Encounters Unforeseen- 1492 Retold

by Andrew Rowen

  When Cristóbal recognized Juan’s intent, he felt a rage as severe as upon Martín’s desertion, tempered only by the understanding that most men did succumb to terror upon the ocean. It was now a friend deserting, and the desertion now imperiled Cristóbal’s own ship.

  The commotion aboard the Santa María echoed across the flat ocean to the Niña, and Vicente immediately ordered sailors to take the Niña’s launch to assist the Santa María. When Juan arrived, Vicente refused to receive him and commanded that he return to the Santa María and do his duty as Colón ordered.

  Cristóbal felt the Santa María list to its side as the current pushed it further onto the reef and the tide ebbed beneath, crunching the reef into the hull. He cursed that he had lost the opportunity of a ready solution. He prayed for the Lord’s guidance, astonished by the abrupt change in the Lord’s design for the voyage. He listened to the beams blister in agony and grimly ordered the crew to saw off the main mast to lighten the weight upon the hull so that the two launches might be able to yank the ship free.

  There was pandemonium on deck in the moonlight as the mast toppled into the sea with a resounding crack and swoosh. Sailors quickly tethered the two launches to pull the Santa María and heaved mightily to apply all possible force. Cristóbal implored the Lord to spare his ship, and the Guanahaníans and Cubans invoked Yúcahu. The heaving and praying were to no avail.

  Cristóbal desperately peered into the ship’s dark hold as the groaning intensified. He realized the receding tide rendered the hulls’ breach inevitable and, when it came, he shuddered as the Santa María filled with seawater, stunned that he had now lost two of three ships. The memory of jumping to the sea off Lagos flickered through his thoughts, and he anguished that there were no Christians ashore. But, for the moment, the Santa María’s deck held intact, dry, and walkable.

  Cristóbal ordered the entire crew and captives evacuated in the wan moonlight to the Niña, stretching Niña’s capacity for passengers but safe in the tranquil sea. Castilians, Guanahaníans, and Cubans— men, women, and children—descended into the launches, terrified not only that they achieve safety, but also that it be aboard the Niña and not ashore—where the Castilians feared the unknown and the Guanahaníans and the Cubans the Caniba. At the dawn’s first twilight, Cristóbal ordered Diego de Arana, Pedro Gutiérrez, and Yutowa to take a launch to apprise Guacanagarí of the disaster. The easterly wind rose with the sun and, recognizing the Santa María’s deck soon would collapse in pounding surf, Cristóbal directed his crews to transfer its possessions and storage to the Niña.

  Guacanagarí received Admiral’s messengers and was astounded. The reports he had received described the pale beings as extraordinary, perhaps spirits rather than men. He reflected that men’s canoes capsized and men drowned, but not spirits, and that spirits never requested men’s assistance. His memory flickered years back to Uncle’s advice regarding the actions caciques took when they held advantage over other men. As a Taíno, Guacanagarí knew he would assist these beings because he had no knowledge they were Caribes or evil.

  He barked orders that his ablest crews speed his largest canoes to rescue Admiral and the vessel. Naborias shouted calls throughout Guarico, and, as if defending a Caribe raid, Guacanagarí’s subjects bolted through the forest to the beach, shoved over a dozen canoes into the surf, and began paddling furiously west with the morning sun low at their backs. They quickly rose to full speed, plying the ocean in a dense congregation with spray flinging wildly from the forward swipe of their paddles. The grunt of the canoeists’ exhale resounded across the water.

  Guacanagarí rode as a passenger, as did his brother and principal nitaínos in separate canoes. He was astonished by the unpredictable changes in fortune and now calculated that this Admiral’s disaster might present an advantage—that he could receive Admiral not only as host but also as rescuer. If these pale beings were peaceful, and if their allegiance beneficial—questions he had to answer first—he might establish a friendship with them exceeding mere trade. His thoughts sped just as quickly as the canoes, and he mused that his relationship with these pale beings might be exclusive, denying access to the paramount Haitian caciques who had ignored Uncle and himself for decades—including at that very moment with the other pale beings to the east! He gazed forward to behold the healthy vessel and was astounded at its size and poise in the sea.

  From the Niña, Cristóbal beheld the fleet of enormous canoes racing toward him from the east, approaching as rapidly as any vessel he had ever seen. He realized that the Lord Guacanagarí’s people would help, and his gratitude swelled. Their canoes surrounded the Santa María, and there were shouts in Castilian and Taíno as men who had never met hailed one another and, through grunts and gestures, coordinated unloading everything they could into the canoes. The Mariens were astonished by the things they hauled unknown to them—clothing, food, utensils, instruments, chains, barrels, and weapons—and the Castilians were astonished that naked Indians were their saviors. It was obvious the Niña could accommodate but a fraction of that retrieved, and Guacanagarí directed his men to transport everything to Guarico.

  Cristóbal searched to identify Guacanagarí in the chaos enveloping the Santa María. Soon, a canoe approached the Niña and Guacanagarí’s brother came aboard to introduce himself, accompanied by Yutowa. Brother expressed through gestures and Yutowa that Guacanagarí had arranged for the contents of the Santa María to be stored in Guarico under his control and would provide whatever additional help necessary. As Brother spoke, Guacanagarí identified Admiral and was struck by Admiral’s noble features, albeit pale. Brother pointed out Guacanagarí to Cristóbal, and Cristóbal acknowledged recognition, respect, and heartfelt thanks by hand waves.

  As midday approached, Guacanagarí returned with the laden canoes to Guarico, accompanied by a few clothed beings, and supervised the temporary deposit of the Santa María’s contents beside his caney. He ordered two bohíos emptied to serve as a storehouse and placed them under armed guard as the contents were transferred to them. Castilians and Mariens returned to dismantle the wreck itself so that no plank or nail that could be saved was lost, and pieces of the deck, hull, masts, and other remnants were towed by Guacanagarí’s naborias to be heaped on Guarico’s beach or fields beside the two bohíos.

  Cristóbal implored his Lord to explain the meaning of the disaster. He seethed at the disloyalty or cowardice of his own crew to run from the ship rather than save it. Many of them—including the very first man he had enlisted—had meant to desert him on the sinking vessel, an incomprehensible ingratitude and disloyalty! But he confessed to himself that both Vicente and the naked Indian peoples had rescued him from entire loss.

  Cristóbal spent the rest of Christmas on the Niña in odious proximity to Vicente and the crews of both ships, as well as their Guanahanían and Cuban captives. He fought to disguise his contempt for the sailors who had forsaken him and loathed to recognize Vicente’s valor because of Martín’s transgression. He feared that Vicente, Juan, and the rest of the crew would sail for Castile without him if he debarked ashore. He anguished that Martín already was sailing home to steal credit for the voyage’s discoveries. Beyond bitterness and recrimination, Cristóbal gravely confronted the awesome peril that he had but one ship to cross the Ocean Sea and that he and everyone else would perish if it foundered. Guilt for leaving Diego and little Fernando pricked his soul.

  Cristóbal also reflected on Guacanagarí’s valor and chivalry and that the gentle peoples of the Indies actually observed the Lord’s commandment—they loved their neighbors as themselves.

  Escobedo was astonished by Guacanagarí’s charity—if the Santa María had foundered off the shores of the Mohammedans, Rodrigo and the rest of the crew likely would have been enslaved by now, just as would the crew of a Mohammedan ship that foundered off Castile, and in either case the entire storage looted. Pedro Gutiérrez reflected on how his king had brutally subjugated the naked peoples of Gran Canaria, and Pe
dro was relieved the Lord Guacanagarí was ignorant of that. Cristóbal’s servant Juan reflected how the Christians had brutalized fellow Guineans and Canarians and that the Lord Guacanagarí was promoting his own doom.

  Bakako and Yutowa whispered that they were now certain the pale beings were but men. They surmised that the prospect of returning to Guanahaní was extinguished, and they implored Yúcahu that Admiral not leave them in Bohío. The Cubans were forlorn and hopeless, perceiving that terrible fate inevitable for themselves.

  After sunset, Cristóbal mustered his resolve to lead his men and summoned the sovereigns’ representatives and Diego de Arana to discuss the situation. Cristóbal felt it would be imprudent for the Niña to attempt to transport the crews of both ships and the captives to Spain, even if all the Cubans were released. He believed some crewmen instead should be left to establish a temporary settlement at this site as the first step toward the island’s colonization. These men could explore for gold, spices, and other riches to recommend the best locations for a town, as well as learn the language and customs of the inhabitants.

  All four men agreed with Cristóbal that Española was fit for colonization. Rodrigo Sánchez observed that it had been the Crown’s experience in the settlement of Ronda and other reconquered territories that once people saw settlers prospering, many more volunteered, and an initial settlement on Española could serve that purpose. Pedro and Diego attested that many crewmen would beg to stay, lured by the gold. All agreed that a settlement of a significant portion of the two ships’ combined crew made sense provided it were peacefully arranged with Guacanagarí.

  While likely unnecessary, Cristóbal thought it prudent—as well as typical in the establishment of settlements among unknown peoples—that a small fort be built for the men’s protection in the event relations with Guacanagarí deteriorated from that envisioned. He recalled the fort at Mina, realized he could never build such a structure, and reasoned that the Indians’ meager weaponry rendered that unnecessary. Anxiously, he pondered whether there was a greater need to protect the Indian women from the crew.

  None of the four doubted Cristóbal and crews now had the geographic knowledge and nautical ability to sail to Spain and then return to retrieve the men left behind. Lured by gold, all but Sánchez agreed to remain on Española when Cristóbal departed. That evening, many of the crew also volunteered, and Cristóbal was comforted that there was little risk in his own abandonment ashore. That was provident, as his presence ashore was essential for the settlement’s establishment.

  GUACANAGARÍ’S FIRST ENCOUNTERS,

  Guarico, December 26–27, 1492

  At dawn on December 26, naborias paddled Guacanagarí at a stately pace in his greatest canoe to meet Admiral aboard the remaining vessel. Cristóbal, Bakako, and Yutowa watched his regal approach and Cristóbal welcomed him at the Niña’s rail, bowing to acknowledge his nobility.

  “Your Lordship, I humbly express my deepest thanks, and that of my King Fernando and Queen Isabel of Castile.” Cristóbal’s tone and expression communicated his gratitude, obviating the need for translation, but Bakako attempted one.

  Guacanagarí smiled. “I am honored to meet you. Your greatness has preceded you, and I’m honored to provide whatever assistance you need.”

  “Guacanagarí like Admiral,” Bakako offered. “Admiral good.”

  Guacanagarí turned to Yutowa, whom he already knew, and smiled again. “I see there are two of you.”

  Cristóbal was impressed with Guacanagarí’s grace and civility. The two men began their first conversation, gesturing frequently to communicate when neither Bakako nor Yutowa could translate or understand, neither man knowing whether the other fully or even partly understood.

  Guacanagarí pointed to the reefs where the Santa María had foundered and then to Guarico, and gestured as if carrying a load in his arms. “My subjects have placed everything taken from the stricken vessel in or beside two bohíos in my village. I will make more bohíos available if needed.” He grasped Admiral’s hands in his own. “Do not be disheartened.”

  Bakako translated the first thoughts. “Food. Sails. Knives. Guacanagarí house. Guacanagarí more house.” He couldn’t translate the second thought, but Cristóbal gleaned the sentiment of friendship.

  Cristóbal opened his arms, looked into Guacanagarí’s eyes, and spoke with a soft intensity. “Your assistance and friendship will be remembered and rewarded.” Yutowa translated that Admiral was Guacanagarí’s friend and Guacanagarí politely listened, surmising Admiral had said more, certain that it was kindly, yet uncertain what.

  Guacanagarí pointed to the crew and then to shore. “You and your subjects may stay ashore as long as you wish, and I will assist you in whatever way possible.”

  “Sailors land,” Bakako said. “Guacanagarí friend.”

  Cristóbal invited Guacanagarí and his nitaínos on a tour of the Niña and then served a Castilian meal. Guacanagarí watched canoeists approach and offer Admiral gold, confirming for himself that Admiral coveted it. Through Bakako, Guacanagarí explained there was abundant gold in the “Cibao,” and that he had access to it. He boasted that his cacicazgo held gold as well. Cristóbal understood Yutowa’s translation to mean that Guacanagarí claimed gold was so abundant that it was valueless to his subjects.

  Guacanagarí noticed the Cuban men, women, and children huddled alone. He pointed to them and asked Bakako, “Why are they with these beings? I can tell by their speech they’re Cuban.”

  Cristóbal perceived the question and, without waiting translation, turned to Bakako and replied. “Tell the lord I have been taking them to Castile to learn Castilian language and custom. They will return to Juana.”

  Bakako despaired that his fate mirrored the Cubans but managed an interpretation.

  Pointing to the Cubans and then to the shore, Cristóbal instructed Bakako further. “Tell him we no longer have room on our ship for them, and that we must leave almost all of them ashore.”

  Bakako winced breathless, his despair descending to dread that Admiral would leave him on Bohío as well, to be enslaved or eaten. “Admiral asks that you take the Cubans ashore.”

  Guacanagarí nodded graciously toward Admiral. “Certainly, we shall take them.” He studied Bakako. “Are they here of their own choice?”

  Bakako hesitated, fearful Admiral could understand.

  “No,” replied Yutowa.

  Guacanagarí grew uneasy, uncertain what this meant for himself and his people. But, for the moment, he repressed any fear as premature. After the meal, he offered to escort Admiral to Guarico for the reception arranged prior to the disaster and to review the stricken vessel’s possessions. Cristóbal, Escobedo, a despondent Bakako, and armed crewmen boarded the launches and followed Guacanagarí’s canoes to Guarico, where thousands of Guacanagarí’s subjects waited to behold them. It was Guacanagarí’s turn to lead a tour of his dominion, trailed by this multitude. Cristóbal was impressed by the size and orderliness of the village, the villagers’ civility, and Guacanagarí’s sovereign demeanor among them.

  Guacanagarí’s wives supervised the preparation of a bountiful feast of fish, fowl, and cazabi. At its conclusion, Guacanagarí washed his hands in water with herbs and offered the same for Admiral. Cristóbal was impressed by Guacanagarí’s propriety and cleanliness, believing it evidenced nobility.

  Cristóbal presented Guacanagarí with a shirt and gloves originally destined for the Grand Khan’s court. Guacanagarí admired them openly before his subjects, donned them, grinned with approval, and thanked Admiral. Cristóbal reflected that Guacanagarí was as deft in ceremony as any European prince.

  Trailed by the multitude, Guacanagarí led Admiral through Guarico’s verdant gardens and tree groves to the beach to review his armada of great canoes. He waved his arm across the horizons and explained that his cacicazgo extended as far as one could see and well beyond, including the great bay west of the imposing peak and the mountains inland and to the east. Crist�
�bal expressed his esteem for the realms.

  Cristóbal also decided it was his turn to reveal sovereign power. As the olive- and pale-skinned peoples mingled on the beach, he ordered sailors to retrieve the Santa María’s weapons stored in Guacanagarí’s bohíos and give the Indians a demonstration. A sailor shot an arrow from a Turkish bow, revealing a fearsome range that the villagers had never witnessed. A lombard and a spignard were discharged, and most villagers fell to the ground in terror of the unknown forces and powers, undoubtedly of spirits. Cristóbal studied Guacanagarí’s reaction.

  “Your weapons are advanced and powerful,” Guacanagarí remarked, unsure how Bakako would translate. His mind now raced in fear and bewilderment, but he concealed his thoughts.

  Bakako was too incredulous to translate, stupefied by Admiral’s arrogance. Admiral had chosen a celebration of friendship to demonstrate belligerence, no less to the very cacique who had just saved him! Admiral’s dismissal that Guacanagarí could destroy him was equally astonishing—only spirits could feel so invincible. Yet Bakako finally rendered an interpretation. “Admiral weapon good.”

  Guacanagarí searched for words to continue conversation, unsure whether the pale beings were men or spirits, pondering Admiral’s brazenness, the brutal force he commanded, and his restraint of the Cubans. While the weaponry was incredible, they were stored in his own bohíos, not aimed at his people. The pale beings hadn’t shown hostile intent—they hadn’t even intended to visit for an extended period, no less attack. Wouldn’t this Admiral—as any Taíno cacique—reciprocate the charity of rescue with lasting friendship? Wouldn’t he forbear from using weapons against his rescuer? Couldn’t and shouldn’t his weaponry be an advantage of their potential alliance, not a threat?

  Guacanagarí turned to Admiral. “My people suffer raids from Caribe warriors who live on islands to the east. They steal our women to be slaves and concubines. If they capture our men or boys, they eat them.” A recollection of his sister Heitiana’s abduction flickered through his thoughts.