Blackbeard- The Birth of America

by Samuel Marquis

  “My apologies, Captain Jennings, but I do not feel like drinking a toast to your victory and my defeat.”

  “Very well, sir. Then lead us to the treasure.”

  “As you wish, Captain.”

  Two hours later, under the direction of Vane and Thache, a large contingent of men loaded what would prove to be nearly ninety-thousand pounds sterling worth of Spanish silver and gold into a launch, along with some silver plate, four bronze swivel guns, fifty copper ingots the size of bread loaves, and dozens of personal valuables seized from Salmon’s staff. They had also sabotaged three cannons that were too bulky to transfer to the flotilla. After releasing the Spanish mail boat, the five vessels comprising the attack force sailed off to the southeast, in the direction of the closest safe harbor where they could divide their plunder.

  The island of New Providence, Bahamas—on the fringes of colonial America where scores of out-of-work seamen from across the English-speaking world were forming a governmentless Republic of Pirates.

  CHAPTER 3

  COLLEGE OF WILLIAM AND MARY

  WILLIAMSBURG, ROYAL COLONY OF VIRGINIA

  DECEMBER 28, 1715

  VIRGINIA LIEUTENANT GOVERNOR ALEXANDER SPOTSWOOD—a former lieutenant-colonel in the British Army born into a Scottish royalist family in Tangier, Morocco, in 1676—peered up with satisfaction at his latest architectural achievement. The Wren Building was the signature building of the College of William and Mary. Since his posting five years earlier as the seventeenth Crown-appointed administrator of Virginia, Spotswood had spent considerable time refurbishing, and where necessary rebuilding, the edifice from the ashes of a 1705 fire, faithfully adhering to the original design of Sir Christopher Wren, the architect of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London. The brick building stood three stories tall and contained a great banquet hall, handsome dormer-windowed roof, and massive chimneys. It was topped by a well-proportioned cupola and slender clock tower with a wind-seeking weathervane. To Spotswood, it projected the grace and power of the British Empire and His Majesty King George I, who he believed benevolently watched over his colonial stewards like a stern but judicious patriarch.

  Adept at geometry and mathematics, the thirty-nine-year-old bachelor Spotswood had taken an active role in the architecture of his adopted town on behalf of the Crown since his arrival to Williamsburg. He had overseen the design and construction of not only the Wren Building but a brick powder magazine on the south side of Market Square, a public prison or gaol, the airy Bruton Parish Church, and the governor’s lavish official residence. His unfinished residence was disparagingly called the “Governor’s Palace” by his many enemies in the House of Burgesses, the lower legislative assembly of elected representatives that governed Colonial Virginia. The colonists resented what they regarded as his exorbitant spending on the building project. But that wasn’t the main reason Spotswood was unpopular in his colony. The House of Burgesses and the American colonists they represented considered him to be too loyal to the Crown and not devoted enough to the concerns of the people he governed.

  The discord between him and the lower chamber had disintegrated to the point where three months earlier, on September 7, 1715, he had dissolved the House after only a five-week session, publicly excoriating its members as a set of representatives “whom heaven has not endowed with the ordinary qualifications requisite to legislators.” The two warring factions had yet to reconcile, which was one of the reasons he had called upon the man standing next to him. Robert Beverley was a former member of the House of Burgesses and chief clerk of the Governor’s Council, as well as the venerated author of The History and Present State of Virginia, the first published history of a British colony by a native of North America, written in 1705. Beverley served as both mentor and advisor to the governor in matters of state, and Spotswood made a point of seeking his valuable counsel whenever he was confronted with a thorny issue.

  “Don’t fret, Alexander,” said Beverley in an assuaging tone. “Things will get better with the Burgesses and Council. They certainly can’t get any worse.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” sniffed Spotswood. “These men are a recalcitrant lot—and most of them are scoundrels to boot.”

  He was speaking specifically of the eight disaffected men on his Governor’s Council that were firmly opposed to him. Known as the Ludwell-Blair faction, they were led by Philip Ludwell the Younger, prominent plantation owner and speaker of the House of Burgesses, and Reverend James Blair, the most powerful religious figure in Virginia. In the last six months, he and his colonial adversaries had not seen eye to eye on anything and tempers had flared repeatedly. Ludwell in particular often lectured him on the proper limits of British authority, taking particular exception to Spotswood’s authoritarian manner and open contempt for the colony’s lower house of elected representatives and the colonial democratic process. The governor’s many critics claimed he employed heavy-handed tactics to control tobacco exports through his 1713 Tobacco Inspection Act, rewarded his loyal friends with patronage positions, and acquired large tracts of valuable land through shady practices.

  Most recently, Spotswood had incensed Virginians with his Indian Trade Act. The legislation granted the Virginia Indian Company a twenty-year monopoly over American Indian trade, and charged the company with maintaining Fort Christanna, a settlement in the southern tidewater region for smaller Indian tribes. Establishing the company was Spotswood’s attempt to circumvent political opposition by shifting the financial burden of defense against Indians from the colonial government to private enterprise, but in doing so, he angered those who had invested in private trade, such as William Byrd of the Governor’s Council who was combating Spotswood from London. All in all, his policies were unpopular with Virginia tobacco planters, landholders, and commoners alike since all sought to maintain their independence from the British Crown.

  The fatherly Beverley resumed their exchange as they walked. “I’m afraid, my friend,” he said to Spotswood, “ye shall simply have to ride out the storm.”

  “Yes, but I am growing weary of the constant bickering.”

  “Have you tried compromise?”

  “Why should I? I represent the Crown—not a rag-tag of tobacco merchants and backwards farmers.”

  “You can’t look at it that way, Alexander, and you know it. I was speaker in the House once and know these men. In fact, that was one of the reasons I believed you sought my counsel today.”

  “Yes, I know I shouldn’t be so stubborn. But these rascals do vex me so.”

  They came to a halt before one of the Wren Building’s newly installed first-floor windows. Spotswood peered at his own reflection. Gazing back at him was a middle-aged man with a slight paunch and receding hairline beneath a long gray periwig. His clothing was sartorially splendid: a red velvet coat, ruffled cuffs, and gold-embroidered waistcoat. Though it was late December, the temperature was in the mid-fifties and he and Beverley had no need for bulky greatcoats. After pausing a moment before the window, they took off to the east, heading down the pothole-riddled, wagon-tracked Duke of Gloucester Street in the direction of the Governor’s Palace.

  Suddenly, Beverley tensed up. “Oh dear,” he said. “It looks as though two of those very rascals are headed this way.”

  Spotswood looked up to see his two fiercest adversaries: Philip Ludwell the Younger and Reverend James Blair. A direct, blunt, close-mouthed man, Ludwell came from a powerful Virginia landholding family and was ten years Spotswood’s senior. Blair—the commissary of the Bishop of London—was also older and served as the supervisor of the church in Virginia and president of the College of William and Mary. With a firm mouth and watchful eyes, he was known as a man of action who had broken two past governors: Andros and Nicholson. Despite the animosity Spotswood felt towards his two adversaries, he proffered a friendly smile.

  “Good day to ye, gentlemen,” he said, giving a formal bow.

  Ludwell tipped his tricorn hat and gave a cool smile. �
��Good day to you too, Alexander. But it would be a far better one if you repealed your ill-conceived Tobacco Act.”

  Spotswood felt his whole body tense up. “Now look here—”

  “Come now, Alexander—it’s an abomination to our colonial economy,” cut in Blair before he could finish. “You know perfectly well we speak the truth. The act needs to be swiftly repealed. That will be best for all concerned parties.”

  Spotswood shook his head. “As you well know, that is impossible. The Assembly is not in session.”

  “Because you dissolved in September,” pointed out Ludwell. “The point is our tobacco crops have not been strong in recent years and we need help. We have to be able to export all of our tobacco, regardless of quality, to account for the dry years. There’s no way around it for plantation owners, small farmers, and merchant shippers if they are to make a fair living.”

  “You have strenuous opposition from the people on this, Alexander,” said the barrel-chested reverend. “As you know, nineteen counties sent grievances. Everyone is losing money on this—except the Crown. But you can reverse it all by doing the right thing. You can with a stroke of your pen repeal the act. I dare say, you might very well be the most popular man in America if you did that.”

  Spotswood frowned. “America? What are you talking about America?”

  “That is the new name that is being bandied about,” said the reverend. “It started with seamen in the ports around the world. They call the New World colonies here ‘America’ and the people who inhabit them the ‘Americans.’ Surely you must have heard the terms?”

  Spotswood scowled. “No, I have not. And truth be told, they carry a whiff of sedition. I don’t like them.”

  “Well, you’d better get used to them,” said Ludwell. “Americans are who we are. Not you, of course, but the reverend and me. And your friend Mr. Beverley here, who has been known to fancy himself an ‘Indian.’”

  “America. Why the name is laughable. There is no such united force of colonists as the ‘Americans,’ I can assure you.”

  “Oh, but there is such a force,” pointed out Beverley, taking Spotswood by surprise. “And it is growing every day. These men and their adherents are part of a growing cadre of independent-minded thinkers They see themselves as patriots fighting against the excesses of the Crown. They have taken to calling themselves ‘Americans’ to distinguish themselves from Britain and from the individual colonies of New England, Virginia, and the like. It’s quite real, Alexander, I can assure you.”

  “You’d better listen to him,” said Ludwell with a subversive smile. “Your friend knows of what he speaks.”

  Spotswood just shook his head. He was disappointed at his mentor, but was not surprised. Though loyal to the Crown and to the lieutenant governor personally, Robert Beverley had never been shy about expressing his own political views, which on occasion were opposed to the King.

  “This is not provocation,” pointed out Ludwell. “We are simply letting you know that we advocate for the rights of the American people we represent rather than serving the will of you, acting governor of the colony, or the Crown.”

  “Yes, you shouldn’t take it personally,” added Reverend Blair, who at fifty-nine still looking feisty and commanding in his long white wig and black gown with prim white neckbands. “It’s the same old British feud betwixt the King and Parliament being waged on a new battleground. But if you want to come out on the right end of history, you’ll need to rethink your position on tobacco.”

  “So what you’re telling me is that colonial policies should be decided in Virginia coffee houses—such as St. Michael’s Alley off Threadneedle Street—rather than from experienced representatives of the Crown?”

  “There are no practical benefits to overregulating our tobacco trade solely to benefit the King,” said Ludwell.

  “Is that so? And do you recall what I said in my final address to the Assembly in September?”

  “How could we forget? You admonished the burgesses for disregarding their King and governor while they followed the giddy resolves of the illiterate vulgar in their drunken conventions. Oh yes, I remember your ugly tirade quite vividly.”

  “I stand by what I said. Your spending time on bills which you know very well can never pass is surely done more with regard to your own position and profits than the country’s advantage. And yet you want me to defend this colony against Indian attacks when you reject a claim of nine shillings for the forage of three horses which I sent to draw cannon to the frontiers?”

  Ludwell grinned with challenge. “We don’t approve of your profligate spending habits. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Yes, well gentlemen, since you seem to have it out for me in the midst of the Christmas season, I have some strong words for you.”

  “Is this really necessary?” asked Beverley, trying to avoid further unpleasantness.

  But Spotswood, whose face had reddened in the heated atmosphere despite the cool temperature, was too worked up to stop now. “Indeed it is,” he said. “To be perfectly plain with you, Mr. Ludwell and Reverend Blair, the true interests of your country—this so-called America of yours—is not what you trouble your heads about. All your proceedings have been calculated to answer the notions of the ignorant populace. Which is precisely why I am glad I dissolved the Assembly this September past when I did. To keep such an Assembly on foot would be a discredit to a country that has many able and worthy gentlemen in it, including Mr. Beverley here. Now, gentlemen, I bid ye good afternoon.”

  Ludwell laughed disdainfully. “Now I know why William Byrd calls you Arroganti. Your arrogance, sir, truly knows no bounds.” He was referring to William Byrd, who had a seat on the Governor’s Council and was living in London. Byrd was every bit as much Spotswood’s enemy as Ludwell and Blair, and the lieutenant governor knew the man was working tirelessly across the Atlantic to have him removed from office.

  “Before we take our leave, I’d like to point out one thing,” said the reverend. “It seems odd that a man who seldom raises his voice or swears before his numerous Indian charges and African slaves should speak so harshly to his political colleagues. Apparently, you save your anger only for your Council and the House of Burgesses. Good day to you, sir.” He then turned to Beverley. “For heaven’s sake, Robert, please try and talk some sense into him.”

  With curt bows, Ludwell and Blair left, heading west towards William and Mary College. Boiling over with anger, Spotswood walked on with Beverley towards his governor’s residence. After several minutes of venting, Spotswood got to the reason he had sought his esteemed friend Robert Beverley’s counsel in the first place.

  “I assume you’ve heard about this Spanish treasure fleet wrecked off the coast of Florida.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard the stories, but I don’t know much about it. I know nothing as to the value of the Spanish losses. What’s your interest in the matter?”

  “I believe there may be an opportunity.”

  “An opportunity?”

  “The news of the wrecks is spreading like wildfire. It has attracted the attention of not only those inclined towards piracy, but gentlemen investors and merchants all the way north to Maine.”

  “So I have heard. It is no longer a local affair of South Carolina, the Bahamas, and Bermuda. The word I have from Virginia’s merchant seamen is that the whole Atlantic community has learned of these wrecks and plans to fish the waters for the rich cargo of spilled gold, silver, and precious gemstones. So you want in, is that what I’m hearing?”

  “Even upstanding gentlemen can hardly be expected to avoid the call of the treasure gleaming from Florida’s shores. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Absolutely. But the Spanish will not see it that way. From what I’ve heard, they have already pulled perhaps half the treasure from the offshore sand.”

  “Which means that half still remains.”

  “That is true. And it is also true that the legalities of fishing treasure-filled shipwrecks are
not well-defined. It depends so much on one’s definition of ownership during salvage operations. From a legal standpoint, it is a gray area. Which is precisely why there is an opportunity.”

  “Are you suggesting that the fine royal colony of Virginia send an expedition down to fish those wrecks?”

  “Why shouldn’t we get in on the excitement?”

  “That’s precisely what I thought. Which is why I wrote a letter to Mr. Stanley Stanhope of the Board of Trade last month.” He came to a stop, withdrew from his leather satchel a copy of the three-page letter he had sent to London in November, and handed the third and final sheet of foolscap to Beverley. “It’s in the postscript there,” he said as his friend began reading.

  P.S.–Here is advice of a considerable event in these parts that ye Spanish plate fleet, richly laden, consisting of eleven sail, are, (except one,) cast away in the Gulf of Florida to ye southward of St. Augustine, and y’t a Barcalongo, sent from the Havana to fetch off from the cont’t some passengers of distinction 133 who were in y’t fleet, having recovered from ye wrecks a considerable quantity of plate, is likewise cast away about 40 miles to ye northward of St. Augustine. I think it my duty to inform His Majesty of this accident, which may be improved to the advantage of His Majesty’s subjects if encouragement be given to attempt ye recovery of some of that Immense Treasury.

  When Beverley was finished, he looked up. “Are you planning on waiting until you receive royal authority, or are you going to send in your own company of salvors to complete the job?”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I don’t want to fall into His Majesty’s disfavor by overstepping my authority. At the same time, though, if we don’t strike while the iron is hot, we have no chance of reaping the benefits of this vast treasure.”

  “Yes, I can see your conundrum.”

  They started walking again. A pair of squawking chickens scratched across the muddy street, and three cows mooed from the shaded corners of a pasture lot.