Bahamian Rhapsody

South Caribbean Sea 1595Immersed in his own thoughts, Sir Francis Drake, the man whose name was known and feared throughout the Spanish Empire, agitatedly paced the deck of his five hundred and fifty tonne flagship "Defiance". He had reached his mid-fifties and though a surprisingly diminutive man with a slight figure, he exuded that indefinable quality of leadership to which others naturally and comfortably defer. He had long ago achieved the status of a living legend on the Spanish Main. His arrival in his favourite hunting grounds, the Western Atlantic and the Caribbean caused consternation and panic amongst Spaniards on both land and sea. The light was slowly dimming as he stood on the port side of the ship, the setting sun highlighting his face and giving more colour to the fringe of his ginger beard now rapidly becoming streaked with grey, and framing a deeply tanned face who’s lines betrayed a recent illness. An aqueous ball constantly plagued him in his leg, and severe back pains often forced him to while away many lonely hours at sea, painting in his cabin. For most of his eventful life he had dedicated himself to the pursuit of creating wealth, principally by attacking Spanish ships and relieving them of their gold and valuables. He had an uncompromising hatred of those from that country born of long standing memories, from the reign of Queen Mary, a ruler that had earned the nickname, Bloody Mary. His Protestant ancestors had been persecuted during the violent Roman Catholic purges carried out on her orders. More recently, and within his own direct experience, the Spanish had acted treacherously with his cousin and mentor John Hawkins. He had been cruelly duped and betrayed by them, after seeking their help, at the same time he, Drake, had barely escaped with his life. He did not forget such events and had fully earned his name of El Draco, ‘The Devil’ and his reputation throughout the entire Spanish military and naval establishments. John Hawkins with Sir Francis had been joint leader of this current expedition consisting of some twenty-eight ships until he had died shortly after their abortive attack on Puerto Rico ten days previously. The attack had been a fiasco; Drake himself had only narrowly escaped death after his cabin was hit by a cannon ball, which shattered the stool upon which he had been sitting. Drake had immediately assumed sole command of the fleet and sent anxious concerns rippling around the decks by his sudden and impetuous actions. Unlike other raids, this time the Spanish in Puerto Rico had been prepared for them and following the defeat he had ordered the fleet to sail south. He sighed, and looked slowly around the heaving grey seas, taking another deep breath of fresh sea air as he did so. He sometimes thought this was the only time he was truly content, with the whole world laid out before him, a world free of the devilishly complex Elizabethan court politics he detested so much. This would be his last voyage, an undertaking he would not have even contemplated if his fortunes had been different. His fortunes had plummeted as fast as they had accumulated after a lifetime of serving Queen Elizabeth I. All had been lost backing the cost of the ships and voyage to mount an ill-fated attempt to raid mainland Spain the previous year. It had been a total disaster. He had been driven to it by pride and the conviction that so soon after the defeat of the Spaniards' Armada they would be easy victims. It had turned out very differently and he had been lucky to escape with his life. As a result he had returned with no bounty to pay the provisioning costs provided by The Queen, himself and the other financial backers. She had threatened to take away his Knighthood and made it clear he was not welcome at court. Being now seriously short of money, he resolved to do something quickly; hence now in his fifty sixth year on earth he was back at sea in command of this small force. He cursed to himself as he felt a spasm of pain from his stomach, He knew something was wrong inside him and wished fervently that he was back home in Buckland Abbey with his new wife. His fortunes had changed with startling speed. As he scanned the horizon he cast his mind back over recent events. It was such a short while ago that he had famously circumnavigated the World, been knighted and received over ten thousand pounds from The Queen as a reward for bringing back enough gold and silver to meet the total costs of running the government for a year. Even Lord Burghley, Elizabeth’s Chief of the Treasury and a constant detractor of Drake's had been impressed. Burghley, the second most powerful man in England had taken an initial dislike to him, seeing him as a high risk, little more than a pirate camouflaging his attacks on defenceless Spanish merchant ships under Elizabeth’s flag of protection. In reality Drake’s official privateer rank with ‘Letters of Marque’ from the Queen distinguished him from other pirates, now becoming more and more profligate around the Spanish Caribbean. Under pressure from the Queen, Burghley had acquiesced, won over by the money from Drake's ventures. He had even asked Drake to oversee his son Robert Cecil’s pet project, to provide for impoverished seamen. The ‘Letters of Marque’ arrangement suited both Queen Elizabeth and Drake; he received her protection, she had an unofficial method to enrich her coffers to help build a powerful country. His brilliant seamanship and unique brand of daring had ensured business had been good and from its proceeds he had built himself a palatial home at Buckland’s Abbey in Devon. After defeating the Armada in 1588 and following his knighthood he been officially granted his own coat of arms. But times change and suddenly everything had rapidly deteriorated, he still could hardly believe it, the nation’s greatest sailor, who had saved the nation in their hour of need only seven years previously, reduced to dire circumstances, how fickle fate was! Two years previously he had led an unsuccessful voyage to Florida where unfortunately a hurricane wiped out both his fleet and profits causing Burghley to refuse to cover more than a fraction of his costs. He had originally thought the omens for this present voyage were good, a faulty judgement that mocked him every day with no sight of any ships worthy of being viewed as a prize. Even the weather was against them, first they were becalmed in the doldrums, then only able to sail slowly under light winds into the Caribbean, they were also now very short of drinking water. The disastrous defeat followed and Hawkins's death sealed a miserable campaign. The Spanish commander Pedro Tele de Guzman had outwitted him at every move. It had almost reached the stage where he would have to give the order to turn back, an order that would spell his end financially He had, as part of the collateral for the voyage, pledged Buckland Abbey for in excess of ten thousand pounds. His judgement as a seaman told him he could only risk one more day and he cursed to himself as he scanned the horizon willing a ship to appear. The furies must have heard his prayer for several hours later and when hope was beginning to fade yet again, he heard a shout from above. “Sail ho’ yelled the lookout from high up the main mast. “Make ready,” roared Drake as he grabbed the telescope and focussed on the horizon. But the prize galleons were all under Guzman’s watchful eye and on seeing only a small trader under Spanish colours he cursed. This was not what he was looking for at all but to desperate men it would have to do. They gained slowly in the light wind but curiously, their prey was not running, they waited as if in resignation of their fate. Drake saw them lower their sails. “Prepare to attack,” he yelled and as the men enthusiastically made ready, suddenly galvanised by the prospect of action. She was just a small caravel with a large white flag clearly evident. Drake smiled coldly as he saw his men clamber aboard to make the prize safe but puzzled as he watched a boarding party scramble across the gap between the two ships. The Spanish had most unusually, surrendered without a fight. Clambering onto the caravel as best he could he was greeted by the Captain who looked uneasy at the sight of the notorious El Draco. "Your men will not be harmed,” Drake told him and he gestured below. “What are you carrying?” The Captain insisted on the courteous exchanges usual in such cases. “Captain Don Vivendi at your service,” He said in good English and offered his sword in surrender. “We are a poor merchant and provisioning vessel, there is little of value below.” “I’ll be the judge of that sir,” growled Drake curtly, ignoring the Captains protestations and heading downwards to the main hold. “We have met before seňor. In similar circumstances,” said Don Vivendi following him below. “Some years ago you attacked a larger ship I was taking to Hispaniola.” “Don Vivendi, I vaguely remember you,” replied Drake thoughtfully. “Ten years ago wasn’t it? Drake's mind was on more immediate matters. "Your cargo sir, spare me the necessity of rifling through it.” “Provisions for our troops, mainly food and blankets, that’s all but I do offer you a valuable secret.” “Ah I recall now; it was the same last time no dammed cargo and you claimed to have some valuable secret.” “You weren’t interested seňor, emptying my ship of meagre takings and caring not for secret treasures, yet you spared my life.” “I care now sir; though I don’t recall any talk of treasure, what is this secret you speak of?” “It’s still there,” Vivendi assured him. “I am prepared to share it with you, given the right terms.” “You have no dammed choice and why should I believe a Spaniard.” “We may be Spanish but not all of us are loyal to the Crown of Spain.” “I would call that treason.” “Not if by my actions I save rather than imperil my country.” “Go on.” “You will need to come alone with me to a remote island.” “Safe enough if I hold your men and ship here as hostage." replied Drake now intrigued. What did he have to lose? And the gains if there where any, would be his redemption. He reached a decision. “Very well but you will pay with your life if I am misled.” “I will take you there myself El Draco.” “I want two officers with us.” “The Cimarrone natives will only let me and one other ashore.” “Cimarrones, I remember them well, they are good people, strong and loyal n*****s who helped me defeat your countrymen at Panama. They have no love of your country seňor and care little for gold and silver.” “You are right they care little for such things but trust me, this is different, it has symbolic value to them. This is the only way,” pleaded Vivendi quietly. “Believe me others have died trying, for as you know they are ruthless with trespassers; their bodies are hung up on poles and line the shoreline, you will see. You would need an army of well-equipped men to beat them. They would hide in the jungle and choose when to fight on their terms. They have asked me to look after this great secret, a secret beyond comprehension, magic from another world.” “Yet you alone survived the Cimarrones?” “They spared me twelve years ago when my colleagues and I were shipwrecked there and I discovered the secret. I went back five years ago with a few men.” “Why you?” “I am an apothecary and was able to cure the chief’s son of a fever. It was a simple case of cooling him down, but it worked and they spared my life, letting my men leave the island alive providing they swore never to return. They showed me their great secret and asked for help to guard it. That was twelve years ago, I told them I was not a great leader of peoples but I would try to help them. I did try and was subsequently ridiculed by my Spanish colleagues. Guzman himself mocked and demoted me to this command. He said angrily that he had enough to worry about without authorising foolhardy errands.”