Caribbee

by Thomas Hoover

CHAPTER SEVEN

  The jagged peninsula known as Lookout Point projected off the southwestern tip of Barbados, separating the windy Atlantic on the south from the calm of the leeward coast on the west. At its farthest tip, situated on a stone cliff that rose some hundred feet above the entrance to Carlisle Bay, were the breastwork and gun emplacements. Intended for harbor defense only, its few projecting cannon all pointed out toward the channel leading into the bay, past the line of coral reefs that sheltered the harbor on its southern side.

  From the deck of the Defiance, at anchor near the river mouth and across the bay from the peninsula, the gunfire seemed to be coming from the direction of the new Assembly Room, a thatched-roof stone building up the hill beyond the breastwork. Constructed under the authority of Governor Dalby Bedford, it housed the General Assembly of Barbados, which consisted of two representatives elected from each of the eleven parishes on the island. All free men in possession of five acres or more could vote, ballots being cast at the parish churches.

  While Winston unlocked the gun racks in the fo'c'sle and began issuing the muskets and the bandoliers of powder and shot, John Mewes ordered the two longboats lashed amidships readied and launched. The seamen lined up single file at the doorway of the fo'c'sle to receive their muskets, then swung down the rope ladders and into the boats. Winston took his place in one and gave command of the other to John Mewes.

  As the men strained against the oars and headed across the bay, he studied the row of cannon projecting out over the moon­lit sea from the top of the breastwork. They've never been used, he thought wryly, except maybe for ceremonial salutes. That's what they call harbor defenses! It's a mercy of God the island's so far windward from the Main that the Spaniards've never trou­bled to burn the place out.

  He sat on the prow of the longboat, collecting his thoughts while he tasted the air and the scent of the sea. The whitecaps of the bay slipped past in the moonlight as they steered to lee­ward of the line of Dutch merchantmen anchored near the shore. He then noticed a bob of lanterns on the southeast horizon and realized it was an arriving merchantman, with a heading that would bring it directly into the harbor. He watched the lights awhile, marveling at the Dutch trading zeal that would cause a captain to steer past the reefs into the harbor in the hours after midnight. He congratulated himself he'd long ago given up trying to compete head-on with the Hollanders. They practically owned the English settlements in the Americas. Scarce wonder Cromwell's first order of business was to be rid of them.

  The sound of the tide lapping against the beach as the two longboats neared the shore beneath the breastwork brought his attention back. When they scraped into the shallows, he dropped off the prow and waded through the knee-high surf that chased up the sand in wave after wave. Ahead the beach glistened white, till it gave way to the rocks at the base of the Point.

  John Mewes puffed along close at his heels, and after him came the first mate, Dick Hawkins, unshaven but alert, musket at the ready. Close behind strode tall Edwin Spune, master's mate, a musket in each hand, followed by the rest. In all, some twenty of Winston's men had crossed the bay with him. He ordered the longboats beached, then called the men together and motioned for quiet.

  "Are all muskets primed?"

  "Aye." Spurre stepped forward, holding his two muskets up as though for inspection. "An' every man's got an extra bandolier of powder an' shot. We're ready for whatever the whoresons try." He glanced up the rise, puzzled, still not un­derstanding why the captain had assembled them. But Hugh Winston liked having his orders obeyed.

  "Good." Winston walked down the line. "Spread out along the shore and wait. I'm going up to see what the shooting's about. Just stand ready till you hear from me. But if you see me fire a pistol shot, you be up that hill like Jack-be-nimble. Is that clear?"

  "You mean us against all that bleedin' lot up there?" John Mewes squinted toward the dark rise. "There's apt to be half their militia up there, Cap'n, from the sound of it."

  "Did I hear you question an order, John? You know ship's rules. They go for officers too." He turned to the other men. "Should we call a vote right here?"

  "God's life." Mewes pushed forward, remembering Win­ston's formula for discipline on the Defiance. He didn't even own a cat-o'nine-tails, the lash used by most ship captains for punishment. He never touched an offender. He always just put trial and punishment to a show of hands by the men—whose favorite entertainment was keelhauling any seaman who diso­beyed Captain's orders, lashing a line to his waist and ducking him under the hull till he was half drowned. "I wasn't doin' no questioning. Not for a minute. I must've just been mumbling in my sleep."

  "Then try and stay awake. I'm going up there now, alone. But if I need you, you'd better be there, John. With the men. That's an order."

  "Aye." Mewes performed what passed for a salute, then cocked his musket with a flourish.

  Winston loosened the pistols in his belt, checked the packet containing the sight bills and the other papers he had brought, then headed directly up the rise. The approach to Lookout Point was deserted, but up the hill, behind a new stack of logs, he could see the shadowy outline of a crowd. The barricade, no more than fifty yards from the Assembly Room, was in the final stages of construction, as men with torches dragged logs for­ward. Others, militia officers, were stationed behind the logs with muskets and were returning pistol fire from the half-open doorway of the Assembly Room.

  Above the din he could hear the occasional shouts of Benjamin Briggs, who appeared to be in charge. Together with him were the members of the Council and officers from their regiments. The command of the militia was restricted to major land­holders: a field officer had to own at least a hundred acres, a captain fifty, a lieutenant twenty-five, and even an ensign had to have fifteen.

  On the barricade were straw-hatted indentures belonging to members of the Council, armed only with pikes since the plant­ers did not trust them with muskets. Winston recognized among them many whom he had agreed to take.

  The firing was sputtering to a lull as he approached. Then Briggs spotted him and yelled out. "You'd best be gone, sir. Before someone in the Assembly Room gets a mind to put a round of pistol shot in your breeches."

  "I'm not part of your little war."

  "That you're decidedly not, sir. So we'll not be requiring your services here tonight."

  "What's the difficulty?" Winston was still walking directly toward them.

  "It's a matter of the safety of Barbados. I've said it doesn't concern you."

  "Those indentures concern me. I don't want them shot."

  "Tell that to the Assembly, sir. We came here tonight offering to take Dalby Bedford under our care, peacefully. To protect him from elements on the island who're set to disown Parlia­ment. But some of the hotheads in there mistook our peaceful purpose and opened fire on us."

  "Maybe they think they can 'protect' him better than you can." Another round of fire sounded from the doorway of the Assembly Room and thudded into the log barricade. When two of the planters cursed and fired back, the door was abruptly slammed shut.

  "It's the Assembly that's usurped rightful rule here, sir, as tonight should amply show. When they no longer represent the true interests of Barbados." Briggs glared at him. "We're re­storing proper authority to this island, long overdue."

  "You and the Council can restore whatever you like. I'm just here to take care of my indentures, before you manage to have some of them killed."

  "They're not yours yet, sir. The situation's changed. We're not letting them go whilst the island's unsettled."

  "The only unsettling thing I see here are all those muskets." He reached into the pocket of his jerkin and lifted out the leather packet containing the sight drafts. "So we're going to make that transfer, right now.''

  "Well, I'm damned if you'll have a single man. This is not the time agreed." Briggs looked around at the other members of the Council. Behind them the crowd of indentures had stopped work to listen.


  "The sight bills are payable on demand. We've settled the terms, and I'm officially calling them in." Winston passed over the packet. "You've got plenty of witnesses. Here're the sight bills. As of now, the indentures are mine." He pulled a sheaf of papers from the other pocket of his jerkin. ' 'You're welcome to look over the drafts while I start checking off the men."

  Briggs seized the leather packet and flung it to the ground. Then he lifted his musket. "These indentures are still under our authority. Until we say, no man's going to take them. Not even. . .”

  A series of musket shots erupted from the window of the Assembly Room, causing Briggs and the other planters to duck down behind the log barricade. Winston remained standing as he called out the first name on the sheet.

  "Timothy Farrell."

  The red-faced Irishman climbed around Briggs and moved forward, his face puzzled. He remained behind the pile of logs as he hunkered down, still holding his half-pike.

  "That's my name, Yor Worship. But Master Briggs . . .”

  "Farrell, here's the indenture contract we drew up for your transfer." Winston held out the first paper from the sheaf. "I've marked it paid and had it stamped. Come and get it and you're free to go."

  "What's this, Yor Worship?" He gingerly reached up for the paper and stared at it in the torchlight, uncomprehending. "I heard you was like to be buying out my contract. By my reck­oning there's two more year left on it."

  "I did just buy it. It's there in your hand. You're a free man."

  Farrell sat staring at the paper, examining the stamped wax seal and attempting to decipher the writing. A sudden silence enveloped the crowd, punctuated by another round of musket fire from the Assembly Room. After it died away, Winston con­tinued, "Now Farrell, if you'd care to be part of an expedition of mine that'll be leaving Barbados in a few days' time, that's your privilege. Starting tonight, your pay'll be five shillings a week."

  "Beggin' Yor Worship's pardon, I reckon I'm not understandin' what you've said. You've bought this contract? An' you've already marked it paid?"

  "With those sight bills." He pointed to the packet on the ground beside Briggs.

  Farrell glanced at the leather bundle skeptically. Then he looked back at Winston. "An' now you're sayin' I'm free?"

  "It's stamped on that contract. Have somebody read it if you care to."

  "An' I can serve Yor Worship for wage if I like?" His voice began to rise.

  "Five shillings a week for now. Maybe more later, if you . . ."

  "Holy Mother Mary an' all the Saints! I'm free!" He crum­pled the paper into his pocket, then leaped up as he flung his straw hat into the air. "Free! I ne'er thought I'd stay breathin' long enough to hear the word." He glanced quickly at the As­sembly Room, then dismissed the danger as he began to dance beside the logs.

  "At the dirty end o' Dirty Lane,

  Liv’d a dirty cobbler, Dick Maclane ..."

  "That man still belongs to me." Briggs half cocked his mus­ket as he rose.

  Farrell whirled and brandished his half-pike at the planter. "You can fry in hell, you pox-rotted bastard. I've lived on your corn mush an' water for three years, till I'm scarce able to stand. An' sweated sunup to sundown in your blazin' fields, hoein' your damn'd tobacco, and now your God-cursed cane. With not a farthing o' me own to show for it, or a change o' breeches. But His Worship says he's paid me out. An' his paper says I'm free. That means free as you are, by God. I'll be puttin' this pike in your belly—by God I will—or any man here, who says another word against His Worship. I'll serve him as long as I'm standin', or pray God to strike me dead." He gave another whoop. "Good Jesus, who's got a thirst! I'm free!"

  "Jim Carroll." Winston's voice continued mechanically, sounding above the din that swept through the indentures.

  "Present an' most humbly at Yor Worship's service." A sec­ond man elbowed his way forward through the cluster of Briggs' indentures, shoving several others out of his path.

  "Here's your contract, Carroll. It's been stamped paid and you're free to go. Or you can serve under me if you choose. You've heard the terms."

  "I'd serve you for a ha'penny a year, Yor Worship." He seized the paper and gave a Gaelic cheer, a tear lining down one cheek. "I've naught to show for four years in the fields but aches an' an empty belly. I'll die right here under your command before I'd serve another minute under that whoreson."

  "God damn you, Winston." Briggs full-cocked his musket with an ominous click. "If you think I'll . . ."

  Carroll whirled and thrust his pike into Briggs' face. "It's free I am, by God. An' it's me you'll be killin' before you harm a hair o' His Worship, if I don't gut you first."

  Briggs backed away from the pike, still clutching his musket. The other members of the Council had formed a circle and cocked their guns.

  "You don't own these damned indentures yet," Nicholas Whittington shouted. "We've not agreed to a transfer now."

  "You've got your sight drafts. Those were the terms. If you want these men to stay, tell it to them." He checked the sheaf of papers and yelled out the next name: "Tom Darcy." As a haggard man in a shabby straw hat pushed forward, Winston turned back to the huddle that was the Council. "You're wel­come to offer them a wage and see if they'd want to stay on. Since their contracts are all stamped paid, I don't have any say in it anymore."

  "Well, I have a say in it, sir." Whittington lifted his musket. "I plan to have an end to this knavery right now, before it gets out of hand. One more word from you, and it'll be your . . ."

  Winston looked up and yelled to the crowd of indentures. "I gather you've heard who's on the list. If those men'll come up, you can have your papers. Your contracts are paid, and you're free to go. Any man who chooses to serve under me can join me here now.''

  Whittington was knocked sprawling by the surge of the crowd, as straw hats were flung into the air. A milling mob of inden­tures waving half-pikes pressed forward.

  Papers from the sheaf in Winston's hand were passed eagerly through the ranks. The Council and the officers of their militia had drawn together for protection, still grasping their muskets.

  In the confusion no one noticed the shaft of light from the doorway of the Assembly Room that cut across the open space separating it from the barricade. One by one the members of the Assembly gingerly emerged to watch. Leading them was Anthony Walrond, wearing a brocade doublet and holding a long flintlock pistol, puzzlement in his face.

  Briggs finally saw them and whirled to cover the Assembly­men with his musket. "We say deliver up Bedford or there'll be hell to pay, I swear it!"

  "Put down that musket, you whoreson." Farrell gave a yell and threw himself across the barrel of the gun, seizing the muz­zle and shoving it in to the dirt. There was a loud report as it discharged, exploding at the breech and spewing burning pow­der into the night.

  "Christ Almighty." Walrond moved out into the night and several men from the Assembly trailed after him, dressed in plain doublets and carrying pistols. "What the devil's this about?"

  "Nothing that concerns you." Winston dropped a hand to one of the guns in his belt. "I'd advise you all to go back inside till I'm finished."

  "We were just concluding a meeting of the Assembly, sir." Walrond examined Winston icily, then glanced toward the men of the Council. "When these rogues tried to commandeer the room, claiming they'd come to seize the governor, to 'protect' him. I take it you're part of this conspiracy."

  "I'm here to protect my interests. Which gives me as much right as you have to be here. I don't recall that you're elected to this body.''

  "I'm here tonight in an advisory capacity, Captain, not that it's any of your concern." Walrond glanced back at the others, all warily holding pistols. "To offer my views regarding the situation in England." As he spoke Dalby Bedford emerged from the crowd. Walking behind him was Katherine.

  Winston turned to watch, thinking she was even more beautiful than he had realized before. Her face was radiant, self- assured as she moved through
the dim torchlight in a glistening skirt and full sleeves. She smiled and pushed toward him.

  "Captain Winston, are you to be thanked for all this confusion?"

  "Only a part of it, Miss Bedford. I merely stopped by to enquire about my indentures, since I got the idea some of your Assemblymen were shooting at them."

  Anthony Walrond stared at Katherine. "May I take it you know this man? It does you no credit, madam, I warrant you." Then he turned and moved down the path, directly toward Briggs and the members of the Council. "And I can tell all of you this night is far from finished. There'll be an accounting here, sirs, you may depend on it. Laws have been violated."

  "You, sir, should know that best of all." Briggs stepped forward and dropped his hand to the pistol still in his belt. "Since you and this pack of royalist agitators that calls itself an Assem­bly would unlawfully steer this island to ruin. The Council of Barbados holds that this body deserves to be dissolved forth­with, and new elections held, to represent the interests of the island against those who'd lead us into a fool's war with the Commonwealth of England."

  "You, sir, speak now in the very same voice as the rebels there. I presume you'd have this island bow to the criminals in Parliament who're now threatening to behead our lawful king."

  "Gentlemen, please." Dalby Bedford moved between them and raised his hand. "I won't stand for this wrangling. We all have to try to settle our differences like Englishmen. I, for one, would have no objection to inviting the Council to sit with us in the Assembly, have a joint session, and try to reason out what's the wisest course now."

  "I see no reason this body need share a table with a crowd of rebels who'll not bend a knee to the rightful sovereign of England." Walrond turned back to the members of the Assem­bly. "I say you should this very night draw up a loyalty oath for Barbados. Any man who refuses to swear fealty to His Majesty should be deported back to England, to join the traitors who would unlawfully destroy the monarchy.''

  "No!" Katherine abruptly pushed in front of him. "This island stayed neutral all through the Civil War. We never took a part, either for king or Parliament. Why should we take sides now, with the war over and finished?"

  Walrond looked down at her, startled. "Because the time has come to stand and be counted, Katherine. Why do you suppose? The rebels may have seized England for now, but that's no rea­son we in the Americas have to turn our back on the king."

  "But there's another choice." She drew a deep breath. Winston saw determination in her eyes as she turned to face the men of the Assembly. "Think about it. We never belonged to England; we belonged to the Crown. But the monarchy's been abol­ished and the king's patents invalidated. I say we should join with the other English settlements and declare the Americas a new nation. Barbados should lead the way and declare our own independence."

  "That's the damnedest idea I've ever heard." Briggs moved forward, shaking away the indentures who still crowded around him menacingly. "If we did that, there'd be war for sure. We've got to stay English, or Cromwell'll send the army to burn us out." He turned to Walrond. "Rebel or no, Cromwell repre­sents the might of England. We'd be fools to try to stand against him. Either for king or for some fool dream of independence." He looked back at Katherine. "Where'd you get such an idea, girl? It'd be the end of our hopes for prosperity if we tried going to war with England. There'd be no room to negotiate."

  "You, sir, have no say in this. You're apt to be on trial for treason before the week's out." Walrond waved his pistol at Briggs, then turned back to Katherine. "What are you talking about? England is beholden to her king, madam, much the way, I might remind you, a wife is to her husband. Or don't you yet understand that? It's our place to revere and serve the mon­archy."

  "As far as I'm concerned, the king's only a man. And so's a husband, sir."

  "A wife takes an oath in marriage, madam, to obey her husband. You'd best remember that." He turned and motioned the members of the Assembly to gather around him as he stepped over to a large log and mounted it. "On the subject of obedi­ence, I say again an oath of loyalty to His Majesty King Charles should be voted in the Barbados Assembly this very morning. We need to know where this island stands." He stared back at Dalby Bedford. "Much as a husband would do well to know what he can expect when he takes a wife."

  "You've got no authority to call a vote by the Assembly," Briggs sputtered. "You're not elected to it." He looked at Wal­rond, then at Bedford. "This, by God, was the very thing we came here tonight to head off."

  "You, sir, have no authority to interfere in the lawful proc­esses of this body." Walrond turned back to the Assembly members, now huddled in conference.

  Winston looked at Katherine and found himself admiring her idealism—and her brass, openly defying the man she was supposed to marry. She wanted independence for the Americas, he now realized, while all Anthony Walrond wanted was to turn Barbados into a government in exile for the king, maybe to someday restore his fortune in England. She was an indepen­dent woman herself too, make no mistaking. Sir Anthony Wal­rond was going to have himself a handful in the future, with the Commonwealth and with her.

  Come to think of it, though, independence wasn't all that bad an idea. Why the hell not? Damned to England.

  "I think there've been enough high-handed attempts to take over this island for one night.'' He moved to confront Walrond.

  "You have your brass, Captain, to even show your face here." He inspected Winston with his good eye. "When you pillaged a ship of mine off Nevis Island, broadcloth and muskets, no more than two years past."

  "Now that you've brought it up, what I did was save the lives of some fifty men who were about to drown for want of a sea­worthy longboat. Since you saved so much money on equipage, I figured you could afford to compensate me for my pains."

  "It was theft, sir, by any law."

  "Then the law be hanged."

  "Hardly a surprising sentiment, coming from you." Walrond shifted his pistol toward Winston's direction. "You should be on Tortuga, with the other rogues of your own stripe, rather than here on Barbados amongst honest men. Your profession, Captain, has trained you best for the end of a rope."

  "What's yours trained you for?" He stood unmoving. "Get yourself elected to the Assembly, then make your speeches. I'm tired of hearing about your king. In truth, I never had a very high opinion of him myself."

  "Back off, sirrah. I warn you now." Walrond pointed his long pistol. "You're speaking your impertinences to an officer of the king's army. I've dealt with a few thieves and smugglers in years past, and I just may decide to mete out some more long-overdue justice here and now."

  Dalby Bedford cleared his throat and stepped between them. "Gentlemen, I think there's been more heat here tonight than need be, all around. It could be well if we cooled off a day or so. I trust the Assembly would second my motion for adjourn­ment of this session, till we've had time to reflect on what's the best course for us. This is scarcely a light matter. We could be heading into war with England."

  "A prospect that does not deter certain of us from acting on principle, sir." Walrond's voice welled up again. "I demand this Assembly take a vote right now on . . ."

  "You'll vote on nothing, by God," Briggs yelled, then drew his own pistol. Suddenly a fistfight erupted between two mem­bers of the Assembly, one for and the other opposing the mon­archy. Then others joined in. In the excitement, several pistols were discharged in the fray.

  Good God, Winston thought, Barbados' famous Assembly has been reduced to this. He noticed absently that the first gray coloring of dawn was already beginning to appear in the east. It'd been a long night. What'll happen when day finally comes and news of all this reaches the rest of the island? Where will it end. . .

  "Belay there! Cool down your ordnance!" Above the shouts and bedlam, a voice sounded from the direction of the shore.

  Winston turned to see the light of a swinging sea lantern approaching up the rise. He recognized the ragged outline of Johan Ruyters
, still in the clothes he had worn earlier that night, puffing up the hill.

  Ruyters topped the rise and surveyed the confusion. His presence seemed to immediately dampen the melee, as several As­semblymen paused in embarrassment to stare. The Dutchman walked directly up to Dalby Bedford and tipped his wide-brimmed hat. "Your servant, sir." Then he gazed around. "Your most obedient servant, gentlemen, one and all." He nod­ded to the crowd before turning back to address Bedford. "Though it's never been my practice to intrude in your solemn English convocations, I thought it would be well for you to hear what I just learned." He drew a deep breath and settled his lantern onto the grass. "The Kostverloren, bound from Am­sterdam, has just dropped anchor in the bay, and Captain Liebergen called us all together in a rare sweat. He says when dark caught him last evening he was no more than three leagues ahead of an English fleet."

  "Great God help us." Walrond sucked in his breath.

  "Aye, that was my thinking as well." Ruyters glanced back. "If I had to guess, I'd say your English Parliament's sent the navy, gentlemen. So we may all have to be giving God a hand if we're not to have the harbor taken by daylight. For once a rumor's proved all too true."

  "God's life, how many were sailing?" Bedford whirled to squint toward the dim horizon.

  "His maintopman thinks he may've counted some fifteen sail. Half of them looked to be merchantmen, but the rest were clearly men-of-war, maybe thirty guns apiece. We're all readying to weigh anchor and hoist sail at first light, but it's apt to be too late now. I'd say with the guns they've got, and the canvas, they'll have the harbor in a bottle by daybreak."

  "I don't believe you." Walrond gazed skeptically toward the east.

  "As you will, sir." Ruyters smiled. "But if you'd be pleased to send a man up to the top of the hill, right over there, I'd wager he just might be able to spy their tops'ls for himself."

  Winston felt the life suddenly flow out of him. It was the end of his plans. With the harbor blockaded, he'd never be able to sail with the indentures. He might never sail at all.

  "God Almighty, you don't have to send anybody." Bedford was pointing toward the horizon. "Don't you see it?"

  Just beneath the gray cloudbank was an unmistakable string of flickering pinpoints, mast lights. The crowd gathered to stare in dismay. Finally Bedford's voice came, hard and determined. "We've got to meet them. The question is, what're their damned intentions?"

  Ruyters picked up his lantern and extinguished it. "By my thinking the first thing you'd best do is man those guns down there on the Point, and then make your enquiries. You can't let them into the bay. We've got shipping there, sir. And a fortune in cargo. There'll be hell to pay, I promise you, if I lose so much as a florin in goods."

  Bedford gazed down the hill, toward the gun emplacements at the ocean cliff. "Aye, but we don't yet know why the fleet's come. We've only had rumors."

  "At least one of those rumors was based on fact, sir." Briggs had moved beside them. "I have it on authority, from my broker in London, that an Act was reported from the Council of State four weeks past to embargo our shipping till the Assembly votes recognition of the Commonwealth. He even sent me a copy. And this fleet was already being pulled together at the time. I don't know how many men-o'-war they've sent, but I heard the flagship was to be the Rainbowe. Fifty guns." He looked back at the Assembly. "And the surest way to put an end to our prosperity now would be to resist."

  He was rudely shouted down by several Assemblymen, royalists cursing the Commonwealth. The air came alive with calls for Defiance.

  "Well, we're going to find out what they're about before we do anything, one way or the other." Bedford looked around him. "We've got guns down there in the breastwork. I'd say we can at least keep them out of the bay for now."

  "Not without gunners, you won't." Ruyters' voice was som­ber. "Who've you got here? Show me a man who's ever handled a linstock, and I'll give you leave to hang me. And I'll not be lending you my lads, though I'd dearly love to. It'd be a clear act of war."

  Winston was staring down at the shore, toward his own wait­ing seamen. If the English navy entered Carlisle Bay, the first vessel they'd confiscate would be the Defiance.

  "God help me." He paused a moment longer, then walked to the edge of the hill and drew a pistol. The shot echoed through the morning silence.

  The report brought a chorus of yells from the shore. Suddenly a band of seamen were charging up the hill, muskets at the ready, led by John Mewes. Winston waited till they topped the rise, then he gestured them forward. "All gunnery mates report to duty at the breastwork down there at the Point, on the dou­ble." He pointed toward the row of rusty cannon overlooking the bay. "Master Gunner Tom Canninge's in charge."

  Several of the men gave a loose salute and turned to hurry down the hill. Winston watched them go, then looked back at Bedford. "How much powder do you have?"

  "Powder? I'm not sure anybody knows. We'll have to check the magazine over there." Bedford gestured toward a low build­ing situated well behind the breastwork, surrounded by its own stone fortification. "I'd say there's likely a dozen barrels or so."

  Winston glanced at Mewes. "Go check it, John. See if it's usable."

  "Aye." Mewes passed his musket to one of the French seamen and was gone.

  "And that rusty pile of round shot I see down there by the breastwork? Is that the best you've got?"

  "That's all we have on the Point. There's more shot at Jamestown and over at Oistins."

  "No time." He motioned to Ruyters. "Remember our agreement last night?"

  "Aye, and I suppose there's no choice. I couldn't make open sea in time now anyway." The Dutchman's eyes were rueful. "I'll have some round shot sent up first, and then start off­loading my nine-pound demi-culverin."

  "All we need now is enough shot to make them think we've got a decent battery up here. We can bring up more ordnance later."

  "May I remind you," Bedford interjected, "we're not plan­ning to start an all-out war. We just need time to try and talk reason with Parliament, to try and keep what we've got here."

  Winston noticed Briggs and several members of the Council had convened in solemn conference. If an attack comes, he found himself wondering, which of them will be the first to side with Parliament's forces and betray the island?

  "There's twenty budge-barrels, Cap'n." Mewes was return­ing. "I gave it a taste an' I'll wager it's dry and usable."

  Winston nodded, then motioned toward Edwin Spurre. "Have the men here carry five barrels on down to the Point, so the gunnery mates can start priming the culverin. Be sure they check all the touch holes for rust."

  "Aye." Spurre signaled four of the seamen to follow him as he started off toward the powder magazine. Suddenly he was surrounded and halted by a group of Irish indentures.

  Timothy Farrell approached Winston and bowed. "So please Yor Worship, we'd like to be doin' any carryin' you need here. An' we'd like to be the ones meetin' them on the beaches."

  "You don't have to involve yourself, Farrell. I'd say you've got little enough here to risk your life for."

  "Aye, Yor Worship, that's as it may be. But are we to understand that fleet out there's been sent by that whoreson archfiend Oliver Cromwell?"

  "That's what we think now."

  "Then beggin' Yor Worship's pardon, we'd like to be the men to gut every scum on board. Has Yor Worship heard what he did at Drogheda?"

  "I heard he sent the army."

  "Aye. When Ireland refused to bow to his Parliament, he claimed we were Papists who had no rights. He led his Puritan troops to Irish soil, Yor Worship, and laid siege to our garrison- city of Drogheda. Then he let his soldiers slaughter our people. Three thousand men, women, and children. An' for it, he was praised from the Puritan pulpits in England." Farrell paused to collect himself. "My cousin died there, Yor Worship, wi' his Meggie. An' one of Cromwell's brave Puritan soldiers used their little daughter as a shield when he helped storm an' burn the church, so they could murder the pri
ests. Maybe that heretic bastard thinks we've not heard about it here." He bowed again. "We don't know enough about primin' and firin' cannon, but wi' Yor Worship's leave, we'd like to be the ones carryin' all the powder and shot for you."

  "Permission granted." Winston thumbed them in the direc­tion of Spurre.

  The armada of sails was clearly visible on the horizon now, and rapidly swelling. As the first streaks of dawn showed across the waters, English colors could be seen on the flagship. It was dark brown and massive, with wide cream-colored sails. Now it had put on extra canvas, pulling away from the fleet, bearing down on the harbor.

  Winston studied the man-of-war, marveling at its majesty and size. How ironic, he thought. England's never sent a decent warship against the Spaniards in the New World, even after they burned out helpless settlements. But now they send the pick of the navy, against their own people.

  "Damned to them, that is the Rainbowe. " Bedford squinted at the ship. "She's a first-rank man-of-war, fifty guns. She was King Charles' royal ship of war. She'll transport a good two hundred infantry."

  Winston felt his stomach tighten. Could it be there'd be more than a blockade? Had Parliament really sent the English army to invade the island?

  "I'm going down to the breastwork." He glanced quickly at Katherine, then turned and began to make his way toward the gun emplacements. Edwin Spurre and the indentures were mov­ing slowly through the early half-light, carrying kegs of powder.

  "I think we can manage with these guns, Cap'n." Canninge was standing by the first cannon, his long hair matted against the sweat on his forehead. "I've cleaned out the touch holes and checked the charge delivered by the powder ladle we found. They're eighteen-pounders, culverin, and there's some shot here that ought to serve."

  "Then prime and load them. On the double."

  "Aye."

  Using a long-handled ladle, he and the men began to shove precisely measured charges of powder, twenty pounds, into the muzzle of each cannon. The indentures were heaving round shot onto their shoulders and stacking piles beside the guns.

  Winston watched the approaching sail, wondering how and why it had suddenly all come to this. Was he about to be the first man in the Americas to fire a shot declaring war against England? He looked around to see Dalby Bedford standing be­hind him, with Katherine at his side.

  "You know what it means if we open fire on the Rainbowe? I'd guess it's Cromwell's flagship now."

  "I do indeed. It'd be war. I pray it'll not come to that. I'd like to try and talk with them first, if we can keep them out of the bay." The governor's face was grim. "Try once across her bow. Just a warning. Maybe she'll strike sail and let us know her business."

  "Care to hold one last vote in the Assembly about this, before we fire the first shot? Something tells me it's not likely to be the last."

  "We've just talked. There's no need for a vote. No man here, royalist or no, is going to stand by and just hand over this place.

  We'll negotiate, but we'll not throw up our hands and surrender. There's too much at stake."

  Winston nodded and turned to Canninge. "They're pulling close to range. When you're ready, lay a round across her bow. Then hold for orders."

  "Aye." Canninge smiled and pointed toward a small gun at the end of the row, its dark brass glistening in the early light. "I'll use that little six-pounder. We'll save the eighteen-pounders for the work to come.

  "Have you got range yet?"

  "Give me a minute to set her, and I’ll wager I can lay a round shot two hundred yards in front of the bow." He turned and barked an order. Seamen hauled the tackles, rolling the gun into position. Then they levered the breech slightly upward to lower the muzzle, jamming a wooden wedge between the gun and the wooden truck to set it in position.

  Winston took a deep breath, then glanced back at Bedford. "This may be the most damn foolhardy thing that's ever been done."

  Bedford's voice was grave. "It's on my authority."

  He turned back to Canninge. "Fire when ready."

  The words were swallowed in the roar as the gunner touched a piece of burning matchrope to the cannon's firing hole. Dark smoke boiled up from the muzzle, acrid in the fresh morning air. Moments later a plume erupted off the bow of the English man-of-war.

  Almost as though the ship had been waiting, it veered suddenly to port. Winston realized the guns had already been run out. They'd been prepared. Puffs of black smoke blossomed out of the upper gun deck, and moments later a line of plumes shot up along the surf just below the Point.

  "They fired when they dipped into a swell." Canninge laughed. "English gunnery still disappoints me."

  A fearful hush dropped over the crowd, and Winston stood listening as the sound of the guns echoed over the Point. "They probably don't suspect we've got any trained gunners up here this morning. Otherwise they'd never have opened fire when they're right under our ordnance." He glanced at Bedford. "You've got their reply. What's yours?"

  "I suppose there's only one answer." The governor looked back and surveyed the waiting members of the Assembly. Sev­eral men removed their hats and began to confer together. Mo­ments later they looked up and nodded. He turned back. "What can you do to her?"

  "Is that authority to fire?"

  "Full authority."

  "Then get everybody back up the hill. Now." He watched as Bedford gave the order and the crowd began to quickly melt away. The Irish indentures waited behind Winston, refusing to move. He gestured a few of the men forward, to help set the guns, then turned back to Canninge.

  "Is there range?"

  "Aye, just give me a minute to set the rest of these culverin."

  Winston heard a rustle of skirts by his side and knew Katherine was standing next to him. He reached out and caught her arm. "You've got a war now, Katherine, whether you wanted it or not. It'll be the first time a settlement in the Americas has ever fired on an English ship. I guess that's the price you're going to have to pay for staying your own master. But I doubt you'll manage it."

  "We just might." She reached and touched the hand on her arm. Then she turned and looked out to sea. "We have to try."

  Winston glanced toward the guns. Canninge and the men had finished turning them on the Rainbowe, using long wooden handspikes. Now they were adjusting the wooden wedge at the breech of each gun to set the altitude. "How does it look?"

  "I know these eighteen-pounders, Cap'n, like I was born to one. At this range I could line-of-sight these whoresons any place you like."

  '' How about just under the lower gun deck? At the water line? The first round better count."

  "Aye, that's what I've set them for." He grinned and reached for a burning linstock. "I didn't figure we was up here to send a salute."

  BOOK TWO

  REVOLUTION