Spanish and Portuguese South America during the Colonial Period; Vol. 1 of 2

by Robert Grant Watson

The pilot, Juan de la Cosa, who had previously visited this coast with Bastides, was much alarmed at the aspect of affairs, and earnestly besought Ojeda to quit this neighbourhood and to found his settlement on the Gulf of Urabá where the people were less savage, more especially in respect to the use of poisoned arrows. Ojeda, however, whose daring was excessive, had no objection to fighting, the rather as it would, he hoped, give him an early opportunity of sending a ship full of slaves to San Domingo, wherewith to pay his debts. Ojeda, who had escaped from innumerable dangers, and imagined himself to be under the especial protection of the Virgin, boldly charged the Indians, on their declining to make peace. They were soon routed; a number being killed, and others taken prisoners. The dashing leader had the temerity to pursue the enemy far into the forest, where they were driven from their stronghold. Seventy Indians were then made captives and were sent to the ships.

The infatuated Ojeda, not content with these successes, continued his pursuit of the fugitives; but in the dusk of the evening, his men, imagining that the Indians were dispersed and subdued, separated in search of plunder amongst the houses of a deserted village. Of a sudden the savages rushed forth from the surrounding forest. The Spaniards, rallying in small parties, although they fought bravely, fell fast beneath the clubs and poisoned arrows of the numbers that surrounded them. Ojeda, throwing himself upon his knees, and sheltering himself with his buckler, escaped the poisoned shower; but he was only saved by the arrival of La Cosa with a few followers, for all those with him had been slain. A like fate now befell the companions of the veteran pilot; whilst La Cosa himself was wounded, and unable to follow his leader when he sprang like a tiger on the enemy, dealing death to the right and left. La Cosa took refuge in an Indian cabin until but one man with him was left alive. With his dying breath he despatched this last companion with a message to Ojeda. This Spaniard and his commander alone survived of seventy men whom the head-strong Ojeda had led on this rash and uncalled-for expedition.

Alarmed at the prolonged absence of their leader and his men, the Spaniards on board the ships sent armed detachments in boats along the shore, who sounded trumpets and fired signal-guns. They were answered only by the defiant war-whoops of the Indians; but at length, in a tangled thicket of mangroves, the figure of a human being was descried in Spanish attire. It was Alonzo de Ojeda, so wasted with fatigue and hunger that he was for some time incapable of speaking. When they had given him food and wine, he was enabled to recount the wreck his rashness had wrought. His shield bore the marks of three hundred arrows, and he ascribed his safety to the protection of the Virgin alone.

While his friends were still on shore, they beheld some ships standing towards the harbour. It was the squadron of Nicuesa, on whose arrival Ojeda now looked with alarm. He had nothing, however, to dread from the generous cavalier, whose first act was to put himself and his men under the orders of Ojeda, with the object of avenging the deaths of his comrades. This was soon effectually done. Proceeding to the spot where the massacre had occurred, they found the Indian village buried in sleep. It was forthwith wrapt in flames; and the inhabitants, who rushed forth, were either slain by the Spaniards or driven back to perish in the fire. No quarter was shown to sex or age. The spoil in the village was great, for the share of Nicuesa and his men was valued at seven thousands castillanos. Nicuesa now pursued his voyage to Veragua.

Ojeda, who had by this time had enough of Carthagena, embarking, steered for the Gulf of Urabá. His people were much disheartened, and the aspect of the coast along which they passed was not such as to console them. They heard the roars of tigers and lions, and were disconcerted when one of their horses, passing along the bank of a river, was seized by an alligator and dragged under the water. Ojeda fixed his settlement on a spot to which he gave the name of San Sebastian, trusting that the martyr, who had himself been slain by arrows, would protect his Spaniards from a like fate. Here he erected a wooden fort and drew a stockade around the place. He further sent a ship to San Domingo bearing a letter to his associate Enciso, in which he urged him to join him without delay.

Meanwhile Ojeda determined to make a progress through his territory, and he set out with an armed band to visit a neighbouring cacique. On entering the forest, however, he and his followers were assailed by a shower of poisoned arrows from the covert, in consequence of which a number of his men died raving with torments. The rest retreated in confusion, and it was only when their provisions began to run short that Ojeda could persuade them once more to take the field. They were so beset, however, on all sides by the savages, and lost so many by their poisoned wounds, that the Spaniards would no longer venture forth at all, contenting themselves for food with such herbs and roots as they could find. Their numbers became so thinned by disease that it was with difficulty that sentinels could be procured to mount guard.

Through all this Ojeda continued to bear a charmed life; and the Indians determined to test his invulnerability. When they next attacked the fort, and Ojeda as usual sallied forth to repel them, four of their picked marksmen were placed in ambush with orders to single him out. Three of the arrows struck his shield, doing him no injury; the fourth pierced his thigh. He was borne back to the settlement suffering great torments. He had the hardihood to order his doctor to apply two plates of iron, made red hot, to the orifices of his wound, an ordeal which he endured without flinching. Whether or not it was owing to this terrible treatment, his life was preserved, though at the cost of a fearful inflammation.

Whilst the colony was enduring the straits above described, a strange ship was seen making for San Sebastian. It did not, however, as was expected, bring Enciso with the looked-for stores. It was a vessel that had belonged to a Genoese, of which a certain Talavera, with some other reckless debtors, had taken possession at San Domingo, and who, to the number of seventy, now came to swell the ranks of Ojeda’s followers. They sold their provisions to that governor, whose men were thus rescued from starvation.

Still was the arrival of Enciso delayed, and at length Ojeda was forced to come to a compromise with his desperate followers. It was agreed between them that he himself should proceed in one of the vessels to San Domingo, in quest of supplies and reinforcements, and that they—that is to say, the bulk of the colonists—should remain for fifty days at San Sebastian, at the end of which time, should he not have returned, they were to be free to depart in the other brigantines to Hispaniola. Meanwhile Francisco Pizarro was to command the colony in his absence, or until the arrival of Enciso.

Ojeda embarked in the ship that had brought Talavera; but when he attempted to take the command, he was resisted by that individual backed by his entire crew. The result was that the fiery Ojeda was thrown into irons, from which he was only released because no other person on board was capable of managing the ship. As it was, the pirates had allowed the vessel to be carried so far out of her course for San Domingo that Ojeda had no other resource but to run it ashore on the southern coast of Cuba.