Encounters Unforeseen- 1492 Retold

by Andrew Rowen

  Within days, Caonabó, Guarionex, and Behecchio learned through informants that Guacanagarí had permitted the pale beings to construct an imposing structure within Guarico, inviting almost forty of them to live and trade, and that Guacanagarí had dispatched one or two relatives to meet the beings’ paramount cacique beyond the horizon. All were astonished that Guacanagarí had upstaged them to establish perhaps a dominant, fruitful relationship with the beings. All were discomforted that the decision to allow the structure was a premature acquiescence that the beings were friendly.

  Caonabó’s concern ran deep. His experience as a soldier cautioned that, until otherwise proven, one had to assume a potential adversary was unfriendly, and much he heard disturbed him. The beings apparently lusted for women they had not entreated or been given. They entered bohíos uninvited and took things not offered. They had weapons that thundered and smoked to propel stone with fearsome force and range, and a purpose of their structure in Guarico was to protect these weapons.

  Caonabó recognized that Guacanagarí had the authority to invite the beings into his cacicazgo and that their harboring temporarily was appropriate given their misfortune. But he doubted Guacanagarí had the ability or judgment to evaluate the risk inherent in harboring these beings permanently.

  MONTE CHRISTI,

  Early January 1493

  By New Year’s Day, Martín Alonso Pinzón and the Pinta’s crew had amassed more than nine hundred pesos of gold trading with nitaínos of different cacicazgos at the Río y Puerto de Martín Alonso Pinzón. Martín learned through them that Colón and Vicente were trading for gold farther west on Haiti and surmised that one of the ships had been lost. Rumor of a sinking spread rapidly through the Pinta’s crewmen, who feared for the safety of their relatives, friends, and neighbors, and all eyes turned on Martín to ask what happened next.

  Martín had pondered that question for six weeks. He understood— as well as any man—that attempting the unchartered return across the entirety of the Ocean Sea in his one ship would be foolhardy and that reconciliation was essential, and he resolved to sail west to find Colón. While Colón’s forgiveness of the desertion was inconceivable, Martín thought he could wrest Colón’s pardon from prosecution. He believed his exploration had yielded the voyage’s most substantial discovery of gold, and he would gloat to Colón’s face that he had found the gold, that the entire crew relished he had disobeyed a Genoese’s instructions, and that they all would wink and smirk in Spain when Martín adhered unstintingly to the story that his separation had been involuntary. Martín appreciated his contention of involuntarily separation was belied by weeks of trading at his cove, and he ordered the Pinta’s crew to swear that they had anchored there for but six days.

  Before departing to find Colón, Martín decided to seize his own captives, envisioning they would impress the sovereigns if and when he obtained his own audience, and he ordered the Pinta’s crew to seize four men and two girls. The Haitians residing and trading in the cove were alarmed, and the families of those abducted were distraught. Word spread that the men seized would be eaten and the girls enslaved as concubines.

  The crews of the Niña and Pinta sighted each other after midday on January 6 and cheered mightily, and those on the Pinta realized the Santa María had been lost and wondered if crewmates had perished. The Niña quartered into the wind as the Pinta closed to her, and Martín’s heart pounded when he spied Vicente. His gut wrenched when he spied Colón. Cristóbal spotted Martín and prayed that St. Francis grant himself the composure to achieve a working relationship with the traitor. Bakako and Yutowa waved to the Guanahaníans aboard the Pinta. Cristóbal ordered that the caravels return to the bay at Monte Christi since there was no other harbor to shelter a meeting.

  The tranquility of the bay belied a tumultuous storm of emotion stirring on board the ships. The crews of the Niña and Pinta grew quiet, apprehensive of the impending confrontation. Bakako and Yutowa grimly observed there were additional captives aboard the Pinta, including girls. All studied Admiral’s reaction as Martín descended into the Pinta’s launch. Cristóbal stood motionless on the stern deck, with a countenance revealing only gravity. As its captain, Vicente greeted Martín when he climbed aboard the Niña with a formality unnatural for brothers, designed to evidence an absence of collusion or levity.

  Cristóbal and Martín recognized each other icily but professionally, emphasizing to all that orderliness would prevail. Cristóbal ordered Martín to meet in the hold beneath the stern deck, where they sat on chairs given the low ceiling, but feet apart. Vicente and Cristóbal’s steward Pedro stood outside, listening but precluding that to others.

  Cristóbal and Martín beheld each other and seethed with irreconcilable distrust and hatred. But Martín spread his hands to indicate he had come for reconciliation.

  “I come aboard to excuse myself. I parted against my will.”

  “Your insolence exceeds only your pride and covetousness. Your words are false, your disloyalty brazen, your heart corrupted by Satan.”

  Martín folded his arms upon his chest, insulted by the association to the devil. He glared into Colón’s eyes and beheld a fury as violent as the Ocean Sea—which Martín had met time and again.

  “I have come for reconciliation. The weather separated us. No member of the crew will testify otherwise.”

  “Absurd! No sailor will testify the weather separated you for seven weeks.”

  “I parted against my will. That is what all will say. And after parting, I found the gold we have sought. I have found hordes of it, over nine hundred pesos. No one will conclude I erred in pursuing a different route than you.” Martín studied the scorn written in Colón’s face. “You may have some of it.”

  “Every piece of gold you possess is already the sovereigns’!”

  There was silence.

  “I can return to Spain myself, with gold for the sovereigns, and they can decide who served them best.” Martín glared at Colón. “Or you can pardon me. You discovered neither this island nor my gold. But you may consider my gold a discovery of your voyage if you pardon me.”

  Vicente sagged with relief upon hearing Martín’s claim of the gold found but grimaced at the stances and tone of the two men. To Cristóbal’s and Martín’s surprise, he quietly entered the hold, squatting beside them. Cristóbal glared at him, despising him and the loyalty to his brother.

  Cristóbal seethed that the Lord was testing his faith yet again, asking that he bear for the countless time insults and ignominies directed by unworthy, ungrateful, and deceitful men. He ached to deny Martín any comfort and relished the thought of placing him in chains. But Cristóbal bitterly understood that he was the foreigner and Martín the crews’ true leader.

  Vicente interceded. “Martín has returned to your command, and now you must pardon him and his success. We must cross the Ocean Sea in unison, ready to assist each other.” Vicente lowered his voice to an urgent whisper, sharpening his tone. “When we step outside, you must affirm to all that you pardoned Martín because he was separated against his will.”

  There was silence as Cristóbal reflected. The fire in his eyes betrayed that, regardless of anything promised, he would vehemently seek Martín’s prosecution on return to Spain. Martín’s eyes revealed an equal conviction that, regardless of anything promised, he intended to retain the gold aboard the Pinta and claim credit before the sovereigns for its discovery and the discovery of the Indies. But both men were sea captains and grimly understood the fury of the Ocean Sea rendered their hatred inconsequential and that sailing together was essential.

  Cristóbal grudgingly nodded agreement, speechless, and gazed bitterly away. Martín was satisfied. Vicente slumped in relief that a pardon would be witnessed by all aboard.

  There was another silence. Then Martín asked, “How did you lose your ship?”

  “The ship grounded upon a reef well discernible. The owner de la Cosa fell asleep on his watch and fled while the ship’s lodging bec
ame irreversible.” Vicente nodded his head in agreement. Cristóbal added, “We have left forty men for whom I must return.”

  Martín winced. “How can that be safe? They’re among savages, vastly outnumbered, and we are more than eight hundred leagues from Spain. What do I tell their mothers, wives, and daughters? It’s a crime to leave them.”

  “There’s little alternative—we couldn’t safely carry everyone and our captives in the caravels,” Cristóbal responded. “It’s also for the better. We have started the first settlement, mostly with eager volunteers.”

  “We have built them a fort and left them most of the weapons,” Vicente added.

  “Do you really think these cowardly, weaponless peoples pose risk?” Cristóbal continued.

  Martín was silent, but shook his head indicating no.

  When their composure returned, the three men stepped outside the hold and the word spread that Martín had been lost and pardoned. Cristóbal recorded in his journal that he had overlooked the falsity of Martín’s excuses so that Satan would not impede the conclusion of the voyage. He did take credit for Martín’s discovery indirectly, writing that the Lord had miraculously ordered the Santa María to ground at the best place to make the settlement near the island’s gold mines. He informed the sovereigns that Martín and Vicente were arrogant, greedy, disobedient, unjust, and unruly but that there was no time for punishment.

  Over the next two days, Cristóbal explored up the Yaque, finding gold pieces as large as lentils and naming the river the Río de Oro (River of Gold). He spotted some mermaids,1 as in Guinea. He learned from Martín’s Guanahanían captive of a mountain pass leading south from Martín’s cove to the “Cibao” within Española’s interior. He also heard of the existence of a large island to Cuba’s south named Yamaye and of an island farther east where there were none but women, as Marco Polo had written. He now understood that the mainland was but ten days’ journey by canoe from Española and Yamaye and that the mainland’s people were clothed.

  The ships departed Monte Christi after midnight January 9 to anchor at Martín’s inlet a day later. Cristóbal was determined to extirpate any memory of Martín’s success at the site and any possibility that Martín could exploit it. He renamed the cove’s stream the Río de Gracia (River of Grace), dissembling further as to the pardon and directed that the captives seized by Martín just days before be clothed and released so Martín would have no loyal interpreters or guides in the future. He explained in the journal that these captives were released because they were the sovereigns’ subjects on an island where the sovereigns already had a settlement and that Martín’s treachery was so public he could not hide it. Cristóbal shuddered to consider what use the Pinta’s crew had made of the girls. At midnight, the ships raised anchor and sailed east with favorable winds.

  The Haitian families at the cove were overcome with surprise and relief when their loved ones returned. The captives quickly removed their clothes. When dawn came, the mothers of the girls took them to the stream to cleanse their bodies, fearing their souls would never heal.

  Caonabó, Guarionex, and Behecchio received successive reports that Martín had seized and then released captives, including girls. Anacaona inquired as to the girls’ treatment and was revolted. Caonabó couldn’t interpret the pale beings’ conduct, but his anxiety over their presence in Marien grew.

  Monte Christi, 1592.

  CIGUAYO AND SAMANÁ,

  January 12–16, 1493

  Mayobanex lay quietly in his hammock in darkness, listening to the din of crickets and tree frogs, unable to sleep. For weeks, he had received reports that pale beings with fearsome weapons were trading with the other paramount Haitian caciques and, but days before, that they were approaching Ciguayo in their vessels. As dawn approached, a scout arrived to warn that they were now offshore. Mayobanex waited patiently for sunrise and then dispatched messengers summoning his nitaínos and troops to his village’s central plaza.

  Mayobanex’s first wife, Tuobasu, emerged from the caney, directed naborias to serve her husband juice and cazabi, and joined him.

  “The strange beings have arrived,” Mayobanex remarked. “I will meet them.”

  “You should be careful. They may be evil.”

  “Possibly. But the reports are that they just want gold.”

  “Then you’ll disappoint them. Guarionex and Caonabó have the gold. Will you seek their friendship?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll talk to them, peacefully, and ascertain their substance and intent. If I doubt their friendliness, I’ll encourage them to pass us by.”

  “Still, you should be careful. Be sure your men don’t provoke a fight.”

  “Remember, we aren’t as timid as our neighbors. If there were a fight, I don’t expect to lose it.” Mayobanex saw Tuobasu’s concern rise. “But there’ll be no fight. I’m going myself to ensure a cordial and peaceful encounter.”

  Mayobanex assembled his nitaínos and troops. They asked whether he desired a litter and he declined. While this was a diplomatic mission, he intended to walk as a soldier, tracking the pale beings as he had stalked Caribes. He waved to Tuobasu and his other wives and led his men into the forest in single file, departing east onto a ridge of coastal mountains and bearing bows and arrows, spears, and macanas.

  Soon, they emerged onto open hillside cascading toward the coastal plain, and Mayobanex gazed north into a strong, northwesterly wind to behold the two enormous vessels distant at sea. He was surprised by their speed and admired their apparent dominance over the wind and ocean. By nightfall, the vessels passed the promontory at which Haiti’s northern coast veers south (Cabo Francés Viejo) and stalled in the sea for the night. Mayobanex studied them quarter in the moonlight, their fires and enormous cloths flickering in the wind, and marveled when they departed in the darkness before dawn.

  Mayobanex’s warriors hiked the entire next day, traversing coastal plain during the morning, when sight of the vessels was lost, and ascending into the mountains of the Samaná peninsula during the afternoon, when sight was regained. By evening, the vessels came to rest in the large bay at the peninsula’s northeastern tip (Bahía del Rincon). The beings alighted ashore seeking water and the local Samanáns fled.

  Cristóbal named the mountainous cape on the bay’s northern shore Cabo del Enamorado (Cape of the Lover, now Cabo Cabrón) and, in his journal, compared the cape on the bay’s southern shore to Cape St. Vincent in Portugal. He rose early on January 13 and remained at anchor because of unfavorable winds, astonished Española was so large.

  Sailors rowed a launch to a beach where they encountered local men with a fearsome appearance. Their naked skins were darkened by charcoal and black paint, and their hair was long, falling on their backs almost to the waist and bundled in hairnets of cord and parrot feathers. To the crew’s surprise, these Indians carried bows and arrows designed as those used by Europeans, and the crew bought two of them in exchange for trifles. The crew implored one of the locals to meet Admiral, and, with Mayobanex’s scouts watching, he was taken to the Niña.

  Cristóbal was astonished by the visitor’s appearance and ascertained his language differed from the Indians previously encountered because Bakako and Yutowa could not converse freely with him. Cristóbal suspected that the peoples at this site were Caribes. Through Bakako, he attempted a conversation with the Samanán of gestures and singular words, and he inferred that the Caribes lived farther east on an island that possessed significant gold. He also gleaned there was another island east named Matininó where women lived alone, as well as one named Guanín where gold or copper abounded. Cristóbal recalled that Mandeville told of an island where women lived alone east of Ethiopia2 and that Marco Polo told of this island and a related island where men lived alone.3

  Cristóbal bestowed trifles on the Samanán and dispatched him as an emissary back to the beach to spread goodwill, accompanied by seven armed crewmen. When they landed, more than fifty Samanáns armed with bows and arrows a
nd macanas waited at the forest’s edge. Their friend the emissary convinced them to disarm, and the crew and the Samanáns met on the beach, where, at Cristóbal’s instruction, the crew bartered for more bows and arrows. But soon the Samanáns distrusted the situation and ran to rearm themselves to threaten or attack. The crew anticipated attack and struck first, gashing one Samanán’s buttocks with a sword and piercing another’s breast with an arrow dispatched by crossbow. The Samanáns fled, terrified by the unknown weapons. The pilot commanding the launch prohibited the crew from pursuing and they returned to the Niña, unharmed but unnerved by the first combat hostility of the voyage.

  Mayobanex’s scouts rushed to inform him of the altercation and smoke signals rose from village to village warning of the pale beings. Mayobanex listened to his scouts carefully, recalling Tuobaso’s warning and intent on deciphering the skirmish’s cause. He well understood that the terror of men armed and unknown to one another, and in close proximity, frequently triggered violence. Gravely, he resolved to heal the wounds on both sides in the morning, regardless of fault.

  That night, Cristóbal wrote in his journal that he was both pleased and sad. His pleasure was that these Indians would fear Christians, including the crew of the Navidad garrison if it explored at this site. He surmised that these Indians probably were the Caribes who ate people or, if not, fearless neighbors to Caribes. He decided to take captives from them, hoping they could lead to the women’s island of Mandeville and Marco Polo.

  At dawn on January 14, Mayobanex and his warriors arrived at the beach where the altercation had occurred. He met the Samanán who had been invited aboard the vessels and listened to his account of the visit and the cause of the skirmish. Mayobanex visited the bohío where the two wounded men lay, perhaps mortally, and spoke briefly to their wives, thanking them for their husbands’ bravery. He promised they would not want if their husbands died and then returned to the beach, intent to meet the beings’ leader.