Matías, while competent, hadn’t experienced the kind of success that his son had. He rose slowly through the ranks. In 1775, he was military commander and governor of the Canary Islands. With the help of his brother, the Indies minister, he became governor of Guatemala in 1778. There, he rebuilt the capital, which an earthquake had leveled. He also reformed the military in Guatemala and built a fourteen thousand-man army.5
On December 21, 1781, Gálvez and several thousand troops left Guatemala City on a four hundred fifty-mile journey to Trujillo, a coastal town between Black River and Omoa. There, in early March 1782, he joined with the navy and began to attack British settlements. Roatán Island fell in mid-March; Black River, in late March. He then returned to Guatemala, leaving garrisons to defend the settlements.6
The Jamaican governor ordered a new offensive. “From everything I can learn,” he wrote Rodney, “those [Spanish] vessels are still upon that coast, and mean to prosecute their intentions of extirpating the settlers from the shore.” He told the commander at Gracias à Dios, Major James Lawrie, to put another major, Robert Hodgson, in charge of the offensive. Lawrie replied that Hodgson had angered both Indians and settlers, who refused to fight under him.7
But Lawrie had a solution. Lieutenant Colonel Edward Marcus Despard, 31, arrived in Gracias à Dios on personal business in early August 1782. Four of his five brothers served in the army; one became a general. Despard owned a reputation as a competent military engineer. He had served in the Nicaraguan campaign scouting, making maps, situating artillery, and overseeing the building of fortifications. Lawrie named him commander of the new offensive. His army included white settlers, black and mixed-race freemen, Miskitos, British regulars, Jamaican militia, American rebel POWs, and American Loyalists recruited in New York—one thousand men, eleven ships.
Despard split that force. First, on August 23, a detachment of mostly Miskito soldiers commanded by a few British officers seized the thirty-three-man garrison at Fort Quepriva (called Fort Dalling by the British) on the outskirts of Black River. They massacred all but one man, who escaped. On the 26th, Despard and his main force anchored at Black River and demanded the surrender of the town’s key fort, Immaculada Concepcíon de Honduras. He hinted that the Miskitos were impatient. The one hundred forty-man garrison, weakened by disease and running short of supplies, complied. Despard sent them to Spanish Omoa on parole.8
London rewarded Despard by promoting him to colonel and superintendent of the Central-American settlements, which the peace treaty reduced in size to what is now Belize. He married a black West Indian woman shortly after the war, and they had a son. As superintendent, he was caught between factions, and his fair treatment of blacks and mixed-race people became an issue. The government relieved Despard in 1790, but not before eighty-one percent of the eligible voters elected him a magistrate. The government cleared him of all charges, but then eliminated his job. In his ensuing London years, he worked to democratize British society and government. In 1802, authorities arrested him and charged him with treason, including a plot to kill the king. He denied the charge. To help prove his loyalty, Despard presented an elite list of character witnesses, including Horatio Nelson. Nonetheless, the jury found Despard and five co-conspirators guilty. They were sentenced to be disemboweled alive, then beheaded and quartered. Public sentiment stopped the disembowelment, but on February 21, 1803, Despard was hanged and then beheaded. His wife apparently received a pension from supporters in Parliament.
Spain promoted Gálvez in 1783 to viceroy of New Spain—Mexico and the Central-American colonies. He focused on civic improvements: plans for a new government palace, better streets, preservation of canals and bridges, creation of a bank, and permission for a banned newspaper to start publishing again. His tenure was a short one: He died less than nine months after taking office.9
29. A Future Hero
THREE FRENCH SHIPS COMMANDED BY GRASSE’S NEPHEW, Marquis de Grasse-Briançon, captured Turks Island without a shot on February 12, 1783. The island was “low, sandy, and barren, without a drop of fresh water,” but it was a major source of salt, used to preserve fish. Grasse-Briançon left a strong garrison there before leaving in search of more prizes.1
Three weeks later, on March 2, the British captured him after a short battle, and learned from their prisoners that Turks was now French. A day or two later, a small squadron commanded by Horatio Nelson—the same Nelson who led the naval support in the 1780 Nicaraguan debacle—met up with their colleagues. He explained his next move in a letter to Hood. “I determined to look what situation the French were in, and if possible, retake it [Turks].”2
Nelson, 25, had joined the navy when he was twelve, and traveled the world, from the Arctic to the East Indies, Canada and Europe to the West Indies. He had been a captain for five years, and now commanded the Abermarle. “Captain Nelson . . . appeared to be the merest boy of a captain I ever beheld,” said the future King William IV, then a midshipman on Hood’s flagship. “His lank, unpowdered hair was tied in a stiff Hessian tail of an extraordinary length. The old-fashioned flaps of his waistcoat added to the general quaintness of his figure. . . . There was something irresistibly pleasing in his address and conversation, and an enthusiasm, when speaking on professional subjects, that showed he was no common being.”3
Nelson was a naval wunderkind, but his March expedition to Turks failed. He demanded that the 530-man garrison surrender; landed 167 sailors and marines who met with stiff resistance resulting in eight wounded men; bombarded the island overnight; re-embarked the shore party; and, on March 9, sailed away. He was surprised by the French artillery, and, “with such a force, and their strong situation, I did not think anything farther could be attempted,” he said.4
One of Nelson’s ship commanders privately mocked his captain, whose fool’s mission distracted him from the taking and sale of prizes: “The ridiculous expedition against Turk’s Island, undertaken by a young man merely from the hope of seeing his name in the papers, ill-depicted at first, carried on without a plan afterwards, attempted to be carried into execution rashly, because without intelligence and hastily abandoned at last for the same reason that it ought not to have been undertaken at all, spoilt all.”5
Nelson’s next assignment was an order from his mentor, Hood: Find French Admiral Vaudreuil’s fleet. Vaudreuil had spent the 1782 hurricane season refitting his ships in Boston. He left Boston in December heading to a new staging area for a Jamaica invasion. Puerto Cabello (in today’s Venezuela) was closer to Jamaica than Martinique, and British ships were less likely to infest its waters.6
It “resembles a small village, although toward the sea, defended by tremendous batteries and on the land side by fortified heights,” an officer wrote. “The repair wharf is the best in nearly the entire West Indies. . . . When the thunder rumbles on the roadstead, one hears a most unpleasant music of tigers, bears, and birds of prey, whose hideous noises are always multiplied through the echo in the overhanging mountain cliffs.”7
Vaudreuil was still waiting for the Spanish fleet to arrive when, on March 29, 1783, an unknown ship entered the harbor to scout the French fleet. “At its ease, it examined and counted the ships of the squadron,” a French historian said. “You could see his insolent presence.” Vaudreuil ordered chase, but it was too late. Nelson and the Albermarle escaped to continue the scouting mission. When he returned to Jamaica on April 7, the peace treaty had ended hostilities.8
With peace, Vaudreuil returned to France and was elected to the assembly, but he opposed the French Revolution, and was forced to flee to Britain in 1791. When Napoleon seized power, Vaudreuil returned home.
Nelson became a national hero during the wars with revolutionary and, later, Napoleonic France. In 1805, during a decisive victory over a Franco-Spanish fleet off the coast of Cape Trafalgar, Spain, a sniper shot him. He died the next day.9
The Bahamas’ New Providence Island was a strategic location, the closest British island to the North American
mainland, 535 miles to Savannah, and the gateway to the Caribbean. Protected by Forts Nassau and Montague, the British held the Bahamas for more than a century, despite pirate raids and war-related attacks (with one brief occupation by the Spanish and French).
The revolution brought a new martial player into the Bahamas: American rebels and Loyalists. The rebels first raided New Providence in 1776, when Continental marines landed and faced token resistance before capturing the governor and an important cache of munitions. Two years later, rebel raiders returned, freeing prisoners, seizing more arms, and taking five ships as prizes.
In January 1782, Spanish commander Bernardo Gálvez authorized an invasion. The expedition was promoted and led by Juan Manuel de Cagigal y Montserrat, governor of Havana, captain general of his native Cuba, Gálvez’s second-in-command in the West Florida offensive, and a facilitator of money that supported French and rebel operations in North America. But the Spanish navy was uncooperative, reluctant to sail into unfamiliar waters and preferring to wait for the Jamaica invasion.10
Cagigal could assemble transports for his troops, but couldn’t proceed without naval support. Then, he got lucky: The South Carolina Whig fleet had arrived in Havana earlier that month.
Most states sponsored navies, although the British viewed them as illegal privateers. The South Carolina navy was led by Commodore Alexander Gillon, 41, a wealthy, Dutch-born Charlestown merchant. He was pro-independence from the start, active in politics and the militia, and founder of the Marine Anti-Brittanic Society, known for harassing Tories. He owned a tavern, a shipping business, and a pier at the foot of what is still called Gillon Street. Tradition says he captured three British ships in Charlestown harbor without a shot by hiding marines in a disguised merchant ship until they boarded the enemy vessels.11
The legislature named Gillon its first commodore in 1778, and said the money to fund the ships would need to come from export sales and future prizes. This was a problem. Gillon spent about eighteen months in Europe trying to get the French government to supply ships. It wasn’t until May 1780 that he reached an agreement to lease a large frigate in exchange for consigning in France all enemy ships he captured; a quarter of the prize money would go to the lender. If he lost the ship to storms or in battle, the state would compensate the lender. Gillon renamed the frigate South Carolina.
Gillon’s sailing was delayed by weather, winds, gathering a crew, and finding money to pay for provisions. He finally left port in August 1781 carrying American dignitaries, including the sons of Connecticut’s governor and John Adams. But instead of sailing west to America, he went north, then south, to capture British prizes. In November, after alienating his passengers and creating an incident in Spain smoothed over by Whig diplomat John Jay, Gillon sailed for home. He arrived outside Charlestown at year’s end only to find the British there. He then changed course for Havana, where he arrived on January 13, 1782. With the ships Gillon captured on the way, the South Carolina navy now had three frigates, six smaller armed ships, and twelve transports.
Gillon’s arrival was Cagigal’s fortune. Cagigal contracted with Gillon to accompany his expedition against New Providence. The South Carolina’s “armament is superior to all other vessels in her class,” Cagigal said.12
After the British victory at the Saintes in mid-April, Gálvez cancelled Cagigal’s expedition. The orders, however, either crossed in transit, or Cagigal ignored them. Using the South Carolina as his flagship, Cagigal left Havana on April 22 with Gillon, the nine-ship South Carolina navy, and fifty-seven transports and privateers carrying 1,500 sailors and 2,500 Spanish troops and militia.
Two weeks later, on May 8, New Providence’s “invalid garrison of 170 fit for duty” surrendered without resistance. Cagigal captured more than six hundred soldiers, along with twelve ships, and he promised no confiscation of private property.13
Gillon now had had enough. His relations with the Spanish already had deteriorated. Cagigal’s no-confiscation promise meant no prizes, and a British relief expedition was rumored to be on its way. Cagigal scraped up a partial payment for leasing Gillon’s fleet, and the Whigs sailed away. Gillon’s French creditors would pursue him for years, but he kept his plantation and continued political pursuits. He supported ratification of the U.S. Constitution at his state convention, and tradition says that when another delegate gave a speech in Latin, Gillon sarcastically replied in his native Dutch. He served in the South Carolina legislature, and was elected to Congress twice.
Cagigal left a small garrison in New Providence while he and the rest of his army sailed back to Havana in small boats, arriving piecemeal. There, he met an unexpected reception: Gálvez charged him with ignoring orders to cancel the expedition, failing to punish a subordinate, and consorting with the enemy. (When he was Havana governor, he gave a tour of the city to a captured British general.) Cagigal soon left Cuba to face a court-martial in Spain, where he was found guilty. He spent four years in jail before being cleared and given back his rank and privileges. He served in the army until 1795. Cagigal was replaced as Havana governor by Gálvez’s brother-in-law.14
The man Cagigal left in charge at New Providence was Captain Antonio Claraco y Sanz. Tensions escalated between the Spanish and British residents so quickly that by May 1782, Claraco complained that New Providence was “one of the miserable spots of the universe.” He feared the British residents wouldn’t stay neutral. Scouts and informers warned him frequently about imminent British invasions. He arrested privateers and traders he believed preyed on Spanish ships, and he confiscated their goods.15
In early April 1783, he received word of the ceasefire and peace treaty. The treaty returned the Bahamas to the British, and Havana ordered Claraco to surrender it to the first British officials. Accordingly, he opened the harbor and moved most soldiers from the outlying Fort Montague to the more central Fort Nassau.
Four hundred miles away, in British-held St. Augustine, Florida, news about the ceasefire and treaty were widely known, but not officially confirmed. A Loyalist militia officer who fled South Carolina when the British left, Colonel Andrew Deveaux, 25, took advantage of the ambiguity. Like many refugee families, his had been wealthy plantation owners. The war split the Deveaux family. He and his father remained loyal; their relatives opposed British rule. Deveaux spent most of the war years fighting rebels, supplying intelligence to the British, and raiding plantations. Unlike other Tory and rebel militiamen, Deveaux didn’t condone atrocities. Nonetheless, he earned a reputation as “that young rascal.” From Deveaux’s perspective, “I am an American, a Loyalist who has sacrificed a considerable fortune in South Carolina for my attachment to the crown.” In St. Augustine, he ignored the peace rumors, claiming he had no confirmation, assembled an expedition at his own expense, and on April 1, 1783, his ten-ship flotilla sailed toward New Providence “to restore the inhabitants of it, with those of the adjacent islands, to the blessing of a free government.”16
He had recruited sixty-five veteran militiamen (including Creek and Seminole sharpshooters) by promising prizes or land. After about ten days sailing, the invasion force anchored off an outer island, and there, recruited another 170 whites, free blacks, and slaves; they let the ninety slaves carry swords and clubs, but not guns. The Bahamans told him about the ceasefire, but Deveaux ignored the information. Adding fifty fishing boats to his fleet and wearing British uniforms to fool the Spanish into thinking his force was larger than they were, Deveaux first attacked the outer fort, Montague, on the morning of April 14. The twenty-nine-man garrison tried to escape, but were captured.17
Deveaux then moved on Fort Nassau. Under a truce flag, Claraco sent Deveaux a letter showing him proof of the ceasefire. Deveaux ignored it and then broke a temporary truce by firing on the fort, claiming the Spanish broke the truce. By the 16th, Claraco’s situation was untenable. Deveaux occupied hilly positions overlooking the fort, the Spanish were running out of water, and several fires broke out.18
Claraco surrende
red on the eighteenth. The Caribbean war was over.
Deveaux went to England after the war. His family lost their South Carolina land, but built a mansion on Cat Island in the Bahamas, which today is a ruin. Deveaux married a New York woman, and they eventually moved to her native Hudson River Valley.
Claraco wasn’t as fortunate. He remained a hostage pending a prisoner exchange. But Spanish officials ignored him, possibly because he was associated with the disgraced Cagigal. By 1784, Claraco was destitute and living on charity; eventually, the British governor gave him a captain’s salary and then billed Havana for it. Claraco escaped, or was allowed to escape, in August 1784. In Havana, authorities arrested him for alleged financial mismanagement. Nine years later, in Spain, a court-martial acquitted him, recommended that he be promoted and given back wages. He soon left the army around 1795 and spent ten years representing the U.S. in Spain as vice-consul.19
PART FIVE
The Sea and Raiders
30. Britannia Doesn’t Rule the Waves
AFTER FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 6, 1778, WHEN WHIG DIPLOMATS AND their French counterparts signed a treaty of alliance, Britain no longer could assume nearly unchallenged control of American waters. Nor could Britain focus its military efforts in America alone: The British navy would be stretched, guarding the homeland and English Channel from French invasion and rebel privateers, prosecuting the war in the Caribbean, the Atlantic Ocean, the Indian, and, to their surprise, nearly the Arctic. “Britannia rule the waves,” the lyrics of a popular eighteenth-century song, was no longer a given.
The French and, later, Spanish navies, said a British politician, “annually insulted us in the Channel, intercepted out mercantile convoys, blocked our harbors, and threatened our coasts.” It was a new war. Whoever controlled the sea would control the war’s out-come.1
After Yorktown Page 28