Las Casas: "The Apostle of the Indies"

by Alice J. Knight

All might yet have gone well if it had not been for the Spaniards on the island of Cubagua. They had no good water on that island, and this made an excuse for coming to the mainland very often. They brought liquor with them, which made the Indians drunk and unmanageable, and they taught them many evil ways. This was a great perplexity to Las Casas and the good monks. All the good they tried to do, all their teachings of the Christian religion, were made of little use by the evil example of these wicked men. Las Casas thought that perhaps if he had a fort at the mouth of the river, he could mount the guns he had brought with him and keep the unruly people in order. So he hired a mason to build one; but the people on Cubagua found out what was going on and bribed the man to stop work and come away, leaving the fort unfinished.

Things grew worse and worse, and all felt that something must be done. The head of the Franciscans kept urging Las Casas to go to San Domingo and get the officers there to help them. The clerico knew it was of no use at all to appeal to those men, who had already hindered him so greatly in his plans for the good of the Indians; therefore, for a long time he refused to go. Finally, however, not wishing to be obstinate, he agreed to do so, against his better judgment.

He appointed one of his men, Francisco de Soto, to take charge in his absence, instructing him particularly not to let both of their boats leave the settlement at the same time, as, if trouble arose with the Indians, these boats might be their only means of escape. This man, either because of stupidity or rebellion, did the very thing he had been told not to. As soon as the clerico's back was turned he sent one boat off one way and the other another; and sorry enough he must have been for it before long, for trouble came almost at once.

The pearl fishers of Cubagua had not ceased to molest the Indians, and it was hardly two weeks after Las Casas had sailed before the Franciscans detected signs of danger. The woman who had been used by Ocampo to make peace with the natives was still there, and the fathers asked her whether they were right in thinking that the Indians were planning to attack them. The woman, by name Maria, said "No" with her lips, because other Indians were near, but "Yes" with her eyes. The monks and the clerico's servants were very much alarmed, and a ship touching on that coast for some reason, they begged the captain to take them on board; but he refused, and they were left to their fate.

In the settlement great anxiety and terror reigned. The white men tried to find out what day had been set for the attack, and at last heard that it was to take place the next day. They began to fortify the monastery and the storehouse, and set up twelve or fourteen guns that they had; but discovered that their powder was damp. We wonder how they could have been so careless as to allow it to be in this state, when they had known for some time that trouble was likely to occur. Now, however, they took it out to dry it in the sun, as soon as it rose. They were too late, however; for the Indians came upon them with a rush, and they fled for the monastery building. A few of the clerico's servants were killed, but the rest of them and the fathers reached the shelter of the monastery. The Indians, however, set it on fire.

There was a door into the garden, at the rear, and a tall fence of cane hid it from the view of the Indians. The refugees ran out of this door into the garden and through another door out to the creek that ran nearby, where the monks had a boat of their own, which would hold fifty persons. All got in except one lay brother, who at the first alarm had fled and was hidden in a thicket of cane. He now appeared, high up on the bank, and the boatmen tried hard to reach him; but the current was too strong; all their exertions failed to bring the boat near enough to him. Seeing that all would be lost if they did not cease their attempt to save him, the brother signed to them not to make further effort; and they were obliged to leave him to his fate. Poor fellow! He was killed almost at once.

The Indians were not long in seeing that their victims were escaping, and hurried after them in a much lighter boat, so that they gained on the fugitives with every stroke. The Spaniards were obliged to drive their boat to land and hide in a thicket of cactus. Only those in fear of death could have forced their way into such a thicket. The Indians, with their naked bodies, could not push through the thorns, and the fleeing men therefore escaped and made their way to their countrymen's ships, thus getting in safety to San Domingo. De Soto, however, died before their arrival. He had been shot with a poisoned arrow while running to the monastery for shelter.

All this happened within two months after Las Casas' departure. He, meanwhile, through the ignorance of the sailors, had been carried a long way past San Domingo, and for all this time had been beating about with contrary winds, finally landing on another part of the island, whence he was obliged to proceed on foot.

He was traveling with a party of persons also bound for San Domingo, and one day at noon, as they drew near the city, while they were all resting in the shade of the trees, some people came up with them and told them that the news had reached the city that the Indians of the Pearl Coast had killed the clerico, Bartholomé Las Casas, and all his household. Those who were traveling with Las Casas denied this, saying that he was with them; and while they were disputing he awoke and heard what they said.

Although he thought it might not be as bad as it was represented, he knew that something terrible must have happened to his little colony, and went on at once in great anxiety to find how much of the news was true. A short distance out some of his friends met him. Having heard that he was on the road, they had come to try and comfort him and to offer him money to start another colony. But at last the brave spirit gave way. He could not rally at once from such a grief, and he went, broken-hearted, to his friends the Dominicans, to hide his sorrows within the walls of their monastery.