Tim Severin - Sea Robber

‘You must be from the foreign ship,’ announced the newcomer. A short, brisk man in his mid-forties, everything about him spoke of a regimental background: close-cropped iron-grey hair, straight back and square shoulders, crisp manner of speech, the frank appraising stare he gave the visitor.

‘My name is Louis Brodart. I am sailing master of the Gaillon ,’ Jacques said in French. Inwardly he was gleeful. It was unlikely anyone but a Parisian would know that the Gaillon district of the city was renowned for its open sewer. Or that he had borrowed the surname of the most corrupt government official in France, the Intendant of the Royal Galleys.

‘Sarjento Mayor Damian de Esplana, at your service,’ answered the officer. He spoke halting but competent French. ‘Welcome to the Presidio of Guahan.’

Jacques decided he should get straight to the point. ‘My captain asked me to deliver his compliments to the Governor.’

‘Don Fernando de Costana is absent. I am the commanding officer of the garrison.’

‘Will the Governor be returning soon?’

‘He has gone to another island to deal with the indios. I do not expect him back for at least a month.’ If the Sarjento Mayor had noticed the galérien’s brand, he was too polite to mention it.

‘A pity. My captain’s instructions are to present our credentials solely to the Governor. The Secretary of the Navy, the Marquis de Seignelay, was most particular in this regard.’

Esplana brightened. ‘Then, by all means, your captain can take his vessel to Saipan, the island where Don Fernando has gone. But first let me offer you some refreshment. I would appreciate hearing news from the outside world. We see few ships.’

He escorted his visitor towards the building with the porch. On the way they passed a sizeable vegetable patch dug in a corner of the parade ground. The Sarjento Mayor gestured apologetically.

‘Not a very military sight. My men are better gardeners than soldiers. But under the circumstances, it is sensible to grow some of our own food.’

Esplana’s office was entered through a side door. The room was spartan, with whitewashed walls, a plain desk with a black iron candlestick, four chairs, an army chest and no decoration except for a small wooden cross, a mirror of polished steel and a sword and baldric hanging from a peg. A servant appeared with a tray of glasses. Jacques picked up his drink and tasted. It was mildly fizzy, with a pleasant, alcoholic tang. Esplana noted his appreciation. ‘The natives call it “tuba”. Fermented from the sap of the coconut palm.’

When the servant had withdrawn, Esplana gestured for the Frenchman to take a seat. Going to his desk, Esplana adopted a more serious expression. ‘Thank you for coming here so promptly in answer to my message.’

‘My captain regrets he is unable to bring his vessel directly to your port. He’s instructed to seek out new lands for trade and plantation. Our visit to the Ladrones—’

‘Las Marianas,’ Esplana corrected him. ‘They were renamed some years ago during the regency of the late King’s widow.’

Jacques wondered if his slip had aroused the Spaniard’s suspicion. A French government mission would be expected to know the archipelago’s official new name, though ordinary mariners still spoke of the Thief Islands. He ploughed on. ‘We called at the Marianas only to take on water. Very shortly we continue on our way.’

Esplana placed both hands on his desk and leaned forward, his eyes grave, almost pleading. ‘Before you depart, I hope your captain will find time to prove the friendship that exists between our two countries.’

‘My captain has authorized me to decide what is in the best interest of our mission,’ said Jacques neutrally. He waited for the Spaniard to explain.

‘You have seen the indios, the naked natives, I’m sure,’ said Esplana. ‘The Governor is charged with their reducción, as we say – their conversion to the faith, their civilization. But they resist fiercely.’

‘The few we have met seemed friendly enough, though in need of clothing.’

‘Don’t be fooled. The Chamorro are vicious, brave and stubborn. They cling to their old ways. Governor Costana has taken the best of the men and sailed north to Saipan to put down an uprising there. The Chamorro murdered a missionary priest.’ The Spaniard gestured towards the door. ‘You’ve seen the sort of men I’ve been left to work with. Idlers, drunks, former gaolbirds sent here from New Spain.’

That explained the absence of a lookout at the fort and the closed gates, Jacques thought. The Sarjento Mayor had decided to stay bottled up within the Presidio. ‘The town did seem to be very quiet,’ he ventured.

‘The situation is very tense,’ Esplana went on. His eyes flicked towards the open window. ‘We hold hostages, a couple of the Chamorro chiefs, but . . .’

‘The message boat you sent was manned by indios, as you call them.’

‘They belong to a clan that favours us. Fortunately the Chamorro spend more time fighting among themselves than trying to defeat us. Without the rivalry between the clans we would be lost.’

‘Are they well armed?’

‘Thank God, no. They have no firearms. They use slings and spears tipped with human bone.’ The Spaniard gave a sour smile. ‘They say they prefer killing the taller strangers because their longer shinbones make better spear points.’

‘Dangerous foes,’ Jacques agreed.

Esplana was blunt. ‘Your men and the firepower of the Gaillon ’s cannon would make a great difference.’

Jacques seized the opening. ‘Unfortunately we must conserve our gunpowder. Much of what we took aboard in Brest when we sailed was useless. The rest got wet on the voyage and is spoiled.’

‘I can remedy that,’ said Esplana promptly. ‘I can send you twenty, maybe thirty kegs, from our own reserves.’

‘Won’t that leave you short?’ asked Jacques.

‘I still have enough to repel an assault on the Presidio. I am expecting resupply quite soon. The Acapulco Galleon should pass through the straits within the month.’

‘The Acapulco Galleon?’ Jacques was momentarily at a loss.

‘You would know it better as the Manila Galleon.’

Jacques must have continued to look puzzled because the Sarjento Mayor went on, ‘I speak of the galleon on its westward trip, to the Philippines. The vessel carries travellers on their way from New Spain to Manila and the silver needed there to pay for the China trade. Either it makes a stop in Guahan to unload mail and passengers. Or, if the voyage is behind schedule, the ship waits in the straits north of here, and our friendly natives go out to take off the supplies.’

So that’s why the Chamorro came out to huckster with us, Jacques thought. They greet any passing ship in this fashion.

Esplana continued to press his case. ‘And even if the Acapulco Galleon cannot spare the munitions, a patache is also due from New Spain. Indeed, she may get here sooner than the galleon. The patache carries stores specifically destined for us, including gunpowder. Afterwards she continues on to Manila. If your vessel could sail to Saipan to assist the Governor, we could breathe easily. Don Costana will teach the indios a lesson, with the help of your cannon.’

‘Very well,’ said Jacques. ‘On behalf of my captain, I assure you that the Gaillon will go to the assistance of your Governor. We can save a few days if you send us the gunpowder we require and a native who can pilot us to Saipan.’

They toasted their agreement and drained their glasses. As the officer poured him another drink, Jacques gave him what he hoped was a friendly look. ‘It must be a lonely life here.’

‘For most of us it is,’ confessed the Spaniard. ‘My troops, if you can call them that, form attachments with local women. For myself, I have devoted my life to the service of my country.’