“So how did they attack one another?” Cudro asked. “Chase alongside and board?”
“Aye, that, and they rammed one another. The Romans had their ships fitted with great bronze prows so they could split another ship in two. And you had archers. And they often used flame arrows; or flaming ballista bolts; or even pots of burning oil or pitch flung with catapults mounted in the front or back of a ship.”
“Fire ships,” Gaston said.
“Aye, aye,” I said. “And they would on occasion use a smaller vessel designed to burn, and sail it or set it adrift into the enemy vessels if they were in a tight formation.”
Pete laughed, and I met his eyes, and we smiled as I came to understand what had been said of import. I looked about; the others were lost in thought, but Gaston was smiling, too.
“What?” Striker asked as he caught sight of our expressions.
“AFireShipLike WillWereSayin’. TheyBeAllTightInT hatChannel. OneGoesBurnin’ TheRest’ll’AveTaScatter. An’Iffn’TheOneBlows LikeThe OxfordDid It’llMakeARightMessO’ ThatChannelAnAnyShipCloseTo’Er.”
The Bard was shaking his head. “Then how the Devil do we leave?”
Cudro was rumbling with amusement. “If they’re fighting fires and sailing amuck with their sheets aflame, they won’t be manning their cannon very well. We can sail in close with the sloops and board them. Then we can take on the fortress by land or by sea.”
I grinned and exchanged a look of happiness with Gaston. I felt much better about our chances of survival now.
The next day, we told no one else, but we went about considering the small Spanish cargo ships at Maracaibo, assessing how much burning material could be packed onto one, and how it could be disguised to get it close enough to the Spanish without them realizing what it was.
The day after, a missive returned from the Spanish. I read it to Morgan privately in the office of the courthouse. We were dealing with one Don Alonzo del Campo y Espinosa, general aboard the galleon Magdalena. He was, of course, appalled at our audacity. He was angry with the cowards who had abandoned the fort and let us into the lake in the first place. And if we did not agree to his terms, he would keep us blockaded in the lake and send for smaller ships from Cartegena with which to ferry his marines ashore and hunt us down and kill us all. His terms were that we surrender graciously all treasure we had taken, including slaves and any other hostages or prisoners. In return for our abandoning our ill-gotten gains, he would allow us to leave the lake unmolested. I found that incredible, as did Morgan.
“We have a stratagem,” I told Morgan after he stopped cursing the general’s ancestry. I told him of the fire ship. To say he was delighted would be an understatement.
He called for all our men to assemble in the town square; and once they were there, he had me read the letter in English, and again in French for those few among us from Tortuga. Then he gave a stirring performance, asking if they would rather fight for their treasure or surrender it and have nothing to show for their hardship these past months. The decision was unanimous in favor of fighting. I would have hated him, had I not known he now had an alternative. As it was, I still thought him quite disingenuous, in the manner of leaders everywhere.
Then he had me tell them of the fire ship and explain how she should be outfitted and how she would function. There were cheers all around.
Within the hour, men led by Cudro and Pete were gathering the materials we would need and starting work on altering the commandeered Spanish vessel. Meanwhile, Morgan and I were writing another letter to the general as a distraction. Morgan offered to forego ransoming any prisoners or towns, and to surrendering half the slaves, in exchange for our free passage with the remaining treasure.
Of course, in a day and a half we received a response. The good general refused to accept our proposals, and if we did not surrender according to his original conditions within two days, he would destroy us by all means at his disposal. Thankfully, the fire ship was almost finished.
The small commandeered Spanish ship had been gutted, so she would burn and explode more quickly. Her hull had been packed with pitch and tar; and barrels of gunpowder – stolen from the Spanish fortress when we arrived – had been placed below what was left of her decking. Hollow logs were positioned along her sides to look like cannon; other logs were propped about with caps on their tops to look like men at a distance. She would be sailed by twelve men, who were to get her as near as possible to whichever of the warships they could manage; grapple said ship; light the fuses, and dive overboard and swim away.
Pete stood proudly before her as Morgan and the captains came to inspect her. “I’llCommand’Er,” Pete announced.
“What?” Striker roared.
“ICanSail’Er,” Pete countered. He gestured at the captains, who were regarding the flimsy little firetrap with trepidation and slowly inching back as if someone might suggest they do it. “NoOneElseWantsTa. An’I ’Ave Na’Done OneFun ThingThisRaid. I’Aven’tEven ShotAMan. I’mGoin’ TaBe ARomanForADay!”
Striker swore and yelled, “She’s not going to be sailed! We’ll have to tow her there, if she doesn’t sink before we can even get to the mouth of the lake, and then she’ll only reach her target with luck, the current, and some rowing. The wind in her canvas will have little to do with any of it.
“And that’s if the Spanish don’t blow her out of the water before she gets close,” he continued, “or their musketeers don’t shoot every man on board before they can be grappled.”
He regarded his resolute matelot; their gazes locked. Then Striker grinned, though his utterance was defiant. “I’m going with you!”
“You can’t swim with one arm,” Cudro said.
“Aye I can!” Striker snapped, and began shedding weapons as he walked toward the end of the wharf.
Gaston stepped in front of him. “Non. People piss in this water.”
Striker eyed the water with concern and gave a nod of acknowledgment. “All right, we’ll row farther out and I’ll prove I can swim. It doesn’t take two arms.”
“I’ll accept that you can swim,” Morgan said. “You can always clutch a barrel or something and have your matelot pull you along if it came to it. So, you wish to command this fire ship?”
Striker had walked back to us. “Nay. Pete does. I’m going as crew.”
Morgan nodded affably and turned to Pete. “Congratulations, then, Pete. You do us all a fine service. We’ll surely not survive this endeavor with our treasure intact without this vessel. Can you find other volunteers?”
“Aye,” Pete said with assurance, and turned to bellow at the men who had been working with him to ready the craft. “NeedTenWhoCan Swim!”
A few hands raised, some with alacrity; but many of the men appeared uncomfortable.
“I can’t swim,” one man said pathetically.
Beside me, Gaston raised his hand.
“You can’t go,” Cudro said. “You’re our best physician.”
“I am also one of our best swimmers and fighters; and if this does not work, you will not need my other skills,” Gaston said calmly.
I raised my hand.
My matelot grimaced as he glanced at my recently broken arm, but he nodded.
Pete’s smile was a lantern of happiness shining upon all about him. “ThisIsGonnaBeFun!”
“Aye, it is,” Morgan said sincerely, the light of adventure blazing in his eyes. “I wish I was going with you. As it is, we’ll have to take some of them if all goes well. I’m leading the first boarding party.”
The men cheered and pounded Pete heartily on the back. All now appeared to be brave and dangerous warriors, and not men tired of slogging about in swamps robbing people and dying of fevers, or madmen now expected to fight an enemy that vastly out-numbered and -gunned them.
Morgan had everyone gather in the town square again so he could explain our plan of attack. Then he had all swear an oath to stand by their fellow buccaneers until the last man.
Not
knowing what would occur, we loaded the treasure, slaves and most prominent prisoners upon our ships and the barges, and sailed for the mouth of the lake on April twenty-ninth. We towed the fire ship for most of the distance, and we arrived late in the evening and anchored well out of the great ships’ cannon range. I was thankful those of us who would crew her were not to remain on the fire ship for the night. She stank, and I was afraid she would somehow catch an errant spark.
There the galleons sat, the Brethren watching them, and them watching us, until dawn. I watched nothing but the light in my matelot’s eyes as we stormed Heaven. I heard nothing but Pete and Striker doing the same. In the hour before dawn, we woke and prepared to slip down to the fire ship. Pete hesitated at the cabin door and turned around. He shed his weapons and clothing, taking up only a cutlass before preparing to leave again.
“What the devil are you doing?” Striker asked.
“Won’tBe TimeFerTheRest. An’ClothesCatch FlameFasterThanSkin.”
“I’m partnered with a madman,” Striker said as he shed his baldric and belt.
“Are not we all?” I asked, as Gaston and I shed our weapons and clothing while giggling like boys.
With a grin, Striker dropped his breeches as well; and we marched onto deck naked, to the amusement of the crew. The men who would go with us did the same; and thus twelve naked men scampered down the ropes with nothing but cutlasses – and matches carefully held in clay pots.
All ships, both Spanish and English, raised anchor at the first golden light along the horizon, and then everything was in motion.
Our little fire ship could sail to some degree, and though Pete commanded her, Striker was our master of sail; and it was a damn good thing he was with us, because it took all his knowledge of wind and current to keep us aimed at our target: the largest of the galleons, a ship of forty guns. She was every bit as big as the warship we had taken that summer two years ago. And, like that day as the North Wind closed on her stern and we prepared to board, I kept expecting the gun ports to open and the deadly mouths of cannon to emerge. That day they had not, but this day they finally did; but by then we were so close and moving so fast they missed. The balls roared by overhead and geysered water in our wake.
We stayed low and tried to keep ourselves from being easy targets for their musketeers. But I could hear men arguing on deck about whether or not they should fire down upon us, if we were indeed a fire ship. The sensible officer won, and they began to send men down the ropes even as we attached our grapples. Gaston and another man were already lighting fuses, and we began to leap into the water like giant naked rats.
I did not see the explosion. My matelot had jumped atop me and dragged us far beneath the surface. My body was buffeted and my ears rang; and the murky water was suddenly illuminated with red light; and we swam deep and far until I was sure my lungs would burst. I was dizzy by the time we reached the surface.
Two of our men had become unconscious and been towed by their fellows; and Pete had an arm about Striker; but we were all alive as we turned to regard our handiwork. It was an amazing sight. The galleon’s sails were all aflame, and fire raced along her hull in the lines of pitch, and smoke was beginning to pour from her gun ports. The Spanish could not save her, or even themselves. Screaming men dove into the water with their clothes afire. Others raced about the deck, setting even more things on fire when they fell.
We were still very close; but thankfully the great ship was being carried away from us by the current. However, that meant we were swimming against that current. Proud of ourselves, but knowing we were still in danger, we looked about; and spotting the Queen, we began to swim for her. She made the task considerably easier by sailing to meet us.
Once we were safely aboard, we were able to see the rest of our handiwork. The second ship had turned as rapidly as she could to avoid her flaming sister and reach the safety of the fort. She had promptly run aground on one of the sand bars. Before any of our ships could reach her, the crew had thrown themselves into boats, or ran and swam across the shallow bars to the safety of the fort: burning their own ship in their wake to keep us from taking her.
The third ship – the smallest of the three, with only twenty-four guns – had veered in the other direction. Norman and Morgan had gone after her on the Lilly, and even now we could see fighting on her deck. Another of our sloops was joining that fray.
Cudro decided we should try to pick up survivors from the burning vessels, but we soon found none of them wished to be rescued. They chose to swim to deeper water and drown rather than fall into our hands. We finally abandoned our efforts, and turned around to join the rest of the fleet and the captured galleon.
All were in high spirits. We had been amazingly successful for only three hours of battle. Now we had to take the fortress.
Morgan ordered most of our men ashore, and they attacked with vigor that soon turned to frustration. We had only muskets and grenadoes; the Spanish had cannon and walls too thick for our ships’ artillery to penetrate--if we had been willing to bring our vessels within range of their larger guns. And we could not bring the captured warship into position, because of her burning sister still in the channel. So our musketeers killed any Spaniard they could see upon the walls; but our attempts to storm those walls lost us over thirty men and gained us as many more wounded, as the Spanish met our every attack with firepots and grenadoes.
At dusk, we retreated to our ships and sat waiting. The great ship was now breaking up and sinking in the channel. Our ships noticed Spaniards trying to swim to her, though we did not know why; and we turned them back.
I saw none of this: I stayed at Gaston’s side, helping with the wounded, until Morgan summoned me. I considered telling him to wait, but then thought better of it: I would be serving the common good in writing whatever message he most probably wished to send to the fortress.
When I reached the captured galleon, I was led to Morgan in the captain’s cabin, a great and fine room filled with carved teak and linen. Morgan offered me a goblet of wine. There was another man at the table, in soot-smudged Spanish clothing. He looked fearful, but nodded politely in greeting. I accepted the glass and took a chair.
“I believe this man wishes to be cooperative,” Morgan said. “I think his name is Juan.”
“Are you known as Juan?” I asked in Castilian.
The man sighed with relief. “Si, si, señor; please do not hurt me, I am a foreigner. I am only with the Spanish as a pilot.” He spoke with a Portugese accent.
I explained this to Morgan, who nodded at the man encouragingly. We plied him with wine, and Juan began to speak a great deal. He told us of the small fleet that had been sent here in response to our taking Porto Bello last year, and how the various ships had gotten separated and these three had been sent to this lake under Espinosa’s command. It was apparent that, in a rather disorganized fashion, they had been waiting for us, but only arrived where we were by happenstance.
Upon their arrival, Espinosa had fired a cannon, to call for a pilot familiar with the entrance to the lake – and been greeted by men from the abandoned fort who told him we were here. The good general had admonished these men for cowardice in abandoning their posts; then he had gathered them and set them to rebuilding the fort. He had promised all his men whatever plunder they could take from us – which I found odd, in that it would be plunder we had just taken from his own people – and made them all swear an oath, in a ceremony as part of the Mass, to accept and give no quarter to the English.
Don Espinosa had been informed two days ago by an escaped slave that we were building a fire ship. The great general had scoffed at this notion; saying we English were too stupid to know what a fire ship was, much less equip one.
After we shared a good laugh over that bit of information, Juan imparted a thing that truly made our hearts glad. The large ship that had burned in the channel had been carrying a great deal of plate and forty thousand pieces of eight.
Morgan embrace
d the man and told him he was welcome to join our company, and would be given a full share as if he had always sailed with us. Juan was no fool: he accepted this offer quite gratefully.
The next morning, we left the Mayflower to guard the passage and retrieve what silver and gold she could from the remains of the sunken ship. The rest of us sailed back to Maracaibo. Once there, I composed yet another message to the good general telling him we were ransoming the town for thirty thousand pieces of eight and five hundred cattle. The response was much faster than the previous, and did not come from Don Espinosa. The Spanish who actually lived in this region eventually agreed to twenty thousand pieces of eight and five hundred cattle, in exchange for our releasing the prisoners and not burning the town. Espinosa had not been party to this agreement.
The next day, the Spanish arrived with the ransom and cattle, and our men worked feverishly to slaughter and salt the beef. Then we boarded our ships again and headed for the lake mouth with the prisoners. The Spanish who had delivered the ransom were quite incensed with that development; but Morgan was determined to keep the prisoners until we were clear of the fortress. The Spanish protested that they had no control of the fortress: Don Espinosa did, and he would not let us pass. So Morgan sent several of the prisoners to speak with the general, urging them to do all in their power to convince him to let us pass lest he begin to hang their fellows from the yardarms. The general sent them back chastised for being cowards and letting us get into the lake in the first place.
We were now faced with a dilemma. With the ransom, we had a great deal more treasure than we originally gathered. And the Mayflower had managed to raise fifteen thousand pieces of eight from the sunken ship, in addition to a number of lumps of melted silver and plate, some as large as thirty pounds. We also had a captured galleon. But we still could not leave the damn lake.
Treasure Page 77