Nathaniel's nutmeg (18 page)

Unfortunately, the financial institutions of the city had
been paralysed by the plague for those dealers who were still
alive had also fled to the country. Worse still, the King himself
had recently acquired a huge quantity of pepper — probably
the contents of a captured Portuguese carrack — and was
keen to dispose of it as quickly as possible. Citing his kingly
prerogative, and invoking a royal edict, he declared that the
merchant adventurers could not sell a single peppercorn
until he had first disposed of his own stock.

The Company was in dire straits and its future hung on
a thread. It seemed ironic to many that it was so woefully
short of funds as to threaten its survival at the very moment
when the first voyage had ended in such triumph. A single
event saved the day. When Queen Elizabeth had originally
granted the merchants their charter she had specified that
it was on the understanding that a trading expedition
should be sent to the 'spiceries' annually. Now, sensing the
merchants' vulnerability, the Privy Council threatened to
hand over the Company's trading rights to another
individual unless a second expedition set sail immediately.

No names were mentioned but it was clear whom they had
in mind: Sir Edward Michelborne, whose name had been
so humiliatingly deleted from the Company's lists, had
nursed his grievances for long enough. He now wanted
revenge.

The Company was shocked by the possibility of losing
their privileges and acted with uncharacteristic decision,
despatching a beadle to all the city merchants to collect
subscriptions for a second voyage. The merchants were
understandably reluctant to finance a new voyage before
they had reaped the profits of the old and a mere £11,000
was subscribed. It was therefore decided that everyone
who had invested £250 in the first voyage was obliged to
subscribe a further £200 for the second. It was not a
popular move but it saved the Company in its hour of
need and within a few months preparations were under
way for a second voyage.

Lancaster had no intention of commanding this new
expedition: wealthy, knighted and understandably reluctant
to tempt fate by sailing to the East Indies for a third time,
he graciously accepted the desk-bound post of director. He
was placed in charge of planning the new expedition and
his influence is everywhere apparent: although the ships
were to call at Bantam in order to rendezvous with the
English factors, their mission was to sail east to the
'Molloccos', or Spice Islands, which Lancaster himself had
failed to reach. Here, the ships were to buy the most
valuable of the spices, nutmeg and cloves, and leave factors
behind in anticipation of the Company's third voyage.
Lancaster's instructions once again placed special emphasis
on the crews' spiritual well-being and asked that concern
be shown for the men he had left behind, particularly chief
factor William Starkey who was to be 'provided for and
well placed in such ship as he shall be shipped as a man that
we hold in good regard and to be respected accordingly'.
He did not know that Starkey was long since dead.

The man charged with leading this second expedition
was Henry Middleton who had sailed under Lancaster's
command on the first venture and proved himself to be
both capable and trustworthy. Energetic and resolute, he
was always respected by his subordinates and his leadership
never came under fire, even when he guided his fleet
through dangerous and uncharted seas. Although given to
impetuosity and hot-headedness, he dealt with both the
Dutch and Portuguese, as well as the native chieftains, with
considerable diplomacy.

With no shortage of funds to finance the voyage it was
decided to send four ships to the East — the
Hector, Ascension
and
Susan,
with the trusty
Red Dragon
once again serving as
flagship. Following Lancaster's instructions to the letter,
Middleton headed directly to Bantam where he found the
few remaining Englishmen in a desperate plight after
receiving much harsh treatment from the local traders. The
arrival of his ships on 22 December 1604 was the best
Christmas present these men could have asked for. 'Towards
evening we descried our ships coming into the road, to all
our extreaordinary great joy.' So wrote Edmund Scott, by
now the most senior Englishman still alive in the city. 'But
when we came aboard of our admiral, and saw their great
weakness, also hearing the weakness of the other three
ships, it grieved us much.'

Middleton went straight to business on his arrival at the
port. Presenting the boy-king with a hotchpotch of
presents — including two gilt cups, a spoon and six muskets
- he struck a deal, loaded the
Hector
and
Susan
with
pepper, and sent them directly back to England. His last
task before bidding them farewell won him widespread
popularity from his crew Having listened to endless
complaints about the tiresome habits of Master Surfflict,
the preacher on the
Red Dragon,
Middleton decided to
despatch him back to England. He had proved completely
useless on the outward journey and few tears were shed
when he dropped dead on the return.

More deaths were soon to follow. Middleton continued
eastwards to the Spice Islands as instructed but no sooner
had he left Bantam than his ship was afflicted by the 'blody
flux' — a life-threatening strain of dysentery. With the list of
casualties growing by the day, the ship's journal becomes
little more than a roll-call for the dead: 'The seventeenth
day died of the flux William Lewed, John Jenkens, and
Samuel Porter
...
the twentieth dyed Henry Stiles our
master carpenter, and James Varnam, and John Iberson, all
of the fluxe. The twenty-second day died of the fluxe James
Hope; the twenty-fourth dyed John Leay and Robert
Whitthers.' The atmosphere on board was sombre indeed
and still the men kept dying. Three more succumbed on
the following day, then another two, and by the time the
ships sighted land another five men had died of the 'flux'.
It was with considerable relief that the ships at last arrived
at Amboyna, a clove-fringed island that lay at the very heart
of the 'spiceries'.

Middleton stepped ashore to greet the local king and
entreat him for a trading deal but was promptly informed
that all trade was forbidden without prior permission of
the Portuguese garrison stationed on the island. The
English commander now showed his colours as an
accomplished diplomat. Aware; that the Portuguese were
unlikely to part with their cloves, especially to their old
adversaries the English, he sent a letter to their captain
informing him that there was at last peace between the
two nations and that he 'desired that the like might be
between us, for that our comming was to seeke trade with
them'. What he said was true: King James I and King
Philip III had indeed signed a peace treaty but Middleton
can hardly have been aware of this for it had been agreed
more than five months after he left England.

The news had the desired effect and the Portuguese
commander, safely ensconced in the stout bastion that
guarded Amboyna's natural harbour, sent word of his agree­ment to a deal. But before the two men even had the
chance to shake hands, they learned that there was trouble
on the horizon. In the far distance, and fast disappearing
into the twilight, a formidable fleet of vessels could be seen
approaching the island. To Middleton's dismay, these were
neither Portuguese nor English: this veritable armada was
flying the Dutch colours from its flagship.

When the sun rose the following day there were no less
than nine ships in the offing, together with an auxiliary
fleet of pinnaces and sloops. These slowly sailed into the
harbour and 'came to an anker within a musket shot of the
fort'. The Portuguese commander immediately ingratiated
himself with his Dutch counterpart, asking him 'wherefore
they came thither' and stating that 'if they came in
friendshippe they should be welcome'. But the Dutch had
certainly not come in friendship and their general 'made
answer that his comming thither was to have that castel
from them; and willed them to deliver him the keyes
[which,] if they refused to do, he willed them to provide
for themselves to defend it, for he was minded to have it
before he departed'.

Middleton now found himself in an unenviable
position. It was clear that his fleet was no match for the

Dutch, but if he went ashore and joined forces with the
Portuguese there was a slim chance that together they
could successfully defend the island. If so, the dividends
would be rich indeed for Amboyna's mountainous interior
was thickly forested in clove trees. But before he had time
to reach a decision he learned that the battle for Amboyna
was over. Although the Portuguese bragged that 'they
would never yeild up their fort, but fight it out to the last
man', they capitulated after a short bombardment and the
only death occurred when their commander mysteriously
expired. His unhappily married wife later took credit for
his death, explaining that she had poisoned him in order to
save his honour and reputation.

With Amboyna lost to the Dutch, Middleton put to sea
with not a single clove on board. He was growing in­creasingly concerned by the difficulties of trading in the
'spiceries' and wisely decided that his two vessels, the
Red
Dragon
and the
Ascension,
should separate and sail for
different islands. While the
Ascension
headed south to the
unknown Banda Group, he directed his own ship to the
most northerly of the Spice Islands, Ternate and Tidore,
which had been loosely under the control of the
Portuguese for some decades.