Encounters Unforeseen- 1492 Retold

by Andrew Rowen

  Yomabo surmised that a relationship with the beings would be beneficial, glanced at his nitaínos for concurrence, and offered Martín Guarionex’s friendship and agreement to trade gold at the inlet. Martín expressed his eagerness.

  Within a day, to Martín’s surprise, he received embassies of each of Caonabó and Behecchio asking similar questions and promising much the same.

  Within days, Guarionex assembled his council to receive Yomabo’s report. His son and the nitaínos described the clothed beings and warned that Caonabó and Behecchio had sent embassies to meet them, too.

  Guarionex began his inquiry. “You say they worship spirits continuously?”

  “Father, that would be my guess,” Yomabo replied. “At intervals, one calls a chant. At other times, they sing, frequently gazing toward the heavens.”

  “Are they fearful?”

  “I’m not sure we could tell. But I doubt it. They seem brave to be so far from wherever they come from.”

  “Men are fearful and worship often for that reason. Spirits are not, and worship less.” Memories of honoring Guabancex before hurricanes flashed through his thoughts. “You say their bodies remained on their vessel during the night.”

  “Yes. Many of them. Some vanished inside.”

  “The spirits of the dead walk out at night. So, should we conclude these are not the dead—as they didn’t walk out?”

  Yomabo nodded his head in agreement but also shrugged his shoulders in bewilderment, as did some of the council members. Yomabo equivocated. “Their skin is pale like the dead.”

  “You say they come from the heavens, or at least from beyond the horizon.”

  “Yes. The Lucayan said that many times.”

  “Spirits travel to the heavens and back freely, but not bodies.” Guarionex pondered and looked to Yomabo. “Perhaps it’s just the Lucayan who believes they come from the heavens. Did the pale beings’ cacique confirm they come from the heavens?”

  “I think so. But all communication was through the Lucayan.” Yomabo shrugged his shoulders again. “The only words we understood were the Lucayan’s.”

  “I thought the beings were traveling east. Isn’t it possible they came from the far western or southern shores—which are beyond the horizon?” There was silence. “Maybe the Lucayan is just mistaken they come from the heavens or is too simpleminded?”

  “The goods they possess are extraordinary—nothing like what we obtain from peoples on the western or southern shores.”

  “So, it’s possible they are spirits.” Guarionex was transparent with his doubt. “At minimum, their alliance with spirits seems extraordinary. But, if men, they must come from land.” There was more silence as Guarionex reflected. “Why do they seek gold? Are they engaged in a homage, purifying themselves to find gold and communicate with the spirits, as we do?”

  Yomabo and the nitaínos peered at one another, and Yomabo replied. “We didn’t find out why they seek gold. But the Lucayan didn’t mention a homage. They didn’t appear to be purifying themselves.”

  “Gold is the only thing they want?”

  “The Lucayan indicated gold was their only trading objective. They’re searching for a place they call ‘Cipangu.’ According to the Lucayan, when they obtain gold, or find none, they will depart.”

  “Are they good or evil?”

  “Father, we can’t tell yet, but there’s no indication they’re evil.”

  Guarionex reflected for a moment and then directed Yomabo to collect as much gold as possible in a few days and return to the inlet as he had promised the pale beings’ cacique.

  “We must act quickly in case these beings are worthy of a relationship. We have lots of gold to trade. But undoubtedly Caonabó and Behecchio will tell them they possess it, as well.” Guarionex tempered his enthusiasm. “We also must be cautious. If they do come from the heavens, they must be spirits and, whether friendly or unfriendly, we must then determine how to assuage them. It’s too soon to assume only good will come of them.”

  In Maguana, within days of Yomabo’s report to Guarionex, Caonabó, Anacaona, and Caonabó’s council met with their own embassy and received a similar report, as did Behecchio in Xaraguá from the Xaraguán embassy. All three also learned from informants in Marien that additional pale beings had landed on its coastline, also seeking gold.

  Caonabó questioned his chief emissary and an informant from Marien. “You each say these beings are accompanied by Lucayans. Are the Lucayans with them voluntarily or as slaves?”

  Anacaona mused on her husband’s Lucayan heritage and his experience brutally extracting information from captives taken on the battlefield.

  “The Lucayan didn’t admit to being a slave,” the nitaíno responded. “But my impression was that he was with them only temporarily, to help lead them to gold.”

  “Did he seem under duress?”

  “We couldn’t tell. But I think we should assume so.”

  “The beings in Marien are said to have Cubans with them, including women,” the informant interjected.

  “Do they force the women to lie with them?” Anacaona interrupted. “Have they enslaved them to fornicate?” Anacaona looked to Caonabó, startled.

  “I don’t know,” the informant replied. “But the Mariens are meeting and trading peaceably with these beings. I haven’t heard a report that their women are being captured, raped, or otherwise molested.”

  Caonabó gazed at his nitaíno. “You say they are not Caribes. If not, what’s the risk they will war like Caribes?”

  “There was no way to discern this in our meeting,” the nitaíno responded. “Perhaps their friendliness is a ruse. Their skin is as pale as the moon, and they may well be evil spirits of the dead.”

  Caonabó pondered, gazed at each of Anacaona and the nitaíno, and thought aloud. “If they are of the dead, I suppose it would be impossible to kill them?”

  Anacaona mused on her husband’s savvy in warfare and remembered it was unequaled.

  “What weapons do these beings possess?” Caonabó asked.

  “They appear to have powerful weapons with which we have no experience,” the nitaíno responded. “The weapons propel arrows an enormous distance, far exceeding the range of our arrow slings. Some boom, more piercing than a thunderclap, propelling stone at incredible speed.”

  Caonabó raised his hand to emphasize an importance to his next question. “Do they want only gold? Or do they want to possess our land where gold is found?”

  “They appear to be traders,” the nitaíno responded. “There was no suggestion they want to stay on Haiti.”

  Caonabó made his decision. “We have access to the gold they want. It’s too early to say whether these beings are friendly or unfriendly. But we can’t let Guarionex establish an exclusive trading relationship—or Guacanagarí, no less. Until it proves unwise, we should invite them into the Cibao to show them we are the trading partner they want.”

  “They’ve arrived in Magua’s influence,” Anacaona cautioned. “It’d be appropriate to coordinate with Guarionex, particularly since we and these beings must cross his territory to meet.”

  “I’m not concerned with Guarionex’s reaction. I have the warriors to conduct myself in the Cibao as I wish.”

  Anacaona reflected silently that the Taíno approach would be to compromise the discordant caciqual interests into harmony, and she so cautioned her husband.

  “We and Guarionex both have access to the gold, and ultimately these beings will recognize that. There’s no need for a dispute with Guarionex. Shouldn’t we deal with the beings side by side with Guarionex, as well as the Xaraguáns—who also have gold-bearing streams?”

  Caonabó thought for moment—well cognizant that his wife was Xaraguán first—and consented and asked her to coordinate with her brother. Caonabó dispatched nitaínos on his behalf inviting the pale beings to meet in the Cibao south of the Yaque to trade for the Cibao’s gold. The Maguans and Xaraguáns could attend, too.

&
nbsp; Soon, Martín received invitations inland to trade for gold from Haiti’s paramount caciques and was ebullient, gripped by the expectation of wealth far exceeding that of his ancestors and neighbors in Palos. He, his captive, and some sailors followed Caonabó’s and Behecchio’s guides and warriors south from the inlet across the river Bajabonico onto a trail through a beautiful, high pass (at Los Hidalgos) over the coastal mountains. The dark bloom of the forest mesmerized the Castilians as they climbed, and the fertility of the vast valley into which they descended enchanted them. They slept in a lovely village by a mountain stream and, the next two days, strode through farmland on the valley floor to ford the Yaque and ascend into the Cibao, arriving at a village where they met many hosts.

  Caonabó’s and Behecchio’s nitaínos and Yomabo presented Martín with more gold than he had collected in the entire prior eight weeks, both jewelry and unworked pieces. He reciprocated with a silver cup and trifles and, through his captive, promised them he would remain in the inlet to continue trading for gold for some weeks. At dusk, the local cacique invited Martín to stay in his caney, and made bohíos available for the crew. The cacique offered Martín a pretty daughter for the night, a gift he graciously accepted and enjoyed, as well as sisters and nieces for the other pale men.

  Martín soon returned to the Pinta and continued to barter for gold during the remainder of December, amassing a considerable quantity. His disappointment in not finding Cipangu, and his crew’s concern about the desertion, were forgotten. At long last, the voyage had triumphed.

  One day, after listening to Yomabo give another report of the pale beings, Guarionex retired alone to his ceremonial bohío. As Caonabó and Behecchio, he was comforted the pale beings appeared uninterested in remaining on Haiti after completing their trade. But their clothing vexed him. He could not extirpate from memory the evening decades before when, in that very bohío, father Cacibaquel had divined Yúcahu’s dire prediction of their peoples’ extinction. Guarionex studied his cemí of Yúcahu and resolved, as he had decades before and ever since, that consultation with Yúcahu as to that prediction served no practical purpose.

  TO GUARICO,

  December 23–25, 1492

  Cristóbal woke on December 23 to find the wind weak and the sea becalmed. As the sun rose, three messengers arrived on behalf of Guacanagarí to guide the Santa María and Niña to Guarico, and Cristóbal apologized to them through Bakako that the ships couldn’t sail that day, although he was eager to come. He arranged for an embassy led by Rodrigo de Escobedo to accompany the messengers back to Guarico to deliver the apology to Guacanagarí in person. Over the past month, Cristóbal had grown increasingly disturbed by his men’s conduct—their wont for egregious trading terms, lust for women, and disrespect of the honor due caciques and nitaínos—and Rodrigo was one of the few he still trusted to behave properly.

  Countless Mariens visited the Santa María and Niña during the day. More than a thousand came by canoe. Over five hundred simply swam. Five local caciques brought their households, wives, and children. They swarmed over the ships’ decks, sharing cazabi, water, and fruit freely, and bearing cotton skeins and parrots as gifts. They brought substantial gold jewelry and, for the first time on Cristóbal’s voyage, substantial pieces of unworked gold. Cristóbal now suspected that Española—not Baneque—possessed the gold mines he sought and ordered that something be given to all, believing that well spent. In his journal, he expressed his prayer that the Lord’s favor help him find the mines.

  Bakako witnessed the Haitian multitude meet and marvel at Admiral. The Bohían caciques not only desired Admiral’s company, they competed for it. Two months had elapsed since Bakako’s seizure and, while missing his family dearly, he now intuited he was participating in an extraordinary event that dwarfed his existence as a Guanahanían fisherman.

  Bakako pondered—for the first time—how life as Admiral’s servant compared to being a fisherman. As Admiral’s servant, he had met and spoken with Bohían caciques of far greater stature than Guanahaní’s paramount cacique—with whom he had never spoken. Admiral had captured him and others, lied as to their release, sought to couple men and women against their will, and, twice, set men to beat him—and the threat of punishment for disobedience, no less escape, was ever present. But, since the early days of captivity, Bakako had not been harmed, and Admiral had treated him kindly, almost as if he were Admiral’s own son, with a sternness born of absolute authority but mixed with compassion and occasional cheer. If Admiral were human and not spirit, he nevertheless was an exceptional human, endowed with an energy and dedication to his purpose that was extraordinary. He did treat each captive courteously so long as the captive fulfilled the function he commanded. He did afford the Bohían caciques and nitaínos honor.

  Bakako reflected contemptuously that Admiral’s subjects were neither kind nor exceptional, and most repulsed him. They treated everyone they met—captive or not, even the caciques and nitaínos— as inferior in ability and stature. Bakako considered that Admiral was likely no different at heart but merely dissembled to achieve his objective of finding gold. Bakako pondered whether trust in Admiral was warranted, convinced that the other pale beings couldn’t be trusted.

  Rodrigo returned to the Santa María in the moonlight, while Mariens still crowded the deck. He reported that Guarico was the largest village they had yet discovered—with thousands of inhabitants, many streets, and a central plaza cleanly swept—and that Guacanagarí was the most powerful lord. Guacanagarí had invited them to stay the night and, when Rodrigo declined, graciously had escorted him back to the launch, affording him the courtesy due a nobleman.

  With the Indian visitors on deck, Cristóbal, Vicente and their crews barely slept the night of December 23.

  Cristóbal rose before dawn on December 24, and, with a land breeze permitting departure, the ships sailed from the great bay and turned east along the mountainous shoreline, retracing Rodrigo’s route to Guarico. As they sailed, Cristóbal and Bakako spoke with an Indian who had come aboard. Cristóbal asked, “Where can gold be found?”

  Bakako translated, and the Indian answered, pointing east. “Cibao.”

  Cristóbal shuddered in disbelief momentarily, then elatedly anticipated triumph. “Ask him to repeat that.”

  Bakako complied, and the answer was the same. “Cibao.”

  Cristóbal beamed, caught his breath, and praised the Lord. He raised his hand, summoning Rodrigo. “We’ve found it. They call Cipangu ‘Cibao’!” He pondered Bartolomeo’s map. “There’s no other explanation—it’s nearby to the east. We’ll find it in days, and the gold mines—and the cities Marco Polo visited. This Lord Guacanagarí undoubtedly is vassal to the Grand Khan.”

  Bakako was startled by this revelation, amazed that at last he would meet this great cacique the Grand Khan. Escobedo was dumbfounded, astonished by Colón’s resolute fixation on—and perhaps monumental inflexibility to reconsider—his geographical conception that these naked peoples and straw huts closely neighbored Cathay’s gold temples and bridges.

  The ships progressed slowly in light breezes, and Cristóbal turned to his journal, enthralled that his ultimate objective lay but days ahead. He was taken by the Indians’ friendliness, generosity, civility, and adulation, and he wrote that there could not be a better or gentler people in the world. He assured that the sovereigns would rejoice when these peoples became Christian and learned Castilian custom, and he confirmed they spoke of Cipangu, calling it Cibao.

  As night fell, the ships approached an imposing rocky promontory where the coast would veer south (Point Picolet, Cape Haitien, Haiti). The breeze lulled and the Santa María and Niña floated slowly past the promontory, their crews well content to celebrate the Holy Christmas Eve offshore. All were exhausted from two days of trading with the Indians. Each man now hoarded his own stash of gold. Bakako sat with Admiral’s page Pedro, listening as Pedro related the story of Christ’s birth.

  The ships’ watch changed at
11:00 p.m. The moon was a thin crescent, and Cristóbal studied the imposing promontory, silver in the moonlight, which he had named Punta Santa (Holy Point). He listened to gentle swells break on reefs closer to shore, instructed Juan de la Cosa to follow Escobedo’s route to Guarico, and then retired to his cabin to pray. He yearned for a priest to administer the Eucharist, but was content the Lord heard his prayer and lay to sleep. Juan de la Cosa also retired to sleep, even though it was his watch, and the sailor assigned to man the tiller delegated it to a ship’s boy, contrary to Cristóbal’s prohibition against such delegation, and dozed off.

  A line of coral reefs extended east of Punta Santa a few miles toward Guarico, readily evident in daylight under breaking surf in a typical sea, less apparent in a calm lit by a waning moon when the tide is high. Guacanagarí’s subjects fished them daily. The Santa María had coursed closer to the promontory than the Niña and, as the breeze vanished, she drifted toward the reefs as those responsible slept.

  After midnight on Christmas Eve, the ship’s boy felt the rudder shudder and shouted. Cristóbal awoke in alarm and sensed the hull pivoting rather than undulating in the water. For an instant, he sought solace that he heard no grating or grinding of the hull and that his alarm was mistaken, but just as immediately he acknowledged he couldn’t deceive himself. The bow had drifted onto a reef. He rushed from his cabin to inspect the situation, and there was commotion as the entire crew woke to man the deck.

  Cristóbal ordered Juan de la Cosa to take the launch and drop an anchor astern of the Santa María so those on board could winch the ship backward off the reef, and Juan and other sailors obediently jumped to the launch. But Juan and his mates quickly panicked, terrified they soon would be wallowing beside a sunken ship to drown or be devoured in unknown seas—as Vicente and the Niña deserted to join Martín. Juan abandoned his own ship, fleeing toward the Niña farther to sea.