To the Indies (24 page)

“The spices, you mean? But I thought — ”

“The spices are unimportant compared with those which reach Spain via the Levant. The cinnamon which the Admiral thought grew here so freely is poor stuff. There are no real spices here — no cloves, no nutmegs. The pepper is not true pepper, even though one can acquire a taste for it quickly enough.”

Rich found all this a little frightening. If the gold returns were to diminish, as Alamo predicted, and the spice trade were to prove valueless, as Rich had long ago suspected, the colony of Española could not be worth having discovered. The three thousand Spanish lives which had already been expended were quite wasted. But Alamo was ready to reassure him.

“The island has treasures beside gold and spices,” he said. “It has a soil fifty times more fruitful than Andalusia. The rain and the sun give it a fertility which it is hard to estimate. One man’s labor will grow food for ten — see how these wretched Indians have always contrived to live in abundance. Cattle multiply here amazingly. My calculations go to prove that by breeding cattle here a handsome profit would be shown merely by selling the hides in Spain — and I know well enough the cost of sailing a ship from here to there.”

“Cattle? Hides?” said Rich. There was a queer sense of disappointment. A prosaic trade in hides was not nearly as interesting as a deal in hundredweights of gold.

“Oh, there are other possibilities,” said Alamo, hastily. “Have you ever tasted sugar?”

“Yes. It is a brown powder beneficent in cases of chills and colds. There is a white variety, too, in crystals. I have had packets sent me as presents occasionally. It has a sweet taste like honey, or even sweeter. Why, is there sugar to be found in this island?”

“Not as yet. But it could grow here — it is expressed from a cane exactly like the canes we see growing everywhere in this country. The sugar cane is grown in Malaga a little, and in Sicily. My friend Patino retails it at five hundred maravedis an ounce. Once start the cultivation here and in a few years we might be exporting sugar not by the ounce, but by the ton.”

That was a more alluring prospect than chaffering in hides. A spark of enthusiasm lit in Rich’s breast, and then died away to nothing again as he began to consider details.

“It means husbandry,” he said, despondently.

“It means hard work,” agreed Alamo, a smile flickering over his lips.

Each knew what the other was thinking about. Knights-errant and adventurers like Garc
í
a, or like Avila, would never reconcile themselves to laboring in the cultivation of sugar, or even in the breeding of cattle. They had come to seek gold and spices, and for those they were willing to risk their lives or undergo hardship. It would be far below the dignity of a hidalgo to settle down to prosaic labor. Nor would the lower class Spaniards who had reached Hayti — the gaolbirds, the bankrupts — take kindly to arduous work.

“There is no labor to be got out of the Indians,” said Rich, despairingly.

“That is so,” agreed Alamo. “They die rather than work. And pestilences sweep them away even when they are not killed for sport. There were two millions when the Admiral first landed. Now there is not more than half that number, after six years. Perhaps soon there will not be a single Indian left alive in Española.”

“Impossible!” said Rich.

“Possible enough,” said Alamo, gravely.

“But what then?” asked Rich, wildly. The thought of the blotting-out of a population of two million left him a little dizzy. Their Highnesses of Spain had no more than ten million subjects in all their dominions. And he was appalled at the thought both of this green land of Española reduced to an unpeopled desert and of the extinction of a pleasant useless race of mankind. This discovery of the Indies was a Dead Sea fruit — alluring to the sight and yet turning to ashes in the mouth.

“There is another possibility,” said Alamo.

“What?”

“It was João de Setubal who put it in my mind,” said Alamo.

It was a queer world in which a cultured man like Alamo could be indebted for ideas to a clumsy barbarian like the Portuguese knight; Rich must have looked his surprise, because Alamo hastened to explain.

“He was complaining of the uselessness of the Indians, just as everyone else does,” said Alamo. “And then he went on to say how in Lisbon they have Negro slaves nowadays. Stout dependable laborers, brought from the African coast . . . I had heard about that before, but it had slipped my memory until Don João reminded me of it. They breed freely, do the Negroes. If Their Highnesses could arrange with the King of Portugal for a supply of Negroes to be sent here . . .”

“You are right, by God!” said Rich.

“This hot climate would be native to them,” said Alamo. “They could do the heavy work and our Spanish gentlemen fresh out of the gaols would not think it beneath them to supervise.”

“And the Indians could be spared,” said Rich, with kindly enthusiasm. “Perhaps part of the island could be set aside for them to live without interference. Save for Christian teaching, of course.”

This last was a hurried addition.

“The Church would give her blessing,” went on Alamo. “The Negroes would be brought out of heathen darkness in Africa to lead a Christian life here.”

They eyed each other, a little flushed and excited.

“Sir,” said Rich, solemnly. “I think that today you have made a suggestion which may change the history of Spain. In my report to His Highness — ”

“I would rather, if possible, that His Highness was not reminded of my existence,” said Alamo. “Torquemada . . .”

“I understand,” said Rich, sadly.

But this was the most cheerful thing which had been brought to his notice since his arrival in Española. Rich had been worrying about the report he had to write, which would go to Spain as soon as the
Holy Name
was ready for sea again.
It would have been a cheerless thing without this creative suggestion added to it — merely a sweeping condemnation of the Admiral’s administrative system, and of the methods of the colonists, combined with the gloomiest prophecies regarding the future of the island. Rich knew quite well what favor was given to those advisers of the Crown who brought nothing but unpalatable truths to the council board. If he could sketch out a future of plenteous cargoes of sugar at five hundred maravedis an ounce, and suggest a profitable trade in Negro slaves, his state paper would be a great deal more acceptable and would not prejudice his own future — would not imperil his own life — nearly as much.

“But,” said Rich, half to himself, “there’s a lot to be done before that.”

He was thinking of the disorder in the island — of Roldan’s passive rebellion, the vague property laws, the muddled policies.

“That is not my concern, thank God,” said Alamo, guessing — as was not difficult — what was in Rich’s mind. “You will have to settle all that with the Admiral. I am no more than assayer and naturalist. Politics are not my province.”

Rich thought how lucky Alamo was. There had been a time when he himself had been delighted at the thought of taking part in the administration of a new empire, but there was no pleasure in it now for him. Those endless conferences in the citadel of San Domingo only left him with an exasperated sense of frustration. It was hard for any decision to be reached — at least, it was hard for the Admiral to reach a decision. There was the pitiful difficulty that Roldan, thanks to his appointment as Alcalde Mayor, could claim a legal justification for his actions.

“Why not revoke the appointment, Your Excellency?” asked Rich. “Any disobedience then would be treason and could be punished as such.”

“That would drive him to desperate measures,” said the Admiral. “God knows what he would do then.”

“But what
could
he do?”

“He could march on San Domingo. He could fight us.”

Rich looked at Bartholomew Columbus. This was clearly his cue.

“He
might
,” said Bartholomew. “But I doubt it.”

“What force has he got?”

“As many men as we have. More perhaps,” interposed the Admiral. “And — and — perhaps all our men would not fight for us.”

That was perfectly possible, at least in a few cases.

“But would all Roldan’s men fight for him?” asked Rich. He was wondering what he himself would do in such a case. Certainly he would think long before he appeared in arms, an obvious rebel.

Bartholomew glanced at him for once with approval. “Now you’re on the right road,” he said. “Treason is treason either side of the ocean. Some would fear for their necks, and would wait to see what would happen. Proclaim Roldan dismissed. Give him a month to come in and submit. If he does not, march against him. Half his men would not fight.”

“But what would they say in Spain?” said the Admiral pathetically.

That was the trouble. Once let the court of Spain know that there was rebellion in her new colony, that the Admiral could not control his subordinates, and Their Highnesses would have every justification for removing their Viceroy from office. There was suspicion in the old man’s eyes as he looked round the room. Who would be his successor in that case? Bartholomew, the hero of the Indian rebellion? Rich, who had been sent out for no obvious good purpose? Rich could see the struggle in the Admiral’s face. His position, his power — even such as it was — were very dear to him. After a lifetime of unimportance, he now found himself Admiral and Viceroy, and he did not want to lose the splendid position his genius had won for him, even though his genius was not of the kind to make his position supportable. He was bound to regard with suspicion any advice which came from those who might hope to succeed him. He felt alone and friendless, and his first instinct was to temporize.

And Rich, knowing quite well what sort of secret report was awaiting transmission by the
Holy Name
to Their Highnesses, could hardly blame him. But Rich’s sense of justice and order, quite apart from his sympathy for the poor old man, urged him to try to make some sort of settlement of this disastrous state of affairs. He wanted to be able to add a postscript to his report, saying that he hoped that shortly the situation would be in hand.

“But something ought to be done,” he said.

“What do you suggest?” asked Bartholomew, curiously.

“Proclaiming Roldan’s dismissal would deprive him of the support of some of his people,” said Rich. “Isn’t it possible to split his party still farther? Can’t we make offers which would bring over a large number? García might come back, for instance, or Tarpia, if we bribed heavily enough. Then with Roldan once caught and hanged we could deal with them on a new basis.”

Rich was a little surprised at himself for making such proposals. He had never believed he had it in him to contemplate any such vigorous action. He remembered Tarquin in Rome, cutting off the heads of the tallest poppies; he thought of Caesar Borgia in the Romagna, dividing his enemies and striking them down one by one. All that was very well in theory, to a book-learned man; he was genuinely astonished to find himself advocating the actual practice — prepared even, if need be, to put it into execution himself. He hated the thought of fighting just as much as the Admiral did — although he concealed it better — but he was not nearly so averse to this kind of intrigue.