To Governor Ledesma Paredes y Guzman Orvantes, Greetings. A major fleet of my vessels, twenty in all, will sail from Sevilla to San Juan de Ulúa to load the fall shipment of silver from Mexico. Since Captain Hawkins is known to be in the Caribbean, move the maximum possible fleet from Cartagena to ensure the safe arrival of my fleet at Ulúa, the safe loading of our silver thereon, and the safe departure of my ships for Havana and home. I am aware that you have given yourself the title of Admiral. You should not have done this. But because of your bravery at Cumaná and your good management at Cartagena, I convert your courtesy admiralcy to a permanent appointment as Admiral. King Philip II, his hand at Madrid.
Swiftly assembling nine vessels led by the Mariposa, Admiral Ledesma sailed out of Cartagena with sails set to catch the wind that would speed him, he hoped, to Ulúa before Hawkins and Drake reached there, if that was indeed their secret destination. Once again his two Amadór nephews were in charge of the port and starboard wings and his new son-in-law served beside him in the rugged Mariposa as vice-regent, a position still undefined. With these reliable aides, Ledesma was confident that he would be able to control the English pirates if they ventured into his lake.
On the voyage north to Mexico the newly empowered admiral assembled his captains and invited an officer acquainted with Ulúa to instruct the men as to what they would find when they reached that vital harbor.
The island of Ulúa, situated about a half-mile from the land-based Vera Cruz, served as protection for the mainland, where the riches of Mexico’s silver mines were brought together to wait for the king’s galleons from Sevilla to pick them up. Composed of solid rock and defended from the open sea by big reefs, Ulúa was also famous for its dungeon caverns where mutinous sailors and workers were imprisoned.
It was an exciting moment when Admiral Ledesma realized that he had beaten Hawkins north and brought his vessels into the spacious harbor of Ulúa: ‘There’s the great fort, absolutely impregnable. Out there, the protecting reef. Over there, the warehouses of Vera Cruz, crammed with silver bars, and gold ones too. And dead ahead the six ships from Spain always based here to fight off any pirates that might attack.’ With Ledesma’s nine Cartagena vessels, the harbor now contained fifteen ships of war, but anchorages were so plentiful that the harbor seemed almost empty. Even so, innumerable cannon mounted on shore kept the various ships in their sights in case of unexpected trouble. Ulúa was invincible, and Admiral Ledesma, as the senior officer present, would be expected to assume command of its defenses until the empty treasure ships from Sevilla arrived.
Within minutes of anchoring the Mariposa, he was in a small boat heading for the fort, and even as he climbed its stone stairway he was giving orders: ‘These guns to be kept permanently aimed at the entrance to the harbor, in case Hawkins or Drake tries to slip in. And to be manned around the clock, always primed.’ When he toured the land installations, almost a mile of trenches and protective structures for the guns hidden there, he gave similar orders, and later, when he inspected the three companies stationed permanently in Vera Cruz, he handed them new assignments: ‘This company to be ready at a moment’s notice to run to protect the guns along the shore, this company to rush to the fort, this one to defend the entrance to Vera Cruz itself.’
Ledesma went to bed that first night satisfied that as commander in chief of the defenses of San Juan de Ulúa, he had done everything possible to protect the anchorage, so that when he received the surprising news that another Spanish fleet would soon be arriving from Nombre de Dios, a rich depot on the Caribbean side of the Isthmus of Panamá, bringing additional treasure from Peru, he was elated. ‘When it arrives, this will be the richest port in the world,’ he boasted to his subordinates, ‘and the best defended.’
Next day a battered Spanish ship limped into port with news of a horrendous hurricane to the south. Its winds had been so violent that everyone assumed that if Hawkins and his English ships had tried to breast the same storm, they must have either sunk or fled home to England badly damaged.
Ledesma was therefore appalled when, two days later, a lookout shouted: ‘Ships approaching!’ and the first vessel into the harbor turned out to be the famous Jesus of Lübeck, except that one of her identifying castles was missing. There she came, a misshapen thing though still a formidable warship, followed by the stout Minion and five smaller vessels. The invading English ships had so intermingled themselves with the Spanish that the shore batteries dared not fire for fear of sinking their own vessels, and Ledesma’s own Mariposa was overawed by the powerful guns of the Jesus of Lübeck, which pointed directly at it from a distance of yards. Hawkins and Drake, without having had to fire a shot, had occupied the harbor of San Juan de Ulúa, and there was nothing Ledesma could do to eject them.
When he looked out from his headquarters in the fort, Don Diego saw that infuriating Jesus riding arrogantly in his anchorage with Drake’s insolent Judith alongside, and his choler rose to a point that nearly disrupted his reason and certainly obliterated many of the normal compunctions dictated by the sense of honor which is supposed to govern gentlemen in battle. His consuming motivation became ‘Death to the English invaders,’ but which tactics would produce the destruction, he did not know, so he played for time until possibilities became clearer.
First, displaying his unquestioned courage, he had himself rowed out to the Jesus and climbed onto the deck as she rolled gently despite the fact that she was lacking her towering aft castle. Escorted with due ceremony to Hawkins’ cabin, he found the great English captain dressed as if about to attend a court levee: Italian pumps with silver buckles, breeches of finest gray linen, silken shirt with ruffles, heavily brocaded jacket, kerchief also of silk, and cockaded hat.
‘We face each other at last,’ Hawkins said graciously, indicating where his guest might find comfort in a padded chair.
Ledesma wanted to know why the Englishmen had dared to enter into a harbor of such importance to Spain, and Hawkins replied frankly: ‘Storms drove us here.’
‘A greater storm will drive you away,’ Ledesma said, and then, with either exquisite guile or aimless stupidity, he added: ‘Because very shortly the powerful plate fleet of twenty armed vessels will arrive from Spain to carry Mexico’s silver back to Sevilla. They will destroy you in minutes … if you are still here.’
‘English ships can carry silver as easily as Spanish,’ Hawkins said, to which Ledesma replied sneeringly: ‘If they can get their hands on it.’
The verbal sparring was interrupted by the unannounced appearance of Hawkins’ first assistant, a short, stocky mariner with a bullet head and a close-cropped beard. As soon as Don Diego saw him he rose from his chair, pointed a finger, and cried, almost with delight at meeting a man so famous: ‘You’re Drake!’ and for the first time the two duelists stood face to face, nodding like gentlemen, each waiting for the other to speak.
Drake broke the silence: ‘Your people stole forty slaves from me at Río Hacha,’ at which Ledesma smiled: ‘But we gave you the free wine at Cartagena … when you couldn’t get into our city.’
Without revealing his anger at this insult, Drake said: ‘That time we didn’t try to force our way in. But next time, beware.’
Hawkins broke the tension by saying gently: ‘That was good wine you let us have at Cartagena, Don Diego, but you must remember that we did pay for it,’ and at last the three broke into the comradely laughter which often characterized seafaring men. Encouraged by this, Ledesma asked, sailor to sailor: ‘How did you lose your aft castle?’ and Hawkins replied honestly: ‘These damned top-heavy ships do toss about in a hurricane. We had to chop down the superstructure to keep from capsizing.’ He added: ‘When I’m in charge of building ships, no more castles, fore or aft. Low and swift.’ He paused: ‘Your Mariposa out there is more to my taste,’ and Ledesma said: ‘It was Dutch. They know how to build. Your Jesus is German. All heavy show.’
Now Hawkins laid down the reasonable terms under which he and Drake would
leave Ulúa: ‘I have fifty remaining slaves to sell, and you must buy. Then you must sell us at decent prices adequate food for my seven ships for their return to England. Finally, you must instruct your gunners up in the fort to allow us free passage out of here, and all will be well.’
Gently, almost in a whisper, Ledesma said sardonically: ‘And the scores of my gunners along the shore where you can’t see them. I suppose I must instruct them, too.’ Then he said more firmly: ‘As my men surely told you at Río Hacha and as I did at Cartagena, my king has forbidden trade with Englishmen. What food we have we require for the incoming plate fleet. And you must realize, Captain Hawkins, no matter how brave you are, our gunners are never going to allow your Jesus to leave this harbor. You say she’s the property of your queen. Well, Elizabeth will never see her again.’
In the silence that followed these words the three seamen bowed, and Ledesma left the ship.
When Ledesma returned to his fort he began to lay his traps. Secretly he moved a hundred shore-based soldiers into positions overlooking the anchored ships, and when they were in place, he imported another hundred to the island to strengthen the fort. He selected one of the big Spanish ships already in the harbor, and instructed her captain: ‘Convert her secretly into a fire ship,’ and when the man asked in amazement: ‘You mean we set her ablaze?’ Ledesma said coldly: ‘We shall, and she must be so filled with inflammables that she will burn herself to the waterline within the hour.’ He then held long sessions with his two nephews and the vice-regent, during which they laid the most careful plans for assaulting the English vessels when the time came, so that at the end of the plotting each young captain knew the role he must play in destroying the English.
But just as the opening moves of this well-devised plan were to begin, a fleet of thirteen huge Spanish ships arrived from the south, bringing not only a vast cargo of gold and silver from the depot at Nombre de Dios, but also the incoming viceroy of Mexico, Don Martín Enriquez, a devious man always ready to take charge of any complex predicament, which was why the king had appointed him to Mexico where bold talents were needed.
Enriquez now found himself in a most delicate situation. Three fleets contested the occupancy of Ulúa: fifteen Spanish warships, including Admiral Ledesma’s inside, thirteen other big Spanish ships outside, and John Hawkins’ seven English ships blocking entrance and exit. Cool nerves were required in this impasse, and the three commanders had them.
Hawkins initiated maneuvers by sending his longboat to Viceroy Enriquez’s ship with a formal invitation to dinner, and when the Spaniard entered the Englishman’s cabin, he was astounded to find Hawkins dressed in his customary well-tailored costume. The Englishman’s words were blunt: ‘Honorable Viceroy, instruct Admiral Ledesma’s men ashore to meet the demands I made, and I’ll depart in peace … no guns fired.’
‘Now, isn’t that ridiculous!’ the viceroy replied, almost contemptuously. ‘You’re not in a position to demand anything.’ Hawkins did not flinch. Instead, he pointed out: ‘Excellency, your thirteen ships carry treasure and many lives, none so precious as your own but still of some value to King Philip. Your ships lie out there unprotected. If a storm like the one which tore away my aft castle blows up, your ships will be smashed to pieces on those rocks we can see even from here. You know you’re in mortal peril and must do something.’
Calmly the viceroy began to count aloud: ‘One, two, three …’ When he reached sixty, he shifted his chair and continued: ‘Sixty-one, sixty-two …’ on to a hundred. Then he turned again till he faced the spit of land, and the count came to more than a hundred and thirty. ‘That’s how many Spanish guns are pointed at you right now, Admiral Hawkins.’
‘It’s Captain Hawkins. I shall resist the guns, most of which are too far away to reach me, block this harbor entrance, and watch your ships break to pieces in the coming storm.’
Since it was clear that no agreement of any kind could be reached that day, the viceroy returned in anger to his fleet, but in the late afternoon he had his boatmen quietly slip him ashore to the fort for a meeting with Admiral Ledesma, and the plan he proposed so shocked Don Diego that he listened aghast and for some moments did not respond: ‘I have waiting outside a young officer of extraordinary bravery and skill. You will insert him in the negotiating party you are sending to parley with Hawkins, and as the meeting progresses …’
He brought his young assassin into the room, and the rogue showed Ledesma how a poisoned stiletto had been hidden in the left sleeve of his jacket in a way that no one could detect. With a flash of his right hand, so swift that Ledesma could not follow, the stiletto was out and poised at Don Diego’s heart. ‘Hawkins is dead,’ the murderer cried.
‘The other members of the team will protect our man,’ Enriquez explained, ‘and our little boats will dart in to rescue all when they leap into the bay.’
For a long breathless moment Don Diego reflected on the plot, and he recalled that only a few days past in this very room he had said in anger: ‘I will adopt any stratagem to destroy that pirate.’ But now he was being presented with one that his sense of family honor would not allow him to consider, and he felt he must, as a gentleman, reject it: ‘Assassination? Under a flag of truce? A Ledesma flag of truce? Oh no!’
The viceroy, without raising his voice, pointed out in silky tones: ‘The king has sent me to protect his empire, his gold and his ships. Can you imagine what he might do if I had to tell him that you prevented me from ending the life of that pirate Hawkins?’ Then, with the harsh cry ‘Seize him!’ he directed his men to pinion Ledesma: ‘Shoot him if he tries to hinder us in any way.’
Immobilized in a corner, Ledesma heard the young assassin ask: ‘If I have but one try, which of the two pirates?’ and after some hesitation the viceroy said: ‘Drake’s our perpetual enemy. Hawkins we know how to deal with,’ and the killer said with confidence: ‘Drake it shall be.’
Ledesma, straining against his captors, cried: ‘No! Let us deal with him decently … in battle,’ but he was silenced.
The young officer, posing as a member of the admiral’s negotiating team, was rowed to the Jesus of Lübeck under a white flag, and participated in the discussions with Hawkins. The latter, always alert, had noticed that when the young stranger was introduced to him, the arrogant fellow paid no attention, but when Drake joined the company, the Spaniard became all attention and continued to hover near him. Thus it was that when the young man with a cry of ‘Muerte!’ whipped out his poisoned stiletto and leaped at Drake, Hawkins was prepared to grab his arm before he could strike.
Ashen-faced, Hawkins now spoke: ‘They came to us under a flag of truce. Return them so, to the perpetual shame of those who sent them.’
With the sham formalities ended, the three fleet leaders, Ledesma, Enriquez and Hawkins, realized that this was now a duel to the death. No more negotiations, no more naval pleasantries conducted by supposed gentlemen, only heavy gunfire and ships maneuvering for their lives. On the afternoon of 23 September 1568, Ledesma and Enriquez unleashed a furious barrage which sank three English ships—Grace of God, Swallow, Angel—while Ledesma’s nephews braved English muskets to board the fire ship, set it ablaze, and hoist the sails so that it bore down directly on the Jesus of Lübeck. Blazing like an angry volcano, the ship crashed into the Jesus and within a minute set ablaze the dried timbers of the stunted castle.
Soon the great vessel, proud flagship of the queen’s navy and her personal possession, was ablaze in all quarters and burning uncontrollably toward the waterline. Still she might have fought her way out of the harbor had not Admiral Ledesma, once more in command of the Mariposa, dogged the burning Jesus and poured in a shattering broadside which penetrated the waterline. With no chance of saving his flagship, Hawkins shouted to his loyal sailors: ‘Sauve-que-peut!’ the time-honored French cry ‘Save yourself if you can.’ Over the side of the historic ship piled the sailors, dropping onto the deck of an English ship maneuvering alongside. The last sailo
r leaping down shouted: ‘Captain Hawkins! Jump!’ and as the rescue ship drew away, Hawkins made a wild leap from the Jesus, barely reaching the deck of the other ship, from which he would have slipped into the water had not alert seamen seen his plight and grabbed him just as he started to fall backward.
In the lurid light provided by the flames, the few surviving Englishmen who had made it to their two ships still afloat, the big Minion now commanded by Hawkins, and the little Judith with Drake as captain, watched in anger and futility as the Mariposa stood off and continued to pound their Jesus, noblest ship ever to have ventured into the Caribbean. It burned until all its timber vanished in smoke. Then, almost as if issuing a final sigh of despair, the flames hissed as they met the sea and the remains of the hulk slipped beneath the waves.
What happened next remains a mystery to English sailors and a permanent blot on the history of the English navy, for Francis Drake, commanding the still-seaworthy little Judith with its usual complement of men and adequate supplies, took the phrase ‘Sauve-que-peut’ too literally and fled the scene of battle. John Hawkins was left unprotected in his savagely overcrowded, bigger ship, lacking even minimum supplies. In the slang of that day, Drake, the future hero of English seamanship and as notable a hero as Nelson, cut and ran, leaving his uncle to the mercy of the Spaniard.
Under Drake’s able guidance, the Judith completed an uneventful passage home to Plymouth, arriving unscathed on 20 January 1569 with mournful news of the defeat at San Juan de Ulúa and the loss of Captain Hawkins and all his other ships. There was deep mourning, for England could not easily absorb such a total defeat and the death of a captain like Hawkins and so many of his men. Queen Elizabeth, still suffering relentless pressure from Spain, had neither ships nor mariners to waste.