Encounters Unforeseen- 1492 Retold

by Andrew Rowen

  At about 2:00 a.m. on October 12, a young seaman serving lookout on the Pinta, Juan Rodríguez Bermejo,3 shouted that he sighted land to the northwest. Martín hurried to the bow and clearly identified low-lying sand cliffs glimmering in the moonlight about two leagues distant. He shouted in confirmation, and the Pinta’s lombard was discharged. Martín ordered most sails lowered and brought the Pinta to quarter so the other ships would close. The Pinta’s entire crew peered at the cliffs. Sailors fell to the deck praising the Lord, weeping and embracing one another.

  The shot of the lombard echoed east and the entire crews of the Niña and Santa María bolted to the rails to peer west, praying that the sighting be true. Their prayers were met. Cristóbal beheld the landmass and fell to the deck to adore the Lord and wept. Sailors cheered, cried, embraced, and sang a hymn to the Virgin for watching over them.

  Some who had protested came to kneel before Cristóbal to apologize and ask his forgiveness. He replied that he exonerated all. But, as he spoke, he knew it was a lie, simply a prudent response to retain each sailor’s allegiance for the journey then beginning. In truth, he would never forgive those he perceived had belittled, insulted, or mocked his Genoese origin or common status, the wisdom of his voyage or his intelligence, the purity of his motives or faith, or the quality of his seamanship. He did forgive, and would never begrudge, only those he perceived had but succumbed to fear of death at sea, which he understood beyond expression.

  Cristóbal ordered most sails lowered and the Santa María quartered abreast the Pinta and Niña. He repressed his growing distrust of Martín and shouted across the turbulent sea to congratulate him for sighting land. Cristóbal directed that the ships quarter until dawn, when they could identify the presence of shoals and determine how to reconnoiter the landmass for a suitable anchorage.

  Few of the crew, if any, could sleep as they awaited sunrise. They now felt safe and anticipated glory and riches.

  Cristóbal forced himself to rest briefly, to be as alert as possible at dawn when directing a landing in unknown waters. But he could not stop himself from rising to scan the landmass for a harbor teeming with ships or a city with temples roofed with gold.

  _______________

  1 Northwest of Gomera.

  2 The Sargasso Sea.

  3 Sometimes known as Rodrigo de Triana.

  VIII

  LUCAYAN ISLANDS

  ARRIVAL OF UNKNOWN,

  Guanahaní, October 12, 1492

  Bakako’s father woke at the first light, placed a few sticks on the bohío’s smoldering fire, and stepped outside to examine the weather. The ocean was windswept and very rough, the sky dotted with clouds but not stormy. He decided to fish within the coral barrier with his sons and returned inside to shake the hammock where Bakako and Yuni slept, now together with their little sister Abana. The children rose to join the rest of the larger family outside the bohío as the women prepared breakfast.

  On the eastern coast, near the village of the island’s paramount cacique,1 the first fishermen to inspect the ocean were shocked to see three unknown objects far at sea to the southeast, apparently approaching. They appeared small at that distance, but—whatever they were—the fishermen knew they were large, likely enormous. The objects buffeted on the sea and rose high into the sky. One fisherman pronounced they were sea creatures. Another exclaimed they were spirits from the heavens. A third warned they were Caribes riding unknown beasts. The fishermen quickly returned to the village to warn the cacique.

  Guanahaní’s paramount cacique was a prudent, middle-aged man, quite youthful in appearance. He trusted the observations of these particular fishermen and quickly summoned his behique and a party of nitaínos to accompany him to the shore. The commotion woke the entire village and a rumor spread that Caribes were attacking. The cacique and his entourage rapidly climbed a bluff overlooking the ocean and were astounded. To the southeast, illuminated by the sun’s first rays streaking across the horizon, three objects of gargantuan proportion were speeding west to pass Guanahaní’s southern tip, close outside the surf breaking on the southern reefs. They appeared to have long bellies stretching across successive waves and tremendous tentacles waving in the sky, puffing with pouches like the throats of croaking frogs. They were inexplicable.

  The cacique and his nitaínos feared the sightings might be Caribes, beasts hunting, or evil spirits, but the cacique cautioned they could also be friendly spirits—in which case it would be wrong to offend them. He quickly decided battle preparation was urgent and dispatched messengers throughout Guanahaní, directing all women and children to proceed inland for safety and all men and older boys to prepare to engage an enemy. He assembled under his command a small contingent of men best suited to act as warriors to track the sightings along the southern shore, ready to lead any battle, and instructed that hostilities should begin only upon his order, strictly as a last resort.

  It took but minutes for a runner to cross Guanahaní to Bakako’s village. The village cacique and behique met him at the plaza and, at first, were not convinced of the urgency. The messenger panted about extraordinary beasts or spirits at sea yet was unable to describe them. But when he mentioned a Caribe raid, the village cacique quickly understood and exhorted his villagers to obey their paramount cacique’s direction.

  Bakako’s mother, aunts, and grandmother clamored in pandemonium to gather Abana and the other children. Mother stole a moment to embrace Bakako and Yuni and anguished whether they were young enough to accompany her inland. Father perceived Mother’s want and nodded disapproval. Mother urged him to watch over their sons, embraced him, and departed with Abana and Grandmother inland toward Guanahaní’s great freshwater lake, silently invoking Yúcahu’s and Attabeira’s protection.

  The village men and boys followed their cacique, toting spears and trotting south along the path Bakako took to his watch post. They rose atop the gentle hill and scanned the southern sea but could not discern Caribe war canoes in the heavy surf. They quickened their pace and Bakako and Yuni ran beside Father, keenly aroused by the emergency, proud to be with the men, awestruck they might use spears other than for fishing, and wondrous of the unknown that would be encountered.

  Soon, the cacique shouted for the party to halt, outcries pronounced the unknown’s discovery, and Bakako and Yuni beheld it, astonished. To the south, three enormous beasts swam with the sea west outside the barrier reef, pitching in the swells. Bakako thought they had wings like a bird, touching the sky.

  The cacique brusquely asked his men for silence and spoke to his behique. “I can’t tell whether these things are fish or bird or beast! There’re no fins, no duck’s feet, no paddles. They’re swimming faster than the current, almost as fast as warrior canoes. They could be bearing men.”

  “Their heft and height are incredible!” the behique observed. “They must be spirits! We’ve never seen fish, birds, or beasts of this size, and none of our history tells of it. They’re not of the earth or the sea we know. They must come from beyond the horizon, where spirits reside.”

  “What if they can crawl onto land or fly above us!” a nitaíno shouted. “Maybe they’re coming to eat us!”

  “We don’t know that,” another replied. “Maybe they’re just passing by.”

  The cacique implored his behique to consult Yúcahu for what they should do, and the men and boys hushed as the behique communicated. After some moments, he advised, “I believe Yúcahu favors letting these enormities reveal themselves as they intend. We should take action only in response. If they’re spirits from beyond the horizon, it’d be foolish to dishonor them, whether they’re good or evil.”

  The villagers watched the enormities swim beyond Guanahaní’s southern tip, still outside the barrier reef, and then turn north to enter the less turbulent water in Guanahaní’s lee.

  “They’re looking to come ashore!” the cacique grimly observed. The villagers sobered in trepidation of confrontation and, as the enormities came abreast where they
stood, studied the tentacles and billowing pouches.

  “It’s as if they’ve harnessed wind like a bird,” the cacique continued.

  “They’ve aligned Guabancex and Guataúba to their advantage,” the behique agreed.

  “Look at their bellies!” a nitaíno exclaimed. “There’re spirits or men riding them! They’re tiny at this distance, but you can see them moving about.”

  The cacique squinted at the bellies of the enormities and saw the apparitions of men stirring. “We must prepare for Caribes! They may be attacking on beasts or boats we’ve never seen.” He dreaded that his small band would confront this unknown alone and desperately scanned all directions. To his relief, a large party of Guanahaníans with spears was approaching north along the path, tracking the enormities’ advance.

  Soon, Guanahaní’s paramount cacique and his warriors arrived, and the village cacique submitted to his command. Bands of other Guanahaníans converged from the east, and all joined to track the beasts—be they that—north. By midmorning, the beasts arrived west of Guanahaní’s great beach and slowed, having discovered one of the barrier reef’s few deep passage channels. The Guanahaníans studied them carefully navigate inside the barrier, revealing a terrifying hunting instinct and intelligence. It became easy to identify the men or spirits pacing on them as they advanced toward the beach.

  Bakako watched with amazement as the beasts came to a standstill within the tranquil bay. He studied their bellies—there were no scales like a fish, no skin like a ray or shark, and no shell like a crab— they appeared instead to be made of wood, like a canoe. He marveled at the height of their arms or wings—but there were no feathers and the appendages resembled tree trunks draped in rope. Men or spirits on each beast heaved an enormous spear tied to a thick cord into the water, and Bakako immediately recognized the intent to secure the beasts in the sea. Just as canoes, the beasts then quietly adjusted their float in accordance with the current.

  Bakako harkened to the sounds echoing across the water. There was a flapping sound—like cloth blowing in the wind—as the great billowing pouches shrank upward to fold into arms held horizontal in the sky. There was a cracking sound when cords snapped against the tall arms, as when nets were thrown into a canoe’s hull. There was a thwacking sound as waves lapped the enormous bellies, just like upon a canoe. Astounded, Bakako heard the men or spirits talking in a tongue unknown and undecipherable.

  Guanahaní’s paramount cacique summoned the village caciques on the beach to review the situation. Whether spirits or men, these beings certainly weren’t conducting a surprise attack as would Caribes—they appeared to be coming to introduce themselves. The cacique asked for a duho and sat to consult Yúcahu, who advised treating the visitors deferentially, be they good or evil. It would be wrong to raise a spear against this honest entrance, and it would be unwise to provoke spirits possessed of perhaps fearsome power.

  The Guanahaníans discerned that each beast—be it that— trailed with a large cord a small beast, about as long as a canoe but shaped more like an open shell. Perhaps these smaller objects also were beasts, but Bakako thought of them as strange canoes. The men or spirits descended into them and, pulling strange paddles sideways, propelled these three canoes—be they that— toward the beach.

  Bakako raptly scrutinized the men or spirits approaching. Some paddled, others sat, and one stood at the bow of each canoe holding a spear draped in cloth. They were massive beings, appropriate to the enormous beasts they came from—much taller, broader, and heavier than Guanahaníans. Bakako couldn’t determine whether they wore cloth or paint or had strange skin over most of their bodies. Whatever, they bore many different colors. They didn’t appear to come from the world he knew, and, as they came closer, Bakako took fright they were spirits. Perhaps they were dead, hiding the absence of navels in cloth so they might stalk among the living.

  “These appear to be men, but larger,” Father tensely observed.

  “They don’t look like Caribes, either,” Bakako’s uncle responded. “They’re pale as the dead, there’s hair on their faces, and they paint themselves like parrots. They’re savages!”

  “We don’t know whether they’re friend or enemy, spirit or man,” the village cacique hoarsely warned. “Let’s wait before judging.”

  The Guanahaníans grew breathless with dread. Most retreated from the water to the forest’s edge to watch from a distance. Father ordered Bakako and Yuni to hide behind trees and prepare to run inland to find Mother if trouble arose. The paramount cacique ordered his warriors to stand a moderate distance from the apparent landing spot.

  As the three canoes arrived at the beach, Bakako recognized that the men or spirits appeared of different ages, including elders and youths. Their foreheads were round for failure of flattening. The three standing were more powerfully colored. Bakako now guessed that these three might be caciques and that perhaps these beings were men, after all, decorated in exotic cloth.

  Bakako studied the man—be it that—standing at the bow of the first canoe. He appeared older, with gray hair atop his scalp and upon his chin. Scarlet cloth wrapped his shoulders, accentuating his pale skin. When his canoe grounded, he stepped out onto the sand, clutching his spear and its cloth under his arm. He cupped his pale hands above his head, looked to the sky, spoke in an unknown tongue to his spirits or fellow dead, and walked onto the beach.

  POSSESSION, GUANAHANÍ,

  October 12, 1492

  Cristóbal fell to his knees, engulfed in triumph and tears, and kissed the sand, praising and adoring his Lord. The sovereigns’ representatives, the interpreter Luis de Torres, and some crewmen armed with sword and crossbow disembarked and joined him on their knees, weeping and praising the Virgin for having delivered them. Martín and Vicente arrived on the Pinta’s and Niña’s launches, each captain bearing the banner of the expedition, and they, too, dropped to their knees, crying with jubilation.

  Cristóbal rose to his feet, wiped his tears, and unfurled the banner bearing the sovereign’s royal standard. He was stunned by the beauty of the setting—the peaceful arc of the soft, white beach separating the turquoise shallows of the sheltered bay from a lush, green, moist forest. He glanced up and down the beach and perceived a multitude of people scrutinizing him, all men and most with spears, astounded they were entirely naked. Their skin was olive—like the heathens of the Canary Islands, much lighter than the Guineans—and many had painted themselves with red, black, or white designs. Memories of the scant clothing of Canarians and Guineans flickered through his thoughts, and Cristóbal was satisfied that the distance of the naked peoples from his crews was sufficient for safety—so long as the crews remained alert. He overheard the people’s whispers and guessed that their language, as the Guineans’, would lack words common to the languages he knew. He grasped these people were not of the Grand Khan’s court and that the site was not Cipangu, suspecting instead that it was an outer island to the Indies’ mainland.

  Cristóbal summoned his crews to stand before him on the beach and addressed them, praising the beneficence of the Lord in bestowing the discovery upon himself and the sovereigns and proclaiming the island named San Salvador (Holy Savior) in the Lord’s honor. He requested that Rodrigo de Escobedo and Rodrigo Sánchez step forward before the peoples watching to state the formal declarations whereby San Salvador became the possession of King Fernando and Queen Isabel of Castile and, when subjugated, its inhabitants their subjects.

  Escobedo stated—in a solemn voice loudly directed to all peoples on the beach—that no Christian prince had yet asserted sovereignty over the island and that the Castilian sovereigns thereby were free to do so. Cristóbal surmised the naked men watching had no comprehension of what was occurring. He felt superior over their nakedness and ennobled to be the Lord’s instrument to bestow Christian civilization upon them.

  Escobedo pronounced that Cristóbal Colón and his men had arrived in the name of King Fernando and Queen Isabel of Castile to confer the
se princes’ and the church’s protection over San Salvador and invite its inhabitants to Christianity so their souls would achieve eternal salvation—if none objected. Cristóbal listened to the silence of the naked men and expected no objection. He was relieved his landing had not provoked hostilities, as he had no soldiers to properly fight. He understood the naked peoples were ignorant of both the consequence of their nonhostility and the tremendous spiritual benefit he would confer on them. Cristóbal raised his voice to be heard up and down the beach, declaring to both peoples that he heard no objection to the imposition of the sovereigns’ sovereignty.

  Guanahaní’s paramount and subordinate caciques observed these rituals with wonderment and bewilderment, listening to the strange tongue and intrigued by the frequent gestures to the heavens. As Bakako, they guessed that the pale being leading the ritual— be he a man—was a cacique accompanied by nitaínos following his commands. The beings repeated a mysterious rite or invocation, lifting a hand to the forehead, then to the chest, and then to one shoulder and across to the other. The caciques puzzled over from where these beings had come, what they were doing, and what they would do next. The paramount cacique anxiously pondered whether they wished to stay.

  Escobedo announced that Cristóbal Colón was now the viceroy and governor of the island, entitled to be addressed as an admiral, and solemnly requested the affirmation of the crews present. The men were ebullient and readily affirmed, and many from the Pinta and Niña took the opportunity to thank Cristóbal and plead his pardon for any past insult or disobedience. As before, Cristóbal said he forgave everyone.

  Martín congratulated Cristóbal as heartily as the others but was galled to affirm Cristóbal’s nobility, jealous that land’s discovery was due to his plea to change course southwest. He seethed that Cristóbal’s remarks offered him no credit for anything whatsoever—it was an outrageous injustice and ingratitude! Without Martín’s participation, there would have been no crews to sail in the first place; after landfall failed at 750 leagues, no crews to continue; and no land found!