Commander Cantrell in the West Indies(215)
“Changing a term doesn’t change whether a man is treated like a slave.”
“No, but it does change whether he is property, whether he can be bought and sold. And as Tromp intended, that was just the edge of the wedge to make further changes. The council just recently agreed that all bondsmen will earn their freedom five years from now, or, for those who come later, after five years of service. Next, I think he’s going to try put in a rule that new laborers who arrive in the colony against their will or wholly indigent can’t be swept into the current debt-peonage system, but must be allowed to enter as regular indentured servants.”
O’Rourke smiled. “That must make you even more popular with the local men of substance, then.”
Mike smiled back. “You have no idea. I’m accused of corrupting Tromp and van Walbeeck, possibly using up-time sorcery to inveigle them to rot the colony from within by welcoming natives, Africans, and Jews. And of course, the arch-Calvinists among them are happy to point to my Roman Catholic background as proof that I am a malevolent being.”
“Are you a Catholic, then? I couldn’t tell.”
“Well, they are sure I am,” Michael replied, ignoring the veiled remonstration, “since I visited you a couple of times when you were still delirious. And brought some extra food to the other Wild Geese who were recuperating from their wounds, here.”
“Ah, you consort with low companions, you do, Michael McCarthy. I knew there was a reason I liked you. Now, do you happen to have some of those infection-killing cane spirits about you? I’m asking for purely medicinal reasons, of course.”
“Of course.” McCarthy unsuccessfully tried to keep the smile off his face as he rose. “I’ll see what I can do.”
December 1635
Commotion of the winds
Santo Domingo, Hispaniola
The sound of a military campaign in preparation was loud beyond the large window that overlooked the veranda of Captain-General Juan Bitrian de Viamonte y Navarra’s villa. Nestled tight around the precincts of Santo Domingo was an armed camp almost half again as large as the city proper.
Standing at the window, Fadrique Álvarez de Toledo nodded at the activities among the tents of his troops, and the swift skiffs carrying messages between the ships in the bay. “Our preparations here are well in hand. What of our Free Companies, Captain Equiluz?”
Antonio de la Plaza Eguiluz, at last returned to civilization after many weeks of making contact with cut-throats and boucaniers from Jamaica to Tortuga, nodded. “I come from meeting with their gathered forces, near Isla Vaca, far to our west.”
“Why there?” asked Eugenio de Covilla as he patted the grease of the roast boar medallions off his lips.
Equiluz shrugged. “It was a reasonable midpoint between the two greatest concentrations of raid—er, Free Companies. A large number make their hidden homes along the coasts of Jamaica, while the more numerous ones frequent the northwest coast of Hispaniola in general and Tortuga in particular. They are none too trusting of each other and so wished a neutral midpoint in which to work out any, er, differences that might exist among their officers. Besides, a boucanier of some education from England claimed that one of his country’s most famous pirates, who may still be born this year, found it an excellent place in which to gather forces prior to a raid, or to which to retire in the wake of one.”
“Who is this newborn heathen reiver?” asked Fadrique.
“I think they called him Harry or Henry Morgan. I did not pay particular mind to the reference. At any rate, the ships of the Free Companies are mostly as we expected: sloops, barca-longas, piraguas , a few of our own pataches, a few Dutch jachts, and a few more of the same craft built to accommodate the English or ‘Bermudan’ style of rigging.”
“Nothing too large, then,” de Viamonte summarized.
“That is so, Your Excellency. And that is what I believe we desired, is it not?”
“It most certainly is,” Fadrique said, putting his hand on his hip and feeling notably less flesh between his knuckle and hip-bone than he had only eight weeks ago. Being in the field again gave him purpose and vitality, which reduced his need for the rich food and strong drink with which he had formerly dulled the aching wounds that Olivares’ displeasure had inflicted upon him. “The Free Companies are the weaker half of our trap, true, but their speed and maneuverability are essential. They must be able to reach broadly and turn quickly. If each hull has no more than a dozen guns, it is still of little matter. Their numbers are important, however.” He turned a questioning eye upon Equiluz.