to the duty of guarding the hundred-odd prisoners we took during the battle, and I can hear them now as I write, battened down below hatches and wondering what fate awaits them. My uncle is for killing them, but others say: ‘Put them in the boats and head them for shore. Let them find their own way.’ I would be most unhappy if Señorita Inez were treated thus.
TUE 11 APRIL: When we learned that the na
me of our fine little galleon was La Giralda de Sevilla we wanted to know what the words meant, and the gloomy priest told us: ‘In Sevilla, loveliest city in Spain, there is a majestic cathedral so big you would not believe me if I told you. Attached to it is the most beautiful tower, the Giralda, in itself a thing of grace, built by the Moors.’
‘What is a giralda?’ I asked, and he snapped impatiently: ‘Weather vane.’ For some crazy reason the dumb Spaniards named a tower after a weather vane. So our ship is The Weather Vane of Sevilla. Some men did not like sailing in a ship with a Spanish name, but when they proposed changing it to a decent, clean English name like the Castle, because we did have a castlelike structure aft, there was loud protest from others who knew of ships that had changed their names and had encountered only bad luck as a result: ‘We captured a St. Peter and changed it to the Master of Deal and within four weeks it caught fire and burned.’ After five other dismal stories had been recited, one man gave contrary testimony: ‘We captured a Dutch ship Frau Rosalinde, and our captain, who had much trouble with his wife, vowed: ‘I’ll not sail in a ship named after a woman,’ and we changed it to Robin Hood, and before the month was out we had captured a Spanish craft with stores of bullion.’ But the bad cases outnumbered the good nine to two, so we voted to keep Giralda and when I told the priest, he said grudgingly: ‘Good omen. Every sailor needs a weather vane.’
SUN 16 APRIL: First prayers, at which we gave thanks that God had delivered into our hands this rich prize, then big decisions, I can tell you. Captain McFee and the group of five who counsel him have agreed to crowd all the prisoners into barcas with allowances of food and water and let them get home as best they can, but only after the masts have been sawed off to prevent them taking action against us. They further decided to keep aboard the Giralda the Spanish chirurgeon, who certainly knows his pills and ointments better than we, but my uncle cautioned: ‘Search his bottles and remove all poisons, or he will mix one for us.’ They decided to keep also a Master Rodrigo, a learned man who had served the Spanish captain as navigator and who told me in excellent English: ‘I know these waters, Acapulco to Cape Horn, so inform your captain that I might be of some service.’ When I asked why he might want to serve with us, he said: ‘A sailor’s life is to sail, and as for those in the little barcas, who knows what will happen?’ We also kept seven black men who had served as slaves on the Giralda and who would continue in the same duties with us. Our new navigator asked us to allow him his assistant, but Uncle Will growled: ‘My nephew knows navigating. He can be your assistant,’ and it was done.
Now came the weighty problem of what to do about the two Ledesma women and their priest. My uncle was about to throw them into one of the barcas and to God’s mercy, for he visualized only trouble if we kept them with us, but Fray Baltazar stopped him with an anguished plea: ‘Save these women, you fools! Governor Ledesma will pay a noble ransom,’ and I stepped forward to bring the ladies back, but Uncle Will said: ‘He’ll offer the ransom, but how are we going to collect it?’ McFee silenced him with the reminder: ‘No man ever has enough siller,’ and when I asked what siller was, my uncle said gruffly: ‘It’s how them Scots say silver, and he may be right.’ However, I could see that he was not happy this afternoon when the barcas started drifting toward some distant shore without the Ledesma women aboard. And as for the dark priest, my uncle still wanted to knife him and may do so before this trip is over.
I was given the task of finding quarters for the two women and their priest, and I arranged for them to keep the cabins they had occupied atop the stern castle, what they call the poopdeck, but when Captain McFee heard of my decision, he growled: ‘They can’t stay there,’ and when I asked why not, he astonished me: ‘Because four days from now that castle won’t be there,’ and so I had to find smaller and less-polished cabins below. When Fray Baltazar objected, I told him, making my voice sound official: ‘Because four days from now that castle won’t be there,’ and I let him explain that to his women.
MON 17 APRIL: Giralda may not have been a major Manila galleon, but it is sumptuously equipped with the most modern instruments required in navigation, and when Master Rodrigo satisfied himself that I had a certain skill in using the forestaff to take shots of the sun in order to determine latitude, he accepted me fully as his assistant: ‘You must put aside your forestaff, for it is little better than a guessing game,’ and he showed me for the first time a beautiful new instrument called a backstaff fashioned of bleached pearwood and ivory and of such an ingenious purpose that I could not believe it. ‘When taking a sight, do not point it at the sun,’ he explained, ‘for then the eye grows weary. This one you point away from the sun, catch the shadow it throws here, and bring it together with the horizon you see through this peephole.’ When I followed his instructions I caught a perfect sighting on my first effort.
TUE 18 APRIL: Today when I handed Master Rodrigo the latitude from my noon shot made with his backstaff, I asked: ‘How did you learn to speak English?’ and he told me: ‘A Dutch navigator told me, and they’re the best, to get myself a copy of Eduardo Wright’s Errors in Navigation, which, he said, would make all things clear. When I found a copy I had to learn English to read it, and well worth the effort it was.’ He handed me his precious book to study, and when I did so to the level that I could understand, I told him: ‘Now I’m ready to be a navigator,’ and he said: ‘Maybe in ten years.’
TUE 28 APRIL: Big fight with Master Rodrigo. When he found that I had dated the above entry Tue 18 April, which was correct, he screamed: ‘The entire civilized world uses Catholic dating. Your crazy Protestant calendar lags ten days behind. Change it right now or you can no longer be my assistant.’ So I changed it, as you can see, but I do believe Rodrigo must be wrong, for I cannot think that people in England could ever make such a mistake.
THU 30 APRIL: So when we anchored off the island which we face tonight, I took my sighting and found that we were 3° 01′ North latitude and the mariner told us: ‘This is Gorgona Island, not a bad spot for your purpose,’ so we warped the Giralda inland as far as possible into a small stream, and when we had nearly grounded at high tide, we threw lines from the ship to trees ashore, and after we were well secured, Captain McFee informed us: ‘Here we shall remain about a month to accomplish the things that must be done if we hope to get our ship safely back to Port Royal.’ And before the sun went down he started the tremendous job of converting this fancy little galleon into a good fighting ship worthy of a buccaneer. I was astonished at all he proposed: ‘Off comes that castle aft.’ When some protested that this would deprive us of all the good cabins, he growled: ‘Ships are for fighting, not for siestas.’ The two masts would be lowered by half, ridding us of all those high and fashionable sails which look so pretty when they’re pushing some heavy galleon ahead in fair weather and good wind, but which are so useless when we are trying to fight another ship and have to maneuver quickly to gain advantage. One mast far aft is to be discarded entirely, so at least half our sails will be of no further use. The very thick and heavy ropes will be stowed below, never to be used again aboard our ship, but to be sold at some future port to great ships that may still need them. The clutter on deck is to be what he called ‘cleansed entirely’ for as Captain McFee pointed out: ‘If the Spanish captain had had his powder barrels below, he’d never have lost this ship to a boarding party.’ In almost every other detail of this fine galleon, he sees something that can be chopped away or otherwise disposed of and he urges Mompox with his ax to get at it.
TUE 5 MAY: This morning when Fray Baltazar and Señora Ledesma saw that we really intended chopping off the two top decks aft, he made an angry protest, and she a tearful one, claiming that Captain McFee was destroying a beautiful ship, but he was firm, jutting out his Scottish jaw: ‘We’re building a fast fighting ship to carry you and our hoard of silver safely to Jamaica. All else is nothing,’ and we continued the destruction.
MON 25 MAY: Well, the rebuilding is finished, an
d Master Rodrigo, looking at the rubbish left ashore, said: ‘We must weigh half of what we did before,’ but Captain McFee, looking at the same graveyard of overtall masts, unnecessary cabins and even whole decks that were only for show, told our crew: ‘Now we have a ship that can cut through the waves and outmatch any Spanish ship.’ Tomorrow we break loose the lines tying us to shore and set forth … for where? We know we want to get to Jamaica, but we cannot make up our minds exactly how to get there. Whether to take the shortest course around Cape Horn, not a pleasant trip they tell me, or clear around the world across the Pacific to Asia, and then around Good Hope and home across the Atlantic. A frightening course either way, but Uncle Will says: ‘Take either. It’s always good to see new lands.’
THU 28 MAY: I have never lived as satisfying a day at sea. This morning Señorita Inez, who has been kept away from me by her mother and Fray Baltazar, escaped from their watch and walked with me far forward where they could not spy on us. She allowed me to take her hand, and I do believe she wanted to let me know that she thought me a decent fellow, even though an Englishman. I know enough Spanish to understand when she told me: ‘My name is not Inez like you say. It’s Inés,’ and she pronounced this in such a soft, lovely manner, that I much preferred her version: ‘Eee-ness.’
She then shared with me the history of what she called ‘Our Famous Family,’ and I was not too pleased to learn that her great-grandfather had hounded our Sir Francis Drake to a watery death. Seeing me frown, she assured me that her grandfather, who had the curious name of Roque Ledesma y Ledesma, had been the governor of Cartagena who allowed trading relations with England, so he must have been a good man. Our pleasant visit was interrupted by my uncle, who shooed us out from our hiding place so that Fray Baltazar could spy us and come running. When I asked Will why he had done this, he said: ‘There’s a proper English girl waiting for you in Barbados,’ and when I asked who, he snapped: ‘You know damn well who, somebody …’ and off he stomped cursing at Spaniards in general.