The Butcher's Daughter, page 10
And no one around the table questioned Hunter’s resolve, no one doubted Hunter would make good on his promised threat. Hunter never squandered time or effort on fools.
It was on the dazzling white sands of Guadeloupe where I first set foot in the New World. The early morning sky was a spectacular fusion of bold reds, yellows and purples splashed across a canvas of soft, translucent aquamarine. And as a crown of golden light rose above the sea, I marveled at the beauty surrounding us. Hunter had not exaggerated the Caribbean’s seductive charms. It was, I thought, a tantalizing beginning to a promising new day.
I left my three ships anchored in the harbor’s placid waters and brought sixty armed men ashore with me in three longboats, twenty men from each ship. After we stepped into the surf and dragged our boats up on the beach, we fanned out along the shore under a dozen white pennants flapping in the breeze. We brought three trunks filled with gifts along and I had my men open them and set them out in front of us. Not far off to the west, nestled against the bay, we could see the huts of a Carib village with thin columns of smoke rising in the air from the cooking fires. But we saw no Indians. The village appeared deserted. We stood in the sand and waited.
“What do you think, James?” I asked after some time had passed.
Hunter shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “We stay put and show patience. They’re out there, watching. They’ll approach us when they’re good and ready, or they’ll swoop down on us with hundreds of angry warriors and with our backs against the sea, well, we’ll all be hacked to pieces in minutes.”
“Not a charming thought…”
Hunter grinned. “Not to worry, Mary. No doubt they’ll spare you. They’ll keep you alive and show you off as a war trophy.”
“You are full of good cheer today.”
More time passed and still we waited. As the sun began rising over the mountaintops the temperature rose with it. The morning quickly went from warm to hot to uncomfortably hot and then by late morning the day turned exceedingly unpleasant and sticky. My clothes became drenched in sweat. We finally sat ourselves down in the sand to rest and then, just past noon, just before we all roasted, we noticed movement in the jungle in front of us - and I saw my first Indian.
Three Carib warriors, brandishing long spears, bows, clubs and blowguns, slowly emerged from the thick foliage and approached us cautiously. We stood to greet them and I forbid any man from drawing his weapon. Except for one stunning headdress, and the chains of gold around their necks and silver bracelets adorning their arms and ankles, the Indians were stark naked. They had pierced their ears and lips with fish bones. They had painted their skin in bright blues, greens and reds. The eldest of the three warriors, the man with the headdress, stepped in front of me and looked me up and down, stone-faced. His hair was more grey than black. His face was deeply wrinkled. His headdress was made from colorful feathers, parrot feathers I think, adorned with seashells and strings of pearls. Plainly he was the man in charge.
Hunter tried speaking with the Carib in Spanish first and the older man with the headdress answered him back in Spanish. After a brief exchange, Hunter turned to me and pointed to the older man.
“Mary, this is Chief Paka Wokili. His name means, I think, something like bull or horns of the bull in his language.”
Hunter looked back at the Carib chieftain and introduced me. The chief acknowledged me with a nod and seemed unfazed by the prospect of dealing with woman who held rank and position. I was encouraged.
“We now have,” Hunter said to me, keeping a steady smile for the chief as he spoke, “an audience with his august majesty, the King of Guadeloupe. The stage is yours, Mary.”
I took a step forward and bowed my head. “Chief Paka Wokili, I am most pleased and honored to meet you. We are not Spanish. We are not Portuguese. We are Irish and we come from an island, not unlike yours, far to the east across the great ocean. We do not want your lands, we do not want your gold or your silver. We do not want slaves. We do not want to teach you about our God. God did not send us to your islands. We come in peace. We offer you our friendship.”
The chief listened thoughtfully as Hunter translated my words. But when the chief offered no reply, there was a long and awkward silence between us.
“Hunter,” I finally said with a smile. “Let’s show the Chief his gifts.”
Paka Wokili seemed disinterested in the trunks at first as Hunter tried handing the Indians different samples of the presents we had brought with us. Then something caught the chief’s attention. He bent down and started rummaging through one of the trunks himself. His eyes lit up when he spotted a hand axe with a razor-sharp edge. He grabbed the axe and smiled broadly as he inspected the weapon’s quality. He stood and pointed the axe at me and something he said made his two captains laugh. I quickly offered up a silent prayer, praying the chief had found no reason to dip the axe’s clean blade in my blood.
“The chief,” Hunter said as Paka Wokili grinned at me, “does not trust the peoples of Europa no matter what tribe they’re from. He says as well that no man would follow a woman as chief, as weak as women are, and that must be why your men all wear trousers, to hide our shame because we have no cocks.”
I looked hard into Wokili’s eyes. I did not let men intimidate me. I held his gaze and returned his smug smile with one of my own. I decided it best to show the chief, without offending him, that he wasn’t dealing with a weakling.
“Tom, I need your axe.”
The chief watched me with curiosity as Gilley handed me the axe tucked inside his belt. I planted my feet firmly in the sand and picked out a target. I picked a palm tree a fair distance off and took careful aim. I steadied my breathing, focused and launched the weapon with all my might. The haughty smiles of the chief and his two captains vanished when the axe bit deep into the wood. With skill, and a bit of luck, I hit the tree dead-on.
“The chief,” said Hunter, “in a more humble tone I might add, says that everyone wants something. He says that you have only told him what you don’t want. He says that you haven’t told him what it is you do want. He demands to know our purpose here on his island, Mary.”
“Tell him, James, we only wish to trade with him and with his people. Chief Paka Wokili, we wish to stay on your island, as your guest from time-to-time, for short periods to rest ourselves and to take on fresh supplies of food and water for which we will gladly pay you. We’ll not build homes or forts. We’ll not harm you or your people. We’ll tarry on your island in peace and leave at any time you ask us to. I swear it. We wish to buy and sell goods to the Spanish and to the Portuguese and we will pay you tribute for the privilege.”
As the chief quietly reflected on my words, I focused my attention on the unfamiliar chirping sounds coming from the jungle and listened to the familiar sounds of the gentle surf spilling across the sand, and to our pennants flapping in the breeze. Even as I stood amidst two camps of jittery, armed men, I found tranquility in the moment.
“Our good chief still has questions, Mary,” Hunter said after the chief resumed our conversation. “The Spanish and the Portuguese are his sworn enemies he says. He wants to know why he should help you trade with his enemies.”
“Because,” I answered quickly without much thought to show my sincerity, “many others are already trading with foreigners settling in these lands. His Highness certainly knows this to be true because he has seen or heard of the growing cities on the big islands. The Europa foreigners are here to stay. He can do no more to stop the Europa invasion of the islands than he can stop the rains from falling. But in league with us, he can at least profit from it and make his people stronger.”
Wokili accepted my reply. With a king’s royal nod we pitched our tents along the shore and set-up camp that very afternoon. Later in the evening the Caribs left their village to join us for a friendship feast where I had my first taste of pineapple. The Caribs were a proud and handsome people I thought and proved to be gracious hosts. I enjoyed their songs and dance. I admired their innocence. A few women were dressed in simple smocks to cover themselves but most wore little more than modest cotton shorts about the size of a loincloth and saw no reason to hide their breasts. And when the women stepped into the surf to cool themselves, they stripped off all their clothing first and thought nothing of it. I worried about the resolve of my men who had gone without the tender affections of a woman for long months. I passed the word around again: we could not afford to offend or insult the Caribs in any way.
We stayed in Guadeloupe for several lazy days and pleasant nights. I spent the time pleasurably with Hunter exploring the island’s interior. On our last day in Guadeloupe, we found a pool of cool water in a clearing, a lovely spot, where we bathed and shamelessly flirted with each other until I let Hunter have his way with me - and then I had my way with him. After we returned to the Carib village, I had my men break camp and took my tiny fleet of three on to Dominica next. Chief Paka Wokili had sent a herald off in one of his great war canoes a day earlier to announce our arrival. He also insisted we take one of his nephews along with us to oversee and verify his share of any profits. I agreed to the chief’s condition though I doubted his nephew would succeed in his task inasmuch as the poor fellow didn’t seem to know how to write or count.
In Dominica, and then in Antigua, we repeated what we had done in Guadeloupe with nearly the same results. We now had good relations, friendship treaties, with the warlike Caribs on three islands.
With our new alliances in place, with our ships resupplied with fresh victuals and water, and with our men revitalized after a spending a few idle days on land, it was time to return to work, it was time to increase our wealth. We needed customers for the Old World goods we carried and we needed suppliers for the New World goods we had yet to purchase, using whatever profits we made from selling off our cargo. I decided to try our luck in Trinidad and Tobago first.
The farther south we sailed the more ships we saw plying the Caribbean’s green waters. Every vessel we passed was a freighter of one sort or another. Every vessel we encountered carried some number of cannon. We ignored them and they ignored us. We saw no warships of any kind.
We sailed around the north-west tip of Trinidad, hugging the shoreline, until we reached the Puerto de España where, beyond the tidal mudflats and mangroves, we saw mud-plastered ajoupas sprinkled in-between large, silk cotton trees standing along the town’s dirt roads. From a distance the Port of Spain had a certain charm about it. We slipped into a bay crowded with many ships and boats riding anchor and sailed past a shack with a single, naked flagpole protected by a low, earthen parapet and three field cannon. The harbor fort was the sorriest I had ever seen. A company of Carib warriors armed with sticks and stones could have overwhelmed the spot in broad daylight with ease.
We dropped anchor near the fort and I took all my officers ashore with me. The waterfront reeked, as all ports do, of blood, sweat, urine and excrement and the pungent smell of rotting fish hung heavy in the air. The thick humidity of the Caribbean and the port’s narrow alleyways, devoid of any breeze, made the stench doubly potent though and I suffered for it. At the center of the town we came to a marketplace filled with many colorful tents and makeshift tables where merchants were peddling their wares and services of every sort and kind, catering to prosperous men and women from around the Caribbean. But wherever the prosperous gather others, less savory sorts, are never far behind to lap up any scraps. The marketplace was packed with ruffians and I saw potential danger all around us.
I have seen Moors before in my travels to Spain. But before Trinidad, I had never seen an African in chains. I saw them in the Puerto de España by the hundreds. Men and women, stripped of all their clothing, were forced to stand up on the auction blocks for display. It was plain to see some had suffered beatings. Most looked ill-kept and underfed. I saw Negros who even appeared emaciated. I felt nauseous and ashamed. The utter despair I saw in those black faces haunts me still.
We pushed our way through throngs of people until we found a suitable tavern and lodge close by to refresh and rest ourselves. It looked like a place where we could make new friends. The building, rising four stories above the street, was easily the grandest one in sight, certainly bigger and better constructed than the sad, little church standing next to it. Inside, the tavern had all the essentials too: liquor, tables, games and women who looked like they knew how to please a man. I kept Hunter, Gilley and Efendi close with me and sent Green, Fox and Ferguson off to explore the four corners of the port.
“Gentlemen,” I said and raised my tankard of ale. “This impoverished, little stink-hole is not quite what I expected. No matter, we shall make the best of it. A toast: to the New World, to new beginnings, to new prospects.”
Gilley, Hunter and Efendi raised their ale with me. “To the New World, to new beginnings, to new prospects,” they repeated in unison. We bumped our tankards together and savored our first drink in the New World.
“Don’t be deceived by what you see here,” Hunter said. “All around us there is great wealth. In Havana and Veracruz you will see the makings of real cities. Remember, Columbus only discovered these islands some eighty years or so ago.”
“Por favor, mi amigos,” a stranger interrupted as he stopped at our table. “¿Estás Inglés?”
When I looked up I found a fit and handsome man wearing a fine quality, but not outlandishly expensive, suit addressing us. His hat, jacket and trousers all matched and the material was of good quality. This man, I thought, wanted people to know he had money and that he was careful with it. I pegged him for a banker.
“Si,” Hunter answered.
“¡Ah, muy bien! ¿Como estas?”
“¿Muy bien y tú?”
“I am most well, thank you. May I sit? I would like to introduce myself.”
I nodded my consent. “Of course, please sit with us, Señor. Your English is quite good.”
“Mucho gracias,” the Spaniard replied, staring at me appreciatively. “I have spent some brief time in London, mostly at the royal court to discuss matters of general commerce with the queen’s good ministers.”
After he took a seat he gently took my hand and kissed me on the knuckles. The man was suave, a charmer. Spanish men always are. I took no offense.
“Señora, I am delighted to make your acquaintance. The Americas have so few truly beautiful women to boast of. You enrich this poor town simply by your presence.”
“Señor embellishes,” I protested with a touch of shyness. “You are much too kind. Nonetheless, I thank you for the compliment.”
“I have, I assure you my lady, never been accused of being too kind before. Please forgive me. Permit me to properly introduce myself. I am Rodriguez Miguel de Cortés y Ovando, no relation to the great Spanish crusader, Hernán Cortés de Monroy y Pizarro, God rest his soul. I am here in Trinidad on business. My home in the Old World is in Barcelona but here, in the West Indies, I have property in both Santo Domingo and Havana.”
“We are honored to make your acquaintance. I am Mary. And this is Master Thomas Gilley, Master James Hunter and Master Mustafa Efendi.”
“Mary?”
“Just Mary.”
“Just Mary? How unusual. You have no family name?”
“Alas, no, I am an orphan.”
“How,” Gilley interrupted and with an edge in his tone, “may we be of service, Señor Cortés?”
“Ah, yes, of course. I am very pleased to meet each of you. I did not mean to eavesdrop on your conversation. Three ships, ships no one recalls seeing before in these waters and bristling with heavy cannon, arrived in port this morning. These ships are the talk of the town. I take it you good folks sailed with these ships?”
“Word travels fast in this part of the world,” I said.
“Puerto de España is a small town.”
“One of those ships is ours, yes,” I offered evasively.
“Two of the vessels are warships, rather impressive warships. English navy?”
“No,” Hunter replied. “Not English navy.”
“You are private citizens, then?”
“Aye, private citizens we are.”
“You bring a lot of firepower with you for private citizens.”
Hunter shrugged his shoulders.
“You are new to the Caribbean, yes?”
“Some of us are and some of us are not,” Hunter said simply.
The Spaniard shrugged his shoulders in return and removed his hat. “Ah, I see that you are cautious people. And that is wise. But I mean you no harm. I feel compelled to warn you though: there are many in this part of the world who will mean you harm, no matter what master you serve. And you’ll find precious little law here to protect you.”
“For any who would be so foolish to try,” I said boldly and narrowed my eyes, “they’ll be sorry for it.”
“And I can believe that my dear lady, indeed I can,” Cortés answered and then turned his attention to Hunter. “I presume you are the ship’s captain?”
“I would be the ship’s master,” Gilley interrupted. “Captains command warships, not freighters.”
“Ah,” the Spaniard said as if surprised. “My apologies.”
“You said you are here on business?” Hunter asked. “Pray tell, what business might that be?”
