Sugar in the Blood (18 page)

But the Caribbean waters have long swelled with danger and turmoil. Ever since the late fifteenth century, when Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand had sponsored Christopher Columbus in his perilous enterprise in the Indies, Spain had considered the entire region part of its empire. By treating all the non-Spanish who entered Caribbean waters as pirates, the Iberians united the other European powers against them, and for two centuries the seas reverberated with cries of “All Against Spain!” But the Spanish were not the only problem. By the early decades of the seventeenth century, virtually all the European nations had colonies in the region, so conflicts in Europe also echoed there. The Caribbean islands lay “beyond the line”—that is outside the jurisdiction of the European treaties—so were seen as legitimate prizes for European powers tussling for ascendancy in the region. It was no wonder that Henry Colt lamented: “
Suerly the Deuill the spiritt of discord have great poer in America, & loose he is amongst Christians as Infidells; & wonder nott why the natives war so much, one with the other.”

The disputes of Europe continued to have reverberations in the region during the second half of the century, so the beautiful turquoise waters of the West Indies swarmed with vessels flying flags of every colour, roving to and fro on all manner of assignments both legal and illicit, frequently engaging each other in battle or raiding on land. This perpetual fighting meant that islanders like George Ashby lived in a state of constant uncertainty, never knowing when their family and livelihood would be threatened or when their hard-won lands would be seized or their property razed to the ground. The Caribbean had, according to the historian Germán Arciniegas, become an “
international cockpit” in which the players “in far off Europe … [were] watching the fight from a distance, laying bets, egging on the combatants like professional gamblers.”

Pirates and pivateers were an intrinsic part of the region’s military strategy. The reasons for this were largely pragmatic: the Caribbean was simply too far away for any of the European colonizing nations to come to their territories’ aid when threatened. In the case of England, for example, it would take at least six weeks for the mother country to be notified of an incipient attack, and at least another couple of months
before a force could be organized and return to the region. So the pirates and buccaneers of the West Indies became an unofficial army who could intervene at a moment’s notice; a politically expedient mercenary force, sanctioned to protect their country’s overseas interests, and wage war against their nation’s enemies.

Inevitably the pirate became the emblematic figure of the Caribbean during this era. And their histories of murder, violence and shipwrecks came to dominate both the commercial and the military life of the colonies. Clad in their signature garb of leather waistcoat and gold hooped earrings and wielding well-honed machetes, this international cast of reprobates terrorized the daily life of the region and indelibly inscribed themselves on its colourful mythology. These were the glory days of piracy, the most unpredictable and dangerous of times. The “brethren of the coast” counted among their members Indians and blacks, Jews and Catholics, as well as English, Portuguese, Dutch, French and Spanish. They came from every walk of life: some were disillusioned ex-soldiers, others were Old World pirates who found the balmy air of the Caribbean more appealing, some were escaped slaves and indentured servants for whom life as a pirate represented a step up the social ladder. The brotherhood of the coast was, concluded one historian,
the Foreign Legion of the Caribbean: “a fraternity with stronger, more loyal bonds than those of many more conventional and law-abiding societies.”

They created a style of fighting that had not been seen before, raiding onshore as well as taking prizes at sea, and, when it suited them, they also became involved in poaching, smuggling and other forms of unlawful trade. The “code” or “custom of the coast” which governed their behaviour was surprisingly democratic. “
When a buccaneer is going to sea,” wrote the barber-surgeon turned pirate Alexandre Exquemelin, whose book
The Buccaneers of America
was published in 1684, “he sends word to all who wish to sail with him. When all are ready, they go on board each bringing what he needs in the way of weapons, powder and shot.” Leaders were elected by popular acclaim and retained their position only by maintaining the esteem of their fellows. According to Exquemelin, everything taken—money, jewels, precious stones and goods—had to be shared among them all without any man enjoying a penny more than his share. Those who transgressed this rule were banished from the rovers. They also initiated a
form of social security: members who were in financial difficulty were extended credit until they were back on their feet.

Their profligacy was legendary. It was said that they ate their food off plates of silver, and that their horses where shod with gold. “For that is the way with these buccaneers,” wrote Exquemelin:

For George Ashby these pirates were more than vibrant folklore about the sea; they were an intrinsic part of daily life on land, threatening the peace and stability of his island. He would have encountered them in the streets and taverns of Bridgetown, where their aggression was notable even in a fist-happy society like that of Barbados. And their presence on the seas meant that George Ashby could never be confident that his exports would reach their market, or that vital imports he needed to carry out his business and sustain his family, such as food and farming equipment, would reach him until the treacherous voyage was over. Pirates flying under one flag felt it was not just desirable but patriotic to raid the cargoes of ships flying under other colours. They could then sell the goods on the region’s thriving black market, where everything was traded from sugar and silk to candlesticks and alcohol. For lesser planters, working at the very edge of survival, a pirate raid could spell financial ruin. And they were a constant reminder that despite their best efforts, the society they had built was still precarious and brutal. To make matters worse, men like George Ashby were forced to stand by helpless and enraged as these outlaws’ trespasses went unpunished because of their usefulness to the political powers in Europe.

The emblematic figure of the age was “the Emperor of Buccaneers,” Sir Henry Morgan. According to Germán Arciniegas, his arrival was “the most important thing that happened in the West Indies under
Cromwell.” His career began in Barbados and, in many ways, it parallelled those of sugar entrepreneurs like James Drax, except that Morgan spent more time on the wrong side of the law. Like Drax, he had fled the Old World in search of new opportunities and was willing to do anything to make his fortune. And both men would display the same initiative, persistence and ruthlessness to progress in their New World profession. In truth, the legal and extra-legal elements of the region’s life were never very far apart in the Caribbean. The region was settled by chancers who were never over-particular about how they made their money. So criminals swiftly became councillors and pirates like Morgan became public officials.

Born in Glamorgan in 1635, the adolescent Morgan was unhappy with his father’s plan to turn him into a farmer, and so fled to Bristol, where he bound himself to Barbados as an indentured servant for four years. He is said to have served his Barbadian master “with a great deal of fidelity,” and at the end of his term he joined the Penn–Venables expedition destined for Jamaica. Still in his twenties, he transformed himself from a mere foot soldier into the boldest pirate of the age. By the time he was thirty, Morgan was famous for his daring raids, adored by women and worshipped by his men. His reputation was fearsome. Never hesitant to utilize torture, he frequently hung his prisoners by their thumbs or crucified them with burning fuses stuck between their fingers and toes. He was even known to “
hang them from their genitals until the weight of the body tore them off.” His prisoners often “threw themselves from the walls into the sea preferring death to becoming Morgan’s prisoner.”

His exploits were chronicled by Alexandre Exquemelin, who served under him for a number of years. Morgan’s raid on the Panamanian city of Portobelo in July 1688 was typical of his daring and brutality. His fleet arrived in the waters ten leagues west of the city around dusk. That night his men transferred into small craft and crept along the coast, disembarking on the outskirts of the city. Marching with his men to the city, Morgan demanded that the populace surrender. When they refused, the buccaneers rushed the city and the ensuing battle continued till the following day. Morgan considered retreating but then reinforcements arrived in the form of another pirate vessel, which joined him with cries of “Victory!” The sight of his brethren rejuvenated Morgan
and his men and they redoubled their assault. All the citizens abandoned the fight except the governor, who declared that it was “better to die an honourable soldier than be hanged as a coward.” His bravery was rewarded with a bullet, and the rovers entered the town.

The following day those who refused to give up their wealth were “put to the rack and tortured.” All resistance was quelled, and Morgan demanded—and received—a levy of 100,000 pieces of eight to save the city from being torched. His booty from the raid was swelled by vast amounts of jewels and silver, as well as linen, silk and other goods that were stolen from the populace. Astounded that 400 men could have conquered such a strong fortress, the president of Panama sent a messenger to Morgan requesting to see the weapon that gave him such power. Morgan acquiesced, sending him his French musket, with a message that he would be back to collect the weapon in a year or two. In response, the president thanked him for the firearm and sent a present to Morgan: a golden ring with a rosette of emeralds. In his letter he begged Morgan “
not to call on him in the manner he had visited Portobelo, because he might not have such a good reception” as he had found at that place.

But as the seventeenth century grew old, the political mosaic shifted and attitudes towards piracy began to change. Spain was no longer the great collective enemy against which the rest of Europe united. “Suddenly,” according to Arciniegas, “the gang began to break up.” As another historian explained: “England or France might be found in alliance with Spain against each other, or against the Dutch. It no longer suited the European powers to let loose a band of adventurers against the Spanish Empire.” The rise of sugar also played an important part. Once this lucrative enterprise was firmly established, the planters—and the importers back home—realized that their business did not benefit from the presence of a thousand unruly buccaneers in the colony. As long as there was “no peace beyond the line,” trade was upset. The region needed to be policed by more conventional means: national navies or regular army troops.

The ambivalence that had always existed around the buccaneers was now openly expressed. The French Royal Navy officer Jean Baptiste Ducasse lamented the terrible example they set for the young men of the colonies: “
They are very bad subjects who believe they have not
been put in the world except to practise brigandage and piracy. Enemies of subordination and authority, their example ruins the colonies, all the young people having no other wish than to embrace this profession for its libertinage and ability to gain booty.” The pirates were no longer seen as the solution to the problems of the region but were seen as the problem itself. By 1671 the English government’s official policy was to curb their activity. And men like Morgan, already enriched by buccaneering, started to give up the brotherhood.

Alongside the perpetual threats from the sea during this period, the Barbadians also had home-grown difficulties to deal with, when in the summer of 1675 the harried settlers uncovered a major slave plot. Originating in the Speightstown area to the west of the island, the plot, three years in the planning, was an island-wide conspiracy forged largely by African-born slaves who wanted to instigate a general uprising. To the chagrin of the colonists, despite the length of its gestation and the large number of conspirators involved, this “damnable design” was not discovered by their own formidable intelligence and policing efforts; instead it came to light through a female slave called Fortuna, eight days before it was due to commence. Apparently, she had overheard a young male slave discussing the details with another conspirator, in which he had expressed grave reservations about the plotters’ intention to kill the “white folks.” She persuaded him to tell a local judge, who in turn mobilized the militia.

In a later report Governor Atkins related that the uprising was to begin with the sound of trumpets and gourds to be sounded on various hills. Then the cane fields were to be torched, and slaves were to descend on their masters and slit their throats. A respected elder called Cuffee, a slave born on the Gold Coast on the Gulf of Guinea, was to be crowned king and an exquisitely wrought and carved chair was prepared for the ceremony. Scores of slaves were arrested and tried. Some were flogged, others deported or hanged. Those more deeply implicated were beheaded and their bodies were dragged through the streets of Speightstown and burned as a warning to other slaves. The ringleaders were roasted alive by slow fire. The defiance displayed by some of them shook the islanders. One of the condemned men, a
sturdy rogue called Tony, is said to have crowed to his tormentors: “
If you roast me today, you cannot roast me tomorrow.”

Fortuna, the slave who brought the planned rebellion to light, was given her freedom. The Crown also reimbursed the planters for damages and loss, but the entire episode caused great disquiet among them as they had believed up until then that their draconian discipline made such a conspiracy impossible. Afterwards they went back to the law, curbing the slaves’ movements even further and banning the “drums” and other African instruments that were used to communicate between the plantations. But nothing could prevent the resurgence of rebellion, and the slaves revolted again in 1683 and 1692.