To the Indies

by Forester, C. S.

  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 Española. 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? Armor? He had only to ask. And if Don Francisco were to consult on the legality of their recent behavior, and of their grants of lands and slaves, Don Narciso would go to the trouble assuring him 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 García 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.

  Chapter 24

  There had been a hazy dreamlike 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 stern-sheets 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 solidity, 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 sea birds, 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 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 Española 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. Rich 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 García, prepared to attack any kingdom with a handful of men and horses. Someone in the future would take up García’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 African 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 dispatches 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 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 on board 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.

  “Oh, Don Narciso,” said the Admiral, slowly.

  All about them was clamor 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 armorer.”

  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 co
ntinue 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 clamoring 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 the 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 on 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, he 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 Cambaluc. And he would find — God only knew what he would find; but, being the Admiral, he would find something.

  Rich glanced astern to where Española’s mountains were fast sinking into the sea. There was a magnificent rainbow across them, adding fresh richness to their superb green summits towering above the blue, blue sea. He caught his breath a little at the sight, and felt a fresh twinge of regret at leaving the Indies behind. He had to think very hard about the solid realities of the island to allay that twinge. He shook off his momentary depression. He was on his way home.