The Minorcan Yoke: Minorcan, #1

The Minorcan Yoke

The Minorcan Yoke

Nancy Pellicer Dyer

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Copyright © 2011 Nancy Pellicer Dyer

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

This is work of historical fiction. Many of the people were real but the story has been fictionalized. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by photocopying or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage or retrieval systems, without permission in writing from both the copyright owner and publisher of this book, except for the minimum words needed for review.

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Library of Congress Control Number: 2011936555

Edited by Barbara Sachs Sloan

Interior Design by KathleenWalls

Cover Design by Kathleen Walls

Cover Image by James Steidl

Author Photograph by Larry J. Dyer

The Minorcan Yoke

By Nancy Pellicer Dyer

To Suzanne Pellicer Fogleman and Kelly Dyer for your time and encouragement in proofreading.

To author Lydia Hawke for generously providing endless hours of editing and literary expertise.

To Larry Dyer, the love of my life, for always encouraging and supporting me in everything I do. You’ve made my life a wonderful adventure.

Without each of you this book would have only been a daydream.

…in Terra Florida each successive attempt at conquest had resulted in a failure more disastrous than the last. Expedition after expedition, made up of the flower of Spanish chivalry, had landed on the shores of Florida, and set out with buoyant step upon triumphal march to win the fabled treasures of the interior: and the forests had closed behind them. Exhausted by their wanderings to and fro, entangled in swamp and hamak [sic], harassed by savage foes, faint with famine and stricken with fever, one brave band after another had lost courage, grown disheartened and turned back. From some a handful of straggling survivors had returned to tell the tale of woe: others had wasted away until the miserable remnant fell into captivity: and still others had perished utterly.

Charles B. Reynolds, Author

Old St. Augustine

1890

The Minorcan Yoke

Table of Contents

Minorca, the Voyage and New Colony

The New Colony

The Mutiny

Lost Love

Life in the Colony

Pirates

The Hurricane and Trial

Life, Love, and Marriage

Plans

To Save the Colony

Forward

As a result of the Seven Year War between Spain and England, the Treaty of Paris ceded Florida and Minorca to England in 1763. England granted religious freedom to the inhabitants of Florida to encourage them to remain, but the Spanish occupants departed St. Augustine for Spanish owned Cuba, leaving a near empty town to the arriving English Protestants. The once thriving town of over 3,000 people became a wilderness outpost for the arriving Ninth Regiment of English soldiers. In an effort to repopulate the newly acquired land, England released a proclamation that encouraged the settlement of Florida.

To settle Florida, large land grants of 20,000 acres for town settlements could be obtained from the Board of Trade in London. The Governor of East Florida was also authorized to award smaller grants. These grants came with stipulations such as 100 acres per Protestant family, the rent was due at five and ten year intervals, settlement at grantees’ own expense and ten year timelines with benchmarks for settlement that needed to be met or forfeiture of the grant. In 1767 alone, 122 grants were awarded. Few would succeed.

1

Minorca, the Voyage and New Colony

Alayor, Minorca

March 29th, 1768

Don Francisco Pellicer walked downhill, leading his mule and cart. His gait said he was tired from the day’s work, yet he was in anticipation of what was to soon ensue. He made his way along the stone fences on the loose gravel lane. Beyond was a vista of gently rolling hills with stone strewn fields, orchards and scattered villas. It was mid afternoon, and the wind had a damp chill from the recent rain. He paused partway up the next hill, grasped his cloak firmly around his neck to save it from the breeze and turned to enjoy the view of the Alayor countryside while resting the mule. He enjoyed taking the deliberate pause knowing this would likely be his last view of the countryside he had always known. The thought of leaving his beautiful homeland left him with a feeling of regret.

After several minutes, the twenty one year old Francisco encouraged the mule to continue with a slight tug of the reins. As he crested the final hill he could see his family’s small villa. His thoughts turned from regret of leaving his home to hopes that his mother had made a hearty dinner for their last family meal together.

These past years had been filled with an endless hunger for all the inhabitants of the island. The near mass starvation was due to disruptive changes in government, lack of available work, drought, crop failure and premature freezes. Francisco had apprenticed in the family trade of carpentry under his father. Even with the trade and middle class standing that earned him the Don title like his father’s, work was often hard to come by.

A large tawny dog of questionable heritage was lying under a tree in front of the house. He let out a single woof to inform the family that his master was coming, then lazily got up, stretched, and wagged his tail a couple of times before trotting off to meet Francisco in the road.

Don Antonio worked at sharpening an ax on the whetstone under the large shade tree in the yard. He called out, Juana, Francisco is coming, then deliberately proceeded to get up from the whetstone and put his tools away. He moved slowly due to his seventy eight years but was still able to do for himself.

As Francisco approached the opening in the stone wall to the villa, the mule picked up his pace and charged on with his load. Francisco was able to let loose of the reins since no more encouragement was needed on his part. The mule stopped outside his stable and waited to be unharnessed. Francisco moved to the task of unloading the cart and tending the mule. He turned to his Father as he approached. I was able to collect all the money that Senior Lopez owed when I finished today. It should help some until the weather improves and work is available.

Good, I was sure he would pay. Now let’s see what your mother has prepared for dinner, said Don Antonio.

They entered the whitewashed stucco villa as Juana was coming in the back door from the kitchen with a loaf of bread tucked under her arm and a bowl of rice in her hands. She was a young bride when she had married Don Antonio in his fifty ninth year. Juana had elevated her social position with the marriage; she would one day inherit his small villa and property.

The men washed their hands and faces in a basin on a side table in the sparsely furnished home. Then they joined Juana at the table. Francisco pulled the cord at his waist sash, and a small leather sack came free of its hiding place. He worked the cord loose and poured the coin on the table in front of his father. He tucked the sack back into his sash and reached for the bottle of wine.

Don Antonio fingered the coins as he counted them. Satisfied with the quantity he gave a nod. We can settle our accounts in town then buy meal and produce at the market.

If it’s available and if we don’t have to pay a king’s ransom for it. Those merchants are thieves, and they are all getting rich at the expense of the starving people of Minorca, said Juana.

Francisco poured three glasses of wine. Don Antonio led them in prayer. Lord, come on down, peek through the crack, don’t stay long, go right back.

Antonio! Juana scolded, That’s not funny; I know you can do better.

Don Antonio smiled, bowed his head and with a sideways glance winked at Francisco, Lord, guide our son Francisco on his journey to the New World, protect him from harm, help him on his path to become a prosperous servant of the people and you, our Lord. Amen.

They all crossed themselves and uttered, Amen, along with Don Antonio.

Juana passed the bowl of beans to Francisco. I have news that your cousin Marti has decided to join the voyage.

Francisco looked to his mother and said, Are you sure?

Bernardo spoke to Father Marks yesterday. He heard it from my second cousin, Father Pedro Camps, in Mahon. It was a last minute decision. His family has been struggling to make ends meet, and now with the late freeze killing the young crops, many will starve this year if we have another food shortage. Juana clicked her tongue in pity. Will the new Governor ever do something about the starvation? she added with a compassionate head shake.

Things will be better in Florida with Dr. Turnbull providing all that’s needed for the families. It will be hard work, but that is one thing the Minorcans know, how to provide a good day’s labor, said Don Antonio.

Francisco reached for the bowl of beans. Yes, but seven years of indentured labor is a long time. All that we’ll accomplish will be for another man’s purse. It will be a while before we will have anything we can call our own.

Tears filled Juana’s eyes, and she quickly got up from the table turning her back on the two men. Don Antonio looked at Francisco; his eyes said what they both knew. Juana was not going to take this parting without heartache.

Francisco said, Mother, don’t cry. We have already discussed this. It’s for the best. If I stay here, I will never have a chance to prosper. When the English leave, they will be replaced by another foreign government just like the French, Spanish, Moors, Italians, and all the rest before them. Minorca will never be ruled by Minorcans. I stand a better chance to have freedom to worship God as I wish and make my fortune in the new world where they need carpenters to build a new town for our people.

I know, but I may never see you again and what about my grandchildren? Juana said.

I have to save money, build a home and find a wife first, Mother. Children are a long way off; anything can happen between now and then, Francisco said. He once again felt the guilt of leaving her alone. Once his father passed, she would have no family to share her home. This struggle of guilt over leaving his family and creating a better life for himself and his future children had been a difficult decision.

Juana looked at her son, crossed herself, mumbled a prayer, and kissed her crucifix.

After dinner the two men sat near the fire, played cards and smoked their clay pipes while Juana cleared the table from the meager meal.

Juana mentioned as she brushed the crumbs, Bernardo said he can go with you to Mahon and bring back your horses if you want. He will be by in the morning before you depart.

That would be good. That way father doesn’t have to make the trip. I should leave early. That would allow me time to find Marti before boarding. I hope we can be placed on the same ship for the voyage. Francisco drew a fresh puff of smoke.

Don Antonio dropped his last card face up on the table and pulled them all into a pile. What time will you leave?

Sunrise.

Then I should stop over at Bernardo’s this evening and ask him to come before sunrise. Don Antonio put down his pipe and got up to embrace his wife. As always it was a delicious dinner. Thank you. Don Antonio followed the praise with a lingering kiss on her cheek and pinch on her rump.

You're welcome. It would have been nice to fill my son’s belly with meat before his journey. She warmly smiled at her frisky mate. She did not blame her husband or son for the state of the economy; they had more for dinner than most.

Francisco quietly watched his parents from across the room. He hoped one day he would find such love as he had always witnessed in his parents.

Yes, it was very good, and I will miss your cooking, Francisco added to his father’s praise. Juana acknowledged her son’s words with a nod.

Once Don Antonio departed to find Bernardo, Juana went to a small chest that sat on the table near the hall to the bedrooms. She lifted something out of the box and quietly took a seat next to her only son. Francisco, she said.

Francisco looked up from the fire giving his mother his undivided attention. He was sure he knew what she wanted. She wanted to speak of love, some life lesson or the future they would not be able to share.

Your father and I talked, and he gave his approval. She took him by the hand and placed a cold heavy object in it. She closed his fingers around it before he could get a good look. This is for your future. You use it to build your fortune when the time comes. She released his hand.

Francisco looked away from his mother’s tearful eyes to see what it was she had given him. In his hand he held a heavy linked gold chain with a plain cross holding a single ruby stone. He knew the treasure; he had seen it several times through his childhood. His mother wore it on the finest of occasions. It was the wedding gift his father had given her. Mother, I can’t take your wedding gift. It is your only dowry. Francisco sought her hand to return the precious object.

Juana pushed his hand away. We talked about it. I will be taken care of once your father has gone. You are our only child, and it would be left to you once I pass. You should take it now so that you are sure to get it. Your father has provided you a title and trade. We have done our best to raise you to be a respectable man. We can do no more for you after you leave, but this will help you get a good start once the opportunity presents itself.

Francisco thought about his Mother’s words. I will make you both proud of me. I will be reminded of your love for each other and your love for me with this generous gift. I will honor you both, he said and took his mother in his arms.

London, England

One year earlier

1767

Dr. Andrew Turnbull departed the Privy Council in London. Tucked neatly in his leather portfolio was the document he and his group of fellow investors had been waiting for. The Board of Council had approved their petition, and he now had the official survey of the sixty thousand acres on Florida’s east coast, a place called Mosquito Inlet that would be renamed New Smyrna in honor of Mrs. Turnbull’s home. The grant was made for twenty thousand acres to each partner: Dr. Andrew Turnbull Esq., Sir William Duncan, and Lord George Grenville, Prime Minister of England. The doctor entered his carriage and ordered the driver to proceed to the Isle of Dogs on the Thames. It would be the best place for him to find ships for hire.

Now Dr. Turnbull’s mission was to secure transportation and settlers for his and his partner’s speculation. Lord Grenville and Sir Duncan had provided the capital of 24,000 pounds. Dr. Turnbull was to provide the management of the investment.

Dr. Turnbull was a physician, forty eight years old, married to the daughter of a Greek merchant he met while he was working in Greece as Consul for England. Dr. Turnbull was from Scotland but had his practice in London. He wore the attire of a man of stature: finely tailored woolens, velvets trimmed in fur, and embroidered silks trimmed in lace. He spoke formal and proper English with a slight Scottish accent. He was a gentleman and accustomed to rubbing elbows with the aristocracy.

Like the gentlemen of the period, Dr. Turnbull had investment fever. He was sure that with his knowledge of the Greek people they would make suitable indentured servants to settle his new land grant. They were raised in a warm climate and used to a hardscrabble existence, ideal workers for rum, silk, wine, and indigo dye production. They also had the necessary knowledge needed for the cultivation of rice, hemp, cotton, sugarcane, and various exportable crops that would bring a profit.

Leghorn, Italy

June 18th, 1767

You will not export my silk workers, sir! The governor slammed his fist on his desk.

Understood, Governor, said Dr. Turnbull, nodding politely and leaning back into the over stuffed chair. He then tried with all diplomacy from another angle. Will you then allow me to recruit unskilled or unengaged citizens?

I have a group of men that are scheduled for deport. You are welcome to seek your indentured servants amongst them, said the governor and with a wave of his hand indicated that the meeting was now ended.

Dr. Turnbull was escorted out of the office by the governor’s secretary. Where will I find these men the governor spoke of? asked Turnbull.

~~~~~

The group of one hundred plus men looked tattered and gaunt. They were the undesirables of society, crooks, thieves, destitute men scheduled to be deported for various reasons. Anthony Generina pushed toward the front of the crowd so he could hear better the details of the offer being presented by the Englishman.

I will cover all expenses to transport you to Florida, which includes food and shelter. You will sign on to work for me for seven or eight years depending on the skills or trade you offer. At the end of that time you will be given fifty acres of land and an extra five acres for each child in your family, announced Dr. Turnbull.

The men looked back and forth amongst themselves. Some were skeptical and others intrigued at the prospect. Anthony Generina glanced at his adult son, crossed his arms over his dirty shirt and rubbed his chin. After a moment’s thought he spoke up. Sir, what if we decide we do not like it in Florida? How do we possibly get back?

If you are dissatisfied, I will provide transportation back to your home country after working for me for six months, replied Turnbull.

The thin old man nodded his head, pleased with this answer. He whispered to his son, This sounds better than being sent back to Naples. Vesuvius’s last eruption killed all prospects of finding a home or work.

I need men of all skills, especially if you are skilled with grapes or silk production. If you would like to sign up, then step forward and tell my steward your trade or skills. He will have you sign on, and a ship will take you to Minorca in about a week’s time, concluded Turnbull.

Anthony Generina was first to step forward.

You’re too old. Step aside and let the others sign on, said Lorenzo Bertani.

I’m a skilled silk producer. Every aspect of the production is second nature to me and my son. You’ll find none better, boasted the old man.

Dr. Turnbull overheard and interjected, You know mulberry trees and can grow them for me in Florida?

Aye, sir, if you have sunshine, water and soil, then I can grow your mulberries, boasted Generina.

Sign him, ordered the doctor as he turned to depart.

Leghorn, Italy

June 27th, 1767

With just over a hundred Italian immigrants aboard and a nice selection of olive trees and grape vines in the hold, Dr. Turnbull’s ship prepared to depart. A cadre of troops led by a young lieutenant moved swiftly along the docks toward the ship. Captain, halt that vessel by order of the governor! the lieutenant commanded.

As the last of the mooring lines dropped, the captain slowly approached the rail, pretending to just now become aware of the troops dockside. I beg your pardon, Lieutenant. You called for me? asked the captain.

The frustrated lieutenant shouted back, Sir, return your vessel to dock at once, by the order of the governor.

By this time the gap between the vessel and dock had widened enough, due to the strong currents, that the ship’s captain was sure the lieutenant had no way of reaching the ship. I am sorry, lad. As you can see, the governor has sent word too late. I will call on the governor on my next voyage. With that the captain tipped his hat at the lieutenant who was now stomping up and down the pier in frustration while his troops stood in orderly ranks behind him.

Dr. Turnbull had stayed out of view of the lieutenant and now smiled broadly at the captain. Well done, sir! Would you believe the arrogance of the governor? He gave me permission to solicit these men, and now he attempts to revoke it. Not to mention that most of these people are not even from his province. If he had his way, I am sure he would use every means to detain me.

I hope you are done with the recruitment here in Italy. Who knows how long the governor’s arms are? replied the captain. As the two talked, the crew scurried about, making the ship fit for sail. They would be in Mahon, Minorca, in seven or eight days.

Mediterranean Sea

June 1767 – January 1768

After depositing the initial shipload of Italian men in Mahon, Dr. Turnbull visited one port after another, meeting with opposition to his proposed recruitment of native people for his new colony. Ports in Greece, Italy, France and Turkey yielded a handful of willing souls; a far cry from the five hundred Greeks he intended to enlist.

The weather, finances, and authorities in various ports worked against Dr. Turnbull. His sloop and transport ships were forced to delay or reroute many times due to rough seas and strong winds. His repeated requests for more capital were slow at being granted time and again. Officials continuously confiscated and opened his posted private letters to his partners in London and used the information against him to prevent recruitment.

Dr. Turnbull’s immigrants were forced to depart early from one port due to a plague outbreak on shore. In some cases the authorities were scaring the locals into believing they were really being sought for slavery. In one Turkish port, authorities arrested some of the men who came ashore for water and provisions, claiming the ships were holding Turks against their will. Dr. Turnbull had to resort to bribery to get his men back.

Whenever possible, word was left for potential immigrants to meet in Mahon, Minorca, by February 1768. Dr. Turnbull, after much frustration, expense, and time, managed to recruit over three hundred French, Greeks and Italians. As the new immigrants arrived, they found quarters in local homes. Many of the Greek and Italian men quickly sought new brides amongst the local señoritas. An infectious fever for journey soon spread amongst the locals on Minorca.

Mahon, Minorca

March 30th, 1768

Francisco wore his Sunday finest for such an important day. Under it all he could feel the heavy cold chain and cross against his skin. He rolled the fabric and chain between his finger and thumb as he crossed the villa courtyard to where everyone was gathered. He flipped his cape around his shoulders and tied it at his neck then took his horse’s reins from the fence post.

On horseback, cousin Bernardo had arrived at the villa before sunrise. Francisco shook his father’s hand while embracing him in a final hug. The Menorquina mare pranced at the end of the reins in anticipation of her journey. Juana passed the two riders each a parcel of food after they mounted their horses. Francisco bent down and kissed his mother’s wet cheek goodbye before turning his horse and mule out the opening in the stone courtyard. The dog trotted down the road behind the horses. Antonio called the dog back before they reached the crest of the hill. The mutt stopped in the road, looked back and forth between two masters, and then turned and made his way back to the villa.

As the morning light first peeked through the clouds on this chilly day, the two men were already riding east. It was a fourteen mile journey to Mahon with the loaded mule in tow. A light rain began to fall in the streaking sunlight as they rode in silence on what started as a sorrowful day. Francisco was not in the mood for idle conversation and was glad that Bernardo was in a similar mood.

As they grew nearer to Mahon, Francisco’s sorrow melted away only to be replaced by anxious anticipation. His horse felt the change in attitude and picked up pace as a break in the morning’s drizzle arrived. Bernardo’s horse responded to the change, and he was soon reacting as well. Both men flicked at their damp capes, brushing away lingering drops of rain and adjusted their reins for a trot down the last hill.

The long somber ride’s silence was finally broken as the two men made their way into the port village. Seeing all the ships in the turquoise blue harbor, Bernardo asked, How many ships do you think will be going?

I don’t know for sure, but they need enough to hold about three or four hundred people, replied Francisco.

The two riders found the wet streets dirty, noisy, and alive with people, red coated English soldiers, and beasts. The activity had increased to more than normal since the rain had slowed to isolated sprinkles and the ships were loading.

Many men and merchants acknowledged Don Francisco with a tip of the hat, greetings or the offer of wears for sale. Francisco and Bernardo weaved and pushed their horses past the people to the wharfs. Francisco was single minded in his mission.

As they approached the wharf the sun forced an opening in the clouds and the light rain quickly stopped. Francisco was astonished at the kind of organized chaos all around. Men were packing seeds and plant cuttings in barrels with oil. Some were working under a tarp to salt meat in crates. At the edge of the gathering two men were nailing a cover on what appeared to be a beehive box as they danced and swatted the air. One launch was being loaded by three men. They were manhandling a wooden platformed mechanism that had several cranks on the side, a prototype of a new invention called a cotton gin. Others were shifting bundles of personal possessions from one pile to another near the boats. Families, many cloaked against the recent rain, stood about in groups talking while others were busy doing paperwork with the pursers. A pier side frigate was being loaded using a spider web of lines, block and tackle manipulated by man and beast. A steady line of laden seamen were loading the ship by way of several gang planks. The multitude of ships, with their tall masts and riggings, overwhelmed the small harbor.

In the midst of the disorder, stood a four year old Minorcan girl who wore the hood on her cloak pulled over her wavy black hair and covering most of her rosy face. She held her mother’s free hand while her father was busy checking their parcels. The girl watched the approach of two men on horseback. She saw that one man was obviously a gentleman; he had a way about him and was acknowledged by the people he passed. He was not like other men who were ignored as they went about their business; this man was watched by everyone. She was curious about him and why he appeared different.

When he swept his cape aside she could see he was tall in the saddle. He was upon a fine pure bred Menorquina mare with a sleek black coat that glistened from the rain, drawing attention to her master. The young robust man she watched so intently also glistened in her eyes, for he wore shiny gold buckles upon his shoes, a fancy vest with white ruffles under his linen justaucorps, and his dark hair was neatly groomed into a ponytail under his black tricorn hat. Then his gray eyes turned upon her, and she met his gaze.

Francisco saw the young girl peeking at him from the safety of her hooded cloak and smiled at her. She let out one loud, deep hiccup.

Her mother, holding a small child in one arm, looked around, saw her daughter staring and pulled her hand to turn her attention. Juana, don’t stare, she said.

Bernardo and Francisco dismounted in front of a short stocky Englishman. The diligent man spoke without looking up from his ledger, If you are part of Dr. Turnbull’s party, I will need your names, please.

Francisco replied, Don Francisco Pellicer of Alayor.

Your trade or occupation, sir?

Master carpenter, Francisco responded.

The record keeper checked his ledger, flipping a couple pages. Yes, sir, I have you on my list. He then addressed Bernardo, And you, sir?

I am not a member of the party, was Bernardo’s reply.

The Englishman said, We do still have room for more tradesmen, sir. He waited a moment for a response from Bernardo who quickly answered with a disapproving glare. The Englishman turned back toward Francisco. "The ships depart at eight o’clock in the morning. You will need to be aboard this evening before midnight. I will put you on the New Fortune. She is short a carpenter, just in case we need your services."

Francisco asked, Has my cousin Marti Pellicer of Mahon arrived yet?

After consulting his ledgers again and then another purser’s ledger, the Englishman said, No, sir, he has not. You can give your parcels to the men in the third boat. They will take your articles right aboard. He then shouted the necessary instructions to the two men in the third boat.

Thank you, sir, and good day to you. Francisco tipped his hat.

Francisco and Bernardo led the horses and mule down the pier