Encounters Unforeseen- 1492 Retold
Page 36
Rodrigo and Luis beheld the thousand naked people about them, showed appreciation for the courtesies, and wondered at the elaborate ceremony. But they noted there was no city and that the inhabitants appeared to lack any written word. There was no point in presenting the sovereigns’ letter of introduction. Rodrigo asked Bakako to inquire of the Grand Khan and Quinsay and Zaiton, but could not discern if Bakako, no less the territory’s king, knew of the Khan or these places or any geography of the Indies. After a night in the caney, Rodrigo and Luis indicated they would return to their master, whereupon the cacique decided to accompany them.
As he waited return of the embassy, Cristóbal ordered each ship careened, with two ships always left afloat for security from the Indians. He sighted the polestar and, regardless of the considerable voyage south from San Salvador, recorded in the journal that the fleet was at a latitude of 42 degrees north, not only north of Hierro but north of Lisbon. He explored in the launch with Yutowa and deduced from gestures and conversations with inhabitants that a great quantity of gold and pearls could be obtained to the southeast on the island of Bohío, where apparently there were ports with large ships, and merchandise. He also inferred that there was a people who lived far away who had but a single eye or a dog’s snout and ate men, drank their blood, and cut off their genitals. He recorded in his journal that the land was most fertile, producing yams (sweet potato or yucca), plentiful cotton, and thousands of fruits that would be profitable.
The crews had more time for casual contact with the inhabitants than on islands previously visited. Sailors learned how the inhabitants rolled dry leaves into a short tube that they lit to inhale the smoldering fire’s smoke, alleviating tiredness. Some Cuban women’s fear that the pale beings were of the dead or other spirits receded, and a few accommodated and enjoyed the sailors’ lust for them. The sailors were humored that neither payment nor marriage was expected. Cristóbal didn’t interfere, reflecting not only that it was the universal habit of sailors but that it appeared consensual and not an impediment to his trade or future subjugation. He didn’t discuss it in the journal as inappropriate to relate to the queen.
The embassy returned late on November 5. Rodrigo and Luis reported that the territory’s king had warmly received the sovereigns’ salutation and his people harvested great quantities of cotton all year-round and possessed fertile lands for crops and many fruits and herbs. But the king and his peoples were poor and there was no city. Undaunted, Cristóbal hosted the king and his party for dinner aboard one of the ships, accorded him great honor, and invited him to stay aboard for the night. Cristóbal also offered that the king return to Castile to meet King Fernando and Queen Isabel. The cacique cordially enjoyed dinner but, after hearing the invitation to meet Admiral’s caciques, asked to be put ashore and didn’t return.
Cristóbal had spent almost ten years convincing a sovereign to underwrite his ships, and the failure to readily locate Quinsay and Zaiton did not diminish or alter his resolve to find them. His faith that the Lord had destined him to reach the Indies was unshakable, and he reflected on the journey’s greater purpose in the journal that night, expressly addressing his sovereigns. He wrote he was convinced the inhabitants of the lands possessed would become Christian as soon as missionaries spoke their language. He trusted that the sovereigns would bring this large nation to Christianity, just as they had destroyed heresy and evil.
Cristóbal decided that captives should be taken from the mainland near Río de Mares because their homeland was better suited for future colonization than the islands visited to the north. They would be taken to Castile for training in language, faith, and custom so they might be resettled in Juana, much as the Portuguese had done with Guineans in their trading posts. He decided to capture women as well as men, believing the Indian men would be less likely to flee on resettlement in Juana if they had their women and that the Indian women would teach Castilian men and women their language.
On November 11, Cristóbal ordered the seizure of five young men who had come aboard the Santa María. Bakako watched with utter surprise, fright, and remorse, recalling his assurances of safety days before. The Cubans shouted to Bakako, pleading to know what was happening and why he had led them to this. Soon, they disparaged him, and Bakako was ashamed to be among them.
Shortly, Cristóbal dispatched armed sailors ashore. They captured seven head of women and three small children, who timorously greeted them at the door of their bohío. The women and children were hauled aboard the Santa María and made available to the Cuban men just captured. Bakako was astonished and ashamed again—some of the women were already married. One of their husbands—and the father of the children—canoed to the Santa María and begged to be allowed aboard to reunite with his family. Cristóbal consented. Bakako implored Yúcahu to understand that he had no role in this.
Cristóbal recounted in his journal that the natives lacked religion, did not know evil, and believed the Christians came from the heavens. He observed that, unlike in Guinea, the Indians all spoke one language, and reflected to himself that this would facilitate subjugation. Remembering Scio, he promised the territory’s cotton easily could be sold in the great cities of the Grand Khan to be discovered without sending it to Spain, together with commodities from Spain and Eastern lands—which now lay to his west.
Bakako found a spot below the lantern at the stern to hide and lie for the night. He reflected that Admiral’s courtesies and charities belied ruthless oppressions. He heard the Cuban women and children crying and the men murmuring plans to escape and grimly pondered that they hadn’t been seized to serve as guides or interpreters but to return with Admiral beyond the horizon. He invoked Yúcahu again to ask what dreadful event would next follow, whether the Cubans’ fate foretold his own, and if he would ever see Kamana again to take her as wife. Clouds then shrouded the moon, and it began to rain.
EAST TO BANEQUE (GREAT IGUANA ISLAND?),
November 12–22, 1492
Promptly following the Cuban captives’ seizure, the three ships sailed east to find Baneque (Great Iguana Island), which Bakako indicated was three days’ journey by canoe. A Guanahanían captive aboard the Pinta had assured Martín that Baneque possessed much gold, and, regardless of the failure of prior assurances, Martín was so convinced. Cristóbal and Martín now believed Bohío would prove to be Cipangu but agreed Baneque should be investigated first.
November 14 brought contrary winds and then high seas, impeding reaching Baneque. Cristóbal diverted along the Cuban coast and discovered a large bay (Bahía Sagua de Tamano) with many islands, which he concluded were the islands sometimes depicted on world maps at terra firma’s eastern edge. He decided to evaluate the region’s commercial potential for a few days, delaying the exploration for Baneque. Martín considered the decision foolish because Juana hadn’t yielded gold, and his pride rankled as he submitted to it despite Colón’s inferiority as a captain.
Cristóbal set about his evaluation and the inhabitants fled. He discovered mastic and aloes, ordered the Guanahaníans to dive for pearls, and envisaged a site for a fort if profitable trade developed. He directed his crews to construct a large wooden cross to mark the new possession, as had become his custom as the voyage continued. He completed his evaluation by November 18, but did not sail to Baneque that day as it was Sunday, and he preferred to worship on Sundays rather than explore.
Martín’s impatience with the delay to Baneque’s exploration swelled, aggravating his contempt for Colón’s conduct of the voyage. He fumed that he and his crews had risked their lives on the promise of gold and that the extended time Colón spent planning Juana’s future subjugation and commerce—in the absence of gold—was predictably selfish and Genoese, as its benefits would inure only to the sovereigns and Colón.
On November 19, Cristóbal at last directed that the fleet sail east toward Baneque. But the wind was easterly and the seas high by the next day, and he again determined that Baneque wasn’t attainable. He considere
d withdrawing north to the island of Isabela but feared its proximity to San Salvador and that, if taken there, Bakako, Yutowa, and the other Guanahaníans would jump ship. Two of the Cuban men already had done so. Cristóbal chose to withdraw back to Cuba. Martín raged.
Two days later, Cristóbal sailed for Baneque yet again, and gave up yet again when the wind shifted. After midnight, the wind veered to allow passage, but he continued toward Cuba regardless, the Santa María’s lanterns burning so the Pinta and Niña would follow.
Martín exploded. He was as certain of Baneque’s gold as he had been that sailing southwest would achieve landfall. Neither Colón nor the sovereigns’ representatives could stop him and his crew from trading for their private stores of gold if he continued to Baneque alone. Furious, he weighed this opportunity against the crime of desertion, his thoughts racing through the injustices he had suffered and the excuses available. The Genoese manically viewed every achievement of the voyage as conferred by the Lord on him alone and would credit himself alone to the sovereigns—regardless of his promise to recognize Martín’s contribution!
Quickly, Martín convinced himself he had the right—as his ship’s captain and recruiter of the crews—to direct the Pinta’s voyage to achieve the ends for which he and his crews had sailed when consistent with the sovereigns’ objectives. And he relished that when he obtained the gold on Baneque he would confront Colón from a position of strength! With the gold in hand, none of the crews from Palos, Huelva, and Moger would testify that he had deserted the Genoese.
Martín also reflected that the sovereigns might not accept his excuses and that he could be hanged.
Martín felt the favorable breeze quicken and made his decision, ordering the Pinta’s crew to spin the ship east to Baneque. The crew was shocked at their captain’s disobedience and feared they would be held accountable. But they understood the objective, disdained the Genoese, respected and adored their captain, and followed his order.
Cristóbal and Pero Alonso eventually understood the Pinta’s diversion, and ordered the Santa María’s crew to raise additional lanterns signaling that Martín redirect south. With relief, they recognized the Niña continued southward.
The crews of the Santa María and the Niña watched the Pinta vanish from the horizon on November 22 and realized Martín had deserted, an offense meriting the severest punishment in any fleet or navy. Cristóbal was mortified beyond expression before all. His command had been openly disobeyed by his first-ranking officer and the man singularly responsible for recruiting most of the crews. The disloyalty encouraged the disloyalty of the crews of the Santa María and Niña.
Cristóbal hid his rage and anxiety, recoiled from acknowledging the disloyalty, and let on to the crews of the Santa María and Niña that he didn’t know whether Martín had mistakenly continued to Baneque as originally planned. He appreciated that Vicente and the Niña remained with him and that it was essential to retain this loyalty, if it be that.
Vicente understood Martín’s rage and rationale. He felt all eyes upon him and, like Colón, publicly assumed that Martín had misunderstood the signals. Vicente anguished that Martín’s rash confidence of Baneque’s gold might lead to the entire family’s miserable dishonor.
Sailors on the Santa María and Niña were dumfounded and frightened. Both Cristóbal and Martín believed Cipangu near. While the voyage had not yet achieved the gold or civilization promised, its ambition remained intact and worthy. They were far distant from home—to their knowledge, as far over the Ocean Sea as men had ever been—and three ships provided comfort if misfortune took one. Two ships provided the narrowest resort.
The sovereigns’ representatives huddled among themselves. They weren’t surprised that a captain from Palos and his crew were disloyal to the Crown, and they knew the sovereigns would deal with it severely. They suspected the Pinzóns hoped to demonstrate by Vicente’s loyalty that the family continued to support Colón as necessary, and they agreed that would hardly merit leniency for Martín. His greed and jealous conceit had jeopardized the voyage’s safety, regardless of the merits of Colón’s command.
Cristóbal’s domestic, page, and servant watched their master and were moved by his discipline to forbear insult, withhold rage, and confront adversity, and knew it born of a long familiarity with all three. His fortitude to venture entirely alone was astonishing, as he dissembled even to them the cause of Martín’s disappearance.
Bakako watched and understood that the pale beings had friends and enemies among themselves, just as Lucayans did. Bakako had now lived with them for over a month and witnessed them eat, drink, sleep, laugh, disagree, and argue like Lucayans. While he hadn’t seen one die, Bakako now understood they lived far more like men than spirits.
EAST TO BARACOA,
November 23–December 5, 1492
The Santa María and Niña returned to Cuba near Puerto del Principe, and Cristóbal explored for two days. On November 26, the ships sailed east to attempt Baneque again, as well as toward Bohío, which the Indians said lay beyond Cuba’s eastern tip. Cristóbal studied Cuba’s coastline trail southeast into the horizon and summoned Pero Alonso, Bakako, and Yutowa to discuss Bohío’s exploration. He asked, “Where do we sail for gold on Bohío?”
Bakako spoke in Taíno, for Yutowa alone. “I’ll try to dissuade him again.”
Bakako addressed Admiral in broken Castilian, accompanied by gestures. “We not know. More gold Baneque. Bohío people bad. Enemy Lucayans.”
Cristóbal remembered the wounds he had seen on Guanahaníans. “People on Bohío harm Lucayans?”
“Bohío people Canibas. Same Caribes. One eye. Take Lucayans. Eat Lucayans.”
“‘Canibas’? You say ‘Canibas’? Are they people of the Grand Khan?”
“I no know,” Bakako replied, shrugging his shoulders, bewildered to be asked constantly of the Grand Khan.
Cristóbal gleaned elatedly that “Caniba” sounded to him like “Grand Khan.” He summoned the sovereigns’ representatives to listen to the conversation, to hear the word spoken by Bakako. “How do you know the ‘Canibas’ have one eye?” Cristóbal pointed to Bakako. “Have you—Bakako—seen ‘Canibas’?”
The question surprised Bakako. “No.”
“How do you know the Canibas eat Lucayans?”
“Canibas take Lucayans. Lucayans no home.”
“Have you—Bakako—seen them eat Lucayans?”
“No,” Bakako countered. “Bakako eaten see Lucayans eaten.”
Cristóbal nodded he understood but continued. “Do Canibas take Lucayans to do work, to be servants or slaves?” Cristóbal pointed to Juan Portugués.
Bakako didn’t know the Castilian words servants or slaves, but surmised Admiral’s inquiry nevertheless. Bakako now realized that, in Admiral’s tongue, Bakako was a “servant” or “slave.” He replied, “Canibas eat Lucayans.”
Cristóbal proudly turned to Pero Alonso and the sovereigns’ representatives. “The Canibas must be subjects or soldiers of the Grand Khan who enslave Lucayans.”
Bakako sought to make a practical point. “Bakako Yutowa no talk Canibas Admiral Christians good. Canibas eat Bakako Yutowa. Yes gold Baneque. No gold Bohío.”
Cristóbal suspected Bakako was lying, seeking to convince him to sail to Baneque simply because it was significantly closer to Guanahaní.
The Santa María and Niña continued southeast along the Cuban coastline, and Cristóbal observed a number of large rivers and potential harbors he felt worthy for colonization. On November 27, they entered one of them to explore, and a multitude of inhabitants came to the shore. As the ships approached, the inhabitants shouted, raised their spears, and gestured that the visitors should depart. Bakako explained to Admiral as best he could that the Cubans thought Admiral’s men were Canibas and would attack if an embassy disembarked. Regardless, Cristóbal sought to establish peaceful trading relations and, suspecting Bakako and Yutowa would flee if sent ashore, dispatched armed sailors instead.
The inhabitants fled. Cristóbal departed and continued farther east to discover another harbor before sunset. But its inhabitants—who referred to their cacicazgo as Baracoa—also fled.
That night, Cristóbal reflected on the beneficence and severity of the Lord. While there had been obstacles that tested his faith, he appreciated that the Lord had shown mercy on the voyage often. The crews of the Santa María and Niña remained loyal despite Martín’s desertion and, while gold remained elusive, they had been spared the debilitating disease and death experienced by the garrison at Mina. In his journal, he recorded that the rivers of Juana—unlike of Guinea—were safe to drink and that, thanks to God, none of his crew had become sick on the entire voyage except for one preexisting condition. He promised his sovereigns Juana would hold infinite things of great profit and that they would have cities built for traffic with all of Christendom, convert the natives to the faith, and restrict admission to the territory to Christians.
For the next week, the Santa María and Niña took refuge in Baracoa from rain, thunder, and strong winds, and Cristóbal named the site Puerto Santo. Sailors explored nearby villages, and, when the inhabitants fled, investigated the deserted bohíos to find heads of men in baskets suspended from house posts. Many believed this confirmed the Indian captives’ assertion that there were men who ate men. Cristóbal believed otherwise and, in his journal, explained that the heads were of some family founder or venerated ancestor.