I sat long enjoying the prospect, the Indians being gravely squatted beside me; then I asked if there were other inhabitants of the isle except themselves?
They replied, ‘No. None else.’
‘Did not privateers sometimes come there?’
‘Ships of white men of divers nations sometimes come,’ replied Behecheco; ‘but then we mostly hide closely in the cave. The sailors land, and seek for turtle, and perhaps pigeons. Then they go away again, and we come forth.’
I then prayed them to tell me how long they had lived in that solitude, and from what land they came? Buonahari replied a follows:—
‘Nigh two-score of years have passed away since we landed upon this island in a canoe. We fled here from Hispaniola, where we were slaves to the Spaniards. It was when we were slaves that we learned the tongue in which we now speak to you. Still we know that you are not a Spaniard, for your skin is too white, and your eyes are blue. You are, perhaps, then, one of those nations which come from across the ocean, and make war on the Spaniards?’
Having assented to this conjecture, the Indian resumed thus:—
‘We were slaves in Hispaniola, my brother Behecheco and I. We dug in the mines for gold. Our father and mother were also slaves—they also dug in the mines for gold. Their father and mother were likewise slaves, and they likewise dug in the mines for gold. So it was with our family for five descents. We were slaves in Hispaniola. But when our father and mother died, I said to my brother, “We are strong. We know the ways of the mountains. We have found in the woods the plant, which, strewed upon the path of a flying man, causes the bloodhound to lose the scent. Let us be no longer slaves—let us flee.” As I said, so we did. We fled from the mines. The Spaniards pursued us, but the blood-hounds lost the scent, and we came to the sea. There we hollowed a tree into a great canoe, according as the traditions of our fathers had taught us—and in this canoe we put to sea, drifting before the wind. We had water, and meal, and cassava, and fruits, and in half a moon we saw this island and landed on it. Here we have continued to live, and here we will die.’
I was much interested in this account, for I conjectured that the Indians were descendants of the race of original inhabitants of the Leeward or Lucayas group, now called the Bahama Islands, which the Spaniards had first discovered, and from which they had, about fifteen years after the first voyage of Columbus, inveigled a great number of the inhabitants to make them slaves in Cuba and Hispaniola. This I say was my conjecture, and it was speedily verified.
‘I have said,’ continued Behecheco, ‘that the blood in our veins is the blood of ancient caciques—the caciques of Guanhani. Though we were slaves, we had that blood still. Our father told us so. His father told him. We speak the old language of Guanhani, for it was taught us in our childhood. We worship the old gods of Guanhani, for we were instructed so to do in our childhood, and we could recount to you the beautiful things of Guanhani, the trees and the rocks, the rivers and the shores, the hills and the streams, the birds and the beasts, although we never saw them. Our father, who taught us, never saw them. His father, who taught him, never saw them. But ever from father to son, and mother to daughter, there flows the knowledge of what our race was once, and what land it ruled over. Now, alas! that knowledge is to perish, even as water sinks in dry sand.’