There was storm in Hispaniola, storm of human passions.
I found Luis Torres, and he put me within leg-stride of the
present.
Margarite! It seemed to begin with Don Pedro Margarite.
He and his men had early made choice between the
rich, the fruitful, easy Vega and the mountains they were
to pierce for gold and hunt over for a fierce mountain
chief. In the Vega they established themselves. The Indians
brought them "tribute", and they exacted over-tribute,
and reviled and slew when it pleased them, and they took
the Indian women, and if it pleased them they burned a
village. "Sorry tale," said Luis. "Old, sorry tale!"
Indians came to Isabella and with fierce gesture and eyes
that cast lances talked to Don Diego. Don Diego sent a
stern letter to Don Pedro Margarite. Don Pedro answered
that he was doing soldier's duty, as the Sovereigns would
understand when it came before them. Don Diego sent
again, summoning him upon his allegiance to Isabella. He
chose for a month no answer to that at all, and the breezes
still brought from the Vega cries of anger, wails of sorrow.
Then he appeared suddenly in Isabella.
Don Diego would have arrested him and laid him in prison
to await the Admiral's return. But with suddenness, that
was of truth no suddenness, Margarite had with him three
out of four of our hidalgos, and more than that, our Apostolic
Vicar of the Indies! Don Diego must bend aside, speak
him fair, remonstrate, not command.
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