January 14th, 1812

Now that I thing about all this, this last year of me have been a weird
dream.  Or were my previous 28 years the dream?  Well, at least I am
over the deepest depressions of a couple of months ago.

I am now at Bloofields, a town founded by a Dutch pirate in the
Caribbean coasts of Central America, currently under Spanish rule, which
means that nobody knows who they should be loyal to: Carlos in Mexico or
Ferdinand in Madrid.  Most people have still living memories from the
time the Britons were the rulers here, but this seems to be the pattern
in the whole Caribbean from Bahamas and Florida to Trinidad and the
Guianas to this Miskito coast.  Yet, they had little problem defending
their town and the whole Mosquitía against the British in 1806.

This is a land inhabited by the Mosquito indians and lots of English and
Papiamento spoken negroes from Jamaica.  The governor himself was born
in England but is serving the Spanish crown, and he is now taking a
practical position between Carlos and Ferdinand: who ever the President
in Guatemala tell the right king is, is the right king (the favored
seems to be Carlos).  This is quite fortunately for me, as I am staying
at his house.  Of course, he does not know (or does not care?) that I am
a rebel leader with a regiment of 50 men armed in riffles and uniformed
in green in the outskirts of Bloofields.

Quite a few things happened from my last posts.  Ferdinand consolidated
his power in Spain and Carlos flew and landed here, in New Spain.  The
President of Guatemala is recognizing Carlos as the legitimate king, and
most people here have no problem with that...  well, most people here
care very little on the Spanish politics, including the governor.
Arriving here I found out about Cartagena.  There was indeed an uprising
pretty soon I left Darien, and the city is controlled by locals still
deciding if they are going independent or just autonomous, if they would
be joining Venezuela, or would go for themselves to free Santa Fe.

I heard also on reports of brown people in green uniforms, with
explosives and riffles, that took two of the forts around Cartagena just
when the first signs of the uprising were listened.  People that nobody
knew where they came from, but who then presented themselves as
supporters of the Creole government.  Fortunately I was not dressing my
uniform when I showed up here in Bloofields, or they would have related
me as those mysterious fighters in Cartagena.

Bloofields is not a big town, but is the center of a melting pot in the
western Caribbean, land of pirates, smugglers and adventurers.  Near the
mouth of the San Juan del Norte River, in front of the Corn Island and
then San Andrés, controlling this territory seem to be of key
importance, to both control and secure Darien and Colombia.

I am not planning to go further north.  My men are already installing a
base camp between Bloofields and the San Carlos fort in the San Juan
River, and I have managed to talk with some Mosquito leaders that are
willing to support me and my men for similar reasons than the Kuna:
protection and self-determination when the American born Spanish get
independent.  So, given that the governor of Bloofields is not actually
a potential enemy, it eases my decision to attack San Carlos when the
time comes.

The countdown is already set.

Tomorrow I will head back to Darien. by sea.  The governor found me a
place in a ship that is sailing to Chagres and Cartagena.

Cartagena.

It seems that business are business after all, and all this people
living in the Caribbean do not actually care who the ruler of each port
is.

-- Com. C. E. Tomás Pinzón G.
   Bloofields, Mosquitía