The Islands of Unwisdom

by Robert Graves

  When I could not guess the answer he gave it me himself: ‘A priest. Because none of the many bastards he fathers may enter the priesthood; and every Saturday at vespers he climbs into the wooden pulpit to preach; and he makes the greatest clamour at the funeral of another of the black-coated crew.’

  ‘This is no jest,’ I said severely. ‘I am ashamed to hear such irreverence from your lips.’

  ‘No, in the Devil’s name, it is no jest, but dead earnest,’ Matia answered, ‘and why, being a man, should I confess to a beast?’

  ‘God will teach you why in His own good time,’ said I, turning angrily away. ‘You have said today what He will be slow to forgive.’ Yet for all that, I had a love for Matia Pineto: his pride had more of humility in it, and his savagery of gentleness, than he would ever care to admit. He accounted for his Catholic impulses in terms of military honour, and though he robbed with the right hand, with the left he was lavish. I prayed that he might one day embrace the Faith, not too late for absolution.

  The galeot came back to report that the Santa Ysabel was nowhere to be found along several leagues of coast. The frigate had not yet returned, but we had little hope of better news from her. The sudden disappearance of our sister-ship caused alarm, and for a while was the only subject of talk. It seemed unlikely that she had capsized: when the frigate had last sighted her, an hour after we did, the wind was already falling light; nor could she have run on a rock and foundered, because then we should have observed her lantern signals and heard her distress guns. For the same reason it was hard to believe that she had been driven ashore; besides, we found no wreckage, not so much as a plank or a floating cap. Only one conclusion could reasonably be drawn: that as soon as land was seen she had slipped off and shaped a course of her own.

  From this conclusion three different arguments branched. The Barretos said that for many weeks now the Admiral had been planning to desert us, though meaning to gain possession of his wife first, and that when he failed in this he went off alone; they agreed with Don Alvaro that his complaints of a water shortage, and of the unseaworthiness of his ship, were so many lies. The Colonel’s faction, on the other hand, held that he was a loyal officer driven to desperation by Don Alvaro’s studied cruelty and that, expecting no better treatment on land than on sea, he had made a bid for liberty. The sailors, who knew of the condition on board the Santa Ysabel from the crew of her skiff, thought that when Don Lope’s final appeal was rejected by the General, he had said farewell in the foreboding that, when he returned, his authority would be defied. ‘It’s certain,’ said Jaume, ‘that their water was all but done, and that threats against his life had been made. Write him down in your ledger as dead, Don Andrés! His murderers, fearing the consequences of the crime, have deserted us and gone to seek their fortunes elsewhere.’

  Doña Mariana seemed to share Jaume’s view. She wept all that day without pause, and for several days more, saying that she was to blame for everything. By this she meant, I suppose, that had her determination to run away not been suspected, Don Alvaro would never have treated the Admiral so unhandsomely, and the officers of the Santa Ysabel would therefore have had no occasion to rebel.

  Don Alvaro also shed a few tears; but he attributed the loss of the ship to the curse put upon her by the Canon at Cherrepé, and exculpated himself to the voice of conscience by loudly insisting that the exchange had been forced upon him by the Admiral himself. He conjectured that she had struck a reef at the very moment when the blinding rain squall struck us, and foundered without trace; the hand of God was clearly in it, he said, and we must not presume to question His justice.

  The only other opinion worthy of record was the Chief Pilot’s. He said sadly: ‘She is gone, and none of us expects to see her again, even if she is still afloat. How or why she went is a question hardly worth discussing: but her loss is irreparable. She was carrying a body of respectable settlers, farmers drawn from the same neighbourhood, who might have brought our venture to a good issue. Those in the San Geronimo are not cut from the right timber, except for one or two; they are petty tradesmen, gentlemen’s servants, miners, tapsters, rufflers, scoundrels and bullies. One cannot people a New Jerusalem with men of their quality.’

  ‘No, not a New Jerusalem,’ I said, trying to cheer him, ‘but perhaps a New Rome. Was not Rome founded by bandits and enriched by rapine? Yet its later history has been nobler by far than that of Jerusalem.’

  ‘Do not chop logic, friend Andrés,’ he said severely. ‘God’s anger is heavy upon us, and rightly so. What good can come of our enterprise, now that He has shorn away the better part of our force?’

  I would not give up hope yet. The Santa Ysabel might have gone off in search of water, with no intention to desert, and now be lying snugly at anchor in some bay, like the one we had found in Santa Cristina, that was not visible from the sea until one sailed close inshore. Yet I knew, as well as or better than anyone else, how much we would lose if she did not return. All the spades and mattocks of the expedition were in her hold; most of the hatchets, saws and chisels; the sulphur for purifying our ships in case of sickness; and, because Doña Ysabel had an unconquerable dread of fire in the magazine, all but four of our powder-barrels.

  But enough of that for the moment. Canoes were already approaching; and every man’s eyes turned towards them: a fleet of about fifty, led by a very large canoe with a short mast in the bows and a lateen sail of scarlet matting. All but four or five differed from those we had seen in the Marquesas Islands by being built of planks, not hollowed from logs, and by carrying no outriggers. Their bow and stem pieces were gracefully curved, either beaked at the top or crowned with what looked like a plumed casque, and decorated with red streamers. The canoe with the sail seated twenty men, the remainder no more than six, and some only one; the paddles were long and tapering. As for the natives—

  The General summoned Myn. ‘Myn,’ he said solemnly, ‘as you hope for salvation, tell me truly what you make of these men? Are they Solomon Islanders?’

  There was silence at the rail while we waited anxiously for the response of our black oracle. ‘By the Virgin Mary, Master,’ he cried with a flash of teeth, ‘those are the very fellows! Those are the heathen that eat men. Look, gentlemen! Look, they have black bodies and fuzzy heads; but beware of their arrows! Myn can smell the poison on them. We have come to the right gate at last, Master!’

  Chapter 13

  GRACIOUS BAY

  Most of the canoe-men were short and black, with broad noses, receding chins and deep-set eyes which gave them a sullen look, though they were on the whole a cheerful people; a few were tawny and of middling size, with large, rounded noses, like the Jews. They carried bows, taller than themselves by a foot or two, polished stone axes, curved clubs, darts, and long, notched spears. Their nakedness was not so stark as that of the Marquesas islanders: a broad leaf covering the secret parts was secured around every man’s loins by a string, and the elders wrapped a long white cloth tightly around their bellies. All were profusely tattooed in formal patterns, like those on the rims of Sevillian dishes, and some had circled their chests and upper arms with bands of cicatrices resembling large pock-marks. Since these patterns did not show up well on dark skin, they had resorted to further embellishments, such as bleaching their frizzled hair white, or shaving and dyeing one side of the head only; and the crew of the leading canoe wore small plaits, like a bullfighter’s, tied with red ribbons. Their bodies were also streaked with red dye, and about their necks hung strings of small white beads, dogs’ teeth, human teeth and what I afterwards found to be those of a gigantic bat; and they wore armlets laboriously ground from a great conch, and crescents of pearl-shell tied to the brow or beneath the chin. But what we found strangest of all was the deep hole pierced at the tip of every nose, into which a quill or a stick of curved shell was thrust, as if in continuation of it. Their nostrils were likewise slit as a convenience for the wearing of flowers, scented leaves, or gleaming fishhooks of carved n
acre. We saw no women either in the canoes or in the water.

  They waved and shouted at us but, not much liking their outlandish appearance, our men returned the greeting half-heartedly and kept a tight hold on their weapons. Don Alvaro uttered a gay cry, ‘Yes, you are right, Myn,’ he said. ‘Beyond doubt those are our hosts of long ago and, judging by the woven bags on their shoulders, this must be a part of San Cristobal; moreover, the latitude agrees exactly. I will now address them.’

  He hailed the black fellows as they paddled chattering around us and, raising his hand for silence, exclaimed: ‘Arra Caiboco Español. Arra Ago Itapulu. Teo Narriu! Teo Varia!’, meaning: ‘I am a Spanish chieftain come across many leagues of ocean. You and I are brothers. Let us have no war and no fighting.’

  None of them seemed to understand a word, and when they answered, Don Alvaro was equally at a loss. ‘The people of this district,’ he said in some vexation, ‘seem to speak a different dialect from the one I learned in Estrella Bay. But no matter. Soon they will pick up a little trade-Spanish…. Come, my good rascals, let one or two of you climb aboard, and I will reward them with splendid gifts!’

  A lean, old native stood in the bows of the large canoe. He wore fewer ornaments than his companions, but was evidently their leader. Pointing at the General with a grimace of disgust, and pinching his nose as if he smelled a corpse, he picked up a polished club and shook it menacingly. Word of his judgement upon us was passed from canoe to canoe, and presently all seized their bows, raised an echoing war-cry, and sent a flight of long, unfeathered arrows whizzing against the ship’s side and into the sails. Don Alvaro stood at the taffrail, scorning all protection, and opened his arms wide in a gesture of friendship. Had the savages aimed at him, they would have stuck him as full of arrows as Saint Sebastian, for they seldom miss their man at thirty paces; but their anger was directed against the ship, not against our people.

  ‘Give fire!’ cried the Colonel, not waiting for Don Alvaro’s orders, and every arquebus went off with a great roar. The leader and twenty more fell dead, many others were wounded, the rest fled, though sufficiently unabashed to fire a few parting shots. In the scramble to get away several canoes collided; one was stove in, but half the crew at once began bailing with coconut shells, while the other half paddled furiously in the hope of beaching her before she sank.

  ‘If we look lively,’ said the Colonel, ‘we may catch that lamed hare.’ He sent the skiff in pursuit with four arquebusiers, who killed one of the paddlers with their first shot. His companions jumped into the sea and were allowed to swim to safety; the canoe then sank, but not before our people had retrieved the weapons in it for the General’s inspection, as well as a shoulder-bag full of biscuits. Don Alvaro sniffed at these, and said that they were made of baked yams, mixed with almonds and coconut and afterwards dried in the sun; he had eaten them in the old days, and it was yet another proof, if such were needed, that we had reached the Isles of our quest.

  This point being now settled to his satisfaction, we stood on and off all that day, searching for a port. The frigate had rejoined us, but brought no news of the Santa Ysabel, which further depressed our spirits. Captain Leyva reported that the volcano’s flanks, which were utterly treeless and dead, rose sheer from the sea, and that there was neither harbour, anchorage nor landing place to be found in all the three leagues of its perimeter. He had heard rumblings and explosions within, and seen sparks shooting from the crater at its peak, a sight to awe the boldest heart. On the western side a stream of molten lava flowed down from two large crevices and went hissing into the waves; to the south-east rose a lesser crater, but this seemed extinct.

  After sailing for some hours along a coast that was everywhere rocky and steep-to, with only an occasional narrow strip of beach, we took shelter at dusk under some low cliffs at the mouth of a cove. This proved an ill-chosen berth: when the tide rose that night, the San Geronimo began dragging her anchors and drifted inshore. The sky was black as pitch, except for the distant red glow of the volcano, which made our peril seem the greater. Even our most experienced sailors took alarm: unnerved by the events of the day they yelled, prayed and swore indiscriminately. The Boatswain’s mate was on watch and, confident that he could deal with the emergency, did not at first summon the Chief Pilot; but Don Alvaro came dancing along to lend a hand at weighing anchor. He himself raised the capstan-chant in a reedy voice:

  ‘God confound—the Moors and Turks,

  God destroy—their wicked works!

  Stand beside us—God, for we

  Do extol—Thy Majesty,

  Do adore—Thy only Son…’

  ‘For Christ’s love, your Excellency,’ shouted Damian, ‘go rouse the troops and make them heave at these bars, while we hoist sail and wear her off the rocks!’

  But he stopped his ears to Damian’s plea and continued to exert his puny strength at the windlass:

  ‘…Damn the pagans—Everyone!

  Holy Peter—strong and great,

  Holy Paul—his busy mate,

  Holy Peter—Holy Paul,

  Intercede—to save us all…’

  Juarez, who had come up to find the cause of the stamping and shouting, ran back to the companion-ladder and bawled down: ‘Out, gentlemen of Captain Barreto’s company, out on deck! If you want glory, here’s a quick chance to earn it!’

  They came tumbling up with weapons in their hands. ‘Where’s the enemy, Juarez? It’s as dark as the inside of a black dog.’

  ‘The sea’s your enemy! Bear a hand on the windlass, fornicators, or you’ll all be dead cocks and never crow again. We’re fast drifting on the rocks. Here you, Sebastian, and you, Federico, step lively!’

  ‘Phoo, what a gipsy’s trick to play on a man! Leave those lousy sailors to follow their trade, and we’ll follow ours.’

  ‘You scabbed and shameless dogs! If I had my way, I’d nail you to the mast by your ears!’ But they stumbled below again.

  By now all the sailors were on deck, yet much needed to be done and time was running short. I found myself at the windlass in the company of Juarez, four sailors, two apprentices, three pages, a merchant and his negro, the Chaplain, Jaume the water-steward, Juan Leal the old sick-attendant and Doña Ysabel’s maid Pancha; all heaving like Sisyphus at his stone. Pancha screamed to the Virgin of Guadelupe to assist us; by whose grace we got the anchor a-peck before it was too late.

  Damian, meanwhile, was busy making sail, and his commands rang loud above the hubbub: ‘Oh, brave hearts, have out the fore topsail, have out main topsail, haul home the topsail sheets! Let fall your foresail, hoist up your fore topsail, hoist up your main topsail! Up and loose the mainsail and set him!’ There was no listlessness now: the sailors knew well that they carried their lives in their own hands. The sails were set in a trice, but as the helmsman put the flagship round at the Chief Pilot’s orders, she heeled over and shipped a deal of water; I thought she would capsize but she righted herself nobly, stood clear of the rocks, and forged ahead into the open sea.

  The high officers, though aware of our peril, had not stirred from their quarters; they would as lief have taken the reins from a coachman as demean themselves by doing sailors’ work. It is both the strength and the weakness of us Spaniards that we know our duty and perform it exactly, each according to the station in life to which God has called him. Once, when our late sovereign Philip II was seated near the fire, he fell asleep; the fringe of his cloak caught alight and was soon ablaze. Yet of the courtiers who were in attendance none was of high enough rank to pull the cloak from his shoulders, or beat out the flames, or even arouse him from sleep; it was only by chance that a prince of the blood happened to pass and rescue him from a fate properly reserved for heretics. It is this formality that makes our soldiers the steadiest in the world and unconquerable in battle. The heretical English, on the other hand, whose armies are a rabble, prove more than our match at sea, because the same company of men, disdaining all honourable conventions, are as ready t
o swing a cutlass or lay a falconet as they are to hoist or reef a sail.

  The next morning was wet, and distant thunder could be heard. Don Alvaro went aboard the San Felipe and himself took her in search of a port, ordering the flagship to follow at a cautious distance. He disregarded an opening in the coast bearing south-west from the volcano, but when towards evening he returned in despair, having found nothing, the Chief Pilot reported that he had sent the long-boat to explore it, and that no further search was needed. It was the entrance to a sandy bay, small but ample for our needs and sheltered from the prevailing wind; we entered and cast anchor in twelve fathoms.

  Among the trees at the back of the bay we could see thatched roofs, gently pitched, with wide eaves; and canoes drawn up on the beach. Don Alvaro liked the look of the place, which was well watered, but when at his request the Colonel sent Sergeant Dimas with ten arquebusiers ashore to take up a position from which to cover our landing, the natives poured from the huts with weapons, not gifts, in their hands. Arrows came flying so thick from a clump of canes that the Sergeant, who had been instructed to refrain from attack whatever the provocation, withdrew his men into a canoe-house on the beach, and knocked holes in its sides for defence. By good fortune no one had been hurt, and Don Alvaro, convinced that the savages were massing for an assault, ordered the Captain of Artillery to fire a couple of balls into their midst. The roar of the falcons and the crashing of the shot among the canes settled the matter; they ran off, panic-stricken, and cast away their weapons. But fearing that they might presently regain their courage Don Alvaro hailed the long-boat, which was on the way back to us, and sent her to fetch off the soldiers. It was still light enough to get the flotilla safely out to sea, and soon the three ships were cruising slowly along the coast again, at a distance of two leagues. When next morning we stood inshore, after being under way all night, there was cause to praise God for what far exceeded our hopes: a commodious bay sheltered from all winds, in a fertile and thriving region.