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Updated: May 24, 2025
They were gone, and we knew not where, Quisquaya being a huge country, and the paths yet hidden from us or of doubtful treading. But the heaped mountains rose before us, and Juan Lepe at least could feel assured that they were gone there. They vanished and for long we heard nothing of them, not of Guacanagari, nor of Guarin who had saved Juan Lepe, not of Catalina, nor any.
But now rose out of ocean on our southeast quarter a great island with fair mountain shapes. We asked our Indians we had five aboard beside Diego Colon what it was. "Bohio! Bohio!" But when we came there, its own inhabitants called it Hayti and Quisquaya. The Admiral paced our deck, small as a turret chamber, his hands behind him, his mind upon some great chart drawn within, not without.
But the horses, the horses never to have seen any great four-footed things, and now these that were proud and pawed the earth and neighed and De Ojeda's black horse reared, curvetted, bounded, appeared to threaten! The eyes, the mane, the great teeth! There grew a legend that they were fed upon men's flesh, red men's flesh! How many red men were in Quisquaya I do not know.
We gathered that several times in the memory of man the Caribs had come in many canoes, warred dreadfully, killed and taken away. More than that, somewhere in Hayti or Quisquaya or Hispaniola were certain people who knew the weapon. "Caonabo!" He repeated the name with respect and disliking. "Caonabo, Caonabo!" Perhaps the Caribs had made a settlement.
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