A Jamaican midden of turtle and grunts, and no mangrove at all

Faunal remains from Jamaican sites give an unusually clear picture of what people ate, and sea turtle dominates the deposits. At Bluefields Bay the fishing concentrated on the nearest habitats, above all the seagrass beds of the bay itself, which yielded grunts, jacks and parrotfish in quantity. Land animals supplied a smaller share, mainly hutia, a large rodent, and iguana. The mangrove swamps barely register. Either they were not yet extensive or the community left them alone, and either way the omission is the interesting part. A population eating whatever came to hand would show mangrove species in its rubbish. This one worked a few selected habitats hard and passed over others, which is a decision about labour, about what is worth the walk, and about which resources to leave standing. Read that way, a heap of bone and shell becomes a record of environmental management by people who had lived on the island long enough to know exactly what it held.

The Portuguese kingdom had grown out of a long war against Muslim rule in Iberia and carried that war across the water. With barely a million people it could not break Islamic power in north Africa, so it went south instead, hoping to reach the gold that crossed the Sahara and to find the Christian priest king its stories placed somewhere in Asia or Africa. Enslaved people were an immediate return, and from the middle of the fifteenth century a steady stream of them was landed in Portugal from the West African coast. Roughly seventy papal bulls licensed the enterprise across that century. In 1482 the Portuguese reached the gold coast and built a fort at Elmina, their first tropical possession. A local chief asked them to go somewhere else. They asked him to accept baptism and save his soul. Neither side agreed. The next year Portugal settled the empty island of Sao Tome.

On 5 December 1492 Columbus brought his ships to the north coast of the island and named it La Isla Espanola, the Spanish island. Philippe Girard begins his history of Haiti at this point. What the Spanish found was a worked landscape. The island supported a large population living in villages under chiefs, growing cassava, sweet potato and maize in raised mounds, fishing the reefs, playing a ball game on prepared courts, and moving between islands in large canoes. Within fifty years almost all of it was gone. The naming is the part to notice. On the first day of contact the island acquired a Spanish identity in Spanish records, and the words its inhabitants used for it went into the archive as curiosities. Everything the Spanish did afterward followed from the assumption buried in that name. The country that eventually threw them and their French successors out chose to call itself Ayiti, a word taken from the people who were there first.

After weeks out of the Canaries the ships made land on 12 October 1492 at an island in the Bahamian archipelago. The people living there called it Guanahani. Columbus went ashore with a notary and a royal standard, performed the ceremony of possession in the name of Ferdinand and Isabella, and gave the island a new name, San Salvador. Nobody on the Taino side had any way of knowing what the ritual meant, and the document it produced was written in a language none of them read. Which island in the Bahamas this was remains argued over, since several candidates fit the sailing directions in the log. The naming matters more than the location. The first act of the encounter was the replacement of a local name with a Spanish one, backed by a legal formula devised in Europe to turn land already occupied by other people into crown property. That formula was applied to Hispaniola eight weeks later.