The Earthly Paradise

  He picked up the end of the creeper net and pointed to the sea; they knew something of what he meant. He pointed to the sea again with a sweeping gesture of his arm, and rubbed his stomach again. They grasped what he wanted; this simple stranger needed some fish, and they were perfectly willing to oblige, here on this admirable seining beach. They came fearlessly forward now; one of them took up the end of the net while the other two, smiling, prepared to push the canoe into the water. Rich smiled, too, and casually picked up his lever and dropped it into the canoe before he bent to help them shove out. The canoe floated, and one of the two Indians prepared to paddle while the other paid out the net; they were only a little surprised when Rich climbed in behind them.

  The canoe danced over the small surf as the single paddle drove it slowly forward; the other Indian, standing precariously, dropped the net over-side armful by armful. Farther and farther out they went, in a curve, until Rich, watching narrowly, decided that half the net was out and they about to curve back to the beach. The decisive moment had come. He scrambled forward and seized the whole remainder of the net, and lifted it in his arms and dumped it overboard amid the Indians’ ejaculations of mild protest. He picked up his lever, poised it menacingly.

  ‘Hayti,’ he said, and pointed southward.

  They protested much more strenuously at that, piping in their shrill voices and gesticulating despairingly.

  ‘Hayti,’ said Rich, inexorably. He swung his club back; he was ready to strike one Indian down if by so doing he could terrorise the other into paddling. The one he menaced screamed and cowered under the impending blow.

  ‘Hayti,’ said Rich, again, pointing to the paddles.

  They gave way before his snarling ferocity--Rich was desperate now that there was this chance of reaching home. They picked up their paddles and began work; one of them was weeping like a girl. They headed out through the shallows to the open sea, while from the distant beach came the wailing of the third Indian, standing there puzzled and deserted. His voice mingled with the weird cry of the seabirds.

  The canoe effected its passage to Espanola in the course of that night, with Rich steering by the sun while daylight lasted and by the North Star-he had to stand up in the unsteady canoe to discover it low down on the horizon-at night. The steady hours of paddling wore out the frail Indians entirely, even before darkness fell they were sobbing with fatigue and Rich had to goad them to work. Then later he allowed one to rest, sitting hunched up with his forehead on his knees, while the other worked; at first it had been hard to make them understand what he wanted, as they shrank and cowered before him, but they understood at last and paddled alternatively while Rich sat in the stern, sleeping in cat naps of a minute or two each, and waking with a jerk to see that his unwilling crew were still at their tasks and to set the canoe on her course again. The canoe rose and fell with dizzy insecurity over the dark invisible waves in whose depths the stars were reflected and the wind sighed overhead.

  Just before dawn there was a sudden squall of wind and rain which blotted the world from sight, and for a few minutes Rich felt for the first time a sense of danger. He turned the canoe bows on into the wind and sea, and had to struggle hard to hold her there, but the odd little canoe, with its thick sides of light wood, rode the waves in a fantastically self-confident manner, threading her way through difficulties as though endowed with an intelligence of her own. Then the squall passed, and with the end of the squall dawn was lighting the eastern horizon, and to the southward there were mountains reaching to the sky, wild and jagged.

  ‘Hayti!’ said the Indians.

  They turned faces yellow with fatigue towards him, dumbly imploring him not to force them to approach nearer to the accursed land, but Rich hardened his heart. With a stroke or two of his paddle he swung the canoe round towards the island, and then used the paddle to prod them into activity. The canoe danced and lurched over a quartering sea in response to a last effort from their weary arms, and the mountains grew steadily nearer until the white ribbon of surf at the base of the rocks was visible, and then the canoe ran alongside a natural pier of rock and Rich stepped out, so stiff and cramped that he could hardly stand straight.

  The Indians still looked up at him apprehensively. They had not the spirit-or else the strength-to try to escape, and they could only sit and wonder what awful fate now awaited them in this land which the white devils had come to plague. Rich returned their gaze, looking thoughtfully down on them. He could still find a good use for the canoe, employing it to take him along the coast until he found a Spanish settlement, but the two Indians were so depressed and apprehensive and pitiful in appearance, that he found if difficult to bring himself to detain them further. He tried to debate the pros and cons of it coldly and practically, but he suddenly thought of what might happen to the poor wretches if his fellow Spaniards laid hands on them.

  ‘Go!’ he said, suddenly. ‘Go home!’

  They looked at him without comprehension, and he swept his hand in a wide gesture towards the horizon and pushed the canoe out a little way from the rock. Still they hardly understood until he turned his back on them and walked a little way inland. When he looked round again they were paddling bravely out to sea again, their fatigue forgotten in their new freedom. Rich found time to hope that they would remember to call at his own island to pick up their marooned companion, and then a great wave of elation caught him up to the exclusion of all other thoughts. He was back again in Espanola, whence ships sometimes sailed to Spain, and he was the sole survivor of a shipload of men all far tougher and stronger than he. He was all a-bubble with excitement as he breasted the cliff and set out to find his fellow men.

  Rich walked a hundred and fifty miles through the forests before he found what he sought, and he spent sixteen days doing it. There were tracks through the forest, now almost vanished again as the Indians had ceased to use them. Three times they brought him to ruined villages whose decayed huts and deserted gardens had almost become part of primitive nature again, but there he found a few ears of corn and was able to dig up a few roots which kept him alive. The Indian inhabitants, he supposed, had died in battle or of disease, or were toiling away to the south gathering grains of gold in the mountains of Cibao. But the fort of Isabella was somewhere to the eastward, and even though Isabella had been Roldan’s late headquarters he would be able to obtain assistance to make his way to San Domingo. So Rich walked through the forest to Isabella.

  They gave him help when he reached it; they even were anxious to make him welcome when once he had explained who he was and whence he came. They gave him clothing and food-it was good to set his teeth into meat again-and listened sympathetically while he told them of Garcia’s wild scheme to discover a land of gold to the north-westward. They had heard of that land themselves--more than one vague account of it had drifted in to Espanola. In return they told him their news, of the wild disorders which had spread through the island again; how Anacaona, the mistress of Bartholomew Columbus, had been hanged for treason, and sixteen petty chiefs roasted alive at the same time.

  They told him of madness and battle and bloodshed, but what they were most interested in was the fact that a new expedition had just reached San Domingo from Spain. It was under the command of one Francisco de Bobadilla, a High Steward of the Royal household in Spain, and the greatest noble who had as yet set foot in Espanola. He had some mysterious new powers; he had an army with which to enforce them. At the first news of his coming Roldan himself had made his way to San Domingo. How matters stood between the Admiral and Bobadilla they did not know, but-was Don Narciso acquainted with Don Francisco? That was very interesting. Did Don Narciso wish to repair at once to San Domingo? Of course. They would provide him with a horse and a guide immediately. Was there anything else they could do for him? A sword? Armour? He had only to ask. And if Don Francisco were to consult him on the legality of their recent behaviour, and of their grants of lands and slaves, Don Narciso would go to the trouble of assuring h
im that at Isabella they were all devoted subjects of the Crown, would he not? Rich nodded without committing himself, and took his guide and mounted his horse and rode for San Domingo.

  It was five months and a week since Garcia had kidnapped him. The Court of Spain must have acted with unusual promptitude on receipt of his report, and he could guess what sort of orders and what sort of powers had been given to Don Francisco de Bobadilla and at the haste with which he had been sent out. But he hardly cared about that. Soon one at least of the ships which had come out would be sailing back to Spain-perhaps it might already have sailed. That was the rub. Rich urged his horse forward in his panic lest he should arrive too late to be able to sail in her.

  24

  There had been a hazy dream-like quality about many of his adventures when Rich had been experiencing misfortune; there was the same unreality about his good fortune. Rich could hardly believe that this was really he, sitting in the sternsheets of a boat pulling out to the caravel Vizcaya on his way to Spain. The boat’s side on which his hand rested, the ladder which he climbed, the deck on which he set his feet, all were quite surprising in their solidarity, considering how he felt that they might at any moment dissolve like wreaths of cloud. The bustle of the ship making ready for departure, the screaming of the seabirds, were like noises heard in a dream. He was free, and he was returning home; perhaps at that very moment the sucking-pig was being engendered which he would eat as soon as he set foot in his own house again--sucking-pig with onions and a big slice of wheaten bread.

  He looked over at the island. For him it was a place of only evil memories, and he never wanted to set eyes on it again; as he decided this he was conscious of the faintest incredible twinge of regret that his adventures were over. It was so incredible that he refused to pay any attention to it, even while he was prepared to admit that if time had been of no value he would have liked on his little island to have completed his own boat himself and sailed her back to Espanola instead of making use of the Indians and their canoe. But if that had been the case he would not have reached San Domingo for months, and he would not be sailing today in the Vizcaya, escaping from these pestilential Indies and on his way to Spain.

  The Indies would get on without him-he was of no use there. Bobadilla had listened with patience to his account of the legal abuses in the island, and to his rough sketch of a system of government, but Bobadilla had his own ideas and would not act on his advice. Perhaps Bobadilla might be able to tame the headstrong mass of his subjects--he had started firmly enough by putting both the Admiral and Roldan under arrest. Certainly no scheme of reform whatever could be put in hand while those two were free. What would happen next, what would be the future of this empire, no one could foretell. He could guess that its boundaries would expand, that island after island would be steadily overrun and conquered, but whether condemned to ruin or prosperity would depend on Bobadilla and his successors. Conquest was certain, as long as Spain could supply restless and daring spirits like Garcia, prepared to attack any kingdom with a handful of men and horses. Someone in the future would take up Garcia’s project again, and discover the land of gold to the north-west, and conquer it, even if it should be the kingdom of the Great Khan itself. That would be a notable commerce, the export merely of stout hearts and the import of rich gold; Spain would be wealthy and prosperous then. Rich found himself smiling when he remembered how he had been almost converted by Diego Alamo’s prosaic suggestions about establishing a trade in hides and sugar and Africa negroes. Now that the island was already receding into his mental perspective he could see things clearer and wonder how he could ever have been carried away by such notions.

  A boat was coming out to the Vizcaya; presumably it had on board Alonso de Villegio the captain, with Bobadilla’s final despatches for Spain, and they would be under way directly. Villegio was a man of capacity, who had listened, at Bobadilla’s side, with much attention to Rich’s account of the island. He would be pleasant, sane company for Rich during the long voyage home, and a word in the King’s ear (for Rich could be certain of the King’s attention for a space on his arrival) could give him much deserved promotion, But in the stern of the boat, beside Villegio, was a strangely familiar figure. Rich recognized the bent shoulders and the white hair and beard immediately, and only hesitated to be certain because of the unlikeliness of what he saw.

  The boat came alongside, and Villegio sprang lightly to the deck, his captain’s eye taking in at a flash all the preparations for departure. Then he stood by the rail to help up the man who followed him; another sailor came to help and the head of a third was visible over the side engaged on the same task. And the man who mounted was in need of this help, for he was old and feeble and stiff. Furthermore, as he raised his hands to the rail there was a dull clanking to be heard. The Admiral was coming aboard with chains upon his wrists.

  Rich was inexpressibly shocked. He had approved of the temporary confinement of the Admiral, on the grounds that it was necessary to keep him harmless until the reforms should be under way. But that the Admiral of the Ocean, the Viceroy of the Indies, the man who had discovered a new world, should be thus publicly put to shame by being packed off home in chains, without either trial or sentence, was a dreadful thing, and the more dreadful because it showed that Bobadilla was a tactless man who would never manage the Indies.

  Rich hurried across to where the Admiral still stood by the ship’s side, looking about him blindly and unseeing, the chain dangling from his wrists and the land breeze ruffling his white beard.

  ‘Your Excellency,’ he said, and bowed low. His heart was wrung with pity as the Admiral peered at him with rheumy eyes.

  ‘Ah, Don Narciso,’ said the Admiral, slowly.

  All about them was clamour and bustle, as Villegio was giving orders for sail to be set and the anchor to be got in. Farewells were already being shouted from the boat alongside.

  ‘It is dreadful to see Your Excellency treated in this fashion,’ said Rich.

  ‘It is not dreadful for me,’ said the Admiral. ‘This is the sort of gratitude that benefactors can always expect of the world. And Christ had his cross and crown of thorns, while I have only this chain.’

  The ship was under way now, with her sails filled with the last of the land breeze, as she plunged southward to make an offing. Villegio returned to them now that the immediate business of departure was completed. He, too, bowed low.

  ‘Your Excellency,’ he said. ‘I can remove that chain now, thank God.’

  ‘And why?’ asked the Admiral. ‘What about the orders given by His genuine Excellency, Don Francisco de Bobadilla?’

  Villegio snapped his fingers.

  ‘I am at sea now,’ he said. ‘I am master of my ship, and no orders here have any weight save mine. I shall call the armourer.’

  The Admiral restrained him with a gesture, the chain clattering as he put out his hand.

  ‘No!’ said the Admiral. ‘Never! I wear this chain by order of the King, through his mouthpiece Bobadilla, and I shall continue to wear it until I am freed by the King’s own order again. The world will see the sort of treatment the discoverer of the Indies has received.’

  Villegio stood hesitant.

  ‘Your Excellency,’ interposed Rich. ‘Take the chain off now for the sake of your own comfort. You can put it on again when we sight Spain.’

  ‘No, no, no!’ said the Admiral. ‘I will not!’

  Rich and Villegio exchanged glances. They both of them recognized the sort of fanaticism which brooked no argument.

  ‘As Your Excellency pleases,’ said Villegio, bowing again. He was already looking round him at his ship; there must have been scores of matters clamouring for his attention.

  ‘I must ask Your Excellency’s kindness to spare me for a few minutes again.’

  The Admiral motioned him away with superb dignity.

  ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘I myself was once a captain of a ship.’

  As Villegio departed th
e Admiral rounded upon Rich.

  ‘I had forgotten until now,’ he said. ‘But I suppose, Don Narciso, that I have you to thank for this treatment. What did you say in that lying report of yours to Their Highnesses?’

  ‘I said nothing but what I saw to be the truth,’ said Rich, taken quite aback and only collecting himself slowly; it was the Admiral himself who gained for him the necessary time to take up the defensive.

  ‘Who bribed you?’ asked the Admiral. ‘What friend at Court have you to put in my place?’

  ‘No one,’ said Rich, hotly, stung by the monstrous imputation. ‘I have done my duty, that and no more.’

  His genuine indignation may perhaps have been remarked by the Admiral.

  ‘No matter,’ he said. ‘I care not whether you are my friend or my enemy. I am strong enough to stand alone against all the liars and detractors in Spain or in the Indies. Half an hour with Their Highnesses and these chains will be struck off and I shall be Admiral and Viceroy again. I have only to tell them of the discoveries I have made this voyage, of the mines of Ophir, of the Earthly Paradise, of the westerly passage to Arabia. I have only to remind them of the wealth to be won, the new kingdoms to be discovered.’

  The dull blue eyes had a light in them now, and the wrinkled face, until now wooden and impassive, was animated and alive. The Admiral had forgotten Rich’s presence, and was staring at the horizon and dreaming dreams, just as he had always dreamed them. Rich, gazing at him, realized quite fully that the Admiral was right, that he had only to talk in that fashion, as he undoubtedly would, to Their Highnesses for a few minutes to have all he wanted again. Within a year, perhaps, he would be at sea again in command of a squadron provided by Their Highnesses, and seeking the Fountain of Youth, or the Tree of Knowledge, or the Golden City of Cambaluk. And he would find-God only knew what he would find, but, being the Admiral, he would find something.