9th June 1735
The following is translated from the notes of Albrecht Kohl, captain of the 1st Regiment of Hessian Infantry following the battle of San José de Oruña.
We followed the Royal Highway from the coast to Port de Spain, hoping to take the harbour in order to secure our hold on the sea routes into and out of the island, forcing the pirates into the inhospitable forests to the south. Instead, the pirate captain, seeing that his chance to win the day would suffer if we were to take the initiative, met us at the town of San José, some five British miles from Port de Spain. The town, as I understand it, was once the Spanish capital of the island, but had clearly suffered neglect under the long stewardship of the privateers.
I, and several of the men under me, had fought with Allen since the beginning, in that bitter winter of 1715, as we marched north, then west and south, slowly bringing victory to our British masters in the Americas, through forest and snow and hail of musket or the bows and clubs of the Indians. One of the men in the company, a fellow of nearly fifty, even fought at the senseless slaughter at Chicasa, under General McDowell. Now, some twenty years later, I find myself transported to the islands of the Caribbean, to march upon some settlement upon an island some five thousand miles from the place of my birth.
In the distance, the pirate mob advanced, their general Ben le Clerc at their head. They were in no hurry – they knew they outnumbered us by some measure. They had, however, Allen proclaimed at the start of the affair, underestimated the value of a single soldier of the Colonial forces by some degree.
In addition to our artillery crews and companies of hardened line infantry, Allen held another surprise for Captain le Clerc and his merry men. Behind the enemy lines, stationed in the dark forest outlying the town, a company of dragoons waited, ready to surprise the pirate in his rear.
At this juncture, we reached our fighting position, and arrayed ourselves in battle lines, awaiting the enemy advance. We stood to order, watching for the advancing sea of black that moved to envelop us. At home, in Hanover, I was a thief, a vagrant, caught as a boy and sentenced to serve as a conscript with the Hessians. Here, I am a soldier, a warrior of the Republic. I shall fight, not for profit or my homeland, for I possess neither, but upon this field I fight nonetheless.
These thoughts were rudely shattered by the roar of the cannon, as our gunners opened up on the advancing mobs, seeking to thin the tide before it reached the range of our muskets, or the reach of our blades.
A murmur went up across the company as the tide approached. Some of the newer recruits, unused to the sight of large-scale battle, muttered their ill ease at the numbers facing us. It is a curious thing, when you first stand in the line of battle, how the figures reported to you pale in comparison to the actual sight of that number advancing upon you upon the field.
“Hold your ground!” I barked, hoping to command resolve through my own nerve. Though half the company be new recruits from Europe, they be stout fellows to a man, or at least fellows without much to lose but the britches upon their backsides – and even these were loaned from the Elector’s quartermasters.
Shortly, a swarm of buccaneers began to pour over the wall we were using as a break against the black tide. “Hold!” I commanded, waiting until sufficient bodies had lined themselves up for our line to topple, then: “Fire!”
Over the crack of musket fire, I heard the cry of horse, as our dragoons collided with the pirate rear, stemming some of the pirate mob as it turned to face this unexpected threat. It was not enough, however, and the buccaneers closed.
The lines turned to turbulence as the swordsmen reached our lines, and the bloodiest hour of the day began, as we lost full half our squadron to the blades of the mob. My lieutenant was struck down in the fighting, one of the hundreds of bodies to litter the yellowed grass of the tropical paradise.
Soon, though, I spotted Allen, riding amongst his bodyguard, encircling the pirate swordsmen. Gradually, company by company, the buccaneers, more suited to the decks of a galleon than the line of battle, began to turn and flee. A cheer went up, and I ordered the remaining men to reform.
The cheer was soon muted, however, by the sight of what was to come, as a seemingly never-ending wave of black marched upon our position.
We fought on, the oppressive sun beating down upon us, as our men withered in the heat, Allen’s bodyguard thinned by the attrition of the melee and our dragoons scattered and put to flight. Our gunners continued to show their value still, the patter of canister shot causing much outcry amongst the advancing mobs, and on both sides the terrible moan of battle filled the air.
At this juncture, Captain le Clerc, his band of officers thinned by artillery, was seen to flee the field, bringing some small succour to our boys.
It was not to last much longer, however, as our own general, his own bodyguard shattered by the fierce fighting, fled the field in panic. We could only watch on as the pirate militia continued to advance. Their very survival at stake, they determined to press on, general or no general upon the plain.
Suddenly, my mind was cleared. I did not, I knew, fight for profit or promotion, for neither was forthcoming to a conscript such as myself. I fought because it was all I had left, my whole life, everything I had reduced to this one moment. I fought because I was a soldier. And no common thief, his only trade skulking in shipping lanes for men of more industry than he to deliver easy pickings for him to steal, would take that from me. I would fight, and I would break these men, even if hell and all its demons came to reinforce them.
Meanwhile, a pirate mob had taken the town to our left flank, with our attempts to force them from it by foot undone.
Our gunners, being informed of this, turned their sights upon the armouries of Saint Joseph, and a column of smoke pouring into the unbroken blue skies signalled their success.
The last remaining militiamen marched on our positions, hoping to break our depleted line. We would grant them no such thing.
The line reformed, amidst the carnage of the field, our gunners withdrawing to the right flank, not threatened by foliage in which the enemy might advance.
Our men stood in reserve on the left flank, waiting for the enemy to show itself.
And thus, with what ammunition we had left, the enemy was finally repulsed.
And victory achieved.
At the final count, when our forces reformed for the march to Port de Spain, more than two thirds of our men, a twenty-two score had fallen. On the part of the pirates, fourteen hundred or more had perished, both sides standing firm until death or victory took them. Ben le Clerc, I am told, was captured while attempting to hide a small farmstead to the south as our remaining hundred and fifty men secured the island, raiding the houses of suspected pirates and chasing the stragglers into the lagoons and jungles to the south of the island. Those captured after the fact are scheduled to be hanged, while the British fleet, under a Captain Bellamy, reports that no further sightings of ships suspected of carrying pirates in the Gulf of Paria have been raised since our victory. The people of the island are somewhat ambivalent to our presence, but time will tell how they receive British rule. I consider that, I must confess, to be someone else’s problem. I may be a soldier, but I am not someone with a vested interest in anything other than the quartermaster that provides the victuals and a warm place to lay my head.
And so that, as the redcoat captains amongst our forces are fond of uttering, is that.
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Chapter Four, Samuel DeGeen by Sam Geen
