When he was told that the Spanish had posted no sentinels
Montgomerie detached forty men to guard the village, and advanced cautiously on the grove with the rest of the company and a large party of Indians. He arrived on its outskirts toward five in the morning, and although the sun was rising it was still dark beneath the thick roof of leaves. He drew up his sixty men in an extended line with bayonets fixed and muskets cocked, intending a sudden, surprise attack. This resolute action restored the courage of the Indians on the flanks and to the rear of the Scots, and they hooted in defiance. Surprise was lost. Montgomerie ordered his drummer to beat, and led his men in a threshing advance. The Spaniards were gone when they reached the clearing, their fires still burning, their meagre provisions abandoned. Montgomerie ordered his hungry men to take what they wanted, and wondered what next he could or should do. A decision was made for him by a spatter of musketry ahead where Pedro's screaming warriors had come up with the Spaniards' stubborn rearguard. Montgomerie's drummer again beat the advance and the Scots went forward. They saw no enemies in the mist, in the slanting columns of sunlight, only the flash of muskets. And then there was silence. The Spaniards were gone.
In the growing light, young Montgomerie calmed his Indian allies and counted his dead and wounded. In the mud he found the bodies of Ensign Alexander Swinton and a private soldier called Andrew Jaffrey. Two more officers were wounded, a sergeant and nine men, including Drummer James Forbes who had beaten the advance in the confusion of the plantain grove. That night in Pedro's village, Montgomerie wrote a proud report to the Council. He did not put his own name among the list of wounded, but admitted that "I'm a little hurt myself in the thigh." The Spaniards had taken to the hills and he did not think it safe to pursue them, for there was a larger force there which, he was told by the Indians, was intended for an attack on the settlement. He was impatient to know what to do, "not doubting but your care and speedy measures will prevent any danger we may be in by the smallness of number." The council recalled him to the Peninsula, and he went back in triumph.
In fact the Conde de Canillas had abandoned any design he may have had for an attack, and the Spaniards whom Montgomerie had routed had been a thin rearguard with orders to watch rather than fight. High on the green ridge of the Cordillera, drenched by mists and rain, their stomachs knotted by wet bread and rotting cheese, the Conde's dispirited men could scarcely stand. At the interminable councils of war his officers quarrelled and protested, accepting the inevitability of retreat but delicately jealous of their honour. The confusion was at last resolved by a company commander from the Panama garrison, Don Juan Martinez Retes de la Vega. Thirty-one years of campaigning in Flanders as soldier, sergeant and officer, from the siege of Charleroi to the withering crossfire in the breach at Maastricht, had proved his courage and honour and taught him a simple lesson: the wisest soldier, the best soldier was he who knew when to retreat. Moreover, His Majesty would be well served by a withdrawal, for if they remained the Conde would lose an army and thus be robbed of future victories it would undoubtedly win. "And that this is his feeling," wrote the clerk who was taking down Don Juan's words for later dispatch to Madrid, "and what he offers as his opinion, he declares and swears by God our Lord, and the sign of the Cross which he made with his own right hand." Other officers, including Carrizoli, hurriedly supported de la Vega, and the Conde gratefully ordered a retreat to Toubacanti, to the coast and Panama City. When he sent his report to the Council of the Indies he wisely said nothing of the skirmish with Montgomerie's men.
Cheered by their small victory, the Scots still lived in fear that one morning the blue and yellow of Spanish uniforms would appear out of the trees to the south. It was partly this fear, and partly their naive belief that no one could contest their presence once their right to Darien had been reasonably explained, that persuaded the Councillors to make a civil approach to the Spanish. They sent formal letters by the Indians to the Conde de Canillas and the Governor of Santa Maria, informing both of the nature of their settlement and its proper establishment by Act of the Parliament of Scotland. They enclosed safe-conducts for any Spanish officers who might come to treat, and asked for the return of similar courtesies. They said that they had a Spanish prisoner, Domingo de Bada who had been taken by Montgomerie on his return to the peninsula, and "whom we have and will continue to treat with all kindness and civility." De Bada was no soldier, a frightened merchant who had been trading with the Indians, and from fear or simple conviction he had told the Council that all the people of the Spanish colonies were delighted by the arrival of the Scots. He did not say why.
With the letters on their way, the Colony was certain that it was safe from attack, at least until a reply was received. The long rainy season was now slackening, though the ground was still sodden and life ashore still wretched. But the sun was bright, and sometimes shone for a whole day without a single cloud. Four days after Montgomerie's fight, the watchman on Point Look-out cried two ships to the north-west. They were Jamaican sloops, one commanded by Edward Sands and the other by his friend Ephraim Pilkington. Despite the orders of their owner Wilmot, or perhaps in defiance of them, they had brought a small quantity of provisions which they were willing to sell. Beyond this, they were ready to put their ships at the service of the Colony, Pilkington to trade along the coast and Sands to go turtling. Paterson was delighted, aware that both men were doing this more out of regard for him than respect for the Council. Two days later, two more Jamaicans arrived, and their masters were less obliging. One of them had a cargo of provisions consigned to Paterson, and the other had beef and flour to sell. They were "purse-proud fellows", said Paterson, and when the Council havered over the price they said that they would sell for money only. They broke off the bargaining and turned their attention to what Paterson believed had been their main purpose in coming, the salvaging of treasure from the Maurepas. They were ordered away, and they sailed with the provisions still in their holds.
Pilkington was gone on his commission, and his departure encouraged the Council to send out the Endeavour. She sailed with John Anderson as Master, Alliston as supercargo, trade goods worth £100 Sterling, and ambitious orders to touch at Jamaica and New York for provisions. Gales and storms drove her leaking hull back to Caledonia.
There was a listlessness over all the settlement, sometimes too heavy for despair. Thomas Drummond drove his men hard to their work, but got no more energy from them than damnified bread and rotting meat could supply. Paterson was unwell, a steel spirit that had been bent by the death of his wife was now bending further under sickness, but he would not spare himself. "I had then some fits of intermittent fever; but, however, I put force upon myself as much as possible to be present in the Councils, lest some rash act be committed or an innocent man suffer." His mind, reaching the point of collapse, was bewildered by the squabbling of the other Councillors, and since he still would not drink he could not join them on the occasions their carousing gave them a brief and obscene unanimity. They met ashore more frequently now that it was dry, beneath the palmetto roof of the largest hut, sitting with comic dignity in their embroidered clothes, their swords and baldricks, sweat on their unshaven cheeks. There had been a great quarrel between Pennecuik and Mackay over some forgotten issue, and the others moved to and from each other in the macabre dance of their factional disputes. There were only five of them, and they still would not accept Paterson's urgent advice to increase the number.
Though the Indians brought welcome gifts of fruit, plantains and fowl—which were eaten by the Council and officers— Andreas and Pedro no longer came to the peninsula, and there were rumours that both were dead. Ambrosio sent occasional messages of continuing goodwill, but would not leave his village. Diego was persuaded to come, late in February, for gifts and the signing of a treaty that had been written by Hugh Rose, sealed with bright red wax, and tied with ribbon of watered silk.
Treaty of Friendship, Union, and Perpetual Confederation, agreed and
entered into between the Right Honourable the Council of Caledonia, and the Excellent Diego Tucuapantos and Estrara, Chief and Supreme Leader of the Indians, Inhabitants of the lands and possessions in and about the rivers of Darieno and Matoleme....
It promised freedom of trade, mutual assistance in danger, succour in distress, courts of justice, and an explanation of all its clauses should they be in future doubt. It also invited the other chiefs of the Isthmus to apply for membership of the alliance. It was read aloud, interpreted and explained to Diego, and then signed by the Council. Diego put his mark to it happily, and went away with a copy in Spanish. He left with a warning. "He advises us," Pennecuik wrote to a friend in Scotland, "to prepare for the worst, believing that the Barliavento Fleet, as soon as they are in a condition, will be upon us. But this we do not fear, being assured that their General, who is said to be a man of no courage, had positively denied to attack us, his master the King of Spain having no war with the Scots."
Apart from being a natural braggart, the Commodore had also been reassured by a dispatch the Council had just received from Don Luis Carrizoli, the militia commander at Toubacanti. With elegant politeness it thanked the Scots for their letters which he would forward to the Governor and the President. Until he heard from them he would naturally suspend his activities against the Colony, and would not molest its emissaries. The Scots could dispose of Domingo de Bada as they thought fit, and thus "God preserve you, Illustrious Council, whose hands I kiss...."
Warmed by the courtesy of the letter, the Council did not see that it was a mere acknowledgement from a postmaster, a franking of their own letters. Nor could it be known that, far to the north in Mexico, Don Joseph Sarmiento de Valladares, Conde Moctezuma, Viceroy and Captain-General, the most powerful man in the hemisphere, had recently received news of the settlement and had made up his mind what to do about it for the glory of Spain and the salvation of the Church. "These orders, unless something new changes them," he would soon write to his commanders, "will be to exterminate the Scottish pirates for the reasons which have dictated my resolution, the greatest one being to destroy the heresies which the Scots may introduce amongst the ignorant people." Sarmiento was less confident than this breath of fire might indicate. The Isthmus was the unguarded heel of the empire, and the past of Drake and Morgan had shown how few men were needed to cut the tendon of its rivers and roads. He had been told that there were already four thousand Scots on Darien, and that six thousand more were at sea to reinforce them. In a wild moment of alarm he believed that even the Philippines might be in danger.
Still waiting for his ships to be careened at Portobello, Don Andres de Pez might have wondered what he was expected to do about that.
The Scots' hope of an amicable settlement with the Spanish was not only worthless, it was also short-lived. On February 26 Ephraim Pilkington came back with his sloop, the Maidstone. He had not sold a bolt of cloth, a wig, or a pair of darned hose along the coast, and this was not the worst of what he had to report. The Dolphin had been taken by the Spaniards, he had seen her in Carthagena Bay.
Paterson had been right in his warning. The snow was clumsy to windward and impossible to handle. Within twenty-four hours of leaving Caledonia a strong gale drove her eastward to Carthagena, and despite Malloch's efforts to turn her out to sea she would not respond. She struck a rock in the lee of Pointa de Canao, throwing Pincarton against the helm and breaking one of his ribs. Badly holed and leaking quickly, there was nothing that could be done with her but take her in to the shore and under the guns of the fort. As she went aground and heeled over, her crew knew what was now awaiting them. A shouting crowd gathered on the esplanade below the white city, and soon the Governor came down in a gold and varnished coach. He sent out a boat to the crippled ship, and Pincarton went ashore first, his ribs strapped and his mouth bitter with humiliation. He asked the Governor if his men might return to the Dolphin to save her cargo, and Don Diego de los Rios Quesada, who was probably still shocked by her sudden and unexpected arrival, gave him that permission.
"But before we could get to the boats," said Pincarton two years later, reporting to the Directors whom he had never expected to see again, "we was hindered from going on board, and sent up to the town with a strong guard, and separately put in a dungeon and in irons."
"If a man were sick, no victuals for him that day..." Caledonia, March and April 1699
The Councillors' reaction to the loss of the Dolphin was both splendid and ridiculous. As if they were the government of a powerful nation, with a fleet and ready battalions to enforce their will, they demanded the immediate release of the ship and crew under pain of their terrible displeasure.
Lieutenant Alexander Maghie, because he was a smart young fellow said Pennecuik, was sent to Carthagena with this demand. He left aboard the Maidstone on March 11 (his departure being delayed by the usual argument in Council) with a drummer, a guard of honour, and a flag of truce. In the letter he carried, the Spanish Governor was reminded of the treaties signed by Great Britain and Spain in March and July 1670, by which each was bound to respect the rights and subjects of the other. If the Dolphin and her crew were not released, if Mr. Maghie suffered any indignity whatsoever, then Caledonia would "by force of arms, both by sea and land, set upon, take and apprehend any of the men, ships goods, moneys and merchandise of His Catholic Majesty."
Maghie was ordered to wait twenty-four hours for a reply, and then to leave with or without it. He returned to the Colony ten days later, his Highland blood inflamed by several affronts to his country's honour and his own pride. He had gone ashore at Carthagena in a canoe, his drummer beating at his side and his flag of truce in the prow. A file of soldiers marched him through the sun to the Governor's house, and there he was kept in an ante-room until the Governor and his council found the time and inclination to receive him. Don Diego broke open the letter, read it quickly, scowled at its threats of reprisal and bloodshed, and threw it to the floor. It was joined, unread, by a copy of the Act which Maghie next gave him, and by copies of the Letters Patent granted to the Company. The Scots, said Don Diego when he could find his voice, were rogues, pirates and cuckolds, and he called for a guard to throw this one into prison. The soldiers were at the door when Don Martino de Saballe, commander of the Spanish forces at Carthagena, gently interceded for Maghie, asking the Govenor's leave to lodge the boy that night at his own home. Don Diego grudgingly agreed.
De Saballe was a kindly man, or perhaps more subtle than the Governor. He was impressed by Maghie's spirited courage, and reasoned with him in Latin, their only common language. He suggested that if the Scots did not insist upon the return of the Dolphin's cargo (which he would not admit the Spanish had salvaged) he might persuade the Governor to release her crew. In the morning, however, Don Diego's humour was no better, and was worsened by Maghie's loyal but tactless demand to see Pincarton and his men. Not only could they not be seen, shouted the Governor, they would stay in prison for as long as the King's Majesty pleased. Moreover, had his soldiers been in a better condition—and this, no doubt, with a resentful eye on De Saballe —he would long ago have driven the Scots from Darien. But let them not take too much comfort from their present security. He was fully resolved, Maghie reported, "to gather such a force by sea and land as would quickly, at one blow, root us all out of this place."
At least the young Highlander was allowed to leave, and for that he probably had De Saballe to thank. In Carthagena harbour were the flagship and three others of Benbow's West Indian Fleet, and before the Maidstone sailed Maghie paid a courtesy call on the Admiral. John Benbow had as yet received no orders from London about the Scots, and saw no reason why he should ruffle the Spaniards' feathers, particularly since he was at this moment selling them a cargo of Negro slaves. Yet he was civil to his angry visitor, politely read the Company's Act which Maghie carried like a talisman, and generously wished the Company well. He said that he would press none of its servants into his ships, and would do what he co
uld for the Dolphin's crew. "At my going over the side he said we had a great opportunity before us, and bid us remember that fortune always favours the bold." All of which could only have confused Maghie. He had been told by De Saballe that Benbow had assured the Governor that the King of England disapproved of the Scots settlement, and would not support or protect it.
The Councillors now had the choice of stomaching the Governor's insults or honouring the threats they had made. To his surprise, Ephraim Pilkington was invited to take the Maidstone out on a reprisal raid against Spanish shipping. The Letters of Mark, signed by Jolly as President, were attractive enough: twelve full shares of all booty for the hire of his sloop, and two and a half for himself, 600 pieces of eight or six slaves for any of his crew seriously disabled, and the choice of one in three of all the prizes taken. Though no man of war, there was little profit for Pilkington in Caledonia Bay, and he accepted. He left on the next favourable wind, captured nothing, sank nothing, saw nothing, and was back in the harbour within a few days.
The only comfort in Maghie's return had been that the Maidstone brought with her a New England brigantine she had sighted off the coast, east of Caret Bay. This was The Three Sisters which Scots sympathisers in New York had fitted out and loaded with salt mackerel, butter and flour for their countrymen on Darien. This scanty cargo would not last more than a few days, but the realisation that they had not been forgotten raised the settlers' spirits for a short while. There were now several trading-sloops in the Bay or at anchor off Golden Island. Moon and Wilmot had returned in one called the Neptune, and with them another commanded by a Matthias Maltman. They still demanded money only for their provisions, but sober, reasonable men might have persuaded them to accept goods. There were no such men on the Council now: even Paterson was fretful, captious and disillusioned. Pennecuik was fighting a nagging illness with brandy, his temper ragged, his mind dark with suspicion. He quarrelled with Moon almost immediately, accusing him of carrying off one of the colonists on his last visit, a homesick boy called Skelton. He arrested one of Moon's boats, declaring that he would hold it and its crew until the boy was returned. There then followed a heated wrangle, boats going to and fro across the Bay with ultimatums like emissaries between warring camps. Ashore, the Planters watched this tragi-comedy with bewildered apathy, their skins yellow and scabrous for want of the good food in the ships' holds. Paterson called upon some inner reserve of strength, persuaded Moon to give up the boy and Pennecuik to be content with an apology. It all ended, he said, "in a little hector and Billingsgate".
John Prebble Page 21