To the Indies

by C. S. Forester

  That was perfectly true, as Rich knew well. With his training in Roman law he found it hard to hear of condemnation for a crime committed without guilty intent — this was one of the points over which Roman law and Church law disagreed — but at the same time it was heresy to question the principles of the Church, and he had no intention of being guilty of heresy himself. He simply could not argue on this point, and he resolutely kept his eyes from meeting the pleading glance of the Indian woman’s.

  “It is a golden opportunity,” said the Adelantado, “of teaching these people a real lesson. I have given instructions that the heretics are not to be strangled at the stake. Perhaps then those that see them die will learn what it means to incur our wrath.”

  “You misunderstand the intentions of the Church, Don Bartholomew,” said the Dominican, sternly. “This is not intended as a punishment; it is to save these poor people’s souls that they must pass through the fire.”

  “It coincides all the same with the needs of government,” said the Adelantado, complacently.

  “We are saving sixteen souls today,” returned the Dominican. “We are not trying to make the collection of the gold quota easier.”

  A drum was beating in a measured tone up at the citadel. The victims were about to be brought down; Rich realized that any intervention in his power must be made at once.

  “There are sixteen souls to be saved,” he said, “but as a matter of pure expediency in God’s cause, Reverend Sir, might it not be better to risk the loss of these sixteen in the hope of winning many more?”

  “How do you mean?” asked the Dominican; his black brows approached each other, and his eyes narrowed as he turned his gaze on Rich.

  “Perhaps if the lives of these sixteen were spared the rejoicing would be so great that many more souls would be won to God.”

  “Perhaps — and perhaps there would be many doomed to hell. These thousands who witness this act of faith will take care in future to keep heretical thoughts out of their minds. They will pay closer attention to the teaching of the Church. They will have a glimpse of what hell is like. No, sir, there is no substance in your argument. And it is an evil thing to gamble in human salvation.”

  “Don’t you think there is something in what the learned Doctor says?” asked the Admiral.

  “No, Your Excellency. A thousand times no. They burn, so that their souls may be saved and so that a thousand other souls may not be imperiled.”

  The procession was filing into the square. A friar bore a crucifix at the head of it, and following him a dozen Spaniards herded the victims along, pricking them with their swords’ points to force them to walk. The resources of the island had been sufficient to provide yellow fools’ coats, gaudily daubed with red symbols, for the victims, whose hands were tied behind them. One of them screamed at the sight of the stakes; two of them collapsed into the dust of the square, writhing there until the escort kicked them to their feet again. The Indian woman beside Rich screamed too. She ran round between the Admiral and his deputy and flung herself on the earth before them, one hand on the knee of each of them, frantically jabbering the while.

  “What does she say?” asked the Admiral.

  “She wants us to spare these people,” explained his brother. “Anacaona, don’t be a fool.”

  Anacaona lifted a face slobbered with tears, her beautiful mouth all distorted. She was trying to talk Spanish, but Indian words tumbled from her lips as well.

  “She says some of these men are her brothers,” went on Bartholomew. “She means cousins by that — it is the same word to them. But every Indian is everyone else’s cousin, thanks to their mothers’ habits.”

  Anacaona bowed her head in the dust before them, her shoulders shaking under the blue velvet, before she lifted face and hands again to beg for mercy. There was a low moaning from all round the square, through which could be heard the rattle of chains as one man after another was fastened to the stakes.

  “Can we not commute the punishment, as an act of grace, by virtue of the powers I hold from Their Highnesses?” said the Admiral. “The dungeons, or the quarries? Would not that be sufficient?”

  “Does not your heart tell you it would not, Your Excellency?” retorted the Dominican. “And I must remind you that not even Their Highnesses can interfere with an act of faith.”

  “Stop that noise, Anacaona,” said Bartholomew. “Here, you two, here. Take this woman to my house and keep her there.”

  Two Spaniards of the guard beside the pavilion dragged Anacaona away. To every stake now a victim was chained, fourteen men and two women. Already the torch was being borne from pile to pile; the man who had screamed was still screaming — they could hear his chains rattle as he strove against them.

  “Laetabitur justus cum viderit vindictam,” said the Dominican solemnly. “The righteous shall rejoice when he seeth the vengeance.”

  That quotation from the Psalms had been given its full weight by Saint Thomas Aquinas, the greatest of Dominicans. But Rich thought that Saint Thomas must have given it too much weight — or else he himself was not of the just who could rejoice. Smoke was issuing from the piles of wood now; in one or two of them the sticks were already crackling and banging with the flames. Rich, looking against his will, saw one of the women try to move her feet away from the heat that burned them. He tore his glance away, staring up at the blue evening sky as he stood behind the Admiral’s chair. But he could not shut his nostrils to the stench that drifted to them, nor close his ears to the horrible sounds that filled the square. He felt faint and ill and oppressed with guilt. Saint Bernardino of Sienna had pointed out that just as harmonious singing demands deep voices as well as high, so God’s harmony demands the bellowings of the damned to complete it. But these bellowings and screams caused him no pleasure, and even did very much the reverse. He feared lest his faith were shaken, lest his Christianity were unsound, and this weakness of his might be a proof of it.

  He tried to tell himself of Saint Gregory’s comment upon a text of Saint Ambrose’s, pointing out that as Saint Peter cut off a man’s ear, which Christ restored, so must the Church smite off the ears of those who will not hear, for Christ to restore them. But his fiercest concentration upon his authorities did not relieve his senses of the assaults made upon them, did not give strength to his weak legs or solidity to his watery bowels. He feared for his soul.

  Chapter 15

  Next morning Rich was desperately weary. There had been long debate the night before in the Adelantado’s house within the citadel walls — and even here they were not quite free from whiffs of stinking smoke from the square — while through the town the newly landed Spaniards rioted as if they had taken it by storm. One of Bernardo de Tarpia’s handgunmen had allowed his spirits to rise so high that he had twice let off his weapon to the peril of passers-by, sadly interrupting the anxious argument regarding the treason of Francisco Roldan. Nothing had been settled then; this morning the debate was to continue, and yet in the meanwhile he had not slept a moment, what with the strangeness of his new surroundings, the hideous events of the evening, and the plague of mosquitoes which had hung round him in a cloud all through the night — and Antonio Spallanzani, who had shared a leaf hut with him, had snored fantastically. Rich’s head ached and he felt numb and stupid as he made his way past the sentry at the citadel gate up to the Governor’s house again.

  The debate began afresh, with all the Columbus clan present — the Admiral in his best clothes, and Bartholomew the Adelantado, and James, rather weak and foolish, and John Antony, more weak and foolish still. But hardly had the session opened when something happened to terminate it. The man who entered wore spurs that jingled as he strode in over the earthen floor; his face was yellow with fever — like most of the f ew Rich had seen lately — but he wore an expression of ruffled gravity. The Adelantado checked himself to hear what he had to say.

  “The Indians are in rebellion again, Your Excellency,” he announced. “Seriously, this time.
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  “Where?”

  “In the Llanos. By tonight there’ll be twenty thousand of them at Soco.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “One of my Indian girls told me. I was the only Spaniard with a horse, so I left the others gathering at the fort and rode here through the night. At dawn five hundred or so tried to stop me at the ford, but they were too frightened of my horse and I broke through. Were those Indians burned yesterday, Your Excellency?”

  “Yes.”

  “That explains it, then. The rising depended on that, and the news has spread already.”

  “You are not speaking with proper deference. Don’t you recognize the Admiral here?”

  “Your pardon, Admiral,” said the newcomer. “But I was trying to tell my news in the shortest way possible.”

  “What is your name?” asked the Admiral.

  “Juan Ruiz, Excellency.”

  “I remember you now. Go on with what you have to say.”

  “I have said all that is necessary, Excellency. The Indians all have their sticks and stones. Some of those at the ford this morning were painted. They seem more bent on fighting than I have ever known them this last four years.”

  “Is this Roldan’s doings?” asked James Columbus; the words were no sooner out of his mouth than he received an angry look from Bartholomew.

  “No,” replied Ruiz.

  “Thank you. You may leave us now,” said Bartholomew, and the moment Ruiz was out of the room he turned on James. “Will you never learn sense? Do you want the whole island to know we are afraid of Roldan? Over in the Vega Real how can he influence the Indians of the Llanos? You only open your mouth to utter idiocies.”

  James shrank abashed before his brother’s anger.

  “We must send at once,” said the Admiral, “and pacify these poor wretches. I know they have grievances. I wish I could go myself — they would listen to me.”

  “Pacify them?” asked Bartholomew.

  “That is what I said.”

  “Brother, leave the pacification to me. I will pacify them as they ought to be pacified. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. A sharp lesson is what they need.”

  “I know your sharp lessons, Bartholomew,” said the Admiral, sadly.

  “By God,” said Bartholomew, “I’m glad I have your two hundred men. Without them I would hardly have two hundred men to take out against them. If only the ships with the horses had come! I’ve barely fifty horses, and in those plains it’s horses we need.”

  “Bartholomew,” said the Admiral, “I forbid you to be cruel. You must show them all the mercy possible.”

  “That is what I will do,” said Bartholomew, grimly. “Brother, you are too good for this world. And supposing I did what you think you want? Supposing I encouraged them to think they can rebel against our authority with impunity? What would happen to the gold quota? How much cotton do you think they’d grow for us? What would you say then, brother? Who was it who was complaining at the shortage of gold only five minutes ago? Kind words won’t make these people work, as you know. Only the fear of death’ll do that — and even then half of ‘em prefer to die.”

  “I suppose you’ve been promising them in Spain gold by the ton, as usual,” put in James, taking the side of his younger brother against the elder, who sat shaken and helpless before the double attack.

  “I never expected my own brothers to turn against me,” he said pitifully.

  “We haven’t turned against you,” snapped Bartholomew. “We’re doing your work for you. And there’s no time to lose unless we want the whole island in a blaze. We’ll march this afternoon. James, set the drums beating and the church bells ringing.”

  The room was in an immediate bustle. Bartholomew flung open the door and began to shout orders through it to the guard at the gate. The three Dominican friars — Brother Bernard who had supervised yesterday’s act of faith, and the two who had just arrived — were whispering together in one corner.

  “Don Narciso!” called the Admiral, and Rich went across to him. “You must go with my brother. With this cursed gout I can neither walk nor sit a horse. And there are so few I can trust.”

  Rich contemplated with some distaste the prospect of marching out with four hundred men to fight ten thousand painted savages.

  “I doubt if Don Bartholomew will welcome my presence,” he said.

  “You must go. You must. Bartholomew told me last night he had a horse of mine in his stables. Bartholomew, I am giving Don Narciso my horse so that he can ride with you.”

  “Come if you like,” said the Adelantado after a momentary grimace. “I’d rather put a man-at-arms on that horse. Have you armor as well as that long robe?”

  “I have,” said Rich.

  Bartholomew was a man of action. It took him no more than two hours to assemble every European near, to select his expeditionary force and to detail the fifty men he was leaving behind to their duties as garrison. The few stores which had been brought up out of the ships he divided among his army.

  “There’ll be food to be got in the villages,” he explained; “but with savages to fight, the whole secret lies in being able to march without a halt and give them no time to rally.”

  Four hundred men marched out of San Domingo in the blazing heat of the day. Juan Ruiz rode ahead with six horsemen as an advance guard in case of an ambush. Then came the long column of leather coats and dull armor, Bernardo de Tarpia with his handgunmen, and Morel’s crossbowmen, the spearmen and handgunmen led by Juan Antonio Columbus — four years in Española had made these last familiar with the island, even to the extent of calling it by its native name of ‘Hayti’ — and forty sailors from the ships under Carvajal’s command, armed with pikes and swords. Bartholomew Columbus rode with forty horsemen, Cristobal García and Rodrigo and Gonzalo Acevedo among them. Rich had his place with these, a little uneasy even astride the grey horse with which he had been provided, spiritless nag though it was.

  The sun roasted him in his half armor, but he was determined to utter no complaint until his companions should, and they were full of high spirits at being mounted again and faced with the imminent prospect of action. On their right was blue, blue sea, and on their left the high mountains, vivid green from base to summit, towering to the sky. Ahead of them lay a wide, rolling plain, stretching from the mountains to the sea green and luxuriant, broken only here and there by thickets and woodland. There were herds of cattle to be seen here — in four years the few beasts brought by the second expedition had multiplied beyond all count — and scattered patches of cultivated land where the Indians grew their roots and their corn. This was the famous plain of the Llanos, which the Admiral had compared, in extent and fertility, to the valley of Guadalquivir.

  But at the moment there was not a soul to be seen, save the long column of Spaniards trudging along the faint track. Ruiz and his horsemen turned aside repeatedly to examine the hamlets which lay in sight, but each in turn was found to be deserted, and from each in turn rose the smoke of their burning as the torch was applied to the frail structures.

  “Who are these Indians?” grumbled Avila. His visored helmet was at his saddlebow, his painted shield at his back, his long lance at his elbow, as if he was on his way to joust at a King’s court.

  “Perhaps you may see some,” said the veteran Robion. “They may perhaps stand to fight here in the plains. They fight like sheep — you will be able to spike six of them at once on that skewer of yours. I doubt if they have learned even yet that they are safer from us in the mountains.”

  “They are not worthy enemies, then?”

  Robion gave a short harsh laugh.

  “Not worthy of a knight-errant like you. They know nothing of war, nothing at all. One might as well fight with children.”

  “With children?” broke in someone else. “A Spanish shepherd boy would be more dangerous than ten of their grown men. They had never fought in all their lives until we came among them — they didn’t know w
hat fighting was!”

  “And I came here to gain honor!” said Avila, drawing a fresh laugh from the old hands.

  Rich was pondering over what he had heard. In a land in which there was no tradition of violence at all, how long would it take to develop the art of war afresh? How long would it be before its people learned the axioms which even to a man of peace like himself were as natural as the air he breathed — the value of discipline and of order, the efficacy of surprise, the importance of a position? Why, he himself had read the foremost military treatise in history, Vegetius’ Epitoma rei militaris, and was conversant with the principles of war, even if he would not be able to put them into practice. The laughing thoughtless people of the islands, who had never had even to avoid a flung stone or to dodge a blow, would not learn them in a generation.

  “I expect they are all howling round the fort at Soco,” said Robion. “Twice I’ve stood a siege like that. They howl until they are tired, and then you can go out and drive them back to work. But this is the first time I’ve ever known so many of them to unite together, all the same.”