Free Empire of Blue Water by Stephan Talty Page A

Philip had deliberately slept with his queen, Mariana, one last time as an insurance policy against Felipe’s death. Now she was pregnant, and a few days after the death of Felipe she went into labor. The eyes of Europe—certainly of its monarchs in France and Vienna—were turned toward Madrid as the fate of Spain was decided.
    As Mariana prepared to give birth, she was brought to the Tower Chamber, which had been made ready for her. Around the room had been carefully placed the royal family’s most sacred relics: There was a Roman nail from the cross, three thorns from Jesus’s crown on Golgotha, an actual fragment of the cross. The relics represented the physical connection between Jesus and his heirs on earth, the Spanish monarchy. As the contractions came quicker and quicker, Mariana was bled. And then on Sunday, November 6, the news came: It was a boy, Carlos Próspero. The French king instantly sent his spies to check on the health of the child. The Spanish court proclaimed him “most beautiful in features, large head, dark skin, and somewhat overplump,” but the French communiqués painted a much different picture: Carlos was so small and tender that he was placed in a box of cotton. “The crown was firmer on his head than the ground now beneath his feet,” one spy reported. But Philip was satisfied. “Our Lord was pleased to give me back the son he had taken from me,” he wrote. With an heir, however fragile, in place, Philip had fulfilled his last duties to his ancestors, and his spirits improved.
    The news did not. The raids of Mings’s privateers were just more in a continuing stream of bad omens: droughts, plagues, and a disastrous loss to the Portuguese army in 1665. A possible cause was uncovered when the authorities raided a suspected counterfeiter’s house and found secreted away two plates; on them was engraved a heart pierced by an arrow and the words “Philip IV son of Philip III and Margaret” on the first and another man’s name on the second, along with some biblical verses and the chilling words “Thou are mine and I am thine.” Witchcraft was suspected, and the investigation went on for months, with the woman who lived at the house interrogated by the Inquisition. Delving deeper into the sorcery, Philip’s court priests confiscated the small bag the king had always worn around his neck to keep him safe. Instead of the relics it was believed to hold, inside were a portrait of Philip pierced with pins, a book of charms, and other tools of the devil. Convinced at last that they’d found the source of Spain’s disasters, the ecclesiastics burned the contents.
    But the true devils lay to the west. Henry Morgan was beginning his career in earnest.

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    Into the Past

    I n November 1663 the twenty-eight-year-old Morgan finally set out on his own to test his mettle against the Spanish Empire. Along with three other captains, he left Port Royal and sailed for Central America bound for New Spain (current-day Mexico). Most likely the crowds were thinner for his departure than they’d been for Mings’s: Morgan was not yet a name to conjure with in Jamaica.
    What kind of ship Morgan commanded is not known, but privateer and pirate ships were often specially modified by the raiders to suit their purposes. In the weeks before the mission, Roderick, who had joined up with Morgan, worked with the other privateers to get the ships ready; the first order of business was to rip out the wooden bulkheads in the holds, which were used in merchant ships to keep barrels and trunks from sliding. Cabins—first class and steerage—were gutted, creating an open space belowdecks, for reasons both practical (to accommodate the large number of men these ships often carried) and philosophical (pirates were democrats and decreed that no man should have better quarters than the next). Carpenters would reinforce the deck to support extra cannon and cut slots in the hold for guns or mount them fore and aft as