Prisoner of the Indies

by Geoffrey Household

  So for the next five days there was such coming and going of banners and letters that it could be thought we were at anchor in London or Seville. Our ships were battered and foul, but there was no sign of rust to be seen. The colours flew bravely; the captains in their finest silks and velvets cursed the heat and the ceremonies; and all the while the gunners stood by the cannon, where the Spanish envoys could see them, with the ball and powder charges piled ready for action. Of all men on board the busiest were the cabin servants, I sweating more than the rest since Mr Hawkins had chosen to clothe me in a leather jerkin with the arms of Her Majesty in red and gold.

  The upshot of it all was that the island and its guns – to which we had added some of our own – were to remain in our possession, that the Spanish fleet should anchor alongside us and that ten hostages should be given by each side to the other.

  As soon as the Viceroy had agreed to our conditions, their fleet entered the channel and was moored to the harbour wall. They were to the north, and we to the south. Between us was an old hulk with the masts out of her. On our side of the hulk was the Minion, then the Jesus of Lubeck, then the rest of the fleet. On their side were the two galleons of the Indian Guard, first the Admiral’s ship and next to her the Vice-Admiral’s.

  No armed Spaniards were allowed on the island, but many of the common seamen dropped from the bows on to the shingle and began to walk around. At that time, man to man, we were always the best of friends with the Spaniards, so we exchanged little gifts and told stories of our voyages so far as we could understand one another. They, too, had been short of food, but thought little of it. The Spaniards are better starvers than the English.

  Our officers were less easy. But this I know, hearing so much in the great cabin: that none of them intended treachery. Our whole desire was for peace, since the two fleets were packed so close together that the Spaniards could bring their great numbers to bear on us.

  In spite of all the solemn oaths which were sworn, the Viceroy never meant to keep his word. The first we knew of it was the sight of new gun ports being cut in the sides of Almirante and Capitana which are the titles they gave to the two flagships. That same night we saw armed men from the mainland going on board the ships, and heard muffled feet below the deck of the hulk. Our General warned Master Hampton of the Minion to be ready and sent Robert Barrett to protest to the Viceroy and to remind him that his honour was engaged. He never saw Master Barrett again.

  It was near eight o’clock on the morning of September the Twenty-third and Mr Hawkins was taking his dinner early that he might have a full belly if it came to fighting. One of the Spanish hostages sat next to him, and I saw the hilt of a dagger hidden in the lace of his left sleeve. This I whispered to John Chamberlayne who was the soldier on guard at the door. He lowered his halberd, which he held for ceremony more than for use, and thrust it against the hostage, calling on the gentlemen at the table to search him. They found the dagger which I had seen and forthwith put the man in irons. I cannot say whether he intended to stab our General, but this much I know: that they had not given us as hostages gentlemen of quality but common fellows dressed in their clothes.

  Then a trumpet sounded from the Almirante. Instantly soldiers dropped from the bows of all their ships and charged the gun platform. They took it and slaughtered our men, who were dreaming that the Spaniards were their friends and not keeping good watch.

  Meanwhile the hulk that lay next to the Minion was warped alongside her. Three hundred Spanish soldiers boarded her and swept the decks, whereupon John Hawkins cried out, ‘God and St George! Upon the traitorous villains and rescue the Minion!’

  The men of the Jesus of Lubeck leapt down into the Minion and fought it out briskly hand to hand. I, being small and of no value in such play, ran to the brass fowler on the poop which Job Hartop had taught me to load and fire. I aimed at the swarm of Spanish soldiers still crossing from the hulk and did great execution amongst them since the charges were lying ready by the gun and I could fire as fast as I could sponge her out. But it was as well that Job had taught me to stand aside from a breech-loader, which, he said, was as likely to burn up the gunner as slaughter the enemy. I had fired but three times when the breech block and the stirrup which held it flew whining into the sea.

  The hulk drifted away, and the Spaniards who remained on board the Minion jumped into the water or were cut down where they stood. It was then our turn in the Jesus of Lubeck, for we were boarded from the hulk and from boats alongside. But the great after castle, though half cut away in the storm, now repaid us for the trouble it had caused. With cross-bows and arquebuses our men fired down into the waist and made short work of the boarders. When the smoke cleared, the only Spaniards on our deck were dead or wounded.

  Meanwhile both ships had cut their moorings, and the seamen at the capstans were hauling them off the island. Once we were clear of the hulk, there was nothing but sea and wreckage between us and the Almirante. Our gunners below decks at last had an enemy in their sights. After half an hour of our broadside, her powder blew up and she caught fire.

  That left the Capitana to meet the fire of the Jesus of Lubeck and Minion alone. By the time we had done with her she was as full of holes as a sieve and settled on the bottom with her flag still flying and the Viceroy still on board, though most of his men had taken refuge on the island.

  But we had no time to give him his deserts, for now the two batteries on the gun platform turned their fire on the Jesus of Lubeck. The foremast was shot away and five balls went through the mainmast. Our good old ship was now doomed to die at San Juan de Ulua, for she never could be moved. All the while our shot hurled up the shingle around the batteries and we on deck drove off boat after boat of soldiers who tried to board us.

  Since Mr Hawkins showed no fear, nor did we. I remember that he called to Samuel for some beer which the boy brought in a silver cup. I forgave him all his airs and pride, for he came with steady hand and head held high. The General raised the cup and drank to the health of the ship’s company in the sight of all. As soon as he set it down by his side, a ball from a demi-culverin struck it and crashed through the bulwarks into the sea.

  Thereupon he shouted in his great Plymouth voice which carried over the din of battle as it had over storm, ‘Fear nothing! God who has preserved me from this shot will also deliver us from villains and traitors.’

  Elsewhere the fight went against us. Swallow was boarded and taken, Angel sunk and Dei Gratia so crippled that Captain Bland and his Frenchmen set her on fire and came aboard us. The general ordered Minion and little Judith to sail out of range and anchor, for they were now our only hope of escape.

  In the evening these two ships came up on the landward side of the Jesus of Lubeck, where her tall sides sheltered them from the batteries. All our treasure and valuable cargo were carried over into Minion. The men and the stores of food were about to follow when the Spaniards sent fire ships against us, carried down the channel by the evening breeze. I was more frightened than by any gunfire. They drifted down on us all ablaze from stem to stern, with powder kegs going off on deck and the flames and sparks seeming to reach across the red water for us.

  The crew of the Minion cut loose their furled sails and cast off the mooring lines. At once she began to move past the Jesus of Lubeck. Those of us who were shifting cargo tumbled on to her deck. Mr Hawkins in full armour jumped as the Minion passed under her stern and would have drowned if he had not grasped a halyard trailing in the water. Some launched a boat and followed, some tried to swim, some were left behind, among them Paul Horsewell. I thought I had seen the last of him for ever. He had been carrying his uncle’s silver plate over to the Minion and stood trembling on the poop till it was too late. I saw him throw the heavy silver into the sea and bend his knees to jump, but his courage failed him.

  That night we lay at anchor in the channel. When morning came, we found that the Judith had gone. Why Master Francis Drake forsook us in our misery I cannot tell. It ma
y be that he felt the coming change of weather and feared to be caught on a lee shore. But he was ever a man who cared for no orders but his own.

  As for us, we were hardly clear of the channel before the north wind caught us. We had only two anchors and two cables left, and if one of them had parted the Minion would have been driven hard and straight on to a reef. All that Friday we were in terror of our lives, watching the anchors on one side, and on the other the Spaniards riding up and down the beach waiting for our certain end.

  On the Saturday the wind veered, and we sailed off into the unknown waters of the Gulf. For fourteen days we beat about trying to reach the Florida Channel and praying that we might fall in with some land where we could buy cattle and take on fresh water.

  We were soon in desperate plight, for the Minion had over two hundred men on board and not even enough food for her own crew. We were given daily two ounces of bread each. We boiled the cow hides which we had taken in trade and chewed them. We hunted the rats, and the lucky man who caught one would spit it on a stick and hold it over the galley fire while his comrades begged for a mouthful. The pets, which seamen always have, were eaten down to the last dog, cat, monkey and parrot. In the fourteen days all that came my way were some beans which I stole and a good, crisp piece of cat-skin which Job Hartop gave me.

  Many of my comrades said they would rather be put on shore and trust to the mercy of the Spaniards than die on the voyage home. When Mr Hawkins heard them choosing this fate for themselves, he summoned the whole company to the waist and told us that those who wanted to try their luck on land should gather by the foremast and those who wished to stay by the ship should gather aft.

  I was for staying, but Job Hartop put his arm round my shoulders and told me I knew nothing yet of the perils of the sea.

  ‘If you do not die on the voyage, Miles,’ he said to me, ‘you will reach Plymouth with your flesh rotten and without teeth in your head. That is no life – to be old before you are fifteen.’

  ‘But what of the wild Indians on shore? Will they not eat us?’ I asked.

  ‘Why, not till they have fattened us a little, boy. And you may be sure that we shall fall in with some Christians before that. Since we are no pirates, but sail under Her Majesty’s flag, I think they will hold us until they have King Philip’s orders. And this I tell you with my whole heart: that whatever they do to us will be less than what scurvy and starvation will do.’

  So I joined Job by the foremast with several other boys, some because they knew they could not endure hardship like grown men, and some because they carried their brains in their bellies.

  Master Hampton put down the helm and made for the coast of New Spain. On October the Eighth the Minion anchored off a desolate beach, and one hundred and fourteen of us were set on shore, two being drowned in the surf. While the ship took on water, John Hawkins stayed with us and embraced every man, swearing that he would not forget us nor would allow Her Majesty to forget. He provided each of us with six yards of cloth for trade, and if any man wanted money as well, he gave it. When the boats had gone, we sat upon the beach, all huddled together in the rain, and watched the Minion until the mist closed over her.

  After quenching our thirst and eating a few berries which grew by the shore we took refuge on a hill. All night long it rained cruelly so that my spirits were very low. In the morning we formed in column of threes and marched in the only direction we could go, across the swamp with the forest on one side of us and the sea on the other.

  As we struggled through the reeds we heard a hooting and whooping from the trees and out rushed a frightful band with hair down to their waists and painted faces. These Indians shot as well as English archers and killed eight of us with their arrows. Since we had no armour and no weapons but an old hand-gun and two rusty swords, we made signs to them that we yielded.

  That was not the custom of their enemies, the Spaniards; so they ordered us to sit down and walked round us to see who we were and what we had which was worth taking. It was little enough: only the cloth we had for trade and our patched coats, shirts and canvas breeches. If these were black, they despised them, but if coloured, they took them. So I, who was wearing green broadcloth from Paul Horsewell’s sea chest, was stripped naked and would have been near to tears if Anthony Goddard had not laughed at me, saying that I should feel the heat less and need have no more shame than Adam before me.

  This Anthony Goddard was a seaman of Plymouth who had learned good Spanish trading with the Canaries. He asked the Indians how we might reach a settlement, and their captain, understanding him, replied: ‘Tampico Christiano.’

  So we tried to find Tampico and its Christians, some going north, and our party, led by Anthony Goddard, marching south-west. After being set upon by Indians, the others turned back and rejoined us, all but twenty-three. Twenty of these may still be living in the cities of Cibola. Three returned to England, having travelled so far and fast in one year that they came upon a French ship fishing in the cold waters of the north and took passage on her.

  There were seventy-eight left to struggle on through the forests of the coast. Little did I think when I wandered under the broad trees of Devon, gathering branches for the fire or picking blackberries, that woods could be like these. We could not walk at all until those in front had beaten a path for us with cudgels. And whenever we came to more open country and scattered to find roots or fruit to eat, the Indians shot at us from the thickets.

  But harder to bear than the arrows of the Indians were the little flies which the Spaniards call mosquitos. They covered my body and I soon learned to leave them in peace and endure the itching, finding that if I killed one while it was sucking, the place swelled as if stung by a bee. As I walked, I made wreathes of grass to protect myself from the flies, since I knew how to thatch and how to top a roof with a straw dolly in a fine, golden skirt. Some of the others watched me and did the same. We were all near naked by now, for those of us who had not been stripped by the Indians had their clothes rotted by slime and water and torn by thorns.

  Time and again one of the seamen climbed a high tree, but nothing was to be seen until the twelfth day of our march when the look-out called down to us that he saw a great river and its mouth. Soon afterwards I heard a shot fired, but others said it was a falling branch. Then a cock crew, and we knew that Christians could not be far off.

  CHAPTER THREE

  At last we saw streaks of sunlight through the trees, and there in front of us was the River Panuco. Spaniards were trotting along the opposite bank, believing us to be bold Indians who dared to attack their town. As soon as they had sight of us, they crossed the river in canoes, their horses swimming behind them. They saddled up at a distance and charged us, lance in hand.

  Anthony Goddard called to us that they would never hurt unarmed men and told us to kneel and surrender. They pulled up their horses a few paces from us and spoke with Goddard, who let them know that we were English. Though they had heard of the fight at San Juan, they were full of pity for us and at once gave us bread of their country wheat, which is called maize. Never again did it taste to me so good as then.

  They took up the boys and the wounded behind them on their horses and told the rest to follow. I was greatly afraid of the man who would take me, although he covered me with his cloak. He had one eye, a matted beard over the scars on his face and lacked three fingers of his sword hand. Like a child I called out to Anthony Goddard that he meant no good. But Goddard, after speaking with the man and smiling, told me that the fearful wounds had been caused by a jaguar, and that he had covered me with his cloak because Our Saviour commanded him to clothe the naked.

  This I always remembered when I met a Spaniard maimed by beasts, battle or disease – and there were many such – knowing that behind so terrible an aspect might be a simple heart filled with goodness and pity.

  But now I was to find how fierce they can be when they believe it is their duty. The Governor of Tampico threatened to hang the lot of
us, shouting that we were English dogs and heretics, and drove us into a little house no bigger than a pigsty. When Anthony Goddard presented him with a gold chain and asked for a surgeon to attend those of us who had open wounds from the Indian arrows, he replied that we needed no surgeon, for the hangman would soon heal all our troubles. But he kept the chain.

  It is likely that there was no surgeon and that the inhabitants healed each other as best they could with Indian remedies. Tampico was a settlement of thatched huts with only two hundred Christians and their Indian servants. All they did was to work the salt pans, having no wealth nor anything to remind them of Spain but the orchards of oranges, lemons and pomegranates which they had planted.

  On the fourth day we were taken out of our miserable hut and prepared ourselves to die, seeing halters of new rope all ready for us. But it turned out that we were to march to the City of Mexico, and the halters were only to tie us in pairs. I was bound to Richard Williams, a boy who had jumped from Swallow when the Spaniards boarded her and swum for his life to the Jesus of Lubeck. He was a poor companion in adversity, bewailing his fate and calling upon his mother, though she lived hard by Otterton in Devon and could do him no manner of good.

  To guard us on the road were a band of Indians and two Spaniards on horseback. One was a young man who herded us on like cattle, riding alongside and hitting the weak and the stumblers with the butt of his spear. The other was old and full of pity for us.

  Well he might be, for there was not a stout seaman left amongst us. All were weakened by hunger and fever, and many bleeding from wounds which would not heal. Even those who had gone barefoot in the streets of London and on deck soon had their feet bruised by stones and stuck full of thorns. Richard Williams was the luckiest. Being brought up as a fisher boy upon pebble beaches, he had feet like an African and needed no leather between his soles and the road.