Caribbean

  ‘I’m not an excellency. What did happen?’

  ‘Captain General Colón refused to honor my discovery and pay me my rewards. And do you know what he did that was much worse? Next mornin’ he suddenly shouts: “Land ahead!” and he claims the maravedis and gives himself the silken doublet.’

  ‘What has this to do with Española?’ Ocampo asked, being careful not to sound too impatient, for he had learned long since that it was the most wandering testimony that sometimes produced the most valuable kernels of truth.

  ‘I’m comin’ to that, and when you hear you’ll have to admit it does small credit to Colón. On the fifth of December, after explorin’ south and west near the island that the captain general later named Cuba, our three caravels landed for the first time on this island.’ With a kind of mock salute, he told Ocampo: ‘So you now have me on this island of Española, where you wanted me.’

  Ocampo, ignoring the familiarity, merely nodded: ‘Go on.’

  ‘Bleak shore, nothing to tempt us, and when some of the sailors asked: “Can this be the China of Marco Polo?” the captain general grew furious and would not speak further with us. So we sailed around this island on Christmas Eve, a Monday, I believe it was, for I had the watch and you remember those things. We come to a fine bay on the north shore of this selfsame island as we’re on now, and all was peaceful, and the men off duty—there was forty of us altogether in the crew, countin’ officers—began to hum songs of Christmas, and at midnight, me bein’ off duty, I fell asleep to dream of the Christmases I’d known in Spain.

  ‘Where was General Colón? Fast asleep. Second in command? Third? All sound asleep. And in that condition the Santa Maria gently, silently slipped onto a sandy reef and before the men runnin’ wildly about the deck could break her free, big waves setting in from the northwest drove her ever higher onto what you might call the land. It was horrible. Colón should have been ashamed of himself, for in the hour before sunrise it was clear to us that our ship was a total loss and we shifted over to the little Niña, which could ill afford to accept us, seein’ that her regular crew of twenty-two had already used up all space available and we would be forty more.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘The captain general said: “We’ll take the plankin’ from the Santa Maria and build the first Spanish city in China,” for he insisted that that was where we were. We built two shacks and Colón and the priest, or the man who passed as one, held a service and dedicated the place as La Navidad, out of memory for the day, Christmas, when we landed there. And when the time came for the little Niña to carry us back to Spain, Colón saw that twenty-two of her men plus forty of ours was far too many to make the trip, so he appointed thirty-nine men to man the new town, and I was one of them. Then off he sailed to save his own skin.’

  As soon as these words were spoken, Ocampo knew them to be false, for earlier testimony had established without question that everyone left at La Navidad in January of 1493 had perished: there had been no survivors; and thus Vicente Céspedes had revealed himself as one more romancer with a grudge to settle against Colón.

  Leaning forward, Ocampo asked harshly: ‘Why do you come to me with such lies? You know all the men at La Navidad died?’

  Céspedes, almost sliding from his sloping chair, said, with almost boyish eagerness to clear himself: ‘It was a miracle, Excellency, I’ve never been able to fathom it. But as the Niña was about to sail, one of the men aboard, a friend of mine from Cádiz, shouted: “Céspedes! I’d like to stay … see the natives,” and we exchanged. He died and I didn’t.’

  Ocampo was enormously interested in the sailor’s simple statement. It touched directly upon Colón’s sense of responsibility toward his men: ‘What steps were taken to protect the lives of the thirty-nine left behind?’

  ‘Damned little.’ As soon as he uttered the words he drew back and looked apprehensively at Ocampo, remembering that some authorities considered the word damn a serious blasphemy punishable in New Spain by a visit to the chambers of the Inquisition, but Ocampo as a former soldier did not. Swallowing, Céspedes resumed: ‘In fairness to Colón, there was very little we could have given them, but when we sailed away, good houses had not yet been built, we couldn’t give them much powder for the few guns we could spare, not much lead for bullets, and no food.’

  ‘None?’

  ‘Maybe one half-barrel of flour, some scraps of pork.’ Céspedes shook his head, then added brightly: ‘But my friend from Cádiz, the one who traded with me because he wanted to stay, said: “We can fish and hunt game and depend on help from the natives.” ’

  ‘There were natives?’

  ‘Many. And since we’d had good relations with them, we supposed the thirty-nine would depend on them for assistance.’

  ‘But General Colón did leave the men in a kind of settlement? I mean, there were paths and latrines and places to sleep?’

  ‘Oh yes! It was the beginnings of a town. After all, it did have a name, La Navidad.’

  ‘But no real houses? No women?’

  Céspedes laughed nervously: ‘The men thought of that. A year, maybe two years with no women. My friend from Cádiz said: “Maybe we’ll take the women we need from the natives.” ’

  ‘When you sailed, you ordinary sailors, did you expect the thirty-nine to survive?’

  ‘Yes! Just as we parted I loaned my friend my good knife. “I’ll be back to claim it,” I told him. But as I said, he died and I didn’t.’ He dropped his head, brought his hands to his lips, and stared at Ocampo, then whispered: ‘The natives killed them all, but even though I don’t like Colón, I don’t think you can blame him for that.’

  ‘How did you get back to Española?’

  ‘On the next trip with Colón in 1493. He was an admiral by then. He didn’t like me, for I reminded him that he had stolen my prize, but he knew me for a good sailor. And what a difference between the two trips! First time, three little ships, only a few men, feeling our way across an unknown ocean and terrified we’d fall off the edge of the world. Second trip, near two dozen fine ships, hundred of men, swift passage across a friendly ocean, and as soon as we passed through that chain of islands guarding the eastern edge of this inner sea we recognized the beauty of what the men were beginning to call “our Spanish lake.” It was becoming home to us, the more so when we spotted this island we already knew. Our hearts expanded and it should have been a triumph. But when we reached La Navidad we found nothin’ … houses torn down … skeletons where the natives had attacked. I found one body that could have been my friend, head severed. And I said a prayer as I buried it: “You gave your life for me. I’ll live on this island and make it a decent place in your honor,” and here I am.’

  One important question remained, but it was Céspedes who brought it up: ‘Sir, will you give sailors like me the money the admiral stole from us?’

  ‘You still believe he did that?’

  ‘Not only from me, from all those poor men who died at La Navidad.’ When he saw Ocampo glaring at him for repeating such rumors, he ended lamely: ‘Maybe he felt their money would be safer that way. Besides, what could they have used it for in a place like Navidad?’

  An old sailor, a widow and an abandoned son each came forward to relate how men had been paid only a portion of their wages or none at all, when it was clear that funds were available for this purpose.

  A local resident named Alonso Peraza, whose manner and speech indicated that he had profited from the education his priest in Salamanca had given him, offered a partial explanation of why Colón may have acted in this miserly way: ‘The admiral was insane about money. He said the king and queen wouldn’t pay him what they promised. He said they owed him a tenth, an eighth and a third.’

  ‘What do those terms mean? I’m unfamiliar with them.’

  ‘When Colón returned from his first trip it was some time before he was recognized as a great hero. Then King Ferdinand and his Queen Isabella agreed to a document written on parchment and
sealed by notaries which formalized a preposterous proposal, put forth by Colón, that he receive in perpetuity one-tenth of all the wealth generated by the new lands he discovered.’

  ‘In that document, did perpetuity mean what I think it does?’

  ‘Yes, for Colón during his lifetime, and his heirs forever after.’

  ‘A fortune, eh?’

  And Peraza replied: ‘No ships large enough to carry it home.’ He then explained that the eighth referred to the portion of wealth that might be generated during the voyages by bartering trade goods with the local settlers, whoever they might be. ‘That made sense,’ Peraza said, ‘but Colón found it difficult to collect his share because accounts were too complex to keep.’

  ‘What was left?’ Ocampo asked sardonically. ‘A third part of anything is apt to be substantial.’

  Peraza broke into disrespectful laughter: ‘Colón seriously demanded the right to levy a tax in that amount on every business transaction carried out in the Indies. Yes, one-third of everything.’

  Ocampo leaned back and studied his thin fingers as he made a calculation: ‘Those three taken together—tenth, eighth, third—would have added up to more than half the total wealth developed in the entire New World. It would have made him the richest man in Christendom, and no king could permit that.’ Leaning forward, he asked: ‘Yet you say he demanded it?’

  ‘He did, and his heirs still press those ridiculous claims. They seek to be richer than the king.’

  Ocampo’s attention now began to focus on one of the most serious charges against the admiral. The testifier who broached the subject was an ordinary sailor, one Salvador Soriano, who had served on the famous Niña and returned to Santo Domingo to live out his life: ‘It’s a miracle I’m here to answer your questions, Excellency.’

  ‘I’m not really an excellency, you know. What do you wish to tell me?’

  ‘We called him Colón the Killer because when he was viceroy in charge of this island he had a passion for ordering men to be hanged. There were gibbets all over the place … six … eight, all bearing fruit, men dancing without their toes touching the ground. And the hangings would have continued if Special Emissary Bobadilla had not had the courage to halt them.’

  ‘What were the charges? Mutiny?’

  ‘Anything that irritated him at the moment. Hiding gold from the appointed collector. Speaking poorly about the admiral or one of his family. He kept going back and forth to Spain and bringing more and more of his family and they were sacred here. Two men were hanged for using a fishing boat without permission.’

  ‘That sounds incredible,’ Ocampo said, but the man surprised him by saying with great force: ‘I was sentenced to be hanged, with my nephew Bartolomeo, and for what? Eating fruit that was reserved for some other purpose and then arguing with one of Colón’s men about it when we were reprimanded. Mutiny, he called that mutiny, and we were led to the gallows.’

  ‘I see you’re still here. Did the admiral relent?’

  ‘Not him. He hanged a score of us. Fearful temper.’

  ‘Then who saved you?’

  ‘Bobadilla. You might say he saved the whole island. Because the way Colón was going, there’d have been revolution for sure.’

  Since this was the fourth time Ocampo had heard the name Bobadilla, the first having been when the king himself referred to him, it became clear that he must fix firmly in his mind who this shadowy figure Bobadilla was, for regardless in what direction Ocampo turned, he found himself face-to-face with this elusive man who seemed to have played a major role in Colón’s life. Setting aside an entire afternoon, he sat with his scribes and asked: ‘Now what do we know about this Bobadilla? The king told me several things. Bobadilla was Queen Isabella’s choice, not his. He was a man of distinguished background, overly fat, an errant coward.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound appealing,’ one of the scribes remarked.

  ‘Very intelligent. And most important, he arrived on this island to track down Colón’s misbehavior armed with five different letters empowering him in ways far beyond my commission. In fact, the king told me: “Because Bobadilla abused his five letters, I’m giving you only one.” ’

  ‘You mean you have no power to arrest? To force a man to give evidence? The rack if necessary?’

  ‘I do not have such powers, nor would I want them.’ He concluded the meeting with an order: ‘Let us direct all our attention to learning as much about Bobadilla as possible, for if we first understand him, we may understand Colón.’

  Two days later the senior scribe informed him: ‘I’ve found a man whose life was saved by Bobadilla,’ and Ocampo said: ‘Fetch him.’ Within minutes one Elpidio Díaz, sailor from Huelva, was seated uneasily in the tilted chair eager to testify: ‘Bobadilla was a gentleman, a splendid man. He knew how to govern. Stepped off the ship that brought him from Spain, first thing he saw on the island was me and my cousin waiting to be hanged, rope ready and all. And he cried in a loud voice, I can still hear the words, believe me: “Release those men!” Colón’s people were furious. Refused to obey. And I thought: Here we go. But Bobadilla whipped out some papers which showed he’d been sent by the king to clean up the mess on Española, and the hangings were stopped.’

  ‘You say hangings? Plural?’

  ‘There was a score of condemned like me waiting in this area or that. In the little town of Xaraguá far west of here, sixteen of us prisoners were held in a deep well, all sentenced to be hanged. It was Bobadilla who saved our lives: “Get those men out of there. Set them all free.” ’

  ‘You have a high opinion of him?’

  ‘The finest. A man of common sense and order.’

  Ocampo began to acquire a balanced assessment of a man whom neither he nor the king liked. He might have been cowardly in battle, but he was certainly not afraid to confront ugly messes. He seemed to have exercised solid judgment and was certainly not a cruel man. He was honest, so far as could be seen. But there the list of positive aspects stopped, for again and again he emerged from the testimony as an obese, gluttonous, self-important functionary who used his five royal letters in an obscene way, like a cat using her claws to play with a mouse.

  Supporters of Colón, and there were many, especially those who owed their jobs to the admiral, excoriated Bobadilla as an unfeeling, vengeful man who delighted in bringing the great explorer down, but more sober citizens assured Ocampo that Bobadilla had done a masterful job in a humane way, and it was almost impossible to discern who was telling the truth. And so the questioning about both Colón and Bobadilla continued.

  In the late afternoons, when the interrogations ended, Ocampo liked to leave his office and take an evening walk along the beautiful waterfront of Santo Domingo; he preferred to walk three paces in the lead, with his two scribes trailing behind him. In this way, the three Spaniards from the homeland formed an elegant trio: Ocampo in front, tall and rigidly erect, with his conspicuous eye patch and scar attesting to his valor, the two scribes dressed in black marching behind in orderly fashion, and all comporting themselves like grandees from earlier centuries.

  When they encountered citizens they knew, Ocampo would bow graciously and inquire as to their welfare. His scribes noticed that it was he who always bowed first, and when asked about this, he said: ‘A soldier carries his dignity in his heart. He can afford to be generous to others, especially if they have no dignity whatever.’

  When his oldest scribe said: ‘But you’re a licenciado,’ he replied: ‘Once a Spaniard has borne arms, he’s a soldier forever.’

  In his walks Ocampo learned much about this tropical capital, not yet twenty years old, for to its harbor came all the ships traversing the Caribbean or putting in to islands like Puerto Rico and still-unsettled Cuba. Watching these daring ships, he saw clearly that it was Spain’s destiny to rule this inland sea, but he was equally interested in the natives, whom men were calling Indians, a name Colón had proposed when he finally had to admit that he had not reached China. In his
obstinacy he had said: ‘Then it must have been India,’ and thus the natives, offspring of those early Arawaks who had escaped annihilation by the Caribs, received a name totally inappropriate and erroneous.

  Sometimes as he took his evening stroll he would meet Alejandro Pimentel y Fraganza, the lieutenant governor, and the two proud men, each suspicious of what hidden powers from the king the other might have, would bow formally, say nothing, and pass on. It was obvious to Ocampo that Pimentel feared that he, Ocampo, had arrived on the island to investigate Pimentel’s behavior. Once Ocampo told his men: ‘I am so relieved we’re getting on well with that fellow. I’m sure he is suspicious of us, but I like him.’

  On two occasions when the strollers met Pimentel, they saw with pleasure that his young wife was with him, but she was so closely guarded by her onetime dueña that they had no opportunity to speak with her.

  Occasionally the evening walks bore unexpected fruit, for strangers would approach Ocampo and whisper furtive hints regarding questions he might want to raise, but a more important consequence was that the women of Santo Domingo became accustomed to seeing the man they had supposed to be so austere coming toward them with a gracious smile and a gentlemanly bow. So when the town felt at ease with him, he surprised certain citizens, especially those from good families who adhered to the old patterns of Spanish life, by inviting to his interrogations several women, as if the time had come when they, too, should be listened to, and from them he obtained those unusual insights which so often illuminate major concerns. For example, when he interrogated Señora Bermudez he listened patiently while she outlined the distinguished heritage from which she came. It was much more exalted than her husband’s, she claimed, and Ocampo learned several interesting facts: Francisco de Bobadilla was exactly the right man for the job, for he was of ancient lineage, had served the king in many positions of honor, and was a caballero in the military Order of Calatrava, than which there was no higher. A most excellent man, wise in the ways of the world and more than able to penetrate the effronteries of a peasant like Colón and the insufferable members of the admiral’s family working here, who only wanted to enrich themselves at the expense of others.