Encounters Unforeseen- 1492 Retold

by Andrew Rowen

  Bakako listened to the pandemonium from the darkness of the Santa María’s hold, tortured again that he remained captive while the daring of two brothers had achieved freedom. He heard shouts and scuffles as sailors seized another canoeist to replace the captive lost. To his amazement, Bakako listened as Admiral gave this man gifts and then set him free, apparently hoping the man would speak well of the captors’ kindness to those onshore.

  Cristóbal sailed that noon toward the larger island, and, as Manigua grew distant, he released Bakako and Yutowa from the hold and gave them food and water. Cristóbal pointed toward the destination, to which Bakako responded, “Yuma,” grimly aware that he was safe when he helped Admiral.

  The ships overtook a man in a small canoe. Cristóbal brought him and his canoe aboard, offered him bread, honey, and drink, and discovered that he possessed Castilian coins and beads traded on San Salvador. Cristóbal admired the ability to traverse significant distance across ocean in such a small craft, and he gained confidence that these peoples, and in particular his captives, did know the geography of their islands and traveled among them.

  Cristóbal gave the canoeist trifles and, that evening, released him on Yuma to spread good word—apparently successfully. In the morning, the Yumanians led sailors to Yuma’s lakes, helped fill the ships’ water barrels, and graciously ported the barrels back to the ships on their backs. Cristóbal envisioned the opportunity to exploit them and, having honored the spiritual powers, named Yuma Fernandina. He explored briefly, but found no temples, bridges, or port teeming with ships—no gold mine or any gold except jewelry.

  But Cristóbal remained convinced he had attained Marco Polo’s Indies, now referring in the journal to his exploration of the Indies and the peoples as Indians. With optimism, he interpreted gestures by the Yumans—confirmed by Bakako and Yutowa—that there was a king living at the island or city of Saomete who wore clothes, possessed much gold, and ruled over all the neighboring islands. Cristóbal sailed east toward Saomete as Bakako and Yutowa directed, pronouncing in his journal that the lands discovered were the best, most fertile, and temperate in the world. Cristóbal named Saomete Isabela, and, when he debarked, almost every Saometean fled in fear. Cristóbal and his sailors searched in vain for the lord, and he now found it necessary to prohibit his crews from looting.

  Cristóbal recorded in his journal that the local people he did meet spoke of two large islands to the south named Cuba and Bohío and that many large ships and seafaring people visited Cuba. Confidently, he wrote this Cuba was Cipangu and that he would travel there and to Bohío to find gold, as well as to the mainland and Quinsay to present the sovereigns’ letter to the Grand Khan, requesting a reply and returning with it.

  Cristóbal sailed for Cuba at midnight on October 24. As he lay to sleep, he anxiously recognized that he had yet to find an Indian ship or merchant or commercial port. The sovereigns were not alone in expecting material wealth from the voyage. He had so promised each crewman, particularly Martín.

  CAONABÓ

  Maguana

  Caonabó was bathing with Anacaona, Onaney, his other wives, and their younger children in the village stream when a naboria came to alert him that a nitaíno had arrived from Aniyana. It was the hurricane season, and Caonabó quickly surmised that the news would be grave, for there was no other cause to risk the open sea crossing. He whispered to Onaney that he would learn what had happened before summoning her.

  Caonabó returned to his caney and, as he expected, found that the nitaíno waiting was the leader of the crew who had brought him to Haiti decades before, now thin and wizened with age. Caonabó was moved by the constancy of the elderly man’s service, bridging Caonabó’s youth and reign. The nitaíno had returned him to Aniyana to marry Onaney, carried Manicoatex and other brothers to join him in Haiti, borne the news of Father’s death, and taken Caonabó’s eldest son born of Onaney back to Aniyana to compete to be its cacique one day. Caonabó still thought of him as the leader and embraced him.

  “How are you, my friend?” Caonabó asked. He stared into the leader’s eyes, asking to receive his report.

  “Your mother has passed away.”

  Caonabó flushed with relief that the news wasn’t of his son but grimaced as a memory of Mother shot through his thoughts and triggered a thump of his heart. “How did it happen?”

  “She asked for a secluded bohío.”

  Caonabó envisioned Mother resolutely alone, content to die, sustained till the final moment with memories of her family, including himself. At Father’s death, she had chosen to remain to watch over Father’s children and other wives rather than to be buried with him. Caonabó recalled her strength on the day he first had departed Aniyana, admiring that she had dedicated that strength to Father’s family every day since.

  The leader handed Caonabó a small sack. “She wanted you to have these.”

  Caonabó opened it and pulled out a stone amulet, recognizing that it was Father’s. He also found a small round of gourd, darkened and hardened from decay. It was curious and he studied it, soon realizing that it was a child’s helmet with two carved eyelets, and he was overcome by the remembrance of lying next to Mother before donning it for his first duck hunt. The thoughtfulness of the gift heartened Caonobó that Mother had possessed her wit and memory until the end.

  “Thank you for coming,” Caonabó remarked. “You shouldn’t have—in the hurricane season.”

  “The sea was unusually calm. It was easy, particularly since I no longer take an oar. There’s a younger nitaíno who now leads. I’m just brought along to consider the weather.”

  “How’s my son?”

  “He has taken wives and is well thought of. Your youngest brother continues to rule, and can be expected to for many years.”

  Caonabó dispatched a runner to summon Onaney, and she joined to learn the news. The three sat in the plaza, served a meal by naborias, and Onaney eagerly plied the leader for information of their son, his wives and children, her parents and siblings, and everything Aniyanan. Caonabó listened contently, pleased that his boyhood home remained as he remembered, reminded that Taíno life endured changeless over the march of time. That night, he bid Onaney sleep with him, and they revisted what they had learned and were happy.

  In the moonlight, Caonabó retrieved the small gourd mask and studied it. “I wonder why she kept it all these years.”

  “As opposed to discarding it or giving it to you sooner?”

  “Yes.”

  “She wanted you to remember it as her final message.”

  “What’s the message?”

  “There’s no gold in it, as in your name. But it’s you, regardless, and the memory of you she carried through death. Youthful, proud, free, brave, eager to be the hunter and conqueror. I can’t think of a better mask to remember you by.”

  Caonabó was proud to be this remembrance. He kissed and held his first wife closely. “It’s now yours.”

  In the morning, after breakfast, Onaney returned to the leader his sack, now stuffed with gifts for her son and others on Aniyana. Caonabó offered to accompany him to the pass atop the first mountain range on the route north and arranged bearers and a litter to accompany the entire journey.

  The leader declined to ride as they climbed into the mountains, retracing a portion of the journey they had taken together decades before. He proudly recalled leading a boy who now ruled their people. They came to rest at the pass, where he gazed north over the mountains he would cross.

  “Do you miss the sea?” he asked. “You must. It was in your blood.”

  “Yes, I miss it often. Both the beauty and terror of it.” Caonabó admired the mountains. “But I’ve grown to love the mountains, as well. They have a different beauty. They have protected my people.”

  “So has the sea, from the beginning of time. The sea has protected our people from whatever lies beyond.”

  _______________

  1 At Pidgeon Creek, where a narrow straight conn
ects a long, slender inner bay to the ocean.

  2 San Salvador is 3.5 degrees south of Hierro.

  IX

  CUBA

  TO CUEIBA (AT BAHÍA DE GIBARA) AND WEST,

  October 26–November 11, 1492

  At sunset on October 26, Bakako and Yutowa sat at Admiral’s feet next to the page Pedro and servant Juan, studying a chain of low, scruffy islands and reefs to starboard. Admiral sat on his duho. The steward Pedro stood at the rail and asked Bakako, “What’s the name for these islands?”

  “Utiaquia (Ragged Islands),” Bakako replied. He continued slowly in Castilian. “One, two days Cuba.” He thought and clarified. “Canoa.”

  Cristóbal noted the statement of duration and understanding of speed and distance and appreciated Bakako’s civility and intellect. The boy appeared to be learning his role, perhaps accepting his fate.

  Bakako and Yutowa remained naked, and Cristóbal didn’t insist otherwise. The two Pedros had offered them shirts and pants, and they had found them physically comfortable to wear. But they weren’t pleased to do so because hiding one’s body was not the custom of their people, and they viewed it an embarrassment. The crews continued to wear their wool shirts and pants day and night regardless of the heat, often for protection from the sun and wind but otherwise in accordance with Hispanic custom.

  Cristóbal addressed Bakako in words and gestures. “When we arrive at Cuba, you will speak for us. You will tell the people we are good. You will say we harm no one. You will say we just trade for gold.” He pointed to Bakako, toward Cuba, and to himself and his gold piece, and then signaled using his hands and fingers that Bakako would walk ashore in Cuba to vouch that Admiral and his men wanted gold in peace.

  Cristóbal convened the Santa María’s crew for evening hymn. He named the islands to starboard the Islas de Arenas and the crew sang “Salve Regina.” Bakako and Yutowa sang in Castilian, parroting the words and mimicking young Pedro as he gazed upward to conjure the heavens. Bakako now understood the areítos invoked the captors’ spirits—Lord, Christ, and Virgin—and the cemí shaped as a cross. He perceived that Admiral consulted these spirits often and reverently. He sensed that young Pedro was not so worshipful and that Juan participated in invocations only perfunctorily, perhaps to mimic Admiral just as Bakako.

  On October 28, the ships reached Cuba, and Cristóbal debarked at a river mouth to possess the territory, naming it Juana in honor of the prince. But the inhabitants fled.

  Cristóbal was captivated by the territory’s hills and mountains, which reminded him of Sicily, and the herbage on the beach close to the surf, indicating calm seas. He observed the palm trees had larger leaves than those in Guinea. Bakako and Yutowa explained that Cuba was an island, and Cristóbal was impressed that the river mouth could serve as an excellent port. He searched for where the Grand Khan’s ships anchored to trade and suspected it was but ten days’ sail to the mainland.

  Following the Guanahaníans’ suggestion, the ships sailed west to locate the territory’s king, eventually anchoring at another river. Cristóbal named it Río de Mares (Río e Bahía de Gibara) and dispatched a launch with Bakako at the bow. Bakako called to the people ashore to announce he would land with men who were good. But the inhabitants—of a cacicazgo they called Cueiba—fled.

  The sailors landed and examined the first deserted houses they reached, finding fishing gear and face masks stored within. Cristóbal had ordered that nothing be touched or taken. He wondered whether the face masks served for worship or decoration and concluded that the dwellings of the territory were of finer construction than those previously encountered, reflecting a greater civilization of the peoples closer to the Indies’ mainland.

  The expedition continued northwest, and Martín deduced from the Indians aboard the Pinta that the shore they skirted indeed was the Indies’ mainland and that “Cuba” was a city lying four days’ journey inland. Cristóbal and Martín conferred excitedly, Cristóbal pronouncing they were almost upon the Grand Khan and Martín countering they were abreast an enemy neighboring kingdom, at war with the Khan. Whatever, Cristóbal eagerly resolved to dispatch an embassy inland to meet the ruler at “Cuba,” and the ships returned to harbor at Río de Mares. He chose Rodrigo de Xerez, who had led an embassy to meet a Guinean king, and Luis de Torres, the converso conversant in Arabic, to lead the mission. Bakako would serve as interpreter and, if one could be enlisted, a local inhabitant as guide.

  Cristóbal entrusted Rodrigo and Luis with the sovereigns’ letter of introduction and instructed them to search out and advise the territory’s king that the Castilian sovereigns had dispatched Cristóbal’s expedition to establish friendship and offer their favors. Using Bartolomé’s map, he briefed them on the geography of Cathay and Mangi and directed that they ascertain the ships’ present location on the mainland in relation to Quinsay and Zaiton. He cautioned Bakako to be certain the king understood Cristóbal came as representative of Fernando and Isabel, not the Grand Khan—who might be an enemy.

  Bakako listened carefully to understand as much as possible. He comprehended nothing of the geography, the Grand Khan, or Castile, but he knew he was to travel for his captors into the interior of Cuba, an island, and he sensed this would be his only moment of advantage. He spoke slowly to Admiral in his bare Castilian. “You gold, we Guanahaní.”

  Cristóbal was startled and remembered his promise. “Yes. That’s correct.” He nodded affirmatively.

  “No. No. I Cuba, we Guanahaní.” Bakako shook his head vigorously. He studied Admiral to see if the distinction had been understood, and then repeated it slowly with hand gestures, emphasizing the word Cuba. “I Cuba, we Guanahaní.”

  Cristóbal gazed at the boy, appreciated his mettle, and recalled boyhood in the alleys of Genoa. Cristóbal was now the merchant prince on the quay, not the boy, and he took a mercantile approach— instinctively without hesitation—realizing that a second promise was no more a lie than the first, and replying, “Certainly, you will return to Guanahaní.”

  Prior to dispatching his embassy, Cristóbal sent men ashore at Río de Mares on November 1 to attempt again to establish relations with the inhabitants, but they fled again. Cristóbal would not be denied. He dispatched Bakako in the bow of the launch, and Bakako shouted ashore that he brought men who were good, harmed no one, and were not from the Grand Khan. Fearfully, Bakako dived overboard and swam ashore where two Cubans waited to escort him into a nearby bohío for interrogation, promising he wouldn’t be harmed and soon released.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Guanahaní.”

  “Who are these beings, and why are you with them?”

  “They’re from the heavens, and they don’t speak or understand Taíno. They appear to be spirits or men with powerful spirits. Their cacique is named Admiral. They are not Caribes, and this Admiral says he’s not a cacique but the nitaíno of a cacique and a cacique wife. I don’t know. They call their supreme spirits Lord, Christ, and Virgin.” Bakako reflected a moment on the second question. “I’m with them to help them find gold, and they will return me to Guanahaní.”

  “Have they hurt you?”

  “I didn’t want to help them, and they beat me twice. But they haven’t hurt me since, and they haven’t hurt anyone we’ve met ashore. We’ve traveled to Manigua, Yuma, and Samoete, and, when they find or hear there’s no gold, they just depart. Their vessels are extraordinary, and they have extraordinary weapons. They could kill many people, but they haven’t—at least so far.”

  “What do they trade in return for gold?”

  Bakako lifted the hawk’s bell strung on a cotton strand about his neck. The two men studied it. They offered Bakako some cazabi and water, and Bakako’s increased comfort with them brought him— urgently—to confront the questions he had so far repressed, which now overpowered him. Should he beg for their shelter and bolt into the forest? If so, could he ever return to Guanahaní?

  For a moment, Bakako loathed both his terri
ble, impetuous decision to board Admiral’s canoe at Guanahaní and his cowardice in not fleeing into the night at Manigua. He sensed these Cubans would shelter him from Admiral’s chase if he ran. But dread swelled within him that their shelter—unlike the Maniguan Lucayans’—could mean servitude or worse. Even if the Cubans did treat him kindly, he doubted that he could ever find a ride on a canoe journeying to Guanahaní. He had forsaken his best chance to escape—flight now would be to the unknown, not home! Bakako suppressed the urge to plead for shelter and wanly chose to rely on Admiral’s promise as the only practical hope of seeing his family again.

  The Cubans questioned Bakako about other items obtainable from the pale beings and then released him. The village inhabitants who had fled returned, and, soon, canoes surrounded the ships to trade for objects from the heavens.

  Cristóbal prohibited his sailors from trading for anything but gold so the inhabitants would understand the expedition sought only gold. He was disappointed that those he met lacked even gold jewelry, but he deduced from gestures that within three days merchants would arrive to trade. That night, Cristóbal related in his journal that he had arrived before the mainland between Quinsay and Zaiton, about 100 leagues distant from each other, among a people at war with the Grand Khan.

  Rodrigo de Xerez, Luis de Torres, and Bakako departed inland the next morning, accompanied by a local Cuban. They walked many miles for over a day, passing through numerous small villages and fields of a crop unknown to Rodrigo and Luis, which their guide called mahisi. Bakako announced in each village that the two pale men were not of the dead but good people from the heavens, and the villagers responded by offering cazabi and water, reverential treatment, and shelter. The embassy eventually arrived at a large village of more than fifty bohíos and a thousand people (near Holguin), who received them solemnly. Its cacique hosted them in his caney and provided ornate duhos for Rodrigo and Luis to sit on, and his wives and naborias prepared a ceremonial feast. Men came forward to touch Rodrigo’s and Luis’s hands and feet to ascertain if flesh and bone, and women brought gifts of cotton cloth, finely carved wood, and stone jewelry. The cacique invited them to stay at least five days.