Caribbean by James A. Michener
Never before had Cartagena been attacked by so many troops so capably led, and before Ledesma’s generals had time to shift their troops to more favorable positions, Drake’s men were upon them. The fighting was unexpectedly fierce, because when Ledesma led the defense of a city the result was quite different from the pusillanimous surrender at Santo Domingo. English soldiers fell, scores of them, and with Ledesma and his three sons-in-law rallying their troops now here, now there, the battle’s outcome seemed to hang in the balance, favoring first the English, then the Spanish.
But in the end Drake’s superior firepower told, and gradually Ledesma’s men were driven back to the central plaza. There, under Don Diego’s personal leadership, they fought with extraordinary bravery. But the English smelled blood, principally from their own dead, and with unparalleled fury they literally shoved the Spaniards back, yard by yard, until the assault filled the marketplace, and there the Spaniards, including the fifteen men from the Ledesma clan who had borne arms, surrendered.
Early next morning Drake brought all his ships into the tight little Inner Bay, in which position his gunners could command the city, and only then did he come ashore to savor his capture of Cartagena, a city which the Spaniards had boasted could never be taken. Asking directions to the governor’s house, where he could dictate the terms of surrender, he was led to Ledesma’s fine residence facing the cathedral, and there he met the sixteen men of the family that had given him so much trouble.
‘Admiral Ledesma,’ he said in the excellent Spanish he had been taught by Spanish captives on his voyage around the world, ‘your men fought with commendable bravery,’ but before Ledesma could respond, General Carleill, leader of the English troops, added: ‘Not only his troops, Drake. He himself,’ and Drake saluted.
The simple negotiations for a surrender required a frustrating five weeks, for if Ledesma was obdurate in battle, he was a brazen lion when it came to frustrating the English conquerors, regardless of what reasonable demands they made. Backed by no soldiers, fortified by no fleet, and not even supported by the dignitaries of his church, all of whom had fled with their valuables to the mainland hills, tall, composed Don Diego could rely only upon the shrewd counsel of a few of his family members and the solid support of his conquered people.
Drake opened negotiations with a straightforward request, such as he had used with success in dealing with other captured Spanish cities: ‘I will leave in peace, not one house having so much as a door broken, for a modest ransom, let’s say one million ducats† loaded by your men on my waiting ships.’
Don Diego said quietly: ‘But, Admiral, you can see there’s simply no money in the city. None.’
Without raising his voice, Drake said: ‘Then you must know from what recently happened at Santo Domingo that if the ransom is not paid, I shall start tomorrow morning to burn a different section of your city each day until Cartagena is no more.’
Maintaining the same level of discourse, Don Diego asked: ‘Admiral, do you wish to be remembered as the Tamerlane of the West, the forever hated scourge of the West Indies?’
During the first four agonizing weeks, when every Spaniard he spoke to, including some members of his own family, advised him to surrender to Drake’s demands, at least as far as possible, Ledesma resisted Drake’s considerable pressure, and at the same time persuaded the Englishman not to burn the city. In the later stages of negotiations he was supported only by his three sons-in-law, whose wives hiding in the hills slipped messages into the city: ‘Husband, do not give in,’ and with this comforting assistance he persisted.
These were four of the strangest weeks in the history of Cartagena, because Drake and Ledesma shared the same house, the governor’s residence, and in the evenings they invited whatever leading citizens still remained in the city to lavish dinners at which Drake and the governor tried to outdo each other in courtesies extended to the guests. With Drake speaking in Spanish, Ledesma in English, they discussed subjects of grave importance to their two nations and to the Caribbean in general, each man and his supporters feeling free to express his convictions and defend them.
On one March evening, with spring peering over the mountains to the east, the talk turned to religion, and Don Diego said: ‘How simple things would be if your Catholic Queen Mary had lived longer in England, with our Philip as her husband, and one great religion binding our nations together. Then we could as allies terminate that damnable apostasy in the Netherlands and wipe out Lutheranism in Germany and live together with France and Italy as our Catholic cousins, one citizenship, one faith.’
‘I’m afraid differences have grown too great in Europe,’ Drake said, but then he told the guests: ‘On my trip around the world, and on all trips, I have prayers nightly and hold services on Sunday, with my own Protestant chaplain, whom I take with me. But never did I demand that any of my men attend my worship if their allegiance was to the faith of Queen Mary and King Philip, and whenever we captured a priest we invited him to conduct prayers for such of our sailors who wished to listen.’
This encouraged Ledesma to offer an interesting proposal, which he had often contemplated: ‘Would it not be best for all if the nations would agree to leave the lands of the Caribbean in Spain’s hands and Catholic, as Columbus intended them to be when he found them? But invite Englishmen and Frenchmen and Dutchmen to trade freely wherever they wished?’
Drake asked: ‘Are you not somewhat hesitant to make such a suggestion, knowing that I sit here with complete power over you, and your city?’ and Ledesma said: ‘I’m not, because I know that whereas you may burn my city, you will not harm me.’
Drake laughed: ‘Even though you tried to have that one with the hidden dagger kill me at Ulúa?’ and Don Diego replied: ‘We had to kill you to get your ships. You don’t have to kill me to get my city.’
Then, to the surprise of the guests, including Drake, Don Diego said: ‘Sir Francis, could we perhaps walk upon the battlements, alone?’
‘No,’ Drake said. ‘You tried to kill me once, you’ll try again.’ Ledesma, humbled by this reply of a cautious fighting man, started to apologize, when Drake stopped him: ‘But I will walk with you if ten soldiers, five Spanish to protect you from me, five English vice versa come along,’ and the two adversaries, opponents in so many frays, walked out into the starry night—a rigid, imperial Spaniard with a clean-shaven hawklike face, and the short, nervously twitching Englishman with his carefully trimmed beard.
The first words spoken were by Drake as he looked down upon the four bays of Cartagena and their amazing collection of protective islands: ‘You have here, Don Diego, one of the best anchorages in the world.’
But Ledesma felt compelled to speak of more portentous matters, ones that had to be clarified: ‘You know, Drake, that I did not send the assassin at you,’ and the Englishman replied: ‘I knew you did not, could not do it.’
‘How did you know?’
‘From the way you behaved in our past struggles … and because my men interrogated that infamous rogue before they let him go. He told us they silenced you in your protests by clapping you in arrest.’
The two men walked to diverse parts of Ledesma’s uncompleted battlements, always coming to rest at some spot overlooking the Caribbean, that noble body of now placid, now hurricane-driven water for which each of the admirals felt responsible.
‘We conduct our battles on a splendid sea, Don Diego.’
‘Sometimes it seems our fine North Sea was made for battle—a Spanish lake protected on all sides by either islands or great land masses.’
‘We were made for this sea, Don Diego. We’ve contested it with honor and bravery. But let me warn you. It is no longer what you call your Spanish Lake. It’s now the English Lake, too.’
The soldiers who guarded them saw a curiously matched pair, each the best of his race, each touched with greatness. But if the soldiers had overheard the next exchange between these two giants of the North Sea, they would have been bewildered, fo
‘This man will make
The oceans quake
When he comes to take
Our Spanish Lake …
Sir Francis Drake.’
‘I’ll have that engraved on my tomb,’ said Drake, and the two men rejoined their guests.
At the beginning of the fifth week of this gentlemanly sparring, a plan evolved, not wholly satisfactory to either side. Don Diego, after consulting with his sons-in-law, conceded that he could accumulate not one million ducats in ransom but something like one hundred thousand, and Drake countered: ‘I want extra for not touching the monastery and an additional bounty for not sacking your churches,’ and each of his ship captains and his general of troops also had minor demands, so that in the end Ledesma produced far more than he had intended while Drake had to accept far less than he wanted.
It was an honorable peace, grudgingly accepted by each side, but applauded by all Spaniards who had been hiding in the woods and by the English sailors who yearned to get home and claim their share of the diminished booty. During the last days of March, Drake loaded his ships and one bright morning raised anchor and sailed out through Boca Chica. Governor Ledesma, profoundly relieved to see him go, for only he and Drake appreciated how arduous their bargaining had been, ordered the fortress guns to fire a parting salute, which was done to the wild congratulatory cheering of the Cartagenians. Don Diego’s courage had saved their city.
And then, to the horror of everyone, Drake’s fleet wheeled in the morning sunlight and came sailing right back through Boca Chica and into the Northern Bay, from where it could, if it wished, resume bombarding the city. ‘Merciful God,’ Don Diego prayed, ‘don’t do this to me,’ and his son-in-law the vice-regent had to catch him lest he fall in a faint.
Drake’s demands were simple this time: ‘That big French ship we captured. Badly sprung. I’ll need some of your men to help me shift the cargo.’
‘Yes, yes!’ Don Diego cried, nominating his sons-in-law to supervise the work, and during the eight days required for this heavy work—for the French prize was laden to the waterline with goods captured from Spanish ships and towns in the Caribbean—Drake, Ledesma, the generals of both sides and the clergymen back from their hiding in the hills, met at the governor’s house for good talk and the fine wine the priests had hidden from the invaders.
At one such dinner Ledesma introduced his daughters, telling Drake: ‘It was these three who defeated you. They sent me notes each night from the hills: “Father, do not give in!” ’ and Drake, kissing the hand of each, told the group: ‘The sorrow of my life? I’ve been married … but no sons … not even any daughters.’ Those were the last words he said in Cartagena, but as he returned to his ship to prepare the true departure in the morning, Ledesma, from the ramparts, watched him go, and swore an oath: ‘I know the kind of man you are, Francis Drake. You’ll come back, of that I’m sure, and when you do, I’m fated to dig your grave.’
• • •
During the various periods of peace, these two adversaries, so different in all aspects, were amazingly similar in the way they diverted their surging energies when not called upon to do battle at sea. Indeed, they seemed almost like twins, so nearly identical were their actions.
Drake served as mayor of Plymouth, Ledesma as governor of Cartagena; Drake on his own initiative provided Plymouth with a reliable water supply, Ledesma gave his city a great wall that enclosed it; Drake served terms in Parliament, Ledesma on the informal Council of the Indies; Drake spent much energy in finding himself an heiress as his second wife, Ledesma had to find wealthy husbands for his granddaughters; and Drake issued an unending stream of advice as to how England could gain control of the Caribbean, while Ledesma counseled King Philip as to how that sea could be made even more completely Spanish.
But since both remained essentially superb naval captains, each read with intense attention a report made by a French spy working in London and circulated to outlying Spanish posts like Cartagena, but also acquired by English spies, who sent a copy to Drake:
It is believed by all leaders in London that King Philip of Spain is collecting a vast concentration of ships, sailors and armament in the ports of his country in order to make a major attack on England in the latter months of 1587. Queen Elizabeth, when captured, is to be dragged off to Rome to be burned alive in a public square already identified for that purpose, Philip will try to become King of England, and the followers of Luther are to be exterminated. Steps to frustrate Philip’s plan are under way throughout England.
Don Diego found all parts of this remarkable account preposterous, for as he told the members of his family: ‘Spain doesn’t have enough ships for such a venture. They would never burn a queen like a common criminal. And Philip has enough trouble ruling Spain, the Netherlands and bits of Austria.’ But within a week after he delivered this judgment, the courier from what remained of Santo Domingo brought an official report from Madrid which clarified much:
In Spanish court circles it is called The Enterprise of England and it consists of three parts which will be put into operation in the latter part of 1587. A huge fleet of hundreds of vessels will leave Spain and sail to the English coast. Meanwhile, a very large army of Spanish troops will have been assembled in the Netherlands for transport into England. When Elizabeth is caught, she will be disposed of; and when Philip assumes the throne, Lutheranism will be exterminated.
Since these plans are already known in England, extreme secrecy is not required, but in speaking of these matters, refer to them only as The Enterprise of England and let others guess what it consists of.
Before Don Diego had much time for reveling in anticipation of England’s humiliation, a correction of the timetable was dispatched from Madrid, and like many of King Philip’s communications, it said much while explaining little:
The Enterprise of England has had to be delayed. It will not occur in 1587 but will in 1588.
That left the Caribbean governors trying to guess what kind of disaster the cryptic words ‘has had to be delayed’ masked, and Don Diego had a sinking feeling: I’ll wager Drake had something to do with this. His suspicions were confirmed when a mature, tightly controlled man in his thirties arrived from Spain with shocking news: ‘I’m Roque Ortega, Excellency, son of your cousin Euphemia. Fortune did not smile on her, as you probably know. Married to a sea captain who lost both his ship and his life. One good thing, my father kept his home at Sanlúcar de Barrameda at the mouth of the Guadalquivir, so I learned about ships.’
Ortega was so handsome and compelling in his quiet speech that Doña Leonora remained in the reception room, contrary to her usual deportment when her husband had political or military guests. ‘What brings you to our city?’ she asked, and he gave a remarkable answer: ‘Despair and hope.’ Then he added: ‘Despair because I captained one of the king’s ships in the disaster at Cádiz …’
‘What disaster?’ Don Diego asked, almost leaping forward, and Captain Ortega revealed the dimensions of that tragic affair: ‘In February of this year the king began to assemble in various ports his ships intended for The Enterprise of England.’ Stopping in midflight, he asked: ‘You know of the Enterprise?’ and both Ledesmas nodded.
‘I was ordered to take my Infanta Luisa down to Cádiz, where I moored her between two large men-of-war. Throughout March other important ships drifted in, until by the first of April we had a congregation of at least sixty-six ships—Dutch, French, Turkish, four English—all of which we had captured in recent months, plus our own heavily armed warships, more than enough to invade England. We had the right to be called an armada.
‘On the late afternoon of the nineteenth of April, a date I wish I could forget, an additional twenty-five major ships which I could not immediately identify sailed boldly into the harbor. But when a pilot boat went
‘What did you do?’ Doña Leonora asked, moving closer to catch details, and Captain Ortega said with modesty: ‘Like other captains, I tried to break my Infanta from her moorings so I could fight effectively, but before my men loosened one rope, an English ship bore down upon me, rammed my stern and those of the big ships alongside me, and then poured cannon fire into our waterlines until we settled on the bottom without having fired a salvo. It was humiliating.’
In obvious disgust with himself, Ortega said: ‘Lost my ship before the battle started.’ For some moments he sat shaking his head, thus providing Doña Leonora with an opportunity to study his manly features and the way his lean face seemed to announce quietly: ‘I am ready for any challenge.’ But then he added details that were even more infuriating: ‘As night fell, Drake’s ships played havoc with our vessels, chopping and snarling and setting fires, and we were powerless to halt him. Our shore batteries, on which we depended, could not shoot at his ships without hitting ours. In the morning Cádiz Bay was littered with sunken ships, all ours, and the bodies of Spanish sailors.’
Ortega stopped, looked at Governor Ledesma, and said, with his hands raised upward: ‘Not one of our anchored ships was able to break loose and give him battle, and those that tried he sank. Night fell, but not darkness, for the flames of our stricken ships made the carnage visible, and when dawn came, Drake finished off the cripples, sending more of our good men to their graves in the harbor.’
Recollection of the tremendous losses was so painful that for some moments he could not speak, but when he did he summarized the tragedy in a few words: ‘On the morning of the nineteenth we were the most powerful fleet in Europe. At midnight of the same day, practically destroyed.’