Far from being the Protestant beacon that Oliver Cromwell had envisioned, Port Royal was now known as the undisputed Western capital of sin. Priests sent to the country reported back on “the Torrent of Wickedness and Vice rushing through” its streets. The thousands of pounds’ worth of illicit goods the privateers brought with them would only accelerate the process: Port Royal was now the biggest, wickedest, richest, and most populous city in English America. From the water it looked very much like any other English port, with only an occasional architectural note reminding that one was in Jamaica and not Yarmouth. Brick buildings with gambrel roofs lined the shore, dwarfed by the huge storehouses, three and four stories high; in a region where dwellings were relatively small, these buildings were mountainous. They were nests of activity on a typical day, with slaves or indentured servants straining against ropes, hoisting into the air fat hogsheads of rum, great chests filled with iron goods or the newest fashions from London.
