Columbus: The Four Voyages, 1492-1504 (43 page)

While they exchanged and examined jewelry, the trading parties imbibed
chicha
, brewed from maize. Slightly cloudy and yellowish in appearance, and tasting like sour apple cider, the potion had a low alcoholic content that imparted a mild buzz. One of the Spanish pilots indicated to the Indians that he wished to accompany them to the shore, but as he stepped into the lightweight craft, he capsized it and the Indians swam away, but not fast enough to avoid the pilot, who presented them aboard ship to the Admiral. “When they left here,” he reported, “I gave these Indians bells and beads and sugar, and I sent them to shore, where they had a great battle. And after they found out about the good treatment, they all wished to come to the ships.” Columbus graciously received the Indians seeking safe haven, and received tributes of bread, water, and
chicha
. Warmed by the beverage, he cordially engaged them in conversation, with smiles and nods of mutual incomprehension all around.

The next day, the Indians returned to the ships in greater numbers, bearing more gifts, especially their pleasant, murky beverages. In exchange they were happy to accept tiny brass bells. The metal exerted a continuing fascination for the Indians, who gratefully sniffed the gleaming items, attempting to detect properties in European jewelry to which the Europeans themselves were oblivious. The Indians believed they could smell valuable copper, if any, in the jewelry.

The inhabitants offered shrieking, twitching parrots and skillfully woven, brightly colored textiles to the Admiral, who preferred to take the Indians themselves. By day’s end, his intended hostages had slipped away. In the morning, when a canoe bearing twelve Indians approached, the Spaniards briskly took them into custody. Columbus selected six to his liking, and dismissed the rest, “without scruple,” Las Casas reported, “as he did many other times on the first voyage.” Such behavior, according to Las Casas, amounted to a mortal sin, but these concerns did not trouble the Admiral when he was determined to add to his empire.

Several days later, Columbus heard of an Indian bearing a gold nugget the size of an apple. So there was gold, after all. Then men bedecked with gold, as well as ornamental necklaces and beads, arrived in canoes. The women wore strings of colored pearls on their arms. Entranced by the gold, Columbus opened negotiations for more of these precious objects to present to Ferdinand and Isabella. In high spirits, he happened upon an encampment of unusually charming and hospitable Indians, and with his men gladly partook of their red and white fermented beverages. Only the weather troubled him. “I am cold enough to need a cloak every morning, I say, even though I am so close to the equator.”

He sailed on in search of pearls, hailing Indians who might be helpful in his quest. As his dependable source, he relied on the
Naturalis historia
of Pliny, the Roman scientist, historian, and compiler, who led Columbus to believe that pearls generated from drops of dew forming within oysters when their shells were open. Observing abundant dew, and sizeable oysters, or creatures that he took to be oysters, Columbus expected to find pearls everywhere, even in the oysters he spotted growing on the branches of mangroves. However, he was mistaken: the mollusks were not oysters, and the pearls elusive. He continued to be undone by his hopes, his dreams, and his avarice.

C
olumbus risked leading his squadron to disaster as he entered alarmingly shallow water: only four fathoms deep, equivalent to twenty-four feet. The ships required at least three fathoms’ clearance for safe passage. Fortunately, the violent currents—three by his count—running past the Dragon’s Mouth carried them past the shoals to deeper waters.

The next day, August 13, he resumed his westward run along Paria’s northern coast, giving thanks to God for his deliverance and coming to grips with the new lands he had discovered within days of his arrival.

 

“Y
our Highnesses have won these vast lands which are an other world”—
otro mundo,
in his words—“in which Christendom will have so much enjoyment and our faith in time so great an increase.” The term “other world” marked a shift in his thinking. He had given up on the idea that he was exploring Marco Polo’s ancient India, in search of the Grand Khan, and instead had stumbled across something entirely new and troubling. “I have come to believe that this is a mighty continent that was hitherto unknown.” That was a true discovery, something utterly unexpected. That singular fact did not automatically mean that he now realized that Hispaniola and the other islands of the “Indies” lay far distant from India. It meant he was more perplexed than ever before. His voyages of confirmation had become voyages of doubt. He was equipped to confirm cherished myths, not explode them.

After leaving Venezuela’s Paria Peninsula, Columbus had seen the islands of La Asunción (now Tobago) and Concepción (now Grenada). On August 14, 1498, he discovered Margarita, located in the Caribbean Sea between latitudes 10°52’ N and 11°11’ N and longitudes 63°48’ Wand 64°23’ W. He named the splendid, mountainous island, about fifty miles long and twelve miles across, in honor of Margarita of Austria. The name also punned on the Spanish word for “pearl,” in recognition of the nacreous objects scattered about the region.

As his westward cruise lasted into mid-August, he heard reports of the gems from others on his ships, but as his son Ferdinand revealed, “The Admiral . . . could not give as full account of it as he wished because continual watching had made his eyes bloodshot, and therefore he had to write down what he was told by his sailors and pilots.”

 

L
ater that August, as Columbus gave orders to proceed north and west toward Santo Domingo, the crew spied a small caravel approaching them, the first ship they had seen since their departure from Spain. The approaching craft fired a warning shot, the jolt reverberating across the ocean. Only when she drew alongside the flagship, sails luffing, did Columbus realize that the captain was his brother Bartholomew, also serving the Spanish crown on Santo Domingo. The two Columbus siblings joined forces and sailed into Santo Domingo harbor. Later, a third Columbus brother, Diego, joined them. The Admiral eagerly imagined telling his Sovereigns of his marvelous findings, and the rapid expansion of the Spanish empire that he had brought about.

On the last day of August, the Admiral led his convoy up the Ozama River to Santo Domingo, where he expected a thriving colony to greet him. Instead, “When I arrived from Paria, I found almost half the people in Hispaniola in rebellion, and they have made war on me,” he lamented. Their leader was Francisco Roldán, or, as he was now known, the Rebel Roldán, and in Columbus’s absence, he had been sowing mayhem.

It was only a matter of time before Francisco Roldán, or someone like him, appeared on the scene to bedevil Columbus’s Enterprise of the Indies. The conditions in Hispaniola were so extreme and uncertain, the temptations so alluring and numerous, the vision of a Spanish empire so vague and unrealistic, and the men who participated in the voyages so casually selected, that discipline was bound to break down during Columbus’s prolonged absences, when any kind of mischief was not only possible but also consequence-free.

For a time, his son related, Santo Domingo had remained “fairly peaceful.” The settlers expected Columbus’s early return from Spain with supplies, weapons, and news from home. “But after the passage of a year, with their provisions running short and suffering and sickness growing, they became disoriented with their present lot and despaired of the future.” Appointed by Columbus as the mayor, or chief official, of the colony, Roldán had enjoyed the cooperation of Spaniards and Indians alike, or as Ferdinand put it, “he was obeyed as if he were the Admiral himself.” But this eminence led to conflict with Bartholomew Columbus, who, as governor, considered himself the supreme arbiter. As the Admiral’s absence stretched on, and it began to seem that he would never return to this little outpost of empire, “Roldán began to dream of making himself master of the island.” His scheme was profoundly disloyal: he intended to execute both Bartholomew and Diego. With Columbus’s brothers out of the way, Roldán would rule. And he had a plan for bringing Spain to his side.

When Bartholomew traveled to Xaraguá to quell an Indian rebellion and exact tribute, fortune appeared to favor Roldán’s plan. Xaraguá, a sprawling, mostly level expanse carpeted with thick shrubs, and bordered by a beach of glistening, powdery sand, occupied a promontory extending to the south of the island. Its serene aspect proved deceptive; Xaraguá became synonymous with the rebel Spanish forces occupying it, with wicked and dissolute behavior, and with indolence. For those seeking shelter, it held strategic advantages, for it was two hundred miles from Santo Domingo, and the sails of approaching ships could be seen for miles. Las Casas paid tribute to the Indians of the district. They were “not to be equaled for fluency of speech and politeness of idiom or dialect by any inhabitants of the other kingdoms” of Hispaniola. They “excelled in stature and habit of body. Their king was Behechio by name and who had a sister called Anacaona”—the “Golden Flower”—who treated the rude, rapacious Spaniards with “civility, and by delivering them from the evident and apparent danger of death, did signal services to the Castilian Sovereigns.” A Taíno cacique, Anacaona was also the wife of Caonabó, who had both challenged and joined forces with Columbus.

Bartholomew Columbus placed his brother Diego in charge, with Roldán serving beneath him, secretly seething and fomenting a mutiny. Bartholomew’s attention alighted on a caravel lying on the beach at La Isabela; he planned to use the vessel as an escape from the island, if necessary.

Roldán and his supporters insisted that they wanted to launch the caravel as soon as possible, and when they reached Spain they would announce “the news of their distress.” Diego Columbus was having none of it; the caravel lacked tackle and supplies. Defying his superior, Roldán ordered the ship to make ready to sail, telling his followers that the Columbus brothers wanted to block their mission, keep them all under their control, and prevent Spain from learning of the evil and corrupt Columbus regime in Hispaniola. Roldán stirred resentment by recalling how callously the three Columbus brothers had treated the settlers, who had toiled in the suffocating heat, erected forts against their will, and exposed themselves to unnecessary dangers. Columbus and his brothers were foreigners, Roldán reminded like-minded Spaniards, and worse, foreigners who had never paid them even though they had made them all work like donkeys. Now it seemed that the Admiral was unlikely ever to return with the supplies and reinforcements.

To remedy their predicament, Roldán proposed that they divide “all the wealth of the island” among themselves, and, just as important, “they should be allowed to use the Indians as they pleased, free from interference,” in Ferdinand’s words. Many Spaniards had already taken one or more Indian women for pleasure or companionship, despite restrictions. Now anything was possible, even if the men had to suffer the symptoms of syphilis for their excesses.

Bartholomew attempted to restrain this licentiousness, insisting that his men “observe the three monastic vows,” as Ferdinand phrased it: obedience, stability (observing the vows indefinitely), and fidelity to the monastic way of life, including the renunciation of private property and strict celibacy. Roldán, in contrast, held out the promise of a commune teeming with easy riches and plentiful women. The riches remained elusive, but, Las Casas reported, “each one had the woman that he wanted, taken from their husbands, or daughters from their fathers, by force or willingly, to use as chambermaids, washerwomen, and cooks, and as many Indian men as they thought necessary to serve them.” He reminded the men of the severe rations imposed by Columbus and his brothers, the barbaric floggings, the heartless and humiliating punishments and confinement for the slightest infraction, real or perceived. In contrast to this reign of tyranny under which they had all suffered, Roldán promised that if they followed his leadership, he would protect them from harm. His pandering, combined with his resolute manner, proved effective, and he attracted many, and eventually most, of the disaffected Spaniards to his camp.