Sugar in the Blood (11 page)

In truth, Barbados discovered sugar just in time. The early 1640s had been so financially precarious on the island that many settlers had gone bankrupt, while others had fled its shores in search of greener pastures. Meanwhile, its merchant backers were beginning to worry that the island would never be financially viable. Then everything came together: civil war in Brazil meant that the Atlantic sugar market crashed, so the Dutch merchants who had supported it needed new ventures to finance and a new place to establish commercial networks. They provided the Barbados planters with cheap credit, procured slaves on good terms and, most importantly, provided the information on the technology of sugar cultivation that was needed to kick-start the industry. Sugar had found a new home. By the mid-1650s the industry was flourishing. After three decades of searching, the islanders had finally struck gold. No one cared that it was not the molten ore from below the ground but instead the “white gold” that grew above it.

Almost immediately, Barbados saw an influx of prospective planters from Britain, eager for a share in the bounty. Quite apart from a desire to enrich themselves, many of these new migrants were also in flight from one of the greatest convulsions in the mother country’s history: the English Civil War. This had begun in 1642 when Charles I began his protracted battle with Parliament for authority over the Commonwealth of England, Scotland and Ireland. Despite his defeats, Charles would not accept Parliament’s demands for a constitutional monarchy, and the course was set for a cataclysmic ending. So from the late 1640s Barbados attracted a flood of political exiles who were desperate to escape the violent upheavals back home and were acutely aware of the potential of this new commodity.

In particular, a growing number of Royalists, or Cavaliers, washed up on the island in the hope of repairing their fortunes. Though most of the earliest planters like George Ashby could roughly be described as Parliamentary sympathizers—Roundheads—there had always been a group of Royalists on the island. Both parties had fled Britain at least partly to escape the troubles and had no desire to replay them in their new home. So the two factions coexisted relatively peaceably, united in the determination not to be distracted from the pursuit of profit. According to Ligon, in order to discourage any sectarian quarrels the planters made a law among themselves that anybody who used the epithet “Roundhead” or “Cavalier” should, as forfeit, feed all witnesses a young hog and a turkey. A costly breach, then, and one best avoided.

But as time passed and divisions in the mother country intensified, it became harder for the islanders to remain detached. This was especially so since ever more Royalists were arriving on the island, embittered and traumatized by their experience on the losing side of the conflict. The situation worsened in January 1649 when Charles I was put on trial, accused of being a “
tyrant and murderer; and a public and implacable enemy to the Commonwealth of England.” At the heavily policed trial, presided over by John Bradshaw, the charges read out against Charles included the accusation that he had attempted “out of a wicked design, to erect and uphold himself in unlimited and tyrannical power to make according to his will, and to overthrow the rights and liberties of the people of England.” Charles refused to accept the authority of the court and only began to engage with charges after he was convicted. But by
then it was too late and he was sentenced to death “by severing his head from his body.” The nature of his execution only inflamed people further; apparently spectators, for a fee, were allowed to approach the scaffold and dip their handerchiefs in the king’s blood. Parliament abolished the monarchy on 6 February 1649, and issued a statement which read: “The office of the king in this state is unnecessary, burdensome and dangerous to the liberty, society and public interest of the people.”

When news of the regicide reached Barbados, the outraged islanders—now predominantly Royalists—proclaimed his son, Charles II, their lawful sovereign. Six months later, the Council of State back in England wrote to inform the plantations (which included those in Virginia and Bermuda) of the change of government and required them to continue their “obedience” to the Commonwealth if they expected its continued protection. Thus the beginning of 1650 found the colonists in a state of open division, as men of both political persuasions thundered up and down on horseback, traversing the island’s roads and byways, delivering pamphlets espousing their cause. George Ashby could not have missed them; these inflammatory leaflets were thrust into the hands of planters as they laboured on their land, or were nailed conspicuously to the fencing of their property.

St. Philip’s parish, where George lived, was at the centre of the political struggle. Populated with prominent planters of both political persuasions, it saw some of the most heated altercations. It was no longer just alcohol that prompted the islanders’ infamous brawls; now, with cries of “
God and the Cause!” and “God and the King!,” they rushed to blows, according to one historian, “with nought to win and all to lose.” We do not know whether George Ashby was an enthusiastic participant in these conflicts or if he kept his head down, cursing all distractions from his pursuit of an honest income. But whatever the strength of his allegiances, he must have been worried about the prospect of military action against the island. Not only would it endanger his family, but as a white freeman he was obliged to serve in the militia, and would therefore be forced to fight, as well as being separated from his wife, his children and his land.

George Ashby’s likely party, the Parliamentarians, was in a minority, even if it did include some of the island’s oldest and most influential planters. The Royalists on the opposing side were now more numerous
and more vociferous. According to one historian: “
They did not see why they should not repair their fortunes in Little England by sequestering the Estates of Roundheads there, as the Parliament had done to their own property in Old England.” These men found passionate leadership in the persons of Colonel Humphrey Walrond and his brother Edward, who for many months worked steadily and covertly, organizing a vigorous propaganda campaign that alleged there was a plot by the Parliamentarians to overthrow the Assembly, where the island’s politicians met. In particular they claimed that the prominent Parliamentarian James Drax, whom they described as being “
that devout Zealot of the deeds of the devil,” was, along with his followers, “determined to put all who were for the king to the sword.”

On the second birthday of the establishment of the Commonwealth, Oliver Cromwell asserted his right to govern “all the dominions and Territories.” The Barbadians, alongside other rebel colonists in Virginia, Bermuda and Antigua, retaliated by once again proclaiming “Charles Stuart, Son to the late king” as their sovereign. This act of defiance became known as the “Horrid Rebellion,” and had wide-ranging repercussions. In the name of protecting the rights of freeborn Englishmen, the Barbadian Royalists pushed through “An Act for the Unity of the Inhabitants of the Islands.” This demanded absolute obedience to the government of the island over allegiance to the London Parliament. The “Disturbers of the Peace” were targeted and the triumphant king’s men disarmed those unwilling to pledge an oath to church and king, while the prominent Parliamentarian planters were forced to either pay a huge indemnity or face exile.

Unsurprisingly, many leading Parliamentarians fled back to the mother country, where they appealed for protection from Cromwell. Some had suffered terribly: John Webb had had his tongue bored through with a hot iron, while two other members of the delegation had had the letter “T” for traitor branded on their cheeks. Predictably, this pitiable contingent was sympathetically received by the Commonwealth, which was already displeased with the Barbadians for continuing to trade with the enemy Dutch. In October a new law forbade commerce with the islanders, and a vast fleet was requisitioned to deal with “the Barbados business.”

This news, delivered by a passing Dutch ship, reached the island in
February 1651. It was a terrible shock to the inhabitants: not only had they been proclaimed “rebels” by an Act of Parliament, they were also faced with an invasion designed to force them into submission. Defiant, the colonists vowed to fight for their self-preservation and the General Assembly called on the governor to prepare for war. Men and horses were amassed into an army; fortifications were built, and the property of the departed Parliamentarians was sequestered: “
the profits of the said Estates to be disposed of by his Lordship, towards the defraying of the great charges, which this their unnatural opposition hath already, and will force us to undergo.”

The following month, the spirits of the Royalist islanders were buoyed by news brought by another Dutch ship that the Prince of Wales had led a force into England, and had killed Cromwell. The report was untrue, but the islanders had no way of knowing this and, overjoyed, they held a huge feast, enlivened by many toasts to “church and crown.” But before the celebrations were even fully under way, a rider pulled up to inform the revellers that the Commonwealth fleet under Sir George Ayscue had arrived in their harbour to blockade the island. According to one historian: “
There must have been mounting in hot haste then, and much firing off of muskets, which in the absence of Telegraphs and Telephones was the manner of sending warnings of danger up and down the Island.” As swiftly as possible an initial force of horse and foot soldiers assembled to dispute the Parliamentarian landing. The long-expected military action, which they had for a brief period thought averted, had commenced. (The subsequent conflict would captivate the broadsheets back in Britain even if many of the accounts, such as one entitled “Bloody News From Barbados,” were both lurid and woefully inaccurate.)

Ayscue’s fleet, comprising seven ships, 236 guns and 820 sailors, had made Barbados on the night of 15 October. Ayscue immediately sent forward three of his ships to surprise the vessels anchored in the bay; they successfully seized all fourteen ships, mostly Dutch traders. Ayscue, who had been lying back in Oistins Bay, then sailed the rest of the fleet into Carlisle Bay. They instantly came under fire from the fort. Two sailors were wounded and one killed in the onslaught. Then all resistance died down and the ships anchored in the bay. That night Parliamentarian sympathizers swam stealthily across the bay to inform
Admiral Ayscue about the island’s defences. He was told that once the entire island was rallied he would be confronted by 6,000 foot soldiers and 400 cavalry. Realizing that he could not match this force on land, Ayscue decided to blockade the port, and his ships prowled the waters around Barbados, capturing the supplies of ships destined to dock there.

An exquisitely worded and gentlemanly correspondence between Admiral Ayscue and the island’s governor, Lord Willoughby, documented the entire affair. Willoughby declined to return Ayscue’s deputy, who had been taken prisoner in the first sally, while Ayscue demanded the surrender of the island in exchange for his departure. He also had leaflets distributed surreptitiously around the island by his sympathizers, in which he reassured the Barbadians of his friendly sentiments towards them and his hope of avoiding the destruction of “their long-laboured-for estates.” But he also reminded them of the Parliamentarians’ many military successes and their inability, as a small colony, to survive without the trade and protection that the Commonwealth could give them. Willoughby responded with a proclamation that was signed by the entire Assembly.

The matter came to a head in the third week of November, when the news of Cromwell’s victory against Charles II at Worcester was relayed to the islanders in order to persuade them to capitulate. Willoughby predictably refused, and on 22 November Ayscue dispatched a force of 200 men, who swiftly breached the island’s defences and took about thirty prisoners without sustaining any fatalities. Ayscue’s forces were then joined by fifteen more of Cromwell’s ships that were en route to Virginia to reduce the Royalists there. Ayscue now had more than forty vessels under his command. Emboldened, he sent yet another message to Willoughby, offering him a last opportunity to surrender.

As Willoughby was still unwilling to submit, Ayscue attacked again,
landing a force of around 500 men on 7 December. They were resisted, but nevertheless managed to take and raze the fort and burn down a number of houses. Thirty islanders were killed and eighty taken prisoner. The latter were released on the proviso that they told their compatriots the truth about Royalist losses back home. Two of the prisoners who did so were hanged, and the governor issued an edict that made it a capital offence to speak against the ruling party on the island.