Mutiny and Murder aboard Nuestra Señora de la Concepçion, Part 2

The terrified survivors of a murderous mutiny aboard the Cuban schooner Nuestra Señora sailed from the Bahamas under the command of a hired English pilot in mid-June 1734. They sought to return to Havana with no questions asked, but the crew’s curious behavior alerted the new captain to mortal danger ahead. A secret pact forged in desperation spawned a violent counter-mutiny that spilled more blood and further depleted the crew, forcing the weakened schooner to make an emergency detour to the British port of Charles Town (now Charleston), South Carolina.

At the conclusion of the first part of this historical narrative (see last week’s episode), the veteran Anglo-American mariner William Vaughan had agreed pilot the Cuban schooner from Harbour Island in the British-controlled Bahama Archipelago to the Port of Havana on the Spanish island of Cuba. Vaughan was initially disinclined to accept the tedious commission when he first encountered the wayward vessel on June 9th, but the motley crew of Hispanic, French, and Maltese men said in broken English that their employer, a young pregnant Cuban woman named Doña Petrona de Castro, offered a very generous sum for his services: He would receive two hundred silver pieces of eight in advance, and a further two hundred when they arrived in Havana, some four hundred nautical miles to the southwest.

When Captain Vaughan accepted this substantial offer, he was of course unaware that four of the schooner’s crew, mulatto natives of the Canary Islands, had staged a mutiny two weeks earlier and killed the Cuban captain and first mate, a French passenger, and the vessel’s wealthy owner, Don Francisco de Heymes. Nor was he aware that the two Canarios he met aboard Nuestra Señora had stolen Don Francisco’s treasure from his grieving widow and then killed their two fellow countrymen shortly before the schooner’s arrival at Harbour Island. Using the limited English-language skills of a French crewman named Pierre Blanchard, the crypto-pirates convinced Vaughan that the boom of one of the sails had accidentally knocked the vessel’s captain and first mate into the sea. To show her appreciation for Vaughan’s assistance in returning to Cuba, Señora de Castro might even make a present of the valuable schooner to the helpful Englishman.

La Nuestra Señora rested at Harbour Island for three days before Captain Vaughan climbed aboard and commenced his new assignment, during which time he carried ashore the two hundred pieces of eight he received from Joseph Lortia, the schooner’s carpenter, by order of Señora de Castro.[1] The vessel’s crew, in the meantime, likely used this brief respite in the Bahamas to renew their supplies of fresh water, firewood for cooking, and various provisions for the impending journey back to Havana. Vaughan found six crewmen and three passengers aboard the schooner when he commenced duties as temporary sailing master on June 12th. From the beginning of his employment, he noted that everyone acknowledged Doña Petrona as the owner of the vessel, but the reclusive young lady, approximately eight months pregnant, kept to her bed in the stern cabin for the remainder of the journey. Her enslaved servant boy attended her constantly, however, and individual members of the crew visited her occasionally to buoy her spirits. In conversation with his fellow mariners on deck, Vaughan quickly learned that Señora de Castro and everyone else onboard regarded the two burly Canarios as the vessel’s senior figures.

The schooner departed from Harbour Island with its new captain and sailed westward with the prevailing wind for some hours until it passed the southern head of Great Abaco Island. At that familiar waypoint, Vaughan directed the helm to turn a few points to the north, steering into the deep Northwest Providence Channel that skirts along the south side of Grand Bahama Island. The crewmen and passengers, in the meantime, kept to themselves and did not converse freely with their new captain. Such was their dread of the Canary pirates that “they were afraid the murderers would take umbrage” if they informed Mr. Vaughan of the six recent homicides aboard the Cuban schooner. For his part, the captain sensed something was not right. He noted that one of the Canary men was “always arm’d with a dagger in his girdle,” and always watching the crew rather than the sea, clues that gave him “some suspicion of an ill design.”[2] Vaughan, a hired hand contracted to fulfill a specific duty, minded his own affairs and issued nautical orders as necessary, but otherwise resisted the temptation to get involved in the private affairs of his generous Hispanic employer.

On the second day at sea, the schooner reached the Gulf Stream, the powerful surge of warm ocean current rising from the Gulf of Mexico and flowing northward between the Bahama Archipelago and the Spanish mainland colony of La Florida. After the vessel turned southward towards Cuba, sailing now against the wind and current, the Canary seamen directed Captain Vaughan to steer towards an unidentified inlet on the western shore, somewhere in the latitude between modern Boca Raton and Miami. They might have sought to replenish the schooner’s supplies of fresh water and firewood, but none of the survivors articulated the purpose of this brief detour in later testimony. Considering that the crew likely acquired sufficient supplies during their recent three-day respite at Harbour Island, it’s possible that the pirates Andres and Augustin sought to hide some or most of their stolen treasure at some obscure location, to which they might return at a future date without the present witnesses. When the vessel neared the shoreline dominated by dense forests of leggy mangrove trees, the two mulatto mariners ordered the other crewmen to hoist out the schooner’s “canoe” or launch to go ashore. Into the boat stepped Joseph Ratto, Joseph Diancona, and Pierre Blanchard with the two pirates, who then rowed towards the verdant, uninhabited coastline and “went into an inlet.”

Doña Petrona, meanwhile, remained secluded in her private cabin, attended by her enslaved Black boy, while the older French passenger Jean Troistour kept to himself, perhaps below deck. Captain Vaughan and Joseph Lortia, the carpenter, also remained aboard the schooner and took turns keeping watch and napping in the shadows cast by the bright June sun. The two strangers were from different nations and spoke different languages, but they were both seasoned mariners and managed to find some common vocabulary during their brief acquaintance. While the other crewmen were ashore and the schooner bobbed quietly in the shallow sea, Lortia felt emboldened to share a secret with Vaughan. In some broken hodge-podge of language and gestures, he explained to the English captain “that those mulattos were great villains, for they had murdered the captain and several others on board the vessel, and that he [Lortia] believed they intended to run the vessel on shoar, as soon as they came in sight of the Havana, and kill all the rest of the people on board.”[3]

The carpenter’s allegations reinforced Vaughan’s own suspicions about what had really happened to the Cuban vessel’s original captain and mate, and, as he later admitted in Charleston, “made him very apprehensive of his own danger.”[4] The captain evidently did not fully understand or did not quite believe Lortia’s remarkable story, however, or perhaps he suspected the rest of the schooner’s company might be complicit in the alleged plot. When the boat returned some hours later and the shore party climbed aboard the schooner, Vaughan held his tongue and maintained a quiet vigilance.

After weighing anchor from the Florida coast, the schooner resumed its southward journey against the Gulf Stream, sailing towards the Florida Keys and their destination at Havana. The English captain was now more attuned to the behavior of his fellow mariners and soon noted a curious pattern. Vaughan saw the two mulatto men, who generally kept to themselves, occasionally whispering privately with the carpenter, Joseph Lortia, and at other times he saw the rest of the crewmen—Ratto, Diancona, and Blanchard—also whispering among themselves. There were clearly two factions on board and perhaps some sort of hidden agenda, facts that inspired the captain to grow more suspicious of the entire maritime venture.

Pierre Blanchard, the only member of the schooner’s crew with a serviceable knowledge of the English language, soon grew confident that Captain Vaughan might be a trustworthy ally and could help them rescue the vessel, but he did not feel unilaterally empowered to divulge the full truth. After consulting with Señora de Castro, whom he regarded as both his legitimate employer and a trusted confidant, Pierre began to converse more freely with the Englishman. Vaughan reciprocated by remarking privately that he suspected “that there was some micheif a contriving” on board the schooner, and finally asked Pierre directly to explain the palpable tension he sensed on board.

Blanchard then cautiously whispered the full story of their proceedings since the schooner’s departure from Havana nearly five weeks earlier. He also repeated a theory that Joseph Lortia had mentioned earlier to Vaughan in private, that “the two mulattos (the murderers) intended to kill all the rest of the crew as soon as they should come in sight of the Havana.” The Frenchman said that he and the cook, Ratto, and the Maltese sailor, Diancona, had “contrived to kill the two murderers as soon as they could catch them asleep.” Pierre asked Vaughan to join the proposed counter-mutiny, since he was now in “the same danger with the rest.” Now faced with a life-or-death conundrum at sea, Vaughan agreed to the murderous plan. The four men thereafter “entered into a consultation, and concluded the safest measures were to deliver themselves from these villains, afore they should have any opportunity to do them any mischief.”[5]

Throughout another day interspersed with secretive conversations, the new confederates excluded Joseph Lortia, the carpenter, from their plans. In later testimony, Ratto, Diancona, and Blanchard all said they were afraid to trust Lortia, who seemed to be “very intimate” with the two Canarios, who frequently summoned the carpenter and spoke “very familiarly” with him in private. Until their opportunity arose, Captain Vaughan and his new confederates “dared not to speak” to Lortia and kept their distance from him, “the whole crew being afraid to talk to each other in private lest the murderers should conceive a jealousy.”[6]

Late on the evening of June 15th, the southbound schooner was alone at sea under the expansive canopy of heavenly stars.[7] Ratto, Diancona, Blanchard, and Vaughan were still awake, but noted that Lortia was snoozing amidship and the two Canarios were sprawled out asleep at their customary stations—one at the forecastle at the bow and the other on the stern quarterdeck.[8] Quietly the four confederates chose their weapons and divided into pairs. Joseph Ratto carrying the carpenter’s axe joined with Pierre Blanchard, who likely carried the wooden pump handle that the Canarios had used to murder the Cuban captain and first mate weeks earlier. William Vaughan chose the carpenter’s hammer while Joseph Diancona carried a stout wooden shaft called a handspike, one of several used to rotate the vessel’s capstan. Their later testimony provided no stage directions, but we might imagine that the first pair crept towards the bow while the others stealthily ascended the quarterdeck at the stern.

Ratto, the veteran cook, raised the axe over his head with both hands and brought it down on the sleeping pirate’s neck, cleaving his head from his body in one blow and spilling a torrent of blood. The sharp thud of the axe striking the deck must have stirred the other pirate, Andres, who awoke to the sight of William Vaughan swinging a hammer at his head. The resulting blow rattled the burley mariner, but he quickly scurried to his feet and bounded clear of his flailing attackers.

While Vaughan and Diancona pursued the nimble Canario near the stern, Joseph Lortia awoke and saw the Englishman running past him, swinging a hammer after Andres. The carpenter, unsure of his loyalties, “ran up and kick’d up the captain’s heels,” “threw him down,” and asked, “what was the matter”? Vaughan’s fall provided a momentary opportunity for Andres, who turned back, pulled the dagger from his girdle, and leapt onto his prone attacker. The wounded captain no doubt cried out in pain as he wrestled with the powerful pirate. While Pierre tackled Lortia and held him down, Diancona crept up behind Andres and swung the handspike at the murderer’s head. The heavy blow stunned the big Canario, who dropped his knife and rolled free of the captain. Regaining his feet and his equilibrium, Andres saw that he was now surrounded by four armed men intending to destroy him. Instinctively he tumbled clear of the scene and jumped down the main hatchway into the pitch-black hold.

The quartet of counter-mutineers caught their breadth and tended their wounds on deck, not daring to follow their prey into the confined darkness below. Andres too caught his breadth and, as his blood cooled, considered his predicament. This was the end of the line for the bold and covetous Canario. At length, he stood and addressed the mariners standing over the hatchway, speaking in his native tongue. Pierre Blanchard turned to Captain Vaughan and explained in English that the cornered pirate was reconciled to his fate, but he begged they would not kill him. Instead, he desired their permission to jump into the water and end his own life. The exhausted mariners consented to the murderer’s last request and retreated several steps to safe positions astern and ahead of the hatchway. While the motley band of survivors watched in silence, the brawny, bloodied seaman climbed on deck, surveilled his attackers and the starry horizon beyond, then leapt overboard into the open sea.[9]

For the first time in nearly six weeks, La Nuestra Señora was no longer under the spell of the brutal pirates. The survivors were no doubt relieved as they disposed of the headless corpse at the bow, but they now looked towards the carpenter with renewed suspicion. Joseph Lortia had fraternized with the murderers during recent weeks, shared many whispered conversations with them, and had physically interfered with their efforts to dispatch the last pirate. Feeling the gravity of their judgmental gaze, Lortia enthusiastically “embraced” and congratulated his shipmates, “kist the ships crew all round,” then humbly “begged for his life” and “promised to assist in carrying the vessel to some harbour” of their choosing.[10] The rest of the survivors were not convinced by his sudden display of comradery, but their shared need to reach a port of safety obliged them to set aside their suspicions for the moment.

After sunrise on the morning of June 16th, Pierre Blanchard visited Señora de Castro in her stern cabin to inform her of the successful counter-mutiny. The Canary pirates were now gone, and the Frenchman delivered to his employer the keys to her several wooden chests now filled with sacks of gold and silver. Pierre also asked the lady whether she thought Captain Vaughan deserved a further two hundred pieces of eight as a reward for his recent services. She readily agreed and retrieved the silver coins, which Blanchard presented to the captain. To show her further appreciation, and perhaps to expedite the conclusion of their traumatic voyage, Doña Petrona also promised to give the valuable schooner as a present to the Englishman as soon as they arrived safely at Havana.[11]

Captain Vaughan and the skeleton crew aboard Nuestra Señora resumed their southward journey with renewed vigor, but they faced a new series of challenges. Pierre Blanchard and Joseph Diancona were now the schooner’s only able seamen, and their best efforts to manage the sails and rigging were simply not sufficient to counter the natural elements. The mariners experienced a period of still air after their redemption that caused the vessel to lose ground to the northward drift of the Gulf Stream, followed by five days of contrary winds. As the long shadows of the summer solstice waxed and waned across the schooner’s deck, Captain Vaughan and Pierre Blanchard visited Doña Petrona’s cabin to discuss their predicament. The vessel’s diminished crew could not sail effectively against the wind and current, they explained in English and then Spanish. Soon they might run out of fresh water and provisions. The señora’s pregnancy, furthermore, had obviously reached an advanced state, and it was imperative to carry her ashore as soon as possible. Vaughan recommended that they change tack, follow the northward flow of the Gulf Stream, and aim for the Port of Charleston in the British colony of South Carolina. There they could find lodging, medical assistance, and the prospect of impartial justice administered by Anglo-American officials. After Pierre translated the captain’s words, the señora signaled her understanding and consented to the captain’s alternate plan.[12]

The Cuban schooner turned northward on the 21st or 22nd of June and sailed along the shoreline of Spanish Florida and the new British colony of Georgia. Captain Vaughan, though based in the Bahamas, likely recognized the southeastern coast of South Carolina early on the 26th as they passed Port Royal Sound, Edisto Island, and other landmarks among the colony’s barrier islands. He might have personally navigated Nuestra Señora through one of the channels leading across the maze of sand bars at the entrance to Charleston Harbor, or he might have fired one of the schooner’s cannons to summon a professional pilot for that purpose. In either case, the Cuban vessel entered the broad harbor on the afternoon of Wednesday, June 26th, and approached the colonial capital and principal seaport of South Carolina.

Sailing past Sullivan’s Island, Fort Johnson on James Island, and the large mudflat called Shute’s Folly, Vaughan likely chose an anchorage in the Cooper River opposite Charleston’s bustling waterfront. The Nuestra Señora carried no cargo, so there was no reason to pay for the privilege of docking against one of the six wooden wharves then projecting from East Bay Street. After settling amongst a crowd of commercial vessels of various sizes, the schooner likely received a visit from the amphibious staff of the local Custom House, who were required to call aboard every newly-arrived vessel and determine whether it carried any merchandize intended for trade in Charleston.[13] Captain Vaughan must have summarized the recent misfortunes aboard the schooner during his conversation with an unidentified custom agent, who likely spread the story among the townsfolk when he returned to shore later that afternoon. Because the hour was growing late, and because the capital’s Night Watch enforced a dusk-to-dawn curfew on the streets, the crew and passengers probably remained aboard the Cuban schooner until the following day.

Word of their misadventure at sea somehow reached the ears of two Spanish-speaking men in Charleston—Don Domingo de la Cruz, a Hispanic mariner visiting from Florida, and William Kellaway, an Irish merchant who divided his time between Charleston and the neighboring capital of St. Augustine. Both men visited La Nuestra Señora on the morning of June 27th to welcome the weary refugees and offer their assistance. In their presence, Doña Petrona packed her belongings and, with the help of considerate crewmen, gathered her gold and silver coins, jewels, and other valuables into several wooden trunks. Mr. Kellaway and Don Domingo were probably responsible for transporting the pregnant señora and her property ashore, and then helping her secure lodgings appropriate for a lady of her affluent social class.

By midday on the 27th, news of the recent murders and plunder aboard the Cuban schooner reached the ears of South Carolina’s Royal Governor, Robert Johnson, who ordered an immediate investigation. The colony’s attorney general, Scotsman James Abercromby, then spent the rest of the afternoon interviewing each of the survivors with a clerk who transcribed their respective depositions. Their collective testimony raised a cloud of suspicion around the schooner’s Hispanic carpenter, whom the attorney general believed might have committed various crimes amounting to piracy on the high seas. Acting on Abercromby’s recommendation, Governor Johnson ordered the arrest of Joseph Lortia, whose life or death would now be determined according to British law in a special Court of Vice-Admiralty.

Join me next week, when we’ll continue this dramatic true story with the investigation, trial, and resolution experienced by the survivors of Nuestra Señora in the colonial capital of South Carolina.