Book: Christopher Columbus, Volume 8
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Filson Young >> Christopher Columbus, Volume 8
CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS
AND THE NEW WORLD OF HIS DISCOVERY
A NARRATIVE BY FILSON YOUNG
Volume 8
CHAPTER VI
RELIEF OF THE ADMIRAL
There was no further difficulty about provisions, which were punctually
brought by the natives on the old terms; but the familiar, spirit of
sedition began to work again among the unhappy Spaniards, and once more a
mutiny, led this time by the apothecary Bernardo, took form--the
intention being to seize the remaining canoes and attempt to reach
Espanola. This was the point at which matters had arrived, in March
1504, when as the twilight was falling one evening a cry was raised that
there was a ship in sight; and presently a small caravel was seen
standing in towards the shore. All ideas of mutiny were forgotten, and
the crew assembled in joyful anticipation to await, as they thought, the
coming of their deliverers. The caravel came on with the evening breeze;
but while it was yet a long way off the shore it was seen to be lying to;
a boat was lowered and rowed towards the harbour.
As the boat drew near Columbus could recognise in it Diego de Escobar,
whom he remembered having condemned to death for his share in the
rebellion of Roldan. He was not the man whom Columbus would have most
wished to see at that moment. The boat came alongside the hulks, and a
barrel of wine and a side of bacon, the sea-compliment customary on such
occasions, was handed up. Greatly to the Admiral's surprise, however,
Escobar did not come on board, but pushed his boat off and began to speak
to Columbus from a little distance. He told him that Ovando was greatly
distressed at the Admiral's misfortunes; that he had been much occupied
by wars in Espanola, and had not been able to send a message to him
before; that he greatly regretted he had no ship at present large enough
to bring off the Admiral and his people, but that he would send one as
soon as he had it. In the meantime the Admiral was to be assured that
all his affairs in Espanola were being attended to faithfully, and that
Escobar was instructed to bring back at once any letters which the
Admiral might wish to write.
The coolness and unexpectedness of this message completely took away
the breath of the unhappy Spaniards, who doubtless stood looking in
bewilderment from Escobar to Columbus, unable to believe that the caravel
had not been sent for their relief. Columbus, however, with a
self-restraint which cannot be too highly praised, realised that Escobar
meant what he said, and that by protesting against his action or trying
to interfere with it he would only be putting himself in the wrong. He
therefore retired immediately to his cabin and wrote a letter to Ovando,
in which he drew a vivid picture of the distress of his people, reported
the rebellion of the Porras brothers, and reminded Ovando that he relied
upon the fulfilment of his promise to send relief. The letter was
handed over to Escobar, who rowed back with it to his caravel and
immediately sailed away with it into the night.
Before he could retire to commune with his own thoughts or to talk with
his faithful brother, Columbus had the painful duty of speaking to his
people, whose puzzled and disappointed faces must have cost him some
extra pangs. He told them that he was quite satisfied with the message
from Ovando, that it was a sign of kindness on his part thus to send them
news in advance that relief was coming, that their situation was now
known in San Domingo, and that vessels would soon be here to take them
away. He added that he himself was so sure of these things that he had
refused to go back with Escobar, but had preferred to remain with them
and share their lot until relief should come. This had the desired
effect of cheering the Spaniards; but it was far from representing the
real sentiments of Columbus on the subject. The fact that Escobar had
been chosen to convey this strange empty message of sympathy seemed to
him suspicious, and with his profound distrust of Ovando Columbus began
to wonder whether some further scheme might not be on foot to damage him
in the eyes of the Sovereigns. He was convinced that Ovando had meant to
let him starve on the island, and that the real purpose of Escobar's
visit had been to find out what condition the Admiral was in, so that
Ovando might know how to act. It is very hard to get at the truth of
what these two men thought of each other. They were both suspicious,
each was playing for his own hand, and Ovando was only a little more
unscrupulous than Columbus; but there can be no doubt that whatever his
motives may have been Ovando acted with abominable treachery and cruelty
in leaving the Admiral unrelieved for nearly nine months.
Columbus now tried to make use of the visit of Escobar to restore to
allegiance the band of rebels that were wandering about in the
neighbourhood under the leadership of the Porras brothers. Why he should
have wished to bring them back to the ships is not clear, for by all
accounts he was very well rid of them; but probably his pride as a
commander was hurt by the thought that half of his company had defied his
authority and were in a state of mutiny. At any rate he sent out an
ambassador to Porras, offering to receive the mutineers back without any
punishment, and to give them a free passage to Espanola in the vessels
which were shortly expected, if they would return to their allegiance
with him.
The folly of this overture was made manifest by the treatment which it
received. It was bad enough to make advances to the Porras brothers, but
it was still worse to have those advances repulsed, and that is what
happened. The Porras brothers, being themselves incapable of any
single-mindedness, affected not to believe in the sincerity of the
Admiral's offer; they feared that he was laying some kind of trap for
them; moreover, they were doing very well in their lawless way, and
living very comfortably on the natives; so they told Columbus's
ambassadors that his offer was declined. At the same time they
undertook to conduct themselves in an amicable and orderly manner on
condition that, when the vessels arrived, one of them should be
apportioned to the exclusive use of the mutineers; and that in the
meantime the Admiral should share with them his store of provisions
and trinkets, as theirs were exhausted.
This was the impertinent decision of the Porras brothers; but it did not
quite commend itself to their followers, who were fearful of the possible
results if they should persist in their mutinous conduct. They were very
much afraid of being left behind in the island, and in any case, having
attempted and failed in the main object of their mutiny, they saw no
reason why they should refuse a free pardon. But the Porras brothers
lied busily. They said that the Admiral was merely laying a trap in
order to get them into his power, and that he would send them home to
Spain in chains; and they even went so far as to assure their
fellow-rebels that the story of a caravel having arrived was not really
true; but that Columbus, who was an adept in the arts of necromancy, had
really made his people believe that they had seen a caravel in the dusk;
and that if one had really arrived it would not have gone away so
suddenly, nor would the Admiral and his brother and son have failed to
take their passage in it.
To consolidate the effect of these remarkable statements on the still
wavering mutineers, the Porras brothers decided to commit them to an open
act of violence which would successfully alienate them from the Admiral.
They formed them, therefore, into an armed expedition, with the idea of
seizing the stores remaining on the wreck and taking the Admiral
personally. Columbus fortunately got news of this, as he nearly always
did when there was treachery in the wind; and he sent Bartholomew to try
to persuade them once more to return to their duty--a vain and foolish
mission, the vanity and folly of which were fully apparent to
Bartholomew. He duly set out upon it; but instead of mild words he took
with him fifty armed men--the whole available able-bodied force, in
fact--and drew near to the position occupied by the rebels.
The exhortation of the Porras brothers had meanwhile produced its effect,
and it was decided that six of the strongest men among the mutineers
should make for Bartholomew himself and try to capture or kill him. The
fierce Adelantado, finding himself surrounded by six assailants, who
seemed to be directing their whole effort against his life, swung his
sword in a berserk rage and slashed about him, to such good purpose that
four or five of his assailants soon lay round him killed or wounded. At
this point Francisco de Porras rushed in and cleft the shield held by
Bartholomew, severely wounding the hand that held it; but the sword.
stuck in the shield, and while Porras was endeavouring to draw it out
Bartholomew and some others closed upon him, and after a sharp struggle
took him prisoner. The battle, which was a short one, had been meanwhile
raging fiercely among the rest of the forces; but when the mutineers saw
their leader taken prisoner, and many of their number lying dead or
wounded, they scattered and fled, but not before Bartholomew's force had
taken several prisoners. It was then found that, although the rebels had
suffered heavily, none of Bartholomew's men were killed, and only one
other besides himself was wounded. The next day the mutineers all came
in to surrender, submitting an abject oath of allegiance; and Columbus,
always strangely magnanimous to rebels and insurgents, pardoned them all
with the exception of Francisco de Porras, who, one is glad to know, was
confined in irons to be sent to Spain for trial.
This submission, which was due to the prompt action of Bartholomew rather
than to the somewhat feeble diplomacy of the Admiral, took place on March
20th, and proved somewhat embarrassing to Columbus. He could put no
faith in the oaths and protestations of the mutineers; and he was very
doubtful about the wisdom of establishing them once more on the wrecks
with the hitherto orderly remnant. He therefore divided them up into
several bands, and placing each under the command of an officer whom he
could trust, he supplied them with trinkets and despatched them to
different parts of the island, for the purpose of collecting provisions
and carrying on barter with the natives. By this means the last month or
two of this most trying and exciting sojourn on the island of Jamaica
were passed in some measure of peace; and towards the end of June it was
brought to an end by the arrival of two caravels. One of them was the
ship purchased by Diego Mendez out of the three which had arrived from
Spain; and the other had been despatched by Ovando in deference, it is
said, to public feeling in San Domingo, which had been so influenced by
Mendez's account of the Admiral's heroic adventures that Ovando dared not
neglect him any longer. Moreover, if it had ever been his hope that the
Admiral would perish on the island of Jamaica, that hope was now doomed
to frustration, and, as he was to be rescued in spite of all, Ovando no
doubt thought that he might as well, for the sake of appearances, have a
hand in the rescue.
The two caravels, laden with what was worth saving from the two abandoned
hulks, and carrying what was left of the Admiral's company, sailed from
Jamaica on June 28, 1504. Columbus's joy, as we may imagine, was deep
and heartfelt. He said afterwards to Mendez that it was the happiest day
of his life, for that he had never hoped to leave the place alive.
The mission of Mendez, then, had been successful, although he had had to
wait for eight months to fulfil it. He himself, in accordance with
Columbus's instructions, had gone to Spain in another caravel of the
fleet out of which he had purchased the relieving ship; and as he passes
out of our narrative we may now take our farewell of him. Among the many
men employed in the Admiral's service no figure stands out so brightly as
that of Diego Mendez; and his record, almost alone of those whose service
of the Admiral earned them office and distinction, is unblotted by any
stain of crime or treachery. He was as brave as a lion and as faithful
as a dog, and throughout his life remained true to his ideal of service
to the Admiral and his descendants. He was rewarded by King Ferdinand
for his distinguished services, and allowed to bear a canoe on his
coat-of-arms; he was with the Admiral at his death-bed at Valladolid,
and when he himself came to die thirty years afterwards in the same
place he made a will in which he incorporated a brief record of the
events of the adventurous voyage in which he had borne the principal
part, and also enshrined his devotion to the name and family of
Columbus. His demands for himself were very modest, although there is
reason to fear that they were never properly fulfilled. He was
curiously anxious to be remembered chiefly by his plucky canoe voyage;
and in giving directions for his tomb, and ordering that a stone should
be placed over his remains, he wrote: "In the centre of the said stone
let a canoe be carved, which is a piece of wood hollowed out in which
the Indians navigate, because in such a boat I navigated three hundred
leagues, and let some letters be placed above it saying: Canoa." The
epitaph that he chose for himself was in the following sense:
Here lies the Honourable Gentleman
DIEGO MENDEZ
He greatly served the royal crown of Spain in
the discovery and conquest of the Indies with
the Admiral Don Christopher Columbus of
glorious memory who discovered them, and
afterwards by himself, with his own ships,
at his own expense.
He died, etc.
He begs from charity a PATERNOSTER
and an AVE MARIA.
Surely he deserves them, if ever an honourable gentleman did.
CHAPTER VII
THE HERITAGE OF HATRED
Although the journey from Jamaica to Espanola had been accomplished in
four days by Mendez in his canoe, the caravels conveying the party
rescued from Puerto Santa Gloria were seven weary weeks on this short
voyage; a strong north-west wind combining with the west-going current to
make their progress to the north-west impossible for weeks at a time. It
was not until the 13th of August 1503 that they anchored in the harbour
of San Domingo, and Columbus once more set foot, after an absence of more
than two years, on the territory from the governorship of which he had
been deposed.
He was well enough received by Ovando, who came down in state to meet
him, lodged him in his own house, and saw that he was treated with the
distinction suitable to his high station. The Spanish colony, moreover,
seemed to have made something of a hero of Columbus during his long
absence, and they received him with enthusiasm. But his satisfaction in
being in San Domingo ended with that. He was constantly made to feel
that it was Ovando and not he who was the ruler there;--and Ovando
emphasised the difference between them by numerous acts of highhanded
authority, some of them of a kind calculated to be extremely mortifying
to the Admiral. Among these things he insisted upon releasing Porras,
whom Columbus had confined in chains; and he talked of punishing those
faithful followers of Columbus who had taken part in the battle between
Bartholomew and the rebels, because in this fight some of the followers
of Porras had been killed. Acts like these produced weary bickerings and
arguments between Ovando and Columbus, unprofitable to them, unprofitable
to us. The Admiral seems now to have relapsed into a condition in which
he cared only for two things, his honours and his emoluments. Over every
authoritative act of Ovando's there was a weary squabble between him and
the Admiral, Ovando claiming his right of jurisdiction over the whole
territory of the New World, including Jamaica, and Columbus insisting
that by his commission and letters of authority he had been placed in
sole charge of the members of his own expedition.
And then, as regards his emoluments, the Admiral considered himself (and
not without justice) to have been treated most unfairly. By the
extravagant terms of his original agreement he was, as we know, entitled
to a share of all rents and dues, as well as of the gold collected; but
it had been no one's business to collect these for him, and every one's
business to neglect them. No one had cared; no one had kept any accounts
of what was due to the Admiral; he could not find out what had been paid
and what had not been paid. He accused Ovando of having impeded his
agent Carvajal in his duty of collecting the Admiral's revenues, and of
disobeying the express orders of Queen Isabella in that matter; and so
on-a state of affairs the most wearisome, sordid, and unprofitable in
which any man could be involved.
And if Columbus turned his eyes from the office in San Domingo inland to
that Paradise which he had entered twelve years before, what change and
ruin, dreary, horrible and complete, did he not discover! The birds
still sang, and the nights were still like May in Cordova; but upon that
happy harmony the sound of piteous cries and shrieks had long since
broken, and along and black December night of misery had spread its pall
over the island. Wherever he went, Columbus found the same evidence of
ruin and desolation. Where once innumerable handsome natives had
thronged the forests and the villages, there were now silence and smoking
ruin, and the few natives that he met were emaciated, terrified, dying.
Did he reflect, I wonder, that some part of the responsibility of all
this horror rested on him? That many a system of island government, the
machinery of which was now fed by a steady stream of human lives, had
been set going by him in ignorance, or greed of quick commercial returns?
It is probable that he did not; for he now permanently regarded himself
as a much-injured man, and was far too much occupied with his own wrongs
to realise that they were as nothing compared with the monstrous stream
of wrong and suffering that he had unwittingly sent flowing into the
world.
In the island under Ovando's rule Columbus saw the logical results of his
own original principles of government, which had recognised the right of
the Christians to possess the persons and labours of the heathen natives.
Las Casas, who was living in Espanola as a young priest at this time, and
was destined by long residence there and in the West Indies to qualify
himself as their first historian, saw what Columbus saw, and saw also the
even worse things that happened in after years in Cuba and Jamaica; and
it is to him that we owe our knowledge of the condition of island affairs
at this time. The colonists whom Ovando had brought out had come very
much in the spirit that in our own day characterised the rush to the
north-western goldfields of America. They brought only the slightest
equipment, and were no sooner landed at San Domingo than they set out
into the island like so many picnic parties, being more careful to carry
vessels in which to bring back the gold they were to find than proper
provisions and equipment to support them in the labour of finding it.
The roads, says Las Casas, swarmed like ant-hills with these adventurers
rushing forth to the mines, which were about twenty-five miles distant
from San Domingo; they were in the highest spirits, and they made it a
kind of race as to who should get there first. They thought they had
nothing to do but to pick up shining lumps of gold; and when they found
that they had to dig and delve in the hard earth, and to dig
systematically and continuously, with a great deal of digging for very
little gold, their spirits fell. They were not used to dig; and it
happened that most of them began in an unprofitable spot, where they
digged for eight days without finding any gold. Their provisions were
soon exhausted; and in a week they were back again in San Domingo, tired,
famished, and bitterly disappointed. They had no genius for steady
labour; most of them were virtually without means; and although they
lived in San Domingo, on what they had as long as possible, they were
soon starving there, and selling the clothes off their backs to procure
food. Some of them took situations with the other settlers, more fell
victims to the climate of the island and their own imprudences and
distresses; and a thousand of them had died within two years.
Ovando had revived the enthusiasm for mining by two enactments. He
reduced the share of discovered gold payable to the Crown, and he
developed Columbus's system of forced labour to such an extent that the
mines were entirely worked by it. To each Spaniard, whether mining or
farming, so many natives were allotted. It was not called slavery; the
natives were supposed to be paid a minute sum, and their employers were
also expected to teach them the Christian religion. That was the plan.
The way in which it worked was that, a body of native men being allotted
to a Spanish settler for a period, say, of six or eight months--for the
enactment was precise in putting a period to the term of slavery--the
natives would be marched off, probably many days' journey from their
homes and families, and set to work under a Spanish foreman. The work,
as we have already seen, was infinitely harder than that to which they
were accustomed; and most serious of all, it was done under conditions
that took all the heart out of the labour. A man will toil in his own
garden or in tilling his own land with interest and happiness, not
counting the hours which he spends there; knowing in fact that his work
is worth doing, because he is doing it for a good reason. But put the
same man to work in a gang merely for the aggrandisement of some other
over-man; and the heart and cheerfulness will soon die out of him.
It was so with these children of the sun. They were put to work ten
times harder than any they had ever done before, and they were put to it
under the lash. The light diet of their habit had been sufficient to
support them in their former existence of happy idleness and dalliance,
and they had not wanted anything more than their cassava bread and a
little fish and fruit; now, however, they were put to work at a pressure
which made a very different kind of feeding necessary to them, and this
they did not get. Now and then a handful of pork would be divided among
a dozen of them, but they were literally starved, and were accustomed to
scramble like dogs for the bones that were thrown from the tables of the
Spaniards, which bones they ground up and mixed with their, bread so that
no portion of them might be lost. They died in numbers under these hard
conditions, and, compared with their lives, their deaths must often have
been happy. When the time came for them to go home they were generally
utterly worn out and crippled, and had to face a long journey of many
days with no food to support them but what they could get on the journey;
and the roads were strewn with the dead bodies of those who fell by the
way.
And far worse things happened to them than labour and exhaustion. It
became the custom among the Spaniards to regard the lives of the natives
as of far less value than those of the dogs that were sometimes set upon
them in sport. A Spaniard riding along would make a wager with his
fellow that he would cut the head off a native with one stroke of his
sword; and many attempts would be laughingly made, and many living bodies
hideously mutilated and destroyed, before the feat would be accomplished.
Another sport was one similar to pigsticking as it is practised in India,
except that instead of pigs native women and children were stuck with the
lances. There was no kind of mutilation and monstrous cruelty that was
not practised. If there be any powers of hell, they stalked at large
through the forests and valleys of Espanola. Lust and bloody cruelty, of
a kind not merely indescribable but unrealisable by sane men and women,
drenched the once happy island with anguish and terror. And in payment
for it the Spaniards undertook to teach the heathen the Christian
religion.
The five chiefs who had ruled with justice and wisdom over the island of
Espanola in the early days of Columbus were all dead, wiped out by the
wave of wild death and cruelty that had swept over the island. The
gentle Guacanagari, when he saw the desolation that was beginning to
overwhelm human existence, had fled into the mountains, hiding his face
in shame from the sons of men, and had miserably died there. Caonabo,
Lord of the House of Gold, fiercest and bravest of them all, who first
realised that the Spaniards were enemies to the native peace, after
languishing in prison in the house of Columbus at Isabella for some time,
had died in captivity during the voyage to Spain. Anacaona his wife, the
Bloom of the Gold, that brave and beautiful woman, whose admiration of
the Spaniards had by their bloody cruelties been turned into detestation,
had been shamefully betrayed and ignominiously hanged. Behechio, her
brother, the only cacique who did not sue for peace after the first
conquest of the island by Christopher and Bartholomew Columbus, was dead
long ago of wounds and sorrow. Guarionex, the Lord of the Vega Real, who
had once been friendly enough, who had danced to the Spanish pipe and
learned the Paternoster and Ave Maria, and whose progress in conversion
to Christianity the seduction of his wives by those who were converting
him had interrupted, after wandering in the mountains of Ciguay had been
imprisoned in chains, and drowned in the hurricane of June 30, 1502.