To the Indies (17 page)
Authors: C. S. Forester
Tags: #Inquisition, #treasure, #Caribbean, #Indian islands, #Indians, #aristocrats, #Conquistadors, #Orinoco, #Haiti, #Spain, #natives
“The gold and the pearls which you will send will be better evidence of the wealth of the country, perhaps, Your Excellency,” he said, “and I am not geographer enough to venture an opinion on the other points.”
The straight deep line reappeared between the Admiral’s eyebrows at the suggestion of an opinion contrary to his own.
“The ultimate exploration of this group of islands,” he said finally, “will reveal many wonders. I should be accustomed by now to having my ideas mocked at by those unqualified to judge.”
“At least, Your Excellency,” pleaded Rich, “I am aware of my lack of qualification.”
For the first time in his life Rich was feeling sympathy towards heretics faced with a demand for a recantation. Someone, who should know, spoke of ‘a group of islands’ where Rich himself considered lay a mass of land; and in the face of superior experience Rich could not help but cling to his own opinion, despite himself. Whether he would go to the stake for it or not Rich could not decide; certainly he would face a good deal of unpleasantness, and he was decidedly glad that it was a geographical point, and only distantly a theological one, which was at issue.
“Then you need not continue to weary me with argument,” said the Admiral, dismissing him.
Rich went on deck again depressed and unhappy, to watch the sun descend slowly towards this unknown land — or islands.
A little group of canoes came stealing out to the squadron over the glassy waters of the Gulf of Paria; they were the usual cranky craft of which Rich had seen a good many specimens during the longboat’s voyage, mere strips of bark two or three feet wide. The two ends were tied into thin bundles and bent upwards, so as to accentuate the natural trough-like curve of the bark, thus making a boat which a venturesome boy might use on a millpond, but which would roll over at the first incentive and which buckled about, snakelike in its lack of rigidity, under the impulse of the paddles. Two or three such groups had already visited the squadron during the longboat’s absence, and the ships’ companies watched the approach of this one without excitement; Rich was too deeply sunk in his own thoughts to pay any attention at all.
It was Acevedo who raised him from his depression.
“Don Narciso,” he said, crossing the deck, “a friend of yours is hailing you.”
A small canoe was creeping alongside the ship, propelled slowly by the paddles of two boys, and in the middle a naked Indian half stood, half crouched on his precarious foothold.
“Lish!” he was calling. “Lish!”
He saw Rich’s head and shoulders appear over the bulwark, and nearly capsized the canoe in the enthusiasm of his arm waving. It was Malalé the chief of the first village which Rich had visited here; he smiled widely and stooped to seek something down by his feet as the boys brought the canoe to the ship’s side.
“Perhaps it is a royal collar of gold and pearls which he has brought you,” suggested Acevedo — someone was throwing a rope for Malalé to climb into the waist.
The Indian swung himself up over the bulwarks; he blinked for a moment, like a man emerging into strong sunlight, at the proximity of all the massive wonders about him, but he had confidence in Rich and was still smiling with the pleasure of seeing him again.
“No, it’s a parrot, by God!” said Acevedo; perched on Malalé’s hand was a big blood-red bird, which, as it moved, betrayed bewildering markings of a vivid blue — it was an extraordinarily stimulating combination of colors.
Malalé approached, talking volubly but deferentially; it was not hard to guess that he was employing formal phrases which for once had a real meaning. He stopped, and waited for Rich to speak.
“I am delighted to see you again, Malalé,” said Rich. “I hope you are well.”
He might as well say that as anything else, and it was all true. Malalé lifted the red parrot and offered it to Rich, and at the latter’s hesitation burst into voluble pleading; Rich held out his hand and Malalé set the parrot upon it. Rich was about to utter formal thanks, but was checked by a new outburst of speech from Malalé. He was chattering to the parrot, stroking its feathers and rubbing the back of its head, and the parrot contorted its neck and goggled up at Rich with beady eyes. Still Malalé chattered and caressed; the parrot put its head on the other side and said something in reply — but evidently not the right thing, for Malalé continued to address it, coaxingly. Suddenly the parrot seemed to realize what was expected of it.
“Lish,” it said, clearly and unmistakably. “Lish, Lish, Lish.”
Everybody laughed, and Malalé stood by with modest pride while the parrot looked round the ring with its inhuman eyes and ruffled its blood-red feathers and dozen more times before it trailed off again first into Indian speech and then into silence, with its long claws gripping Rich’s finger.
“They must have started teaching the bird to say that the moment we left their village,” commented Acevedo.
Rich did not need Acevedo’s friendly comment to call his attention to the forethought that contributed to the gift. He was inexpressibly moved by it — foolishly, he told himself — and he was surprised to find such a strong emotion in him, impending his utterance and blurring his vision for a second or two. Not many people had ever made gifts to the learned Narciso Rich, save in payment for his professional services. He found it hard to stammer his thanks, and it moved him still more to see Malalé’s obvious delight in the pleasure he had given. The parrot flapped impotent wings and began to sidle along his sleeve with beak and claws.
“Lish,” it said, peering up at him.
Malalé’s visit and the gift he bore drew some at least of the sting from the necessity of saying farewell to the Gulf of Paria.
They sailed next morning by the central channel of the Dragon’s Mouths. It was reassuring to see the drastic change which came over the Admiral when he was confronted with a problem in seamanship. He was no longer a touchy old gentleman rather set in his ideas; his very rheumatism seemed to leave him, and he paced the deck like a young man, his high clear voice as he called his orders to the captains of the caravels reaching easily across the intervening sea.
Rich stood beside him and watched the maneuver; there was a fascination about seeing the actual practice of an art with which he was theoretically well acquainted. Close-hauled, they reached to the southward — that was obviously to avoid the necessity of having to go about when they were at the point of entering the straits. Rich had to look up at the masthead, where the red-cross pennant flapped, to make sure of the direction of the wind, but the Admiral was under no such necessity. Presumably he based his judgment on a whole host of trivial indications to which Rich was insensitive — the wind upon his cheek, the heel of the deck, the action of the sails and the general behavior of the ship.
Osorio was out in the longboat at the entrance to the strait; he had to be allowed plenty of time to make the passage, because he had to sound carefully every yard of the way, lest there might be a hidden transverse reef which would allow the passage of the longboat and yet would rip the bottom out of the ships; when the latter came hurtling down with the wind on their quarter and the current behind them there would be no chance of changing their minds — and yet the longboat must be kept in sight for her signals to be seen. The Admiral gauged the force of the wind and measured the distance to the straits with a considering eye. He gave a quiet order to Carvajal and turned to hail the caravels again. Round came the
Holy Name
, her canvas flapping and her rigging rattling while the crew scuttled round in the flurry of going about. She steadied on her new course, the caravels in her wake and her bows pointing to the passage. Far ahead the longboat danced in the turbulent race — they could see the flash of her oars as her crew strove to hold her on a steady course in the eddies.
They ran down towards the islands; a brief order from the Admiral corrected the course a trifle to allow for the leeway the clumsy ship was making and which was carrying her a trifle away from the exact center of the passage. The lofty green hills of the northwestern corner of Trinidad approached them nearer and nearer on their right hand — Rich guessed from the glances the Admiral darted at them that he was wondering what effect they would have on the wind as the ships came under their lee. The longboat was through — Osorio was standing in the stern-sheets waving the white flag which indicated the absence of shoals. But the wind was growing fluky, thanks to the hills of Trinidad. Twice the sails flapped angrily; Carvajal was pulling at his beard and watching the man at the tiller. The steep-sided island that rose midway between Trinidad and the land of Paria was close upon them now; that, too, would have its effect on the wind. Rich saw the island swing round in relation to the foremast. Carvajal snapped angrily at the steersman and was answered, and the island was drawing up beside them.
Now they were through, and the longboat was waiting to come alongside. The wind, the eternal east wind, was blowing again here more freshly after an unimpeded course over three thousand miles of sea, and the long ocean swell was waiting for them — Rich felt the bows of the
Holy Name
lift to it, heard its music, strangely welcome, under her stem. Behind them now lay Trinidad and Paria, the islands of the Dragon’s Mouths ringed with white where the swell burst against their feet. To his right hand, as he looked aft, Rich saw the green coast of Paria stretching until it was lost in the faint haze; whatever the Admiral might think, it was certainly a much larger country than Trinidad.
But curiously enough, that question was not so urgent in Rich’s mind now. An hour ago his memories of Paria had been sharp and distinct — Malalé, and the rivers, and the caimans, and the myriad fireflies at night, and the croaking frogs, but now they were already vague. Ahead lay the open sea, and beyond it, Española. The lift and surge of the
Holy Name
, the fresh wind, the prospect of a new voyage — all these things distracted him. The relief from tension after the passage of the Dragon’s Mouths helped as well. Rich found himself all a-bubble with pleasurable anticipation, and for the life of him he could not tell why. Bernardo de Tarpia’s crossbowmen seemed to have caught the infection; they were strutting a measure on the foredeck to the rhythmical thumping of a tambourine, while Antonio Spallanzani looked on smiling, his lute across his knees.
The Admiral was giving the man at the tiller a new course to steer, and that recalled Rich a little to reality. He wondered by what process the Admiral had reached his conclusions as to the correct course. Española lay at least two hundred leagues away, and he was approaching it from a point as to whose exact whereabouts (Rich knew only too well) the Admiral could be none too certain. Even the compass was no longer the steadfast friend which they knew in the Mediterranean — in these waters it pointed for some unknown reason a little east of north instead of west of north, and allowance would have to be made for its variation, even though that variation were unknown. Vaguely — very vaguely — they knew their distance from Spain. Within ten leagues or so they knew the distance of each point from the equinoctial line, but all that gave only small data for a calculation as to the direction of the one from the other. And in these waters they had already proof of the existence of currents which might confound calculations, and even when the calculations were made and the currents allowed for the dark hours, in these unknown seas, they would have to lie-to for fear of shoals, thus doubling the effect of the currents and of their leeway.
“I shall spend the rest of today, Don Narciso,” explained the Admiral, “in examining the northern coast of this island of Paria, as you say it is called. But it would be inadvisable for us to proceed westward after that — it would carry us too far to leeward of our destination. Tomorrow we shall head for San Domingo; I think that will be the best point in Española to make for.”
“Whatever Your Excellency decides,” said Rich.
He would be quite content if they reached Española at all, without any conditions as to which bay or inlet they should sight first. He could well imagine themselves lost altogether when they left Paria and headed northwestward in search of Española; disease might break out among them even if they struck no reef or shoal. He certainly did not share the Admiral’s bland confidence regarding what landfall they would make, and he felt a great deal more sober now than half an hour ago when they had passed through the Dragon’s Mouths. The antics of the dancers on the forecastle were not at all to his taste.
“There is more land there, right to windward,” said the Admiral, staring with narrowed eyes.
Rich’s sight was not as good. Stare as he would, he could see nothing on the horizon resembling land, but Osorio, called into consultation, confirmed the Admiral’s opinion.
“Two islands, Your Excellency,” he said. “One much to the northward.”
“They must be the end of the chain I explored last voyage,” said the Admiral. “Dominica, Martinino, and the rest. That is the Cannibal region — these islands to windward have a different people from those of Española and Cuba and here in Trinidad. They are anthropophagous — they raid the other islands for human prey. Caribs, Canibs, Cannibals, or some such name they bear. We shall root them out, extirpate them. They are magicians as well as eaters of human flesh. And I cannot permit them to put my own people in fear of their lives.”
Rich pondered that expression ‘my own people’. It was fit and right that cannibals with magical powers should be rooted out — that was a Christian duty — but it was hardly fit and right that the Admiral should speak of ‘my own people’. That was an expression emphatically reserved for royalty; Their Highnesses might see treason in it. Yet on the other hand the Indians, as pagans, might be considered the Admiral’s property, after deduction of the royal percentage. In that case the expression might pass, drawing a nice distinction between slaves and subjects. Legally, as the wielder of the royal power, the Admiral was entitled to treat as slaves any of his Indians who were not expressly protected by charter — and no charter had yet been, or would ever be, granted to the naked and illiterate. Morally and ethically the position might be different; at the time Rich left Spain the Church there was trying to decide whether the Admiral was justified in sending shiploads of slaves — as he had begun to do in default of other cargo — for sale in Spain. It was a nice point. Rich would have liked to have heard it argued, even though he was no theological expert; but Aristotle and the Institutes would have no authority in an ecclesiastical court, and equity would stand little chance against the law (or the absence of law) — unless indeed Queen Isabella should intervene. Rich wished he knew what decision had been reached, yet with his worldly knowledge of judges he could guess that men who had been encouraged to expect cargoes of gold would not look with favor on the arrival of cargoes of slaves which would have to be paid for. That might give the slaves a chance.