Towards the end of March, Grenville sailed the
Tiger
from London to Plymouth, where the rest of the fleet was awaiting him. He hoped to set sail for America on April 9, for the sun would rise at 5:19 a.m. on that day, enabling the fleet to be well under way by mid-morning. The immediate forecast was for “fayre and April shewers,” but the long-term outlook did not look so good. Within ten days, the weather was expected to worsen and there would be “dangerous tymes for all thynges, the ayre seditious and troublesome.”
After a final check on supplies, the crews were brought on board, followed by the gentlemen adventurers and Manteo and Wanchese.
At the crack of dawn the squadron raised its sails and put to sea. It was a low-key departure. A few curious onlookers had gathered on the quayside, but there was no music or fireworks, and even the city’s cannons remained silent. Only the mayor of Plymouth realised that he was witnessing something of great historical significance, inscribing the fleet’s departure in the city’s official records.
Tales of the Spanish Inquisition deterred England’s mariners from signing up for voyages to America. Ralegh was forced to impress seamen, plucking them from prisons and taverns
Just ten days after leaving England, Grenville and his men noticed a peculiar darkening of the western sky, quite unlike anything they had previously experienced. It turned suddenly chill and the midday sun was reduced to a slim crescent. To Harriot, the explanation was obvious: it was a partial eclipse of the sun. But what no one realised—not even Harriot—was that on the east coast of America, where the eclipse was total, the natives saw it as an omen of some catastrophe which “unto them appeared very terrible.” When a shooting comet added to the turmoil in the heavens, the Indians were convinced that some evil was soon to arrive at their shores.
The fleet was making good progress towards the Canary Islands when a storm blew up from nowhere. “By force and violence of fowle weather” the fleet was dispersed and the
Tiger
’s pinnace sank to the bottom. The superstitious crew saw this as vindication of the soothsayers’ warnings, but Grenville took a more pragmatic approach. Aware that his ships were likely to get scattered on such a long voyage, he had previously arranged for them to reassemble in Guayanilla Bay on the uninhabited southern coast of Puerto Rico.
The
Tiger
’s Atlantic crossing was rapid and the warm waters of the Caribbean were reached in just twenty-one days. It was now so hot that several of the mariners plunged headlong into the surf, a bad mistake, for “a sharke cut off the legge of one of the companie.” The unfortunate man faced the painful necessity of having his stump dipped into a vat of boiling pitch.
The
Tiger
passed safely through the palm-fringed chain of the Antilles, then veered northwest towards Puerto Rico. Grenville ordered his men to drop anchor at an uninhabited island, “where wee landed and refreshed our selves all that day.” Life on board had been tough ever since they had entered tropical waters. The biscuits had long been infested with weevil; now the humid air caused a thick layer of furry mould to form on the surface. The dried cheese had turned rancid and the water was so full of worms that it was necessary for the sailors to clench their teeth to strain out the fauna. The Caribbean was infamous for sickness and disease—“burnyng agues … blysters, noysome sweates, aches in the body … byles, yellowe jaundyse [and] inflammations of the eyes.” The stinking May heat dramatically increased the risk of infection, and none of the traditional cures was available to the men on board. The usual advice of physicians was to “refrayne from salt meates” during the summer—hardly possible on board ship—white many suggested eating cucumbers and keeping “cleane from fylthy sweate and from all noysome and stynking smelles, which are most dangerous and able to infect with contagious and pestilent diseases.” Such advice was useless to the men on the
Tiger
; and the only injunction they could
obey, “to refrayne from carnall lust,” was the one they would have most liked to break.
Grenville pressed on to Guayanilla Bay, where he hoped to find the rest of his fleet at anchor. But as the
Tiger
passed the headland, he was disappointed to note that not a single vessel had arrived. This was a serious setback, for the expedition could not continue without at least one extra ship. He prepared himself for a long wait, dropping anchor “within a fawlcon-shot of the shoare” and landing most of his men.
Grenville was now in hostile Spanish territory and well aware that his presence was unlikely to be greeted with any enthusiasm by King Philip’s belligerent governors. It would only be a matter of time before his vessel was spotted by lookouts, and there was a very real chance that he would come under attack. He now showed himself to be a capable commander, playing his hand with skill. He had on board governor-elect Ralph Lane, a man who had spent many years designing and building defensive earthworks in Ireland. Lane was immediately sent ashore and put to work constructing a fort on Guayanilla Bay that would be strong enough to deter any Spanish attack.
Although Lane resented being given orders by Grenville—viewing him as his equal in rank and status—he kept his silence and set to work. Within a week he had constructed a military encampment of such strength that when a troop of Spaniards unexpectedly stumbled across its ramparts they rubbed their eyes in disbelief. They described it as “a great breastwork … with a moat and a long stretch of beach enclosed with trenches, huts erected, and a smithy; and all in as great perfection as though they had proposed to remain there ten years.” The fort was protected on one side by a freshwater river and on the other by a marshy lake. Huge earthworks were thrown up around the rest of the site—protecting the encampment from any ambush from the dense woodland—while a ditch and bank protected the exposed eastern flank.
Three days after the fort was finished, Grenville’s sentinels raised
the alarm. “There appeared unto us out of the woods, eight horsemen of the Spaniards, about a quarter of a myle from our fort, staying about halfe and hower in viewing our forces.” Grenville had been anticipating this moment and acted with characteristic ebullience, dispatching ten heavily armed musketeers to challenge the Spanish patrol. His bluff paid off, for “they presently retyred into the woodes.”
There was no time to be complacent. After a two-day standoff, a ship was sighted on the horizon. Grenville was convinced it was “either a Spaniard or French man-of-warre [and] thought it good to waigh ankers.” He gave chase and was about to blitz the vessel with cannonfire when a sharp-eyed lookout “discerned him at last to be one of our consorts.” It was the
Elizabeth
, Thomas Cavendish’s vessel, and her arrival was a cause of such joy that the
Tiger
’s crew “discharged their ordinance and saluted him, according to the manner of the seas.”
The presence of the English, now in a position of considerable strength, alarmed the Spanish governor. He sent a party of twenty horsemen to the English fort to discover Grenville’s intentions and assess their military strength. “They shewed to our men a flagge of truce, and made signes to have a parle with us, whereupon two of our men went halfe of the way upon the sands and two of theirs came and met them.” The Spaniards appeared friendly enough and “offred very great salutations,” but it was not long before they began, “according to their Spanish proud humors, to expostulate with them.” Grenville’s men haughtily informed them that “our principal intention was onely to furnish ourselves with water, and victuals, and the necessaries whereof we stood in neede”; and added that if the Spanish so much as raised a gun in their direction, “our resolution was to practise force and to releeve ourselves by the sworde.” A tense standoff followed. The Spanish promised to return with food and provisions, but Grenville doubted their intentions. When they failed to show up at the appointed hour, “keeping their old custome for perjurie and breache of promise,” he rather pointlessly “fired the
woods thereabout.” He then ordered the crews back on board and told them to be ready to sail at dawn.
The men passed an uncomfortable night. The weather was sultry and many had been bitten by ferocious “muskitoes.” In the great cabin of the
Tiger
, the commanders of the expedition sat late into the night, deliberating on their next course of action and pondering over how they were going to acquire the pigs and chickens they so desperately needed. Manteo had warned that although food stocks on Roanoke were generally plentiful in autumn, there was always a shortage in winter and that it was imperative that livestock and seedlings be acquired in the Caribbean. Grenville decided that from now on he would pursue a more aggressive course of barter and plunder—buying from the Spanish what they would sell and stealing everything else.
The ships set sail at dawn. They were fortunate to cross the path of a Spanish frigate whose captain was so terrified of the
Tiger
’s guns that the vessel “was forsaken by the Spanyards upon the sight of us.” Just a few hours later, Grenville repeated his success by capturing a second frigate, richly laden with cloth. He returned to Puerto Rico and attempted to exchange his prisoners for cattle, but when this failed he settled for “good round summes” of cash.
Grenville cut an impressive figure as he swaggered the decks of the
Tiger
. The Spanish prisoners were full of stories of how he dined off golden plates to the accompaniment of music. They also brought tales of the expedition’s purpose, informing the Spanish governor that the ship was filled with men “skilled in all trades, and among them were about twenty who appeared to be persons of some importance.” Of particular concern was the fact that “they were accompanied by two tall Indians whom they treated well and who spoke English.” These Indians were said to share Grenville’s passion for music, and one prisoner went so far as to suggest that it was they who had persuaded Grenville to bring clarions and organs on the voyage.
As the vessels left Puerto Rico for a second time—the
Tiger
, the
Elizabeth
, and the two prize ships—Grenville could reflect on what
had so far proved a successful voyage. But the simmering discontent that had long existed between the gentlemen was about to break out into open warfare, with one side supporting Grenville and the other side Ralph Lane. The catalyst was a salt-collecting raid on the southwestern tip of Puerto Rico, which Lane believed to be unduly dangerous. But Grenville brushed aside his criticisms. Lane complained of “grete unkindnes afterwards on his parte towards me.” Relations between the two men soon worsened; it was not long before Lane was openly accusing Grenville of “intollerable pride and insatiable ambition.” Many of the gentlemen agreed; Captain Thomas Cavendish of the
Elizabeth
and Captain Clarke of the
Roebuck
would later be chastised by Grenville, much to their annoyance, and many of the crew were on the receiving end of his sharp tongue. When Fernandez the pilot was unfairly accused of navigational errors, Lane leaped to his defence. “[He] hath carryed himselfe both with greate skille and grete government all thys voyeage,” he wrote, “notwithstandying thys grete crosse [Grenville] to us all.”
On the first of June, 1585, Grenville’s ship dropped anchor at the island of Hispaniola—his last hope of acquiring provisions before sailing for the North American mainland. There was by now a desperate need for fresh fruit and livestock, but Hispaniola was one of the worst places to be looking for such supplies. The island was reputed to have a strong garrison under the command of a military governor who was most unlikely to welcome Grenville’s approach. But when Grenville landed his men he discovered that the Spaniard in charge of the island, Captain Rengifo de Angulo, was quite unlike his colleagues in the rest of the Caribbean. Not for him the military-style regime of a Spanish encampment. He enjoyed frivolity and fancy foods, and when he heard that the distinguished Sir Richard Grenville had pulled into port, Angulo prepared a right royal welcome. He was greatly excited at the thought of all the “brave and gallant gentlemen” on board and sent a missive to Grenville, joshingly addressing him as Verdo Campo (Spanish for Green Field) and sending his “gentle commendations.” A few days
later he appeared in person at the harbour, accompanied by “a lusty frier” and a few friends. Angulo was the very model of politeness, humouring Grenville and receiving him “very curteously.” So amicable was this first meeting, and “the curtesies that passed on both sides were so great, that all feare and mistrust on the Spanyardes part was abandoned.”
Grenville must have been taken aback by the enthusiastic reception. For years he had learned to hate the Spanish, having heard numerous tales of the racks and wrenches of the Inquisition’s henchmen. Now he found himself whiling away the afternoon in a shady bower, chatting jovially with the Spanish governor and sipping fine rioja. He was delighted to have at last met someone not only whom he could treat as an equal, but who also shared his love for the finer things in life. As the two men relaxed in the languid heat, Grenville proposed staging a beach banquet that very evening. Captain Angulo thought this a splendid idea, and within minutes Grenville was barking orders to his men. Food and supplies were landed and the two commanders watched as the
Tiger
’s crew constructed “two banquetting houses covered with greene boughs, the one for the gentlemen and the other for the servants.” The ship’s cook, meanwhile, excelled himself in preparing a delicious feast.