Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at el Chorro de Maíta, Cuba [1 ed.] 9780813055657, 9780813061566

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Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba Florida Museum of Natural History: Ripley P. Bullen Series

University Press of Florida Florida A&M University, Tallahassee Florida Atlantic University, Boca Raton Florida Gulf Coast University, Ft. Myers Florida International University, Miami Florida State University, Tallahassee New College of Florida, Sarasota University of Central Florida, Orlando University of Florida, Gainesville University of North Florida, Jacksonville University of South Florida, Tampa University of West Florida, Pensacola

Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba Roberto Valcárcel Rojas Foreword by William F. Keegan

University Press of Florida Gainesville / Tallahassee / Tampa / Boca Raton Pensacola / Orlando / Miami / Jacksonville / Ft. Myers / Sarasota

All illustrations were created by the author unless otherwise stated. Copyright 2016 by Roberto Valcárcel Rojas All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper This book may be available in an electronic edition. 21 20 19 18 17 16

6 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Valcárcel Rojas, Roberto, 1968– author. Title: Archaeology of early colonial interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba / Roberto Valcárcel Rojas ; foreword by William F. Keegan. Description: Gainesville : University Press of Florida, [2016] | ©2016. | Series: Florida Museum of Natural History: Ripley P. Bullen series | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2015030170 | ISBN 9780813061566 Subjects: LCSH: Indians of the West Indies—Cuba—Holguín—Antiquities. | Human remains (Archaeology)—Cuba—Holguín. | Excavations (Archaeology)—Cuba—Holguín. | Social archaeology—Cuba—Holguín. | Holguín (Cuba)—Antiquities. Classification: LCC F1769 .V34 2016 | DDC 972.91/64—dc23 LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015030170 The University Press of Florida is the scholarly publishing agency for the State University System of Florida, comprising Florida A&M University, Florida Atlantic University, Florida Gulf Coast University, Florida International University, Florida State University, New College of Florida, University of Central Florida, University of Florida, University of North Florida, University of South Florida, and University of West Florida. University Press of Florida 15 Northwest 15th Street Gainesville, FL 32611-2079 http://www.upf.com

To Lino and Idalmis, to my parents, Nancy and Roberto, to my brother and his family

Contents

List of Figures viii List of Tables xi Foreword xiii Acknowledgments xvii 1. Introduction 1 2. From Contact to the Colonial Situation 8 3. Cuba: The Spanish Colonization 47 4. El Chorro de Maíta: A First Look 63 5. Recognizing the Living Space 98 6. The Cemetery: Death and Human Diversity 163 7. Mortuary Practices in a Colonial Environment 199 8. An Indian Town in Times of the Encomienda 299 9. Summary and Conclusions 332 Appendix: European Ceramics, Non-Cuban Indigenous Ceramics, Indigenous-based Ceramics That Copy European Forms, and Other Ceramics 339 Notes 355 References 359 Index 389

Figures

1.1. Map of Cuba and the Antilles showing the location of El Chorro de Maíta 3 2.1. Ceramic plate (El Yayal site) 12 2.2. European metal objects (El Yayal site) 13 3.1. Map of the locations of the first Hispanic towns in Cuba 54 4.1. El Chorro de Maíta Museum 64 4.2. Distribution map of the archaeological sites in Yaguajay 65 4.3. East hillside view of Cerro de Yaguajay 66 4.4. Ceramic vessels from the El Porvenir site, Yaguajay 71 4.5. Excavations of the El Chorro de Maíta cemetery 74 4.6. Location of the excavated units between 1986 and 1988 in El Chorro de Maíta 75 4.7. Re-creation of an indigenous settlement for a tourist attraction in El Chorro de Maíta 76 4.8. Map of the Burial Area in El Chorro de Maíta 77 4.9. Replicas of human remains in the El Chorro de Maíta Museum 80 4.10. Nonmetallic beads found with individual No. 57A 85 4.11. Resin and coral beads found with individual No. 58A 86 4.12. Coral beads found with individual No. 58A 86 4.13. Quartzite beads found with individual No. 64 87 4.14. Coral and jet beads found with individual No. 84 88 4.15. Resin earspools found with individual No. 94 89 4.16. Quartzite earspools found with individual No. 99 89 4.17. Textile remains found with individual No. 57A 90 4.18. Metal objects found with individual No. 57A 91 4.19. Brass tubes found in the burials 93 4.20. Metal and textile artifact found with burial No. 25 93

4.21. Painted coarse earthenware (white and black) vessel 96 4.22. Artifacts of European origin with indigenous modification 97 4.23. European bell 97 5.1. Map of the location of shovel test pits at 15- and 5-m intervals 102 5.2. Excavation Unit 9 104 5.3. Topographic map of the site and of areas with archaeological materials 106 5.4. Map of the location of the new excavations (2007–2009) 108 5.5. West face stratigraphy of Unit 12 108 5.6. Pig remains and ceramic artifacts of Cut 19 109 5.7. Bone projectile point from Unit 12 116 5.8. Shell ornaments 117 5.9. Ritual or ornamental objects found in Unit 16 117 5.10. Stone tools 118 5.11. Flaked siliceous artifacts 118 5.12. Glass artifact 119 5.13. Metal bell from Unit 16 120 5.14. MNI and edible biomass 122 5.15. Bone spatula and anthropomorphic pendant 134 5.16. Decorative motifs on indigenous ceramics 135 5.17. Ideal reconstruction of vessel profiles 136 5.18. Ceramic vessel fragments 136 5.19. Coin minted between 1505 and 1531 138 5.20. Coin minted between 1542 and 1558 138 5.21. Modified European ceramics 139 5.22. Metal nail and wedge 141 6.1. Unit 3 plan 164 6.2. Individuals with modified and unmodified crania 171 6.3. Tabular-erect cranial modification 172 6.4. Crania without modification 173 6.5. Dental modification 177 6.6. Remains with taphonomic indicators of compression 182 6.7. Remains with taphonomic indicators of compression and hyperflexion 183 6.8. Remains with indication of decomposition in a void 184 6.9. Remains with indication of delayed in-filling 185 6.10. Remains with postmortem cranial manipulation 187 6.11. Remains with indications of manipulation 189 6.12. Mortality rates in El Chorro de Maíta and sites in Puerto Rico 197 Figures

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7.1. 7.2. 7.3. 7.4. 7.5. 7.6. 7.7. 7.8. 7.9. 7.10. 7.11. 7.12. 8.1. 8.2. 8.3. 8.4.

SEM-EDS view of gold bead 211 SEM-EDS view of laminar pendant 211 Guanín objects from El Chorro de Maíta and Colombia 213 Guanín or tumbaga pendant from the Santana Sarmiento site 215 Guanín from the El Boniato site 215 Alterations between burials 232 Sex and age correlation in burials with more than one individual 242 Burial with very flexed legs 246 Burial in extended position 247 Burial in On Face position 248 Location of the burials with brass tubes and ornaments 250 Location of burials in the extended position 252 Mortality rates by sex 302 Mortality rates by age and territorial origin 303 Map of Cuba from 1604 329 Places near El Chorro de Maíta recognized through the use of documents 331 A.1. Fragments of unglazed Olive Jars 340 A.2. Fragments of glazed Olive Jars 341 A.3. Green Lebrillo 343 A.4. Columbia Plain majolica 345 A.5. Isabela Polychrome majolica 346 A.6. Santo Domingo Blue on White majolica 347 A.7. Caparra Blue majolica 348 A.8. Mexican Red Painted 349 A.9. Aztec IV 350 A.10. Fine gray ceramic 353 A.11. Indigenous ceramics that copy European forms 353

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Figures

Tables

5.1. European and non-Antillean indigenous ceramics found during surveys 101 5.2. Artifacts obtained in excavation units and in Cut 19 112 5.3. European ceramics from excavation units and Cut 19 121 5.4. Stratigraphic distribution of artifacts 124 5.5. Radiocarbon dates of nonfunerary zones 126 5.6. Artifacts from excavations done in 1979–1988, and others 130 5.7. European ceramics from excavations done in 1979–1988, and others 137 5.8. Undated metal objects 142 5.9. Comparison of the presence of artifacts from diverse areas of the site 145 5.10. Comparison of the presence of European ceramics from diverse areas of the site 147 5.11. Identified taxa and MNI in domestic areas 150 5.12. Taxa and MNI in zones next to the cemetery 154 6.1. Age and sex distribution of individuals 166 6.2. Use of cranial modification by age 173 6.3. Radiocarbon dates of human remains and funerary artifacts 191 7.1. European ceramics in the burials 204 7.2. Composition of metal pieces: Individual 57A, El Chorro de Maíta, and the Alcalá site 210 7.3. Composition of metal tubes from burials in El Chorro de Maíta and the Alcalá site 217 7.4. Alteration between burials 230 7.5. Post-contact individuals 236 7.6. Forms of mortuary disposal 239

7.7. Variability in the articulation of human remains 243 7.8. Variability of leg positioning according to biological and cultural aspects 254 7.9. Nonmetallic ornaments in burials 259 7.10. Age and sex distribution of local and non-local individuals 268 7.11. Mortuary behavior of local and non-local individuals 269 7.12. Mortuary behavior data 276 7.13. Positioning data for human remains 280 7.14. Biological data for human remains 286 7.15. Objects found in tombs and objects associated with human remains 293

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Tables

Foreword

As I began to write, I had an epiphany. Today, in the Gregorian calendar, is the day Columbus discovered Cuba, 512 years ago. He went from there to the south-southwest looking for the nearest land of the island of Cuba and he entered a very beautiful river free of dangerous shoals or other obstacles. He anchored a Lombard shot, he says, inside. The Admiral says that he never saw such a beautiful thing, full of trees all surrounding the river, beautiful and green and different from ours, each one with its own kind of flowers and fruit. [There were] many birds, and some little birds that sang very sweetly. The Admiral got into the launch and went ashore and reached two houses which he thought belonged to fishermen who had fled in fear. In one of them he found a dog that never barked, and in both houses he found nets of palm thread and cords and a fishhook of horn and fish spears of bone and other fishing equipment and, inside, many fires; and he thought that each house was occupied by many persons jointly. 28 October 1492, Diario of Christopher Columbus in Dunn and Kelley 1989:117 And so it began. History is often conveyed as a sequence of events. There is a fascination with discovery, and an emphasis on the associated names and dates. This is history as toponym and epigraph. Yet reality is a myriad of interactions that are constantly in motion through the continuum of time and space. Distilling this colloid in meaningful ways is the challenge. Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba is a pioneering study of life and death at the moments of interaction. Located

in the northeast zone of the island, this indigenous community was transformed by the Hispanic invasion. It was never a large Spanish town but instead reflects a rural landscape. And although seemingly insignificant on a global scale, it provides a window into the past that has not been opened previously. We are all familiar with the well-rehearsed story: Columbus arrived, his countrymen followed, and the Indians all died. Fortunately, Roberto Valcárcel Rojas has written a more nuanced story. He begins by addressing the ways in which we conceptualize the moment of interaction between the indigenes and the Spanish and then explores the transformation of the native population from indigene to “Indian.” In doing so he avoids the trap of previous studies in which transculturation and ethnogenesis are used as synonyms for acculturation. The reality was not simply the imposition of Hispanic practices on a compliant indigenous population. It was not “contact” or “encounter”; it was transformation through interaction; it was dynamic syncretism, versus synchronic acquiescence. By changing the ways we think and see, Dr. Valcárcel Rojas provides new meaning to the archaeological remains. Archaeologists have known of the existence of El Chorro de Maíta for decades. The site was first reported by José A. García Casteñada and was visited by Irving Rouse in 1941. José M. Guarch Delmonte initiated investigations in 1979 and directed excavations there between 1986 and 1988. A museum displaying replicas of the burials was opened in 1990. The site dates from late precolonial to early colonial times. It is best known for the large number of human burials, and the exotic materials associated with them. These objects include European ceramics, a guanín bird-head pectoral, laminar guanín pendants, gold, jet and coral beads, textiles, and, especially, a large number of brass tubes (agujetas). Yet the importance of the site was only partially recognized, and it remained something of a curiosity. The investigations reported in this book started about ten years ago, when Valcárcel Rojas began to assemble a multidisciplinary team of collaborators from Cuba, the Netherlands, England, France, and the United States. Not content with the standard archaeological description of the site, Valcárcel Rojas asked new questions and addressed new interests. Additional survey and excavations revealed a cleared central space with burials surrounded by domestic middens. To realize his vision he employed a variety of new analytical techniques that expanded upon the foundations already established through basic material culture classifications, zooarchaeology, archaeobotany, bioarchaeology, and radiocarbon dating. The main focus of this study is the 133 individuals recovered from a cemetery created by cirxiv

Foreword

cumstances of life and death in a colonial environment. Corpse taphonomy (archaeothanatology) is used to discern variability in mortuary practices, and strontium isotope analysis to infer geographical origins. Compositional analysis of the brass tubes, gold and guanín objects, earspools, coral and jet beads, and textile fragments provides an additional dimension to mortuary behavior. European ceramics and the regional history and ethnohistory add context. These studies transform the cemetery from a simple reliquary into a multidimensional landscape. Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba is one of the most important recent contributions to Caribbean archaeology in general, and to a largely forgotten episode in human history in particular. This study assembles detailed analysis of diverse materials to reveal the outcomes of the processes of interaction. In doing so it successfully bridges the historical divide between precolonial and colonial situations. The author succeeds in weaving together diverse strands of evidence that for the first time puts a human face on encomienda—the system of forced labor that forever changed the lives of the people who were living in the New World. This book promises to change the ways we view and interpret the past.

Note on the Editing My involvement with this project commenced when the author expressed dissatisfaction with the English translation of his work. UPF asked me to address the author’s concerns. It was only after I started the editing that I realized the magnitude of the endeavor. Not only were there passages that did not convey Roberto’s meaning, but also most of the manuscript was a far too literal translation. For the next six months, Roberto and I worked together to ensure that his vision was properly conveyed in English. I have tried to remain faithful to the original and hope that I have done an adequate job. Nevertheless, if particular passages do not make sense, then I accept responsibility and direct the reader to the original Spanish. Roberto’s work is of such importance that it had to be made available to an Anglophone audience, and it was my pleasure to assist in this process. William F. Keegan Curator of Caribbean Archaeology Florida Museum of Natural History

Foreword

xv

Acknowledgments

This book systematizes, integrates, and interprets the complete data of the research at El Chorro de Maíta archaeological site. It presents the results of studies by the author and other investigators over many years in an atmosphere of collaboration for which I always will be grateful. The field work discussed here was initiated in 2006 as part of several projects directed by Valcárcel Rojas and carried out with the personnel of the Departamento Centro Oriental de Arqueología (DCOA), part of the Centro de Investigaciones y Servicios Ambientales y Tecnológicos de Holguín, Cuba (CISAT). Since 2007 the fieldwork was realized through the collaboration of a research team from multiple North American universities led by Vernon James Knight, of the Anthropology Department at the University of Alabama. This research had the economic support of the National Geographic Society Committee for Research and Exploration (Grants No. 7776-05 and No. 8476-08) and the Christopher Reynolds Foundation (Grants No. 22968 and No. 23459). Fieldwork was led by Valcárcel Rojas, A. Brooke Persons, and Vernon James Knight, with the collaboration of John W. O’Hear (University of Mississippi). In 2008 paleobotanical studies were incorporated under the direction of Lee A. Newsom (Pennsylvania State University). In parallel the investigator Lourdes Pérez Iglesias (DCOA) conducted zooarchaeological studies that are frequently cited in this book. The material culture research presented and discussed here was done by Valcárcel Rojas in collaboration with the Departamento Centro Oriental de Arqueología personnel. In the case of the European objects, I had the collaboration of Roger Arrazcaeta and Lisette Roura, archaeologists of the Gabinete de Arqueología de la Oficina del Historiador de la Ciudad de La Habana (OHCH), as well as Kathleen Deagan and Gifford Watters, of the Florida Museum of Natural History at the University of Florida, and Gilda

Hernández, of Leiden University. It is important to note an archaeometallurgical study developed by Marcos Martinón Torres of the Institute of Archaeology, University College London (IoA, UCL) and Valcárcel Rojas with the collaboration of Jago Cooper, María Filomena Guerra (C2RMF), and Juanita Saenz Samper (Museo del Oro, Bogotá). The facilities of the Wolfson Archaeological Sciences Laboratory (IoA, UCL), were used initially under a scholarship given to Valcárcel Rojas (Marie Curie Fellowship for Early Stage Training of Researchers in Archaeometry, CT-2004-514509). During the second stage, the laboratories at the Center of Research and Restoration of Museums in France (C2RMF) were used. The research at this point was done with the financial support of the European Unión EU-Artech Programme. The investigation also includes the analysis of textiles, coral, and amber by Lee A. Newsom and Russell Graham, and of a jet artifact by the team of Ariadna Mendoza, in the Archaeometry Cabinet of the OHCH. Many of the activities mentioned previously and other results of the investigation presented in the book were developed during the author’s doctoral studies at Leiden University, which were supervised by Corinne L. Hofman as part of the NWO-VICI project Communicating Communities, directed by Hofman and financed by the Netherlands Organization for Scientific Research (NWO-No. 277-62-001). This project funded the investigation of biological aspects at El Chorro de Maíta. The results cited in this book were made possible by a team of the Caribbean Research Group at Leiden University, whose members include Menno Hoogland, Darlene Weston, Jason Laffoon, Anne van Duijvenbode, and Hayley L. Mickleburgh. It also supported an important and creative taphonomic study done by Menno Hoogland in collaboration with Valcárcel Rojas, the review of the historical documents in the Archivo General de Indias (AGI) by the author, the study of the published collection and historical texts in the Escuela de Estudios Hispanoamericanos in Seville, and contributed to the funding for the archaeometallurgy study conducted in France. The radiocarbon dates were obtained with the support of the National Geographic Society (Grants No. 7776-05 and No. 8476-08), the NOW-VICI project Communicating Communities, the Kon-Tiki Foundation, and an NERC / AHRB Grant, UK. I thank all of the people and institutions previously mentioned for their support. My stay at the Institute of Archaeology (UCL) was decisive in providing the opportunity to begin to think about the theme of indigenous and European interaction at El Chorro de Maíta. The stay was facilitated by Thilo Rehren, Peter Ucko, and José Oliver, but mainly by my friend Jago Cooper. Jago and Marcos Martinón-Torres, through their friendship and talent, xviii

Acknowledgments

helped me to refocus my work. In London collaboration was initiated in the analysis of radiocarbon dates in which Alex Bayliss (English Heritage) and Lynn Keys put forth great assistance and cooperation. It was a privilege to be part of the Caribbean Research Group of the Faculty of Archaeology at Leiden University. Its director, Corinne L. Hofman, and Professor Menno Hoogland, gave this project all the input of their intellectual vision. Its members, those previously mentioned as well as Alistair Bright, Jimmy Mans, Raphael Panhuysen, Arie Boomert, and in particular Alice Samson and Angus Mol, offered their friendship and valuable opinions. It was this environment of intellectual creativity that gave form to many aspects of my work in the last years, and it explains why this group leads the way in many aspects of Caribbean archaeology. In Leiden I had the support of Adriana Churampi and the advice of Maarten Jansen. In this city I was able to relish the brotherhood and the many experiences of my Puerto Rican colleagues Reniel Rodríguez Ramos, José Oliver, Antonio Curet, and Jaime Pagán, who influenced this text in many important ways. The complete support of the director of the Departamento Centro Oriental de Arqueología, Elena Guarch Rodríguez, and of the archaeologist Juan Jardines was key in all of the investigations of El Chorro de Maíta. My colleagues Lourdes Pérez Iglesias, Marcos Labrada Ochoa, Pedro Cruz, Juan Guarch Rodríguez, José Cruz, Mercedes Martínez, Yamilka Vargas, Ileana Rodríguez Pizonero, Yanet Fernández, and Adisney Campos participated in work done in the field and in the laboratory. I thank them, particularly Marcos Labrada, for their friendship and support. The fieldwork contribution of students from the universities of Alabama, Pennsylvania, and Pittsburgh, including Jeremy Davis, Daniel LaDu, Nicole Ortmann, Lizette A. Muñoz, and especially A. Brooke Persons and Paul Noe, was vital. I appreciate the ideas and recommendations of Vernon James Knight, who never ceased to surprise me with his modesty and talent, as well as Lee A. Newsom, John W. O’Hear, Brooke Persons, David Goldstein, and Alice Samson. I would like to acknowledge the impact of being able to learn from two important people during the initial research at El Chorro de Maíta—César Rodríguez Arce and José Manuel Guarch Delmonte. I am grateful for the assistance of the Kon Tiki Foundation in the person of Maja Bauge, and also of Jana Pesoutova, Pauline M. Kulstad, Floris W. M. Keehnen, Amy Strecker, Andrzej Antczak, Sarah Inskip, Caridad Rodríguez Cullel, Alejandro Fernández, Lynne Guitar, Erika Hagelberg, John Worth, Elizabeth Graham, Ewoud Benjamin van Meel, Ridel Rodríguez, Frank Ocaña, Nicolás Vega, Yamina Ríos, and Brian Rosen. I am grateful to Eduarda Coutinho for Acknowledgments

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her never-ending affection, and for my friend and colleague in Cuba and in Leiden, Jorge Ulloa Hung, with whom I discussed many of my ideas about colonial spaces. The Faculty of Archaeology at Leiden University through W. Willems and Roswita Manning helped to fund the preparation of some of the photographs and figures for the publication. The preparation of the text benefited from the comments of Kathleen Deagan and from the revised translation to English by William F. Keegan. I would also like to thank Judith Knight for her valuable editorial assistance. In my investigation I always had the help of the El Chorro de Maíta Museum personnel: Nidia Leyva, Teresa Zaldívar, Juan Carlos Osorio, Jorge González, Alberto Peña, and David Silva. I acknowledge the indispensable assistance of the neighbors of El Chorro de Maíta, particularly from the families Riverón-Vázques, Torres-Guerra and Moisés García, and Yolanda and Ismael Bermúdez. I also must recognize the help of the Comisión Provincial de Monumentos in Holguín, as well as the Subcomisión Nacional de Arqueología (La Habana, Cuba). I obtained all of my inspiration and strength from my family.

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Acknowledgments

1 Introduction

The Antilles provide the setting of Christopher Columbus’ arrival and the starting point for the conquest of a continent. All the history of the region is built and is engaged upon this supposed moment of glory. Its protagonists are the Spaniards, and its stage is a New World with a fast-disappearing mass of indigenous people. From here on, there is a before and an after that cannot be reconciled for many reasons, most important of which is the continuous omission in our history and social conscience of the indigenous people (“indigenes”) and of their colonial expression, the “indio” (Indian). The reality of the social disintegration and the demographic disaster of the indigenous world is unquestionable. Also unquestionable is the present-day lack of a significant population component that is recognized as indigenous or that claims ancestry. However, the idea of a completely vanished indigenous human and cultural coterie is false, either imposed or exaggerated to question the methods and the Spanish colonial system or to sustain economic and political conveniences for the past five centuries. This analysis of the processes of interaction between the indigenous population and the Spanish, and the effort of the former in a different and hostile environment, in which they had to assume and construct a new identity, is key to achieving a vision beyond this incomplete history. We know very little of the interaction process, except that it lasted longer than is usually supposed and was also more diverse and complex. This is so because the interaction was not limited to the experience of contact in circumstances of discovery or conquest, and the environment of economic exploitation was more than merely an indigenous demographic crisis. This indigene, later converted into Indian, found ways to reposition himself in the colonial universe and to reach the following centuries in a multiethnic and multicultural tangle, to which he contributed his traditional legacy and the result of his

adjustments to a new way of life. That these ultimate aspects are little recognized today has much to do with the interests of the dominators and their criollo descendants, and the ways in which the indigene was incorporated by others and/or was integrated through individual interests and perspectives into the colonial world. To understand the complexity of the connection between the indigenous population and the Europeans, we have to escape the dependency on historical and ethnohistoric sources, a resource that many times is intended not only to assess the regional panorama at the moment of contact or in the following decades, but also to construct a vision of the pre-Columbian past. We have to abandon those traditional documentary searches that only seek the struggle of the colonists at the seat of the local oligarchy, the emergence of European powers and their dispute over loot and Spanish possessions, and the imperial attempt to organize a not-so-new world.1 We must leave behind an archaeology that feels committed only to urban settings or to the millennia of precolonial history, an archaeology where the study of the interaction between indigenous and European groups rests on responses to incidental findings of Spanish materials in indigenous contexts, where interpretation sees only an early moment associated with acts of discovery or early colonial settlement, or where such situations are assessed as brief or of low impact due to the supposed poverty of the archaeological record generated by a society in demise. This book reflects that effort for change and improvement, connecting histories in the task of confronting what we could call the colonial invisibility of the indigenes and the Indians and their lifeways. It centers on archaeology as a way of searching for more objective data, and a space for the integration of information generated by various disciplines from a critical and balanced perspective. It does this starting from the study of an exceptional archaeological context in northeast Cuba, the site of El Chorro de Maíta (Figure 1.1). Initially excavated between 1986 and 1988, it yields aspects of material culture quite uncommon in Antillean archaeological sites and has the only cemetery found among indigenous communities of Agricultores Ceramistas (Agricultural Ceramicists) in Cuba, recognized in the traditional Caribbean practice as Taínos. The discovery of the cemetery, excavated with the best techniques available to Cuban archaeology of the time, was a scientific and cultural event. A museum was constructed on top of the cemetery, and it was declared a Cuban national heritage monument in 1991. The place became a symbol of the indigenous past and of Cuban culture, as well as a symbol for the in2

Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

Figure 1.1. Map of Cuba and the Antilles showing the location of El Chorro de Maíta.

terest in recognizing and understanding Cuban cultural heritage. A vision was formed centered on the exceptionality of the cemetery, the artifacts, and the indications of cultural force and the social complexity of the indigenous community that lived there. This perspective was built on the information obtained in studies developed at the same time as the excavation process and the construction of the museum, concentrated on the human remains, the artifacts associated with them, and on a small zone outside of the funerary area. Unfortunately, in spite of the interests of the Cuban archaeological community, a large part of the archaeological evidence was not analyzed, and in the following years research at the site was stopped for diverse reasons. European artifacts were found on the site, and some of the features of the burial practices and of the individuals were unique and striking, and all were uncommon in other indigenous communities. A link between them and the Spanish or with their material goods was recognized. However, the topic did not receive more attention or was handled as an aspect secondary to the preeminence of the indigenous cultural features and the requirements of the museum development. Due to misunderstanding or minimizing the impacts Introduction

3

of European contact, interpretations were proposed that we now know are erroneous. Here, we contribute a new vision. This book exhibits the results obtained through many years of study to evaluate the processes of cultural interaction between the indigenes and the Spanish at the site. Part of this work is in understanding how the indigenous existence was expressed in colonial times, in terms of the link with other sociocultural groups, and evaluating the preservation and transformation of their modes of life and identity. Simultaneously, this investigation aims to identify and to study associated aspects of the action behind the interaction, exploring its significance in order to provide more insights into the “situation” in which it was produced, along with its particular features. The site was in use for two centuries before the arrival of the Spanish. However, the site’s final chapter was greatly marked by the changes imposed by the colonial condition, resulting in one of the most extensive post-contact occupations, up to this moment, identified in the Caribbean. It has been determined that in the first half of the sixteenth century, a large part of the nonfunerary zone must have been functioning under Spanish control, framed by transformation into an encomendados Indian town, a settlement obligated to servitude by the Spanish in supposed return for civilizing tutelage and Christian indoctrination. The cemetery is the result of mortality during the colonial period, although we cannot exclude the possibility that some burials preceded the interaction. The conception of the cemetery is not indigenous, nor is it a typical Christian cemetery; it is one of the oldest syncretic funerary spaces investigated archaeologically in the American continent.2 It houses the remains of indigenous people from Cuba and from non-Cuban areas, the remains of at least one African individual, and possible mestizos or individuals that include a non-indigenous ancestral component. The encomienda is a system that has remained practically unstudied from the archaeological perspective in the Caribbean, and the ethno-demographic and territorial composition observed here, until now, had not been identified in indigenous sites or nonurban colonial spaces in the Antilles. In this case it is explained as a consequence of the inhumation of the commended (encomendada) population and of slaves of diverse territorial origin. The action of Christianizing certain individuals, some of them members of the indigenous elite, and the creation of colonial subjects is visible. In parallel, traditional practices were maintained, evidence of the active position of indigenes and Indians, also expressed in syncretic solutions. In this environment, a true 4

Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

transcultural stage, new identities and individuals appeared, such as the Indians and possible mestizos; they embody the genetic and cultural mix that will mark the times to come, the future conformation of the Cuban ethos, and the emergent Caribbean personhood. This investigation is a pioneering effort in the Caribbean based on many lines of analysis for the study of the cultural and physical evidence of regionally and ethnically diverse people brought together by the earliest Spanish labor regimes in America. In conceptual terms, it is one of the many possible approaches to life and death in colonial settings, outside of Spanish settlements, where archaeology is a true resource to envision other individuals and environments that are little recognized historically. This investigation informs us about ways to evaluate the indigenous locations and funerary contexts where the colonial materiality appears to be limited, but that could hide a very different reality. This example is very relevant not only because it uncovers a poorly studied human and cultural landscape but also because it demonstrates how the stage of indigenous world disintegration possesses the key to the analysis of its continuation.

Conceptual Context of the Investigation The definition of the situation that serves as the framework for the interaction between the indigenous population and Europeans is vital to interpreting this process. Words like interaction, encounter, or contact could become too neutral references, markers of a link but disconnected from the objective, characteristics, and consequences of the connection; they need to be put into context and embodied. The situations of interaction in a contact setting and a colonial environment are different (Hill 1998; Silliman 2005). Domination is the aspect from which the difference occurs. The loss of autonomy, of control over daily life and of spirituality, transforms the indigenous universe and projects the interaction in a plane that is very different from the link between autonomous entities, negotiating positions from their respective interests. In the Antillean case such situations are related to a particular chronology, specific to every island, and with the rhythm of Spanish incursion in the area and the occupation and control of territories. From such particularities this investigation assumes the model that considers domination as structuring the relationship between individuals and societies (Miller and Tilley 1984; Miller et al. 2005). Although domination has been left at the sidelines in the discussion of contemporary theory, mainly in the postmodern vision, it remains pertinent Introduction

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when thinking about the Caribbean past and present as the stage for the pioneering project of colonialism. When it is understood as a complex and multifaceted project, it provides the way to understand other dynamics of the colonial situation. It also helps to analyze how daily life was managed in these types of circumstances, and what mechanisms are at play when diverse groups of populations and cultures converge, mobilized within the framework of the colonial world. In that sense, this research uses the approaches of agency (Hodder and Hutson 2003; Wobst 2000) and transculturation (Ortiz 1983) as guiding tools to evaluate such phenomena. The use of agency and a transcultural focus allows for the understanding of an indigene and Indian population that resists, allies with, interacts with, or intermixes with whites and Africans, creating a new human and cultural reality and establishing the foundation of a mestizo world. The term “Indian” implies an individual of indigenous origins (ethnically and culturally), but with an identity generated by life in an environment of colonial domination. This is an individual whose multiple roots and cultural universe, where the features of Spanish life are important, make him different from the indigenes of the pre-Columbian times and early colonial periods, the one that the Spanish called Indian under the process of recognizing the population and dominion of the lands that are discovered, conquered, and colonized. It is the same term applied to two human groups with different realities. We do not ignore, and of course we deny, any pejorative connotations that it might have possessed and that still may present, and the way in which it served to disarticulate the cultural and social indigenous mechanisms. It is an extremely dynamic denomination and category that evolved to the rhythm of colonialism, from the weakening of the indigenous population and the reorganization of its descendants, whose diverse expressions are very difficult to recognize archaeologically. We use the term while acknowledging the ambiguities that it carries—in particular when dealing with European historical sources—and the fact that on many occasions it refers to individuals that did not assume and possibly rejected such an identity. Methodologically, the research has been adapted to several important requirements for studies of this type: a focus that reconciles the investigative resources and the data from historic and prehistoric archaeology,3 the use of a multidisciplinary perspective and of a comparative vision that allows the observation of change and continuity of indigenous aspects—and of the meaning of these processes—and the emergence of new sociocultural components (Deagan 2004; Lightfoot 1995; Paynter 2000b; Silliman 2005). I try to create, from this perspective, a link between Cuban archaeological 6

Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

tradition in the topic, aspects of the diverse and valuable North American experience, and the strong multidisciplinary analysis promoted by researchers at Leiden University.

Structure of the Text This book is organized into nine chapters, including this introduction. Chapter 2 presents the theoretical perspective of this analysis, while the third and fourth chapters evaluate the historic context of the Cuban colonial interaction and the preceding research in El Chorro de Maíta. Chapters 5 through 7 discuss new research, paying special attention to the investigation of the cemetery, due to its enormous relevance to the study of culture contact and the lack of this kind of information in Caribbean archaeology texts. In chapter 6 biological features and aspects of territorial origin are discussed, as well as diverse information provided by the taphonomic research; and in chapter 7 the mortuary practices are analyzed, comparing them with chronological, biological, and origin data of the individuals. Chapter 8 interprets the information, derived from the historical sources available; and chapter 9 provides a summary and conclusions. Even though this book discusses death thoroughly, it is also an effort to understand the life of some of the most forgotten actors in the colonial world. To them I pay homage.

Introduction

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2 From Contact to the Colonial Situation

In anthropology, archaeology, and history, the study of culture contact has been seen as a key way to explain all kinds of processes of human history, ranging from the development of cultures and societies to their transformation and dissolution.1 Culture contact is the proactive and direct interchange among members of social units that do not share the same identity (Schortman 1989). In the Americas the study of culture contact is especially relevant, given the major impact expanding European nations have had on the indigenous populations. Since the late fifteenth century, these indigenous– European interactions have laid the foundations for the socio-historical and ecological panorama of the contemporary Americas. Moreover, these intercultural contacts have resulted in the modern cultural composition of the societies of the region. The importance given to the events associated with the European arrival in the New World and its subsequent colonization magnifies the perception of the contact, elevating the moment to a level that no other can reach. In the case of North America, one of the most common denominations for the interaction process of natives and Europeans, or for some of these moments, is the “contact period.” Some authors restrict it to the stage of the spread and adoption of European ideas and materials, prior to direct contact between indigenous and intrusive (European) groups, equating it with a period called protohistoric (Ewen 1996:41). Others include different moments or the entire direct contact situation independent of their chronology into the contact period (Hobler 1986; Perttula 1993). These postures found their echo in the Caribbean and in other parts of the continent (Charlton and Fournier 1993; Deagan 1988; Graham 1998; Wilson 1990). This concept is maintaining its importance in the region, especially in archeological investigation in the Caribbean islands, whereas in the United States it has already

been profoundly questioned (Mitchell and Sheiber 2010; Paynter 2000a; Silliman 2010b). In the last decades important analyses have been presented regarding the application of the term culture contact and understanding it as a process (Cusick 1998a; Lightfoot 1995; Silliman 2005). Managing the culture contact approach as too inclusive and abstract makes it a limited tool for the analysis of interaction, and it distinguishes only the difference between those that are interacting. An inspiring reflection in this sense is presented by Stephen W. Silliman, who advocates reaching an adequate distinction between contact and colonialism, especially in the conjunction of European expansion in America. Colonialism presupposes domination of one group over another in interaction. Colonial processes cannot be assumed simply to be the processes of cultural contact or of a link between people of different identities, ignoring the historical meanings and results of the action of domination. To investigate cultural interactions and colonial environments from the perspective of contact implies an emphasis on short-term encounters over longterm entanglements, downplays the severity of interaction between groups and the radically different levels of political power that structured those relationships, and privileges predefined and almost essentialized cultural traits over creative, creolized, or novel cultural products (Silliman 2005:56). The route to overcoming these conceptual problems is accompanied by the necessity to implement a more encompassing and integrated archaeological practice that has the capacity not only to perceive cultural interaction but also to recognize its multiple forms and implications. Research on these processes insists on the necessity of creating a link between prehistoric and historic archaeology. The solution is in an improved use of the best that each can provide from an integrated perspective, which requires a critical analysis of the documentary and ethnohistoric sources, finding the comparable archaeological records, and the pertinent employment of field techniques and material studies (Deagan 2004; Kepecs and Kolb 1997; Lightfoot 1995; Mitchell and Sheiber 2010; Silliman 2010a). Another basic aspect is the study of change and continuity; both aspects have their own significance and qualify the relationship. Within change, new features (cultural and biological) appear that assume a different dimension and also require new approaches. This matter implies the establishment of a referential line between the indigenous society before contact and the world developed during and after. This diachronic perspective has been traditionally accomplished with the follow-up of artifact traits that reflect the level of acculturation or change. In many cases a direct relationship between such From Contact to the Colonial Situation

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objects and the degree of acculturation is considered, even though the quantity and quality of objects present can confuse or underrepresent the direction and intensity of change, especially in multiethnic communities (Lightfoot 1995:206). According to Silliman (2009:214–16, 2010a:30), the interest in the artifact index of change or continuity tends to exaggerate cultural origins, without knowing their use in daily life and the way the artifacts were inserted socially and how their meaning was carried over. In contexts inhabited by Europeans this contributes to the invisibility of the indigenous population, because the identification of objects obscures daily life activities where they participated, many times based on European materiality. However, the appropriation of European aspects hides situations of continuity and hybridity, indicators of the persistence of values and practices. In Silliman’s opinion, the continuity in the use of such categories is the legacy of understanding colonialism not as a complex interrelationship of histories, identities, and power struggle, but as cultures that are in contact, with the only option of changing or staying the same. Only comparisons from a balanced and objective perceptive allow the possibility of avoiding the tendency of considering interactions with Europeans as the only cause of all the visible behaviors and situations in indigenous societies involved in the process (Ewen 1996:42). In addition, in this research line the interpretation of changes and continuity in the indigenous patterns can be problematic. Not every change implies adjustment and crisis, and continuity does not always imply resistance and integrity. These explanations depend on specific contextual aspects and the circumstances of interaction. The consideration of agency (DiPaolo 2001), gender roles (Deagan 1996), creolization (Deagan 1995b; DiPaolo 2000; Ewen 2000), practice and daily life studies (Lightfoot et al. 1998; Silliman 2010a), among others, in conjunction with the aspects previously mentioned, is offering a new perspective to the topic of contact and colonialism. In terms of the research methodology, a multidisciplinary and holistic approach, working with multiple spatial scales of analyses, has demonstrated itself in confronting these dissimilar challenges (Deagan 2004; Deagan and Scardaville 1985; Lightfoot 1995; Mitchell and Sheiber 2010).

Contact Period Archaeology in the Greater Antilles Rooted in the period’s economic and ideological priorities, the Columbian venture generated dynamic and violent action, capable of radically transforming the Caribbean region in a few years. In 1493 European population 10

Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

settlement and economic exploitation were established on Hispaniola (an island composed of the contemporary countries of Haiti and the Dominican Republic). It was not until the first decade of the sixteenth century that the process began in Cuba, Jamaica, and Puerto Rico. During this same period, transformations were initiated in the Bahamas and the Lesser Antilles, principally the Leeward Islands, locations used as slave sources. By mid-century, labor exploitation and the impact of conquest and diseases had caused a demographic and socioeconomic change that traditional perspectives summarize in the notion of a disassembled indigenous social structure, the complete disappearance of its population, and a reordering of the human component based on the massive entrance of African slaves and the development of a wide and varied mestizo social stratum. The natural environment would also be transformed by the accelerated extraction of resources and the introduction of new animals and plants. The Lesser Antilles’ panorama would oscillate between depopulation and settlements, as in the case of the Windward Islands, where the indigenous population preserved their autonomy until the eighteenth century (Cassá 1992:259; Rouse 1992:161). During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the Windward Island communities maintained exchange relations and confrontations with diverse European powers, within a historical context very different from that experienced in the Greater Antilles. Archaeological research of the indigenous–European interactions is poorly developed in the Bahamas and the Lesser Antilles, due to the few contexts that reflect such situations (Deagan 1988:200; Delpuech 2001:31; Watters 2001:92). Nonetheless, in the Argyle site in Saint Vincent, there has been recent confirmation of European interactions with Island Caribs that seem to date to the end of the sixteenth century and the beginning of the seventeenth century (Hofman et al. 2014). In the Greater Antilles there is a wide disciplinary field within the archaeology of the so-called Spanish contact period, el período del contacto IndoHispánico or período de transculturación Indo-hispánica (Deagan 1988; García Arévalo 1978b; Morales Patiño and Pérez de Acevedo 1945). It is linked to the Columbian era, ca. 1490–1520, preceding the continental expansion (Deagan 1988), although the definition of its end, following the idea of the collapse of the indigenous demography and sociopolitical structures, exhibits more flexibility in placing it indistinctly in the 1520s or 1530s for the Bahamas (Gnivecki 1995:209), Hispaniola (Wilson 1990:135), and Puerto Rico (Anderson-Córdova 2005:347–48), or at mid-sixteenth century for Hispaniola and Cuba (García Arévalo 1991:363; Morales Patiño and Pérez de AcevFrom Contact to the Colonial Situation

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edo 1945:7; Rives et al. 1991:28). In historic terms it includes the processes of discovery and conquest, and the action of colonization. In its beginning, around the 1940s, research regarding the interaction between the indigenous population and Europeans was expressed in the identification of indigenous sites with evidence of Spanish artifacts or indigenous artifacts that copied details of Western materiality (García Castañeda 1949a; Morales Patiño and Pérez de Acevedo 1945; Rouse 1942) (see Figures 2.1 and 2.2). In these studies there was a tendency to perceive interaction as an initial event, because their chronological location is, usually, without archaeological contrast, correlated to the best-known historical data from the areas where these sites are found. The sources used tend to be the ones easily accessible, the published ethnohistoric and documentary collections, which in the case of the Greater Antilles give much visibility to the early events. This generated a cyclical effect, because European artifacts are generally interpreted as direct reflections of specific kinds of interactions seemingly predominant in these early moments. The presence of glass beads, bells, and ceramic and metal fragments, for example, was assumed to reflect gift exchange, rescue, or payment for services, while weapons or horse equipage might assume military activity. Even when the models and the typology of acculturation were not popular in Caribbean research, such approaches have nevertheless been directly or indirectly used because of a shared interest in perceiving evidence of cul-

Figure 2.1. Indigenous ceramic that copies European forms. Plate from El Yayal site, Cuba. Diameter: 22 cm.

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Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

Figure 2.2. European metal objects from the El Yayal site, Cuba. The piece top left is 11 cm long.

tural change. Paradoxically, in Cuba another conceptualization was sought in the transculturation model that acknowledges the bidirectional nature of change, and the creation of new cultural components (Ortiz 1983). However, this is only the semantics of terminology, because there is an insistence that the indigenous population did not survive and was not able to integrate into the new population (Morales Patiño and Pérez de Acevedo 1945:6). Transculturation was not appreciated in its true transformative and creative nature, but in its capacity to refer to the most intense cultural nexus—in comparison only to the acquisition of European objects—and to a greater transformation of the indigenous society and its materiality. This vision would not be modified much in the following years, but in the seventies it was formalized from better archaeological records and analysis, when Cuban archaeologist Lourdes Domínguez proposed a specific classificatory methodology (Domínguez 1978:37): From Contact to the Colonial Situation

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1) In contact sites, the European material has a rare and superficial presence; there are few unmodified artifacts. This indicates a short or indirect relationship. 2) In transculturation sites, in addition to abundant European evidence and material with reuse or modification by indigenous peoples, are indigenous artifacts that copy European features (transcultural objects). This supposes a long relationship and intense cultural exchange. There was an effort to view the indigenous presence in urban contexts (Domínguez 1980; García Arévalo 1978a), but the research was predominantly centered on indigenous sites and in Spanish materials or transcultural objects. As a consequence, these locations were studied with a specific focus on indigenous contexts, and with the typical methodology for pre-Columbian sites, which is why it was difficult to obtain a deeper understanding of the interaction or the function of a place and its surroundings (Deagan 2004; Valcárcel Rojas et al. 2013). The previously mentioned perspectives are early in their development but are still used. They differ from Cuban proposals from the late 1980s and early 1990s that advocated for the integration of sources of information and methods. From this perspective, when there is historical evidence for the indigenous presence at a later period—where it is associated with other ethnic components and where the indigenous materiality is barely visible—there is a need for a change of research strategy (Rives et al. 1991). The importance of improving the isolated analysis of evidence (the identification of Spanish artifacts or copied features by the indigenous population), and of recognizing “significant associations” that can be compared and contrasted with documents, is also established. In line with this position, the site’s record of stratigraphic and spatial variation can be improved, analyzing in detail the association with European objects and with possible patterns of economic exploitation promoted by them (Domínguez 1984; Rives et al. 1987; Tomé and Rives 1987; Valcárcel Rojas 1997). Unfortunately, there is no attempt to overcome the pursuit of cultural change, because it is maintained, as Deagan (2004:604) has commented, for the Caribbean case in general by patterns of sampling and analytical scales derived from traditional research on indigenous sites. During this period there is a consolidation of the North American academic presence in Hispaniola, with the work of the University of Florida directed by Kathleen Deagan. Long-term research with an interdisciplinary view was undertaken, with a postprocessual focus expressed from a gen14

Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

der and class perspective. Understanding the emergence, development, and transformation of a colonial society during the sixteenth century was a basic aspect of this research focused on important archaeological sites: En Bas Saline and Puerto Real in Haiti, and La Isabela and Concepción de la Vega in the Dominican Republic. Well-founded visions inform this archaeological program, from locations that not only demonstrated the effect of contact on an indigenous village possibly linked to the arrival of Columbus and later times (En Bas Saline site) but also linked to the diverse stages of interaction within the framework of Spanish settlements. In this case, the town of Puerto Real, occupied until 1578, reflects the European adaptation and the arrival of indigenous aspects to its world through female labor in Spanish domestic spaces (Deagan 1995a). It also demonstrates the relationship with the African and the incipient displacement of the Indian—a situation different from the first town in the Americas, La Isabela, which was abandoned in 1497 and is marked, according to Deagan and Cruxent (2002b), by adherence to European models, and without any intention of adopting indigenous aspects. The research at En Bas Saline presents an indigenous occupation maintained until the sixteenth century, and it supports the verification, enhanced by historical data, of the permanence of indigenous conglomerates past the dates of early contact and the immediate collapse scheme (Deagan 2004). It exceeds the traditional pursuit of European material—very scarce on the site—and of other evidence regarding the contact, to concentrate analysis on aspects of gender and class at the domestic level. It registers the adjustment of the indigenous population to Spanish forms of manual labor control (the repartimiento and the demora), where the majority of the male population is displaced. The local response was a reinforcement of the female protagonist in the community’s economic life and the acceptance by women of key male tasks related to subsistence and production, without affecting ritual practices or the power and leadership structures. However, the limited presence of European objects suggests a rejection of Spanish materiality and values, aspects that contrast with urban registers where the integration of European and indigenous practices appear, particularly through domestic female labor and its sexual connection with Spanish males. This can be understood as a rupture with the early models of acculturation and contact. Research at En Bas Saline leaves no doubt that the indigenous experience was not limited to the first moments of contact; but rather, it was diverse and did not always result in the assimilation of Spanish components , also accessible through the archaeological evidence. It shows the necessity of specific From Contact to the Colonial Situation

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research for these types of contexts that allow the link between prehistoric and historic archaeology to surpass the old research designs of the archaeology of the region, and to analyze the domestic contexts or deposits of unique events, as well as to identify details barely evident in the European materiality, such as the micro remains generated by the importation of animals and plants, and others (Deagan 2004:603–4). The work of Deagan and her collaborators complements and improves the local investigation (Domínguez 1984; Ortega 1982; Ortega and Fondeur 1978; Romero Estébanes 1981, 1995) on recognition of the indigenous–European interaction in urban contexts. At the same time such research stimulates the interest in the topic and the development or consolidation of diverse lines of analysis, such as the use of ceramics of indigenous tradition, discussed for Havana (Cuba), by Roura et al. (2006), for Hispaniola by García Arévalo (1991), and for New Seville in Jamaica by Woodward (2006:169), or the use of local dietary sources derived from interactions with the indigenous population, studied by VanderVeen (2007) in La Isabela, by Woodward (2006) in New Seville, and by Jiménez and Arrazcaeta (2008) in Havana. Of parallel form is the encouragement of the assessment of indigenous human remains in these spaces, reported for La Isabela and Santo Domingo (Deagan and Cruxent 2002a, 2002b; Luna Calderón 1992; Tavárez and Luna Calderón 1992), and also confirmed in Puerto Real (Marrinan 1995), initiating the evaluation of the life conditions of the indigenes and other ethnic groups (Cucina et al. 2013). In addition to the impact of Deagan’s research, diverse studies in other parts of the continent—see Funari (1997), Zarankin and Salerno (2007), and Van Buren (2010) for a summary of the topic—and a whole milieu of conceptual discussion regarding colonial archaeology, with a strong Latin American perspective (Funari 2007), influence the increasing strength of such research. They are only one segment of the wide refining of historical archaeology themes that in the Greater Antilles reaches a special strength in the Cuban case. Unfortunately, there is no palpable similar evolution in the nonurban contexts or indigenous sites with European material. Archaeological reflection on the region and studies of indigenous–European interaction conducted at the end of the twentieth century and beginning of the twenty-first century (see summaries in Deagan 1988; Domínguez 2008; Hernández 2011; La Rosa Corzo 2000; Valcárcel Rojas et al. 2013) acknowledge the colonial character of some of these contexts in cultural, chronological, and documentary terms. Nonetheless, it maintains a terminology that homogenizes these spaces, given the frequently used terms 16

Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

“contact” or “contact period.” Indigenous sites with European materials or local copies of European aspects do not necessarily reflect the colonial situation, because they could be involved in cases of first contact or the so-called indirect contact, the latter a type of nexus where there is no control of one party over the other [Spicer (1961) cited by Cusick (1998b:133)]. However, when they are automatically considered contact sites, without recognizing the features of the interaction, other possible interpretations are ignored, including the potential relationship of these contexts with later, clearly colonial processes. In these circumstances the possibility of proposing an analysis that does not favor the indigenous features inherent to these sites, and their history before the conquest, is limited. In this way research can be biased, and it affects the capacity to understand the potential complexity of such scenarios. On the other hand, the tendency to automatically see indigenous sites as part of the contact period becomes more and more questionable in light of documentary evidence of isolated indigenous communities during the mid-sixteenth century, and in rural spaces where the indigenous population was an important protagonist decades after Spanish arrival and could have maintained ways of life whose archaeological expression is not too very different from the pre-Columbian situation. This problematic is a part of an archaeological practice restricted by the focus of historical particularism, where investigations like those in En Bas Saline are the exception. It also reflects the reinforcement of a perspective that minimizes the indigenous population and their participation in the region’s history, restricting their existence and agency to an early and initial (contact) moment, by reason of its fast and complete disappearance (Valcárcel Rojas et al. 2013). From this perspective the historical presence of the indigenous population and its nexus with the Europeans stands out only for its connection with the act of “The Discovery.” This marks and defines the significance of the Antilles and the Caribbean in the process of European expansion in the New World. This region is typified as a place for arrival, one quickly overtaken and even forgotten when conquest and colonization of the continent began, which produced the true wealth and definite economic consolidation. The Caribbean is recognized then, in its colonial dimension, when the project of continental domination is consolidated and proceeds to be integrated, without an indigenous population but rather being reborn, thanks to the work of African slaves, as the great colonial empire that Spain built and that was being disputed by the nascent capitalist powers. It helps to explain the historical and archaeological vision in which the analysis of From Contact to the Colonial Situation

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contact limits the comprehension of colonialism. This idea can be found in the words of Jalil Sued Badillo (1992:603) when he says: Archaeologists have yet to capture the historic importance of the region as the first colonial enclave of proto-capitalist Europe. Historical archaeology is often a very sporadic practice that traces peripheral or unsubstantial matters such as the search for the landing site of Columbus. In a peculiar way, Christopher Columbus has yet to disembark for many archaeologists. In the meantime, the initial centers of population, the mining camps, the foundry towns, the inter-colonial trade routes, the clash of cultures, and the resistance to conquest are still matters waiting to be brought to the forefront of the learned discipline. There has been some work along the line of analysis mentioned by Sued Badillo, but this (e.g., Domínguez [2004], Febles and Domínguez [1987], Freytes and García Goyco [2003], García Arévalo [1978b], and Mañón Arredondo [1978]) still represents a minimal and casual effort. This investigation does not dispute the validity of culture contact as a category to explain certain aspects and moments of indigenous–Spanish interaction; but rather it promotes the analysis and comprehension of the interaction according to a situational scheme. In other words, it places priority on the acknowledgment of the conditions in which it is produced and its significance. In studies of acculturation the ecological and demographic context has been recognized as a “situation” (Barnett et al. 1954:979). In this case we refer to the socio-historical setting and, mainly, the political, social, and economic mechanisms that articulate it. Because of this, I consider contact as only one aspect under the main dynamic of inherent interaction for the colonial endeavor.

Contact Situation and Colonial Situation in the Greater Antilles The interaction between Europeans and the inhabitants of the New World was initiated by direct communication with Europeans or, in their absence, through access to European material culture or nonhuman biological components, channeled by indigenes inserted into situations of direct contact. In this interaction, or first contact, not only are people, goods, animals, and plants participants, but also the perspectives of each society regarding their relations to strangers converge, linked to traditions of socialization, alliance, and treatment of one another, worldviews, and the rational calculation of the contact’s value and objective (Trigger 1991) or, as stated by Angus Mol (2007), the respective socio-cosmic universes. 18

Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

Both parties develop images of each other, which will influence the relationship. In many places the indigenous population perceived the Europeans as returning gods, fulfilling old prophecies, or as evil ghosts, accompanied by death with invisible causes: diseases like smallpox, tuberculosis, or measles. In the New World environment, the Europeans found medieval mythological fauna, and in some settings they perceived paradise on Earth. It is a moment that could be seen as a colonial encounter with no implications regarding power between interacting groups (Stein 2005:6). But this is not the nature of the European advance in the majority of cases, particularly in the Spanish case. With the extension or intensification of contact, and depending on the way it develops, these visions are cleared, and new strategies of interaction are defined and implemented where the interests of each side are made more explicit (Wilson and Rogers 1993:4). A defining factor is in the level of control or domination that one party exerts over the other and the conditions in which it is enforced. There are differing positions regarding the terms “colony” and “colonization,” and it is important to define the criteria regarding the colonial precapitalist action where domination is not always the basic sign of the relationship (Dietler 2005; Stein 2005). We will not be discussing this topic here. We will look at colonialism where the perception of control and domination provides a guide to contextualizing the cultural fact of contact in its sociohistorical environment (Finley 1976; Gosden 2004:5; Piñón 2002:130). According to Rowlands (1998), colonialism assumes mobility of one for whom contact is outside of one’s place of origin (the colonizer), but it is, above all, a mechanism of socioeconomic exploitation by the colonizer over the locals (the colonized), signaled by the relation of dominance/resistance through which both components connect. After centuries of colonialism in various parts of the world (Gosden 2004:6; Silliman 2005:58), a new colonial moment and type was constructed after 1492. It is characterized by the speed of the act of dominance, the magnitude of the controlled and transformed space, the genocide it causes, and its global impact. It places Europe at the center of the global economy and technological innovation, and it converts the world into a subordinate periphery. The result of the consolidation of the mercantile revolution creates the material foundation for capitalism and allows for the industrial revolution (Gosden 2004:12; Paynter 2000a; Ribeiro 1992; Wolf 1982). The Caribbean is the initial space of this project, and control is a structural component in the nexus created there between the indigenous and European populations. From Contact to the Colonial Situation

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An important perspective to understanding this case, because it analyzes Spanish culture and its impact in the colonial world, can be found in the work of George M. Foster. He proposes a model for cultural features’ transference (cultural conquest), characterized by the presence of a government (representing the “donor culture”) that exercises a degree of political or military control over the “recipient culture.” The control is used to impose change, previously planned, in the lifeways of the recipient group. This perspective also recognizes the contact situation in which the processes of change are present. However, formal political and sometimes military control are absent, such as in the cases of missionary and commercial ventures. For such situations Foster (1960:11, 226–28) uses the term “cultural contact.” These processes lead to a moment of conforming to a new culture (the colonial culture) that he designates “crystallization.” In Foster’s scheme the perception of these two situations and the programmatic nature of change are significant, but when treating cultures and cultural traits, there is a clear distancing of the individuals, the societies, and the meaning of dominance. A theoretical proposition where this is evaluated, introducing the acknowledgment of the conditions in which the relationship is produced, is the “colonial situation” of Georges Balandier (1966:54), a collective circumstance characterized by The domination imposed by a foreign minority, racially (or ethnically) and culturally different, acting in the name of a racial (or ethnic) and cultural superiority dogmatically affirmed, and imposing itself on an indigenous population constituting a numerical majority but inferior to the dominant group from a material point of view; this domination linking radically different civilizations into some form of relationship; a mechanized, industrialized society with a powerful economy, a fast tempo of life, and a Christian background, imposed itself on a nonindustrialized, “backward” society in which the pace of living is much slower and religious institutions are definitely “non-Christian”; the fundamentally antagonistic character of the relationship between these two societies resulting from the subservient role to which the colonial people are subjected as “instruments” of the colonial power; the need, in maintaining this domination, not only to resort to “force,” but also to a system of pseudo justifications and stereotyped behaviors, etc. As Hill (1998:149) criticizes, “colonial situation” is a concept defined for Africa during the mid-twentieth century, as a restricted demographic correlation of dominators and dominated, lacking adequate analysis of the notion 20

Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

of domination/resistance, among other problems. Nonetheless, it provides a useful reference. Applied to the Caribbean and considering some adjustments, it allows for the understanding of the radical difference between a situation where the indigenous population maintains autonomy and the capacity to negotiate and make decisions, from its own social structure (contact situation), to another where they lack this possibility and must face their society’s disintegration. The indigenes appear on a subjected and inferior level, where they set out for survival as they adjust to a new environment established by the dominators from their economic, social, and ideological perspectives (colonial situation). Both situations are moments of the colonial process, and they are interconnected within a domination strategy that is inherent to the control of the Caribbean. The presence or absence of European domination over the indigenous population (in its multiple forms and variations) defines and, at the same time, is the key aspect for productive and social relationships. As such, it helps determine the formation of the circumstances and the results of interaction. The colonial situation materializes through domination, adapting to an environment where the colonial subjects interact with one another and with the colonizers, producing not only multiple reactions to domination but also solutions to life, including the creation and the reordering of identities. Obviously, colonialism is not only domination, and there are multiple facets to human existence that are involved in the process; however, in the Caribbean it is a basic aspect for understanding this particular period. The contact situation in the Greater Antilles is characterized in its initial form by the sporadic link and low levels of cohabitation, where the indigenous population tried to explain the European presence and nature (of supernatural appearance), and where their materiality is exotic and valuable, especially in symbolic ways and due to its unique and remote features. In Hispaniola, with more data to follow the process, the indigenous population manipulated the relationship via pacts wherein they offered their wives and objects, and valuable knowledge, without recognizing the real intent behind the Spanish presence. The nexus is useful in a cosmological and practical sense, following the terms used by Helms (1988), by increasing the power of some chiefs or caciques through their connection with powerful strangers that came from faraway lands, armed with superior forces. Lacking knowledge about the new cultural setting, Europeans were exchanging gifts with the elite in order to establish positive relationships. At the same time, they were also profiting from exchanges by collecting indigenous goods and gold. This encounter with “backward” people with different customs was not new From Contact to the Colonial Situation

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to them, so they were easily able to take advantage of the situation, stimulating confrontations between the indigenous leaders in a selective manner (Lienhard 1990:88–89). At the beginning, the signals sent by both parties were misinterpreted. New meanings were generated in the midst of the confusion and the common interest to understand each other (Mol 2007:16). Everything changed when military action was imposed and dominance began to take shape. Many did not see the Europeans as supernatural or invincible beings, and the violence that was unleashed to obtain women and gold caused the annihilation of the group left behind by Columbus in Fort Navidad, at the end of the first voyage. The repression of enemy indigenes, the unjustified use of violence, and the interest in controlling zones with gold generated a cycle of systematic confrontations of diverse intensity, which reached a climax in 1495 with the Battle of Santo Cerro. The defeated indigenes were taken as slaves and forced to work at the mines, in agriculture, and other diverse services. Forced labor also was imposed on peaceful communities (Guitar 1998). In this period the features of the colonial Spanish program were outlined. In 1493, sanctioned by the church, Spain and Portugal divided the New World among themselves in exchange for the promise to evangelize the indigenous population, and the exploitation of the lands in favor of the state was organized, an economic fact that marks the differences regarding the acts of conquest (Luciano 1985:27). The initial economic exploitation in Hispaniola came from the scheme of commercial establishment, through which Spanish settlements and exchange (rescate) of European goods for gold were established. This strategy was substituted for by military dominance, implemented through establishment of interior enclaves (forts) and war acts. After the Santo Cerro victory, tribute in gold and other goods was imposed. In this period the indigenous and European populations were separate conglomerations, and even certain parts of the island were not under Spanish control (Cassá 1979:41–43). Enslaved indigenes or those paying tribute in the form of labor were situated in the Spanish enclaves or places of economic interest (Guitar 1998:59). Some Europeans could insert themselves in native spaces; however, this was not very common. The plan for creating commercial factories is outside the Spanish warrior tradition developed during the reconquista, a conflict with Muslims that lasted for several centuries. This plan required a move away from the expectations of the hidalgos (noblemen), who had heartfelt devotion to war and to conquest but rejected work or the life of the bourgeois and merchants (Moya 22

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Pons 1992:130). By 1498 the tribute system’s failure, difficulties in Spanish adaptation and access to subsistence resources, and the contradiction in the way the indigenous masses were organized for exploitation, gave rise to the uprising of a group of Spaniards. They moved to some of the indigenous settlements to take advantages of the local resources and communal labor through force or systems of alliance and betrothal with the local caciques. The rebellious group reaccepted the mandate of Columbus when he decided to give them Indians as a labor force. This distribution, or repartimiento, of the indigenes continued and was made official in 1503; by this date the indigenous capacity for military resistance had been annihilated, and the powerful indigenous elite was eliminated. The official recognition of the repartimiento is considered by some researchers to be the beginning of the encomienda (Moya Pons 1992:133), while Mira Caballos (1997:80) refers to 1505 as the beginning date. With the system of encomiendas and total control over the local population, the existence of a colonial situation is complete. In the encomienda, unlike in the previous repartimiento, where the indigenes were managed as personal property, the local population became the Crown’s vassals and free men. Nonetheless, because of their “backward” culture, they were classified legally as “miserable,” and it was required that they receive religious instruction and become civilized. They paid for their Spanish teachings and their Catholic indoctrination with their labor (Castañeda Delgado 1971). According to the epoch’s discourse, the encomienda sought to achieve peaceful cohabitation between Indians and Spaniards, as the only way of achieving a Christian way of life. It is affirmed that without any interference from the Spaniards the indigenes would return to a barbaric existence, following their instinct of leisure and torpor (Mira Caballos 1997:101). For Bartolomé de las Casas (1875b:350) it was clear that the encomienda originated in the desire for riches: “nunca se dieron los indios a los españoles para que los enseñasen, sino para que se sirviesen dellos, y de sus sudores, y angustias” (the Indians were not given to the Spaniards to be taught, but for the former to serve the latter, with their sweat and their anguish). The encomienda was a system to control the indigenes as a workforce; otherwise, they would avoid relationships with the Europeans as well as avoid working for them. It was, then, instructed that they should concentrate the indigenes near the Spanish enclaves and mining sites. There they would serve five to eight months, a period known as the demora, although in many cases they would work all year. It was an institution controlled by the Crown and planned to reconcile the Crown’s interests with those of the conquistadores. In addition, it focused on the control of the private and feudal character From Contact to the Colonial Situation

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that the new local lords were trying to implement in the islanders’ economy. The Crown let them use indigenous labor but reserved the right to grant or to suspend the encomiendas, which created a climate of insecurity about the possession of indigenous workers, and an immediate race to obtain the most from the laborers by engaging in intensive exploitation (Guitar 1998:60–64; Mira Caballos 1997:91). The rest of the islands followed a different rhythm and maintained, from 1492, a contact situation marked by exploratory travels, the arrival of castaways, and attacks for capturing slaves. These activities impacted the coastal zones and the spaces close to Hispaniola and were limited, in legal and practical terms, by the Crown’s wish to maintain control over the actions of discovery and the access to the resources of the region. Toward the end of the first decade of the sixteenth century, an interest for these spaces was renewed, and the conquest action began. In the Bahamas the capture of the indigenous population resulted in the depopulation of the islands and a tragic setting, without space for sustained interactions. The conquest of Cuba began in 1510, of Puerto Rico in 1508, and of Jamaica in 1509. In all of these cases the distribution of the indigenous population and imposition of the encomienda was immediate, recognized officially in Cuba in 1513, and in 1509 and 1515 in Puerto Rico and Jamaica respectively. The encomienda ran parallel to, or even before, the military effort, as it occurred in Puerto Rico (Fernández 1966). These processes reflect a different set of strategies for domination and the establishment of a colonial structure. At the beginning of conquest of the other islands, some organizational issues had been formalized as well as the ethical aspect of the processes of domination and expansion: the indigenes (formally) were free men, the Crown’s vassals, whose salvation could be achieved through religious conversion; they were the most important resource to implement the economic exploitation of the territories, and their use required a certain rationalization, with the goal of impeding immediate depopulation; the mining exploitation was the center of economic life, and the native labor its main motor. Also, according to the experiences on Hispaniola, there was a precise vision of the islands’ natural environment and of the indigenous society. The Europeans recognized their characteristic, stratified structure, the strong dependency on caciques, and their inferior capacity in combat. Based on these experiences a link was made, from the first moment, in a position of clear superiority, with a quick control of the elite for its physical elimination or by imposing subordination. This shortens the period of contact and negotiation, providing the opportunity for immediate control 24

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of labor through the caciques. This was how the colonial situation was made a reality. The indigenes knew what was happening in Hispaniola and began to develop a resistance. In Cuba the cacique Hatuey led a ceremony that explained the European ambition for gold and the need to confront the people that came to kill them for it. In Puerto Rico the cacique Urayoán ordered the drowning of the Spaniard Diego Salcedo (Fernández de Oviedo 1851:479), and the proof of his death by observing the body’s decomposition. He seeks to prove and demonstrate the human condition of the Spaniards, but above all—the idea of the divine and immortal nature of the Spaniards must have been discarded by many—the potential for confronting them. The Europeans quickly replied with repression and massive punishments. Conquest is accelerated, as well as the creation of settlements. In the midst of the colonial situation the links that are established between the dominating Europeans and the dominated indigenes goes beyond the notion of culture contact between people with different identities. It has a colonial character and a definite nature, capable of transforming both groups, which is why here we recognize it under the term “colonial interaction.” The transition from a contact situation to a colonial situation was not homogeneous or synchronic. Even when the imposition of the encomienda provides an important point for defining boundaries, its sole existence cannot be used to circumscribe the colonial situation. In fact, the encomienda is better used to understand the connection between the domination in Cuba, Puerto Rico, and Jamaica than in Hispaniola, where the acts of control are very early and developed in diverse settings, with autonomous groups without direct contact, others negotiating with the Europeans without losing their autonomy, and many reduced rapidly to slavery [see the considerations of the El Cabo site in Valcárcel Rojas et al. (2013)]. Even, in its initial moments, in a collaborative environment between caciques and Spaniards and depending on the personal manner in which each Spaniard engaged with their encomendados, the situation of domination could express itself in a less intense way. However, the encomienda refers in a clear way to the nature of the process; it marks its duration and the moment in which the colonial situation dominates the scene and becomes irreversible. Following these differences it is to be expected that the archaeological patterns found in Hispaniola would differ from those on other islands in respect to the manipulation of European objects in ceremonial spaces or as exotic goods, or as to the presence of objects for trade or exchange. It is difficult to make an adequate comparison, because of the lack of information in particuFrom Contact to the Colonial Situation

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lar for Jamaica and Puerto Rico (Anderson-Córdova 2005; Deagan 1988) in contrast to Cuba and Hispaniola, where there is good evidence in this sense. Archaeological material referred to by the Europeans as trade objects—glass beads, rings, and bells—are usual in Hispaniola, found in villages, tombs, and hideouts, as expressions of moments of contact (García Arévalo 1978b; Vega 1987). In Cuba, where many indigenous sites with Spanish material have been excavated, they have very little evidence of the previously mentioned objects (Morales Patiño and Pérez de Acevedo 1945; Valcárcel Rojas 1997). This might be due to the minor frequency or temporal extension of contact situations of which there is little mention in ethnohistoric accounts. On this island ceramics and tools are more common, perhaps as expressions of situations of control and the restructuring of labor, typical of a colonial environment. Many times these stages will not be so clear. Not only in the contact situation but also in the colonial situation, there may be instants of change as well as continuity in the indigenous cultural patterns. To a certain degree, there might even be evidence of similar European materiality. Because of this, the issue is to perceive not only the process and objects, but also their significance and intensity, and their connection with domination or with historic situations specific to the moment of contact or of colonialism.

Domination and Its Implementation The exercise of power by one group to the detriment of another is known as domination; it is part of the dialectic of power for which the antithesis is resistance (Delle 2002:179–80). It is the “power over,” in the terminology of Miller and Tilley (1984:7): the sequence of effects that are only realized by an agent (individual or collective) through the agency of others. It involves a dialectical interaction between those that exercise power and those over whom power is exercised. In situations in which social control and exploitation are normal acts in life, resulting in the varying restriction of access to life opportunities for the majority of social agents, the production and maintenance of this control tends to be inefficient if the only recourse to maintain it is physical force or the threat of using it. Because of this, social order must be legitimized, and the principles by which this order is controlled must be justified. It can be achieved by producing an active consensus, which will naturalize and hide or minimize the asymmetrical nature of the social relationships, presenting them as something they are not. From a Marxist perspective, domination is the control of a human group over the 26

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production and reproduction of another. It occurs in the framework of determined social and production relations, and in concordance with certain forms of properties, characteristic of a particular historical stage. In the preclass environment it is projected toward outsiders or in internal ways of differentiation between sex, age, and rank. In the context of class, where a group controls the means of production, the domination of the dispossessed group, internal or external, is a resource that provides integrity to society according to the projection of the leading classes. In any circumstance domination is established through force or through the ideological resources that legitimize the social order (Miller et al. 2005). One of the most stimulating analyses of the Spanish domination process in the Americas was done by the philosopher, theologian, and historian Enrique Dussel, who, paradoxically, excludes the Caribbean from this discussion because he considered the destruction of the indigenous population in this region to be so sudden that there was no chance to structure any form of colonial domination (Dussel 1994:40). I consider that the instrumental aspects identified by Dussel are visible in the Caribbean and will help us understand it. Its applicability in the Caribbean resides in the fact that domination was a project forged in the practice and mentality of the reconquista of Spain and tested in the Antilles, and its regional implementation continued parallel to the phases of continental expansion, affecting and being affected by them. Domination emanates from an imperial policy directed to control the New World. The Spanish way of controlling differed depending on the moment, the metropolitan policy, the indigenous societies, etc. (Gasco 2005:72, 107). Nonetheless, the differences between the insular and the continental indigenous societies did not transform the project as much as Dussel believes. As Guitar (1998:276) states, most of the conquistadores and colonizers traveling to Mesoamerica and South America had previous experiences in the Caribbean islands. Upon colonizing these new lands, they took with them the basic economic, governmental, and legal infrastructure they had developed and perfected in Hispaniola (and, we should add, in Cuba, Puerto Rico, and Jamaica). Prominent aspects of this were the encomienda and slavery. They carry a scheme of a hierarchical society where the Spaniard is at its apex, and the socioeconomic objectives are well defined. At the same time, the values and concepts of their cultural tradition were already adjusted to the insular environment. In pre-Columbian Hispaniola class and tribute were established through filial bonds and alliances, with a strong ideological foundation and limited physical coercion, in concert with productive schemes with low surplus From Contact to the Colonial Situation

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(Moscoso 1986:313). The Spanish-imposed domination was a radical change, converting the indigenous individual into an object, exploited and managed in the framework of productive relations adopted by the colonial economy. In a legal sense the indigenous individual was recognized as a free human being, but in practice he was a commodity and an instrument of labor, whose existence had sense for the dominators only in terms of labor capacity and as a means of the production of economic benefits. In other words, the absolute alienation encompassed all aspects of their existence. The action of Spanish domination is based on the ancient right of Christian conquest over the lands of the infidels as transmitted from Christ to the pope. It was made into law, for the American case, when Pope Alexander VI proclaimed papal bulls authorizing the possession of these lands by Portugal and Spain. It exercised the right (Justa Guerra) to conquer those who did not want to convert to Christianity or those who in a voluntary manner did not accept the sovereignty of the Castilian king and queen, a scheme already applied in Gran Canaria (Ramos 1988:110). The humanist ideology of the era questioned such reasons, but it remained in the official jurisdiction and as such also in the practice of domination (Zavala 1971:28–29). Since 1501 the indigenous population had been recognized as free men and royal vassals. The inland penetration and domination were focused, according to the official discourse, on the peaceful act required to achieve the primary goal of the Spanish hegemony in the New World: the evangelization and salvation of the indigenous population (Zavala 1971:63). If indigenes did not accept the subjection by force of faith, or if they were found guilty of sins committed against natural law—like the Caribs, who were accused of cannibalism and multiple unacceptable vices—the response to their actions would be war, which by its just cause determined the enslavement of the enemy (García Añoveros 2000). In whichever expressions the indigenes were destined to be subjugated and dominated; there was no other position for them in the New World or any other way of interacting with the Europeans. The New Laws (Leyes Nuevas) of 1542 (Muro Orejón 1945) proposed a different understanding of the situation, but by that time the indigenous societies in the Antilles had become fragmented, and decisions would lie with individuals or small local groups, not with an organic social entity. When looking at the configuration of the Latin American world, Dussel analyzes the act of domination in conquest action and the structure of the continental colonial world. The implementation of domination, which we assume as a guide to understanding the Antillean case, was evaluated by Dussel (1994:39, 45, 54) in the following terms: 28

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1) The conquest: The Same violently reduces the Other to itself through the violent process of conquest. The Other, in his or her distinction, is denied as Other and is obliged, subsumed, alienated, and incorporated into the dominating totality like a thing or an instrument. This oppressed Other ends up either being interned (encomendado) on a plantation or hired as salaried labor on estates (haciendas) or, if an African slave, regimented into factories turning out sugar or other tropical products. 2) The colonization of the life-world: The colonization of the indigenous person’s daily life and later that of the African slave illustrated how the European process of modernization or civilization really subsumed (or alienated) the Other under the Same. This Other, however, no longer served as an object to be brutalized by the warlike praxis of a Cortés or a Pizarro. Rather, the Spanish subjugated the Other through an erotic, pedagogical, cultural, political, and economic praxis. The conqueror domesticated, structured, and colonized the manner in which those conquered lived and reproduced their lives. . . . The colonization of the Indian woman’s body is a thread in the same cultural fabric sustained by the exploitation of the Indian male’s body for the sake of a new economy. In this epoch of originary accumulation, mercantile capitalism will immolate and transform Indian corporeality into gold and silver. 3) The spiritual conquest: Generally, the Spanish regarded the entire indigenous imagery world as demonic and worthy of destruction. They interpreted the Other’s world as negative, pagan, satanic, and intrinsically perverse. Since the Spanish considered indigenous religion demonic and theirs divine, they pursued a policy of tabula rasa, the complete elimination of indigenous beliefs, as a first step in replacing those beliefs with their own . . . to teach them Christian doctrine and to inculcate in them every day the principal prayers, commandments, and precepts until they knew them by rote. This spiritual conquest also imposed a different time cycle (liturgical cycle) and alternative notions of space (sacred spaces). The whole indigenous sense of ritualized existence underwent change. In the Greater Antilles the military conquest was quick. It opened up the process of domination that inexorably continued over the modes of life and the spirits. Its results were dramatic; the labor system of intensive exploitation, organized from the encomienda but with a strong component of indigenous slaves and increasingly African slaves, produced a demographic catastrophe that was completed by the effects of diseases. Toward the end of the first decade of the sixteenth century, the enormous loss of population in Hispaniola From Contact to the Colonial Situation

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and its evident relation to the cruel treatment of the indigenous population forced the Crown, in some manner pressured by certain religious figures, to promote a corpus of laws directed to mitigate the situation. These were known as the Laws of Burgos. Promulgated in 1512 and modified in 1513 (Muro Orejón 1956), they provide the official perspective of a domination presented as protection; summarize previous regulations regarding the implementation of the encomienda; and incorporate others, with applicability to the whole region, including circum-Caribbean spaces. Alongside historical data from the island, we are able to recognize the action of domination connected to the encomienda from a programmatic perspective as well as a practical one. It is an approximate image, because the process varied from island to island and over the years, adjusting to asynchronic cycles of economic growth and the increased intensity of indigenous exploitation. The peak of gold extraction, late in Puerto Rico and Cuba when compared to Hispaniola, could be an indicator of this process. The encomiendas ceased with the implementation of the New Laws in 1542 but that implementation was not achieved in Hispaniola until 1549, in Cuba until 1553, and in Puerto Rico until 1546. In any case, domination did not cease, although now it was based on the control of the Indian as a free man, however marginalized by his class affiliations and limited demography, to the new economic and social environment. The surviving population was integrated to the Spanish settlements, many of them were moved into rural environments, and others, especially in Cuba, were resettled near the Spanish towns, where they served the needs of the Spaniards. The deep contrast between the Law of Burgos and the reality of colonial life can be expressed as follows.

“Colonization” of Lifeways The Law 1) Given their natural inclination for leisure, the only way to convert the Indians—the term used by the law—to Christianity was to force them to live near Spaniards, so that they could benefit from the latter’s protection, treatment, and example, and from the teachings of the Christian faith. Their villages would be destroyed, and they would be moved (a soft manner was required) to wood-and-thatch huts (bohíos) in chosen spaces offering them the minimum conditions for farming and animal husbandry. 2) Using them for heavy loading was prohibited. They would work for a period of five months, after which they could return to their houses or their own villages, to rest for 40 days. During this period they would dedicate time 30

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to farming and to receiving religious instruction; rest would coincide with the initiation of the annual period of gold smelting. 3) A third of the Indians of each encomendero would be in the mines, or more if any would wish, except when they lived in regions that were too far away. In this case, they would be occupied making hammocks or shirts, in pig husbandry, or in agricultural labor. To obtain food for Indians, the encomenderos could collaborate by one putting all of his Indians in the mine and the other making his Indians work in food production. 4) It was prohibited for them to sleep on the ground, and the delivery of a hammock for every Indian was ordered. The Indians were to be dressed within a period of no more than two years. The encomendero would pay them a gold peso every year, with which they would buy clothing. The caciques and their wives would receive special treatment in food, clothing, and money, the last of which would be deducted from the payment of the other Indians. They would also maintain servants and work only in light labor. 5) Unmarried women would be under the control of their parents, and if that were not the case, they should avoid falling into a sinful life; they would be indoctrinated and work with the rest. Pregnant women or those with children younger than three years would work at home, and children under 14 years would do light farming chores. 6) There should be no mistreatment of the Indian, either as a physical act or in words, but the encomendero could take them to the inspectors (visitadores) when they needed to be reprimanded. The visitadores would be informed of the Indians that were born and of those that died. They would also make sure that the law was being followed by visiting the places where they lived or worked. Those encomenderos who would not follow these rules would be fined or their encomienda would be taken away. Slaves could be treated as the encomendero thought best, as long as it was for the sake of their doctrine and acceptance of the Christian faith. 7) Women could not be forced to go to the mines with their husbands, except by the will of their husbands, or they could go of their own will. Otherwise, they would remain working on their lands or in the Spaniards’ farms. Polygamy was prohibited, as was marriage between close relatives; Christian marriage was encouraged. Indians could maintain their festivities and areitos.

The Practice 1) The encomienda supposes the transformation of the indigenous existence in a process of intensive exploitation, outside of their own spaces and origiFrom Contact to the Colonial Situation

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nal ways of life and labor. The agricultural facilities (estancias) where the encomendados lived and worked many times united the slaves and Spaniards responsible for their control, the sugar mill, but above all the mines, which were exploited with a rationale that had at its base the manual labor, with minimal expenditure on food and technical support and with strong physical coercion (Sued Badillo 2001:310–28). Poor nutrition and the change in diet made the encomendados more vulnerable to disease. The labor force potentially mixed indigenous encomendados from different communities, indigenous slaves of diverse origin, and African slaves in a similar situation and with a different grade of knowledge from the Spanish lifeways. It would also include naborías, natives with a status similar to that of a slave but who could not be sold (Mira Caballos 1997:80). As a pattern, the natives gradually lost connection with the community because of the deaths of other group members and because of the impossibility or difficulty of returning to their villages after completing the demora. In this context, the term indio allegado appears. It was used in the census of 1514 in Hispaniola and designated native refugees under the leadership of a new cacique after the disappearance of their original community. For the same reason some of these Indians were assigned to be under the control of encomenderos (Moya Pons 1982:127). Such uprooting became more dramatic in the case of women, where the hardships of labor included sexual exploitation. In 1514 women were the group with the highest levels of mortality in Hispaniola (Moya Pons 1982:129). The processes previously mentioned were accelerated in the mining zones. The loss of spatial and social references, the isolation, and the certainty of a quick death generated an individual alienation that frequently was projected toward suicide. In this multiethnic environment, links between the exploited were formed, but difference and discord also were stimulated by the Spaniards, who used the natives to repress other natives and Africans, and vice versa. The labor force usually was managed by the miners or foremen of the estancias, who worked for a particular encomendero or were his servant. They were individuals who did not have a fixed salary but received a portion of their gains, which determined the maximum levels of exploitation. The distribution of the settlers of an indigenous village among several encomenderos also promoted less-than-humane treatment and an increase in mortality (Mira Caballos 1997:173; Sued Badillo 2001:321). In the Spanish towns the presence of naborías and slaves, who served permanently in the Spaniards’ houses, was important. They were, in this case, obligated to lead a Spanish way of life. It was an environment with a 32

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considerable feminine presence, marked by physical labor and sexual submission. The third decade saw the founding of sugar mills (ingenios). It was also the beginning of the cattle-ranching economy, where the Indian had a decisive role, contrary to the African, who was considered to be of more use in ingenios and plantations. However, in Cuba mining continued to be an important industry characterized by Indian labor. 2) Slavery continued and increased until 1542, when it was prohibited by the New Laws. At the beginning it was common to provoke confrontations to justify enslaving the natives, a situation that was stimulated by the introduction of the encomienda while not engaging in its legal contention. Not only were local slaves incorporated into the labor force, they also were an important commercial product within the island economy (Sued Badillo 2001:187–88). In general, slaves had a mobility and treatment different from that of the native encomendados, marked by accentuated exploitation and the absence of rest periods. The import of thousands of indigenous slaves from other areas commenced early in the colonial action. Slavery was so important in Puerto Rico’s case, according to Anderson-Córdova (1990:286), that it almost was able to replace the nearly extinct local population. At first, African slavery was limited, due to its costs, much higher than the costs for indigenous slaves, which in turn elicited better treatment. With the waning numbers of natives and prohibition of their enslavement, they acquired greater dimensions, and African blacks passed to the lowest level of the social scale. Even when the encomendado was a free man, arbitrary dispositions facilitated his sale (a common practice in Cuba), and even his illegal representation as a slave (Mira Caballos 1997:163). 3) Some Spaniards recognized the convenience of maintaining the indigenous communities in their own settlements (Anderson-Córdova 1990:280; Mira Caballos 1997:108, 173), even though they were moved many times to areas near the mines and work areas. In Hispaniola transfers were first implemented in 1503 and became more frequent from 1514 onward; some groups were displaced up to 400 km from their original location (Moya Pons 1992:128). The concentration of communities formed the so-called reducciones initiated by the governor Nicolás de Ovando in 1503 and expanded in 1514, or the experiencias, which were settlements where the natives’ capacity for independent life could be tested. Experiencias were characterized by the direct presence of Spaniards, to press the indigenous population to adopt Spanish lifeways, including clothing and religious practices, and for conflicts between the caciques that were forced to live together and to redefine their leadership positions. Lynne Guitar uses the term “disorientation” From Contact to the Colonial Situation

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to refer to the effect of these processes, where dramatic changes occur in the indigenous perception of their environment and their relationship with other communities (Guitar 1998:69, 113). Uprooting is a strategy used with the native population taken arbitrarily as slaves or through Just War. Many times rebellious prisoners were sent to another island to limit their capacity to organize and resist, as occurred in 1512 when it was ordered that they be sent from Hispaniola to Puerto Rico and vice versa (Fernández 1966:404). 4) Village existence was affected by the absence of substantial numbers of the community’s members during a large part of the year, and to an existence centered on survival, with daily tasks taken over by the elderly, children, and incapacitated individuals. The separation of men and women, and the fragmentation of village groups, interrupted biological reproduction cycles and the social and ritual processes that sustain and perpetuate community life. The villages became more vulnerable to external pressure, be it from Spaniards, Africans, or other natives, for example, attacks by African slaves on indigenous settlements in Cuba in 1533, where they looted and kidnapped women (Mira Caballos 1997:190). The elimination of polygamy and the imposition of Christian marriages affected kinship systems and intra- and intercommunity alliances. Parallel to this, the relations between native women and Spaniards intensified, even more common when the women came from outside of the native settlements. In 1530 one in five marriages registered in Puerto Rico were of this kind (Brau 1966). This statistic provides an approximation of the high frequency of cohabitation that must have existed but was not recognized publicly. Marriages, cohabitation, concubinage, and forced encounters generated an ever-growing mestizo stratum whose identity tended to be manipulated. In fact, there was an interest in persuading the mestizos to adopt Christian life and to break the indigenous identity inherited from their mothers (Mira Caballos 2000a:290). The continuity of mestizaje made the social component viable, increasing in concert with the decrease of indigenous births and adult deaths. By 1514 in Hispaniola, of 401 registered indigenous communities, 172 had no registered children (Moya Pons 1982:128). 5) The encomienda reached every native that was able to work, including the nitaíno elite. The caciques were the only ones excluded, recognized as mediators in the organization and exploitation of the indigenous labor force, and in some cases as allies, enlisted in the repression of rebellious natives and Africans or in the conquest of other islands. The caciques’ privileges could include noble treatment and horse and weapon ownership, but never political or legal capacity (Mira Caballos 1997:85). Rebel chiefs shared their fate with the rest of the natives. In 1511 in Puerto Rico, they were ordered enslaved 34

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and sent to Hispaniola to make an example of them (Fernández 1966:397). The presence of cacicas (female chiefs) and of nitaínos under the charge of the chiefs, in the 1514 census, indicates the activation of mechanisms of succession to maintain the community direction in the absence of direct heirs (Moya Pons 1982:128). On every island the Spanish used the cacicas to gain community control through marriage. The frequency of the relations with them is reported in the 1514 census (Moya Pons 1982:125). By that date 31 percent of the encomenderos in Hispaniola were married to female natives. These types of relationships were common in Puerto Rico in 1528 and 1534 (Fernández 1966:429; Sued Badillo 1989:64). Toward the end of the second decade of the sixteenth century, the decrease of the indigenous population stimulated the intensification of the importation and use of African slaves. This, and the arrival of new encomenderos from other places, who were not as familiarized with indigenous practices, affected the importance of local chiefs in the plan for domination (Guitar 1998:115). The demographic weakening also generated rivalries for community leadership, as well as the rupture of schemes of collaboration and intercommunity alliances (AndersonCórdova 1990:129). 6) The visitadores, who were in charge of the encomienda system control, had natives from the same regime until the end of the second decade of the sixteenth century, actively participating in its exploitation and ignoring the abuse of the encomenderos. The same occurred for a long time with the other authorities on the islands and important Crown personages, creating a conflict of interest that in the long run always affected the indigenous population. The Spaniards were constantly asking to be exempt from fulfilling the regulatory requirements for the treatment of the Indians in terms of providing food, hammocks, and construction of housing, or not even bothering to meet the regulations. They also resisted the experiencia de libertad or honoring the orders to eliminate the encomienda. The encomienda regime facilitated a colonial perception of the indigenous population as a source of riches and not as human beings, and, as such, it exercised complete control that went beyond the proclaimed ethos expressed in religious and political terms.

Spiritual Conquest The Law 1) A church would be constructed where there was a presence of various estancias, alongside images of the Virgin and crosses. Indians and Spaniards would assist on Sunday to pray and to listen to Mass. The Indians were to From Contact to the Colonial Situation

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learn the commandments, and on that day they would eat beef stew and a better meal. The same would be true at the mines, where there was always a plan for abundant food. After they returned from work, the Indians would attend church, where the encomendero would teach them prayers. Absences would be reprimanded by loss of the next rest day. 2) Special attention would be placed on teaching the caciques the Christian faith, so that they could instruct the rest of the Indians. Their offspring and the smarter children would be educated by friars; they would learn to read and write and also instruct other Indians. It was required that the clergy or the one in charge of the encomienda baptize a child in a period of eight days after his or her birth. 3) The clergy would collect the tithe from the farming estates where there were Indians present; they would give Mass and confession. They would also give the last rites to dying Indians and bury them without charge. If there was a church on the estate, the dead would be buried there; if there was none present or if they died somewhere else, then they were to be buried where the Christians believed that they should be.

The Practice The conquest of the spirit started with the destruction of the indigenous spirituality and the imposition of Christianity as the only option for integration and continuity of the indigenous population. The former was done through the destruction of idols, condemning the forms of adoration of their images and the behiques’ shamanic and healing practices as heresy. It also was done by physically eliminating political and religious leaders, principal bearers of indigenous knowledge and spiritual tradition, and by forcing them to follow Christian ways in other spheres of life. Christian marriage, baptism, and covering their sinful naked bodies was required. Burial of the dead impeded indigenous funerary rites, where the exposition and manipulation of the body was, at times, of great importance. At the beginning, evangelization was accepted by many indigenous groups that desired access to the supernatural powers of the Christians. On some occasions we find the incorporation of Christian images as cemís embedded with this power (Oliver 2009:227). Leaders that were interested in alliances with the Spaniards also accepted the evangelization as a requirement for a convenient military support against rival caciques. However, it also was rejected by those who did not accept the change in beliefs or perceived as false the sermon offered by those who killed them and were destroying their world. 36

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Once domination was consolidated, there were no alternatives; being a Christian became an obligation. The caciques and their families and offspring were the first to be pressured; many offspring of the native elite in Hispaniola and Cuba were removed from the indigenous environment and educated in Spain or in schools in Concepción de la Vega and Santo Domingo, in Hispaniola. It is there that the cacique Enriquillo studied. He remained a Christian even as he led the most important indigenous rebellion in Hispaniola. This policy extended to the general population of Christian natives, and in 1511 native slaves were moved from Hispaniola so that they could teach and indoctrinate those in San Juan, Puerto Rico (Fernández 1966:395). Christianization had the practical objective of facilitating submission and producing more docile workers (Mira Caballos 1997:236). In any case, evangelization left much to be desired. Friars were scarce and without instruction, there were few churches, there were no bilingual teaching books, and there was no real desire to reach the indigenous population, who themselves were generally disinterested in the new religion. Many times they were only baptized and given a Christian name. King Ferdinand complained about the preachings’ poor effect, noting only the change in children that were educated by the friars (Mira Caballos 2000a:256, 269). The natives must have noticed the contradiction between the Christian discourse and the reality, including the attitude of the clergy who were in charge of indoctrination, not to mention the encomenderos. Fernando Ortiz (2008:36) explains how the natives equated being Christian with knowing how to lie, linking the act of conversion with acquiring a negative nature, inherent to Europeans and many of the friars. This was the case even among members of the religious orders, even though others, like Bartolomé de las Casas, Antonio Montesino, and Pedro de Córdoba, fought to protect the indigenes from Spanish exploitation and achieve a sincere and voluntary conversion. Other clerics managed encomiendas and treated the natives like any other slaver. This occurred even among the principal representatives of the church. The San Juan and Cuban bishops Alonso Manso and Miguel Ramírez controlled large encomiendas. Some of the clergy that managed experiencia de libertad towns stole the benefits of indigenous labor. The cleric in charge of the experiencia de libertad town near the Bayamo in Cuba cohabitated with a married native female and rented the Indians of the town to other Spaniards to work for them or to serve in the persecution of runaway Indians (Mira Caballos 1997:182, 211, 238). Bishop Miguel Ramírez charged excessive amounts for the burial of natives, something that was not that different from the practices of other encoFrom Contact to the Colonial Situation

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menderos and slave dealers, who were criticized by the Dominicans in Hispaniola for abandoning their bodies and even treating them like trash. Las sepulturas que fasta agora poco tiempo á les an dado, era atallos pies e mano, y abelles un palo por entre los brazos e las piernas como yban a los cuerpos muertos a los ómbros de dos yndios, e arroxábanlos al muladar, que abia ombre que thernia tantos uesos en su muladar de aquestos sobredichos e yndios, como suele aber en un cementerio de las yglesias de Castilla. (The burials that until recently they did [to the Indians] were bound feet and hands, and with a mast between the arms and legs the dead bodies were carried on the shoulders of two Indians, and they threw them in trash heaps, that there was a man that had as many Indian bones in his trash heap as you would see in the cemeteries of Castilian churches). (Torres de Mendoza 1880:35:199–240)

The Construction of the Indian As a result of the colonization of their way of life and the conquest of their spirit, there is not only the destruction of the indigenous society, but there is also the construction of a new being. The natives become Indian through a process of appropriation and transformation of their identity, initiated by the voyages of discovery and culminating in a new ethnic group. This denomination appeared in the information about the Antilles collected in Christopher Columbus’ diary (1961:70) and reflects the erroneous belief in the discovery of the Indies and their inhabitants. It is a flexible denomination, constantly readjusted by the Europeans and converted rapidly in a resource for domination by using it, at first, to identify the settlers of the Greater Antilles and the Bahamas as “peaceful and civilizable,” in contrast with the so-called Caribe (Carib) in the Lesser Antilles. The latter was considered suitable for slavery, due to their bellicose attitude and their cannibalistic practices.2 Using the term to refer to groups different from the Caribs artificially homogenizes a population that throughout the European chronicle demonstrates their diverse nature. The term Carib is projected in a similar way, because the human universe that it signifies seems to be just as diverse, according to various authors (Lenik 2012; Whitehead 1996a, 1996b). As control and colonization ripened in the economic and social environment, the Carib became another enslaved Indian. Census categories of 1514 in Hispaniola (Moya Pons 1982) show this other aspect of the hidden diversity of the term. Indians will be those of service (simple members of a determined 38

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local community), like the naborías, the slaves, and the allegados. According to Anderson-Córdova (1990) the last three categories include local and nonlocal natives. In Cuba and Puerto Rico these denominations are adjusted, but in general the situation is very similar. Guillermo Bonfil Batalla (1977:21) notes that the term masks a historic specificity and the identities of the indigenous populations, and it converts them, under a new colonial order, into a plural and uniform being: the Indian—the Indians. The Indian is, then, a colonial category that denotes the condition of the colonized and makes necessary reference to the colonial relationship. The idea of the Indian is framed by the domination scheme and serves as a way to represent a part of the dominated. It projects and sustains an innate difference with respect to the dominator/colonizer, a defeated and inferior position, whose chances at being inserted into a new reality depend on the acceptance or approximation of the dominators’ patterns (Adorno 1988; Bonfil Batalla 1977; Roldan 1988). The Indian is also an ethnic condition with regard to the acknowledgment of features that differentiate him from others (mestizos, blacks, whites); such a condition is made concrete—within the ethnogenesis process—with the individuals that were born in a colonial environment, progressively distanced from the cultural features of their ancestors, and carriers of new features that are part of this colonial setting. This position is imposed in full after the end of the encomiendas and the forced or independent regrouping of the surviving population that maintain their existence in the following centuries. At this moment, and in many cases, it starts before the Indian appears as a product of incomplete assimilation, because even though in programmatic form there is a desire to remove the indigenous identity and behavioral and material patterns, both sides work to maintain the difference: the Spanish pretend to consecrate the inferiority, and the Indians to not lose their roots. Their sociocultural world and physical appearance concentrate the indigenous essence, an essence of multiple origins. It also incorporates the reconfiguration generated within the colonial circumstance that carries the key of Western origin, indispensable in this environment. The Indian will be a man dressed the way the Spanish want, speaking the Spanish language, supposedly or really cultivating their religion, with a Christian name and working for Christians (Decoster 2005; Guitar 1998:271).

The Indian as an Agent in the Colonial Environment In general the analysis of domination has lost its force in the colonialism discussion. It is assumed that it constitutes only one part of the colonial scheme From Contact to the Colonial Situation

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and that when it is the center of research, it tends to obscure the action of the dominated and contributes to perpetuating the image created by a narrative of power and by the dominators. In a way this work connects to the critique, from postcolonial thought to “essentialism,” where diversity is reduced to the supposed essence that defines and positions a group, mostly exemplified by the dichotomy colonizer–colonized (Liebmann 2008:73). The colonial environment intermixed diverse people and transformed the identities of the colonized and the colonizers; it was not a static environment with fixed identities always in opposition. The implicit acculturation models in Foster’s scheme and the one proposed by Balandier tend to be substituted in archaeological terms by a focus interested in capturing these dynamics as well as the multidirectionality of change and the emergence of new identities, or continuity and resistance where the role of social agents is key (Deagan 1998; Rogers 2005; Stein 2005:17). In the Caribbean case, domination characterizes and identifies the social order, the essence of relations of production, and the classes that are inserted in a socioeconomic universe with feudal features and, at the same time, capitalists. As in any situation of domination, the dominated is its product, and dominators and dominated live in a complementary relationship; one cannot exist without the other, nor can they be explained or understood independently (Miller 2005:64). Social agents, individuals with objectives and intentions that influence their environment and social, political, and economic relations developed in it, in tune with their goals and according to determined sociohistoric conditions, are inserted into this relationship (Hodder and Hutson 2003; Wobst 2000). The individual actions are contextualized within a group of regulations and resources that constrain them and at the same time allow them: one can act within a determined structure. In this perspective the individuals establish their existence in an intentional and strategic manner, but still in a routine and everyday way. The individuals have a certain degree of agency, the capacity of participating in and influencing events, but not everybody has the power over other actors and resources, the capacity of domination (Hodder and Hutson 2003:96). However, there is still the possibility of resisting by changing and subverting relationships of domination (Saitta 1994). The Indian as a colonial category is a phenomenon that is not only part of the colonizer imposition, acting upon the indigenous domestic, physical and spiritual life, now Indian. The Indian is the protagonist of that process, an active agent in search of ways and solutions, confronting and managing

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domination and the colonizing exercise of power. Indian performance is also in relation to their internal diversity, conditioned by their social and juridical status (cacique—common Indian; free—slave) and territorial origin, including ethnic origin, among other factors. The indigenous population and the Indian resist in multiple ways but also learn the rules of the dominators and use them to their advantage when possible. In this sense, beyond resistance, there is a very situational action for survival, which involves strategic alliances with other exploited groups (blacks and Indians), and also integration in a new social order aligned with the colonizers. The native, and later the Indian, resists domination in an active way. First, in battle, escape to the mountains, or villages and crops abandoned to deny the Spanish supplies. The escape to other islands or places is an important option, particularly in Hispaniola and Puerto Rico (Anderson-Córdova 1990:276–83), but also in Cuba (Worth 2004). In the midst of the colonial consolidation, the Indian rebellions, which included Christian Indians like Enriquillo, continued in Hispaniola, Cuba, and Puerto Rico until the end of the encomienda and increased apace with the colonizers’ movements into new spaces of conquest (Guitar 1998; Ibarra 1979; Jiménez Pastrana 1985; Mira Caballos 1997; Sued Badillo 2001). The resistance included subtle ways, such as hiding information about medicinal plants or curative recipes, and condemnation and reprisals toward those that shared such knowledge with the Spanish (Mira Caballos 2000a:205). The Christian faith was constantly denied, so that after years of indoctrination the Indians apparently did not understand. However, they took advantage of any situation that allowed a return to their rites, even carrying them out in Spanish settings such as haciendas and ranches. In 1543, when there was an attempt to liberate the Indians in Cuba, it was argued that it was not convenient to eliminate the encomiendas, because when the demora ended and Indians were gone from the mines, they spent time in “areitos y otros vicios” (areitos and other vices) (Real Academia de la Historia 1891:6:184). Even when possibly part of manipulating discourse to avoid liberation, the complaint is repeated with frequency and indicates that 30 years after the start of colonization, indigenous spirituality and nonconformity with the world imposed by the Spanish were still alive. As commented by Anderson-Córdova (1990:279), this is connected to a double attitude: independence in their settlements or in faraway spaces, and acceptance in Spanish settings. It is a strategic behavior that proves the limited level of change or acculturation that was achieved.

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The relationship with Europeans, even in a situation of colonial dominion, supposes opportunities to obtain resources of Spanish materiality, such as weapons, tools, and animals. Even when females were subjected to continued aggression, cohabitation and marriage were, on occasion, a survival strategy. For cacicas it was a way to maintain certain personal privileges, which could be extended to close relatives and offspring. It is important to keep in mind how certain lines of succession kept functioning in the midst of the colonial situation in Puerto Rico. There, Sued Badillo (1989:59–69) has followed the family connections of a group of cacicas from the region of Caguas, where they were able to maintain their position for many years. This was allowed by the Europeans, as occurred later in diverse parts of the continent (Rodríguez Alegría 2005), but it also was promulgated by the interest and direct collaboration of these women and their relatives. Cacica María was the last one recognized. She was born in 1510, when conquest had already started on the island. In 1528 she appears to have married a Spaniard who used the marriage to control the cacica’s people. The history of María shows that apart from their abuse, some women possessed problem-solving skills that safeguarded not only their lives but also their leadership. Some caciques inserted into this perspective of integration, especially those with religious instruction, employed Spanish legal mechanisms to defend their communities’ and their interests. This was something cacique Enriquillo attempted, without success, before rebelling. Other caciques, in 1540, and also in Hispaniola, under the royal decree asked to be released from the encomienda, because they considered themselves ready to live as Christians. They proposed to maintain a Spanish-style settlement with a proper church (Guitar 1998:271). In the second half of the sixteenth century, the Indians adopted a more active role in searching for alternatives to their existence or negotiating their position in the colonial environment. Isolated communities living outside of Spanish control are reported in Cuba and Hispaniola (Guitar et al. 2006:51; Marrero 1993b:354). Other individuals settled in Spanish towns as part of the lower class, though on occasion engaging in some trade skill. Many were restricted to settlements in Cuba such as Guanabacoa, El Caney, and Trinidad, where, with an understanding of the operation of the colonial apparatus and full use of the official discourse, they demanded their rights over lands or defended themselves from attempts to impose on them new forms of dependency.

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Transculturation and Ethnogenesis: Indians and Mestizos The postcolonial vision, as a way of thinking about the representation of colonial situations and the legacy of colonialism (Van Dommelen 2005:112), has been a valuable tool. Among its contributions, the concept of hybridity helps us to understand the transformation of identities as more fluid than the traditional notion of fixed essence (Liebmann 2008:83). This term, associated with the creation of different communities by descendants of indigenous people and of the colonizers (Bhabha 1992 cited by Van Dommelen 2005:117), supports the perception of a difference born from integration of the poles of colonial existence. The idea of mixing appears as an important strategy for observing the complexity of the processes of negotiation and interaction, and the multiple roots of certain aspects in this universe (Van Dommelen 2005:118). Liebmann (2008:83, 85) links hybridity with transculturation to talk about the features of the (new) forms produced through colonization, impossible to classify in one cultural or ethnic category, and associated with a notion of disjunction and conjunction. In Liebmann’s opinion, the postcolonial treatment of the concept focuses on the rejection of the idea of pure cultures and leans toward the interdependence and mutual construction of colonized and colonizers, recognizing multidirectionality and the flux of influences. The use of the term hybridity has been critiqued, because it might imply the preexistence of a purity in the combination of social formations, the dissolution of cultural differences to create a homogeneity where culture is obscured, and a vision disconnected from the past by sustaining the unique characters of the expressions that appear in colonialism (Liebmann 2008:85–88). The concepts of transculturation and hybridity are similar, but they were formed in different circumstances. Transculturation did not originate in the reflection of discourse or the cultural representation of colonialism, but rather from the analysis of the diversity of cultural origins and the process of construction of new cultural products, linked with certain ancestral lines. It seems to be a better option to deal with the research theme, not only because it lacks the implications in the discussion of hybridity, but because it was specifically formulated to understand Caribbean reality by analyzing its present and its past. Transculturation was a concept established in the 1940s by the Cuban ethnologist Fernando Ortiz. He substitutes and, at the same time, unifies the concepts of acculturation (as the acquisition of a new culture), deculturation (as the loss of culture), and neoculturation (as the creation of a new culture). Transculturation is the process of the development of new cultural expressions From Contact to the Colonial Situation

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in a situation of cultural interrelationship, where influences are exchanged, losing and acquiring new components. The concept includes all the components of human existence, including the biological aspect; the transcultural result in Cuba is “un amestizamiento de razas y culturas” (mix of races and cultures) (Ortiz 1983:87, 90). Transculturation generates influences in all directions, including on the dominant group, and perceives change as a global process. Immersed in the idea of contact-discovery and the rapid disappearance of the indigenous population, limited by the archaeological knowledge of the era and also by its historical prejudices, Ortiz denies the transculturation of the Indian. However, he accepts the inclusion of Indian components to a mix with Spanish and Africans—many others will also be incorporated—to give rise to a new expression: the criollo culture, later becoming the Cuban culture (Ortiz 1991). The Indian as an individual is present, but not with the visibility desired by Ortiz. Nonetheless, historical data will discover Indians throughout the centuries, and their physical presence will become apparent in their contemporary descendants in parts of Cuba and Hispaniola and will be identified in the genetic base of Puerto Rico (Barreiro 2006; Guitar et al. 2006; Martínez Cruzado 2002; Martínez Cruzado et al. 2001; Rivero de la Calle 1978). This is the result of various forms of survival and early integration, and of the process of mestizaje with different rhythms and ingredients, from which the Indian emerges among other population components. These are aspects of transculturation in the sense of a greater process, expressed in this case in a situation of ethnogenesis. Ethnogenesis refers to the birth of new ethnic identities, understood as the sentiments of social belonging based on culturally constructed notions of shared origins, generated from the perception of similarity and at the same time difference (Lucy 2005:100–101). The result was previously unrecognized ethnic groups that combined and transformed aspects from multiple cultural traditions of form and meaning (Moore 1994 cited by Deagan 1998:29). The Indian is one of these new identities, sketched in the contact situation and consolidated in the midst of the colonial situation as the descendant groups of the original population or of the surviving indigenous population, whatever may be their real origin. This Indian, and especially those individuals that searched for spaces after the encomienda, mixed diverse indigenous ethnic roots. This new identity integrated different people from diverse cultural and spatial origins, and carried new forms of culture and existence, adjusted in accordance to the environment of colonial power. The Indian is defined not only by European perceptions, but also by population reconfiguration imposed by moving slaves and mixing them with en44

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comendados. It also comes from the same indigenous strategies for reorganization and survival, without a doubt connected to pre-Columbian processes of individual movements between communities and spaces, through systems of marriage and alliances. Here there is space for population movements of those that flee the Europeans and the presence of the allegados, refugees in other communities and under the leadership of a new cacique. This Indian will be a different individual from the initial Indian—an indigenous person in terms of identity and culture on whom the Europeans imposed the denomination as part of the dynamics previously discussed. This new individual constructs himself without losing that prism through which his perception of the world and even the Christian ideology pass. We talk about a process that takes place through various decades and where the action of homogenization was imposed by the dominator. For this reason within the Indians as a category—especially early on—there must have been multiple ways of assuming this condition. In other words, individuals that conserved their original ethnic and indigenous identity could have cohabited with others who, perhaps completely framed in the colonial and cultural order, perceived themselves as different. From this perspective we can talk about the initial coexistence of an indigenous identity and an Indian identity that marked the standing of these people in respect to the dominator and their participation in the definition of their capacity of integration, resistance, and survival. Many mestizos had to place themselves in the category Indian, according to their residence and upbringing, producing a singular human nucleus resulting from the demographic fragility of its pure components. However, Indians and mestizos are different. The term mestizo is used to designate the mix of Spanish and Indian, whereas “mulato” is used for the mix of Spanish and black. Biologically, mestizos would be the offspring of an intermixing of the three ethnic groups concurrent with the arrival of the Spanish: indigenous population, Europeans, and Africans. In whichever combinations, the mestizos, with Indians and blacks, are part of the marginal and exploited base of colonial society, even with the possibility of improvement of their social position due to a white progenitor. The sons of female Indians and Spanish men were recognized as subversive and dangerous, because of their rapid demographic increase. In the third decade of the sixteenth century, they united with the rebel group led by Enriquillo and appeared in other parties commonly found in rural zones of Hispaniola. To neutralize their turbulent inclinations, the Crown attempted to guide them to a Christian life and foster their education. At the same time, the Crown constructed a web of prohibitions directed to From Contact to the Colonial Situation

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limit their access, as well as the mulatos, to control of the indigenous work force, royal office, or public office (Mira Caballos 2000a:294). The mestizos do not appear as groups in the Antillean census or in the descriptions of the Spanish towns’ populations until the end of the sixteenth century, but they are mentioned individually in some documents. According to Guitar (2003:119), many more must have been registered under one of the basic categories of Spanish, Indian, or black, more in accordance with their social and economic position than their physical appearance. Sons of Indian mothers were raised as Spaniards and were able to reach advantageous positions, especially when they were the only sons. Many, particularly if they were not in a Spanish environment, had a tendency to acquire the identity of their mothers and be seen like them. The mestizos (from a female Indian) are recognized as different from Indians in their features and behavior and tend to be imbued with more power than Indians, mulatos, and blacks (Guitar 2003:120; Marrero 1993b:370). The mestizos, no matter their origin, constitute a group capable of connecting the different social and ethnic categories and moving among them. The Indians and mestizos in Spanish environments, usually female, introduce resources of their material, dietary, healing culture into the life of the Spanish, coming from the intimate sphere or private coexistence. This was done equally by the blacks and their mestizo descendants, completing a mix in which cultural aspects flow from many areas of day-to-day life. The sons of the Spaniards born in America grew up in an environment where Indians, blacks, and mestizos were the workforce, a world different from their elders’, with other rhythms and perspectives. They would be called criollo, like the Africans’ descendants. Appearing until the eighteenth century, this label was not applied to the Indians and their mestizo descendants (Le Riverend and Venegas 2005:14). This singularity has not been thoroughly studied but suggests an acknowledgment that the Indian is local, American, a dimension the others lack with respect to their ancestry. In any case, those born in the New World in the midst of colonial domination would be different, be it in their non-American roots or in their pre-Columbian foundation. They were transculturated products and agents of the multiethnic society, with a particular environmental and life experience, and where the mélange is a symbol of identity. The creolization, as the construction of a new and plural society, reached everyone.

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Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

3 Cuba The Spanish Colonization

At the moment of European arrival, according to Bartolomé de las Casas (1972:74), in Cuba there seems to have been a coexistence between Agricultural Ceramicist societies, distributed in the majority of the archipelago, and remnants of the Archaic or “fisher-gatherer” groups (Guarch Delmonte et al. 1995) that Las Casas calls Guanahatabeyes, concentrated on the western portion of the island. The Cuban Agricultural Ceramicists or Agriculturalists are recognized as communities with an Arawak linguistic base and South American ancestries,1 bearers of Meillacan Ostionoid and Chican Ostionoid ceramics, or, as named by Irving Rouse (1992:7), Western Taínos and Classic Taínos respectively. I avoid the use of Rouse’s terms, because use of the name Taíno lacks an appropriate historical foundation and archaeological support (Valcárcel Rojas 2008). The idea of a parallel occupation is questioned by some researchers, given that there is no reliable chronological information on the Archaic presence in this period (González 2008; Keegan 1992). The Agricultural Ceramicist occupation goes back to at least the ninth century AD, but calibration of the earliest dates pushes the date back to the seventh century AD, following migration from Hispaniola (Valcárcel Rojas 2008:9–10). The available chronology, based on radiocarbon dating (Cooper 2007; Pino 1995) or the presence of early European materials (Romero 1995; Valcárcel Rojas 1997), as well as the descriptions left by the Europeans, indentify settlements that were occupied into the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries AD in eastern Cuba and, to a lesser degree, in the center and part of the west of the island. The total population at the time of Spanish colonization (1510) is estimated by Juan Pérez de la Riva (1972:66) to be around 101,000 individuals; archaeologists are inclined toward higher

numbers, closer to 200,000 if the small Archaic group is included (Domínguez et al. 1994:7). The native people were described as having physical features similar to the ones the Europeans saw in Hispaniola, small height and copper skin (Fernández de Oviedo 1992:115). They lived in villages of diverse sizes; there is mention of establishments of one or two houses, of five, and even large towns of 50 houses (Colón 1961:84). In Caonao’s village Bartolomé de las Casas (1876:22) observed two open places where most of the population was concentrated. Open spaces are reported in the form of plazas in different sites, but formal plazas, enclosed by earthen embankments, are found only in eastern Cuba (Torres 2006:40). In any case, sites with formal plazas are few in number, and it is hard to establish the timing of their construction. Sites with ceramics associated with the Chican Ostionoid subseries, henceforth referred to as Chican ceramics, are concentrated in this zone. They show a strong local affiliation. The other main category of ceramics is what Rouse (1992:96) classifies as the Meillacan Ostionoid subseries, henceforth referred to as Meillacan ceramics. This kind of pottery predominates in the rest of the island and shows features of strong local character. An intense elaboration in ceremonial paraphernalia and body ornaments is distinguished. These objects and ornaments are stylistically related to typical examples found elsewhere in the Greater Antilles even when they do not achieve the elaboration and complexity observed in Hispaniola and Puerto Rico. Some of the ceremonies seen on Hispaniola were also reported in Cuba. Fernández de Oviedo (1992:116) mentions areitos (ceremonial music and dance rituals), and Las Casas (1994:1852) comments on widespread ritual fasting done by the behíques (shamans, healers, and spiritual leaders) as preparation for engaging in communication with the spirit world through trances. Ancestor worship and the cemí tradition, of great importance in nearby islands (Oliver 2009), are inferred by the European mention of the curation of crania and idols in households (Colón 1961:75, 110). The zones inside the villages were used on occasion for funerary purposes. The bodies of one to seven individuals were buried in middens and diverse spaces. There is mention of the use of funerary mounds (García Castañeda 1938a), but there is no research that proves the intentional creation of such structures. There are no known cemeteries like those associated with Saladoid and Ostionoid ceramics as in Puerto Rico (Crespo Torres 2000; Curet and Oliver 1998; Siegel 1999), or with the Chican and Ostionan subseries ceramics (Rouse 1992:52) in Hispaniola (Morbán Laucer 1979; Luna Calderón

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Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

1985; Ortega 2002; Tavárez 2007; Tavárez and Luna Calderón 2007; Veloz et al. 1972; Veloz et al. 1973). The most common mortuary treatment is burial in caves, as occurs in other contexts with Meillacan ceramics in the Bahamas and Greater Antilles (Allsworth-Jones 2008; Atkinson 2006; Keegan 1982; Schaffer et al. 2012; Winter 1991).2 In the case of cave burials, it is very common for the bodies to be thrown into vertical cavities, apparently accompanied by offerings of food in ceramic vessels. In caves there is also evidence for the deposition of remains and, with less frequency, their inhumation (Castellanos et al. 1989; Funes 2005; Garrido 2006; Martínez Gabino et al. 1993; Miguel 1949; Rouse 1942:137; Tabío 1970; Tabío and Rey 1985; Valcárcel Rojas, Rodríguez Arce, and Labrada 2003; Yero Masdeu et al. 2003). Due to the presence of European material in many of the sites with burials in open spaces, Rouse (1942:153) suggests that this might be a late practice. The villages were governed by chiefs known as caciques (Fernández de Oviedo 1992:115), generally male, with another stratum of individuals considered to be principal or elite (nitaínos). The interpretation that emerges from reading the Spanish commentaries points to a society without accentuated differences. There is a lack of information specific to Cuba in regard to access to leadership and inheritance, as well as these caciques’ prerogatives. Unlike with Hispaniola, there is no mention of sumptuous garments, leadership over great spaces and populations, control of a wide range of resources, and rights to special treatment. In some cases the chronicles indicate that caciques were old, which suggests some recognition of wisdom and experience (Las Casas 1875b:61, 1876:33). The previously mentioned points to leaders, and possibly their access to power, whose personal qualities and accumulated prestige were key. In any case, the ethnohistoric data must be managed carefully, because many details could not have been evident to the Europeans or were intentionally ignored. For example, the ostentation of ornaments and distinct features of leadership could have been restricted at certain moments or under special circumstances, making it seem that chiefs were less important than they really were. This situation is illustrated with the story of a cacique from Jamaica—an island that seems to have been of a lesser sociopolitical complexity—who carried a rich and complex garment and was followed by a large court for a planned meeting with Columbus. Days before, in their first encounter, he had no ornaments that would suggest his capacity of disposing such resources (Bernáldez 1962). We cannot ignore the possibility that after gaining

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knowledge, through interactions, of Spanish intentions and their obsession with gold and those that held the gold, many caciques would have hidden symbols and ornaments made of gold or guanín, to avoid confrontations. The documents suggest that there were different levels of leadership, because within a group of caciques of the Indian province of Havana, there was one “que era el mayor señor según se decía” (it was said that one [chief] was superior). In Camagüey there is also mention of a “señor de la provincia” (lord of the province) (Las Casas 1876:25, 33). From this piece of information we can assume that there was a degree of ranking and centralization of power in particular locations and that some chiefs were subordinate. The concept of province is important in this context. Various provinces are mentioned, specifically Camagüey and Havana, as a geographic space in which were located a certain number of villages or settlements that had a principal chief and village chiefs (Las Casas 1876:21, 32). In some provinces, such as Bayamo, there are links between settlements that allowed for the development of joint action; an example is the attack by a contingent of various villages against the Spanish conqueror Pánfilo de Narváez and his men. Even when the number of 7,000 participating warriors seems to be an exaggeration, it still serves as an indication of the demographic strength of these territories and the leaders’ power of confederation. Contact between the provinces and the sharing of information regarding the Spanish undoubtedly preceded their advance and their actions. Such connections existed between provinces, as demonstrated when the Bayamo people attempted to take refuge in Camagüey after their failed attack against Pánfilo de Narváez. Diego Velázquez (1973a:67, 68) described provinces “subjected” to Camagüey, distinguishing among them the Zabaneque. Mentioning the subordination of the latter is an indication of Camagüey’s position as the “principal” province. Mira Caballos (2000a:198–200) believes to have found evidence, in documents of a population under encomienda, supporting the information from Velázquez about Zabaneque, as well as another example of dependence: the Baní province subordinated to the Guantanabo province, both located in eastern Cuba. In the previous cases the province seems to be a type of sociopolitical unit wherein the minor groups accept certain regional leadership. We do not know if the other provinces worked in a similar manner; we also should not exclude that the ones previously mentioned by the Europeans could be, to a certain degree, adjusting the Cuban panorama to the highly hierarchical and confederated arrangements observed in Hispaniola. However, the impact of the conquest could have generated an articulation of opportunistic inte50

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grations as occur in similar situations of exodus, and the disarticulation of preexisting units, obstructing the objectivity of Spanish observations. Without knowing the power of the chiefs and the function of the connections between the settlements of a province, it is difficult to determine whether there was an integrated system or a situation of spontaneous alliances. The scarcity of data makes it difficult to evaluate the character of subordination between provinces, which may not always have existed in a political sense. The traditional perspective of Cuban archaeology maintains the absence of chiefdoms like those in Hispaniola and is committed to an egalitarian structure (Guarch Delmonte et al. 1995) with aspects of inequality and hierarchy arising from personal prestige or prerogatives related to sex and age. Regardless, subordination and hierarchization within the provinces and between them must not be ignored. Especially in the northeast and easternmost extreme of the island are areas with a significant manifestation of ceremonial objects and spaces (caves with idols, and perhaps plazas), and also of objects of bodily adornment that suggest religious and perhaps political centers. Well known in Banes are sites of above-average size where sumptuary and ceremonial objects are concentrated. From these towns, patterns of centralization and leadership could have been fostered (Valcárcel Rojas 1999, 2002). To this zone or nearby seems to belong the village of 50 houses mentioned by Columbus. The proximity of Hispaniola, with whom they maintained daily contact, according to Las Casas (1875a:104), supposed links with territories where the chiefdom system was well established. This situation would favor the dissemination of knowledge regarding such structures and perhaps encourage the development of similar entities, at least in nearby Cuban spaces and in the context of the arrivals prior to the Spanish. We do not exclude the insertion of certain zones in eastern Cuba in interisland networks and structures that would include areas of Hispaniola, as well as fostering different levels of alliances. This helps to explain the acceptance of a cacique from Hispaniola (Hatuey) as leader of the anti-Spanish resistance in Cuba. A diverse reality is hidden behind the European commentary, in which there were communities, and sets of communities, with different scales of links and internal stratification. In some cases, the stratification was kept at a minimum, but in others it seems to have been accentuated, associating itself to modes of institutionalized social inequality, in the terms of Price and Feinman (1995). The provinces possibly represented integrations that ranged from familial links and cooperation between autonomous groups to regional orders with levels of defined political dependence. This last scheme could Cuba: The Spanish Colonization

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have existed in eastern Cuba, although it was rapidly disarticulated because it was there that the initial impact of conquest, a large part of the indigenous resistance, and a strong Spanish repression occurred.

From Columbus to Velázquez The first two voyages of Christopher Columbus constitute the events from which the initial relationships between the indigenous population and Europeans occur in Cuba. The expedition of 1492, recollected in the Admiral’s diary (Colón 1961), and the second from 1493 to 1494, reflected in Columbus’ letters and other documents (Álvarez Chanca 1977; De Cúneo 1977), have an essentially exploratory character and reaction to brief contacts, where actions of cooperation predominate: both sides give or exchange goods and, above all, collect information. Spanish actions point to the search for gold, knowledge of the degree of civilization among the populations, geography, resources, and the connections of the island with the Asiatic or continental world. Sojourns in villages were short, the villages in the interior barely visited, but it is here that the first mutual impressions were formed as well as probably the first sexual encounters with local women and the start, at a primary level, of the biological mix that produced the mestizaje physique. Similar situations must have obtained during the voyage of Sebastián de Ocampo to document the territory’s geographical characteristics. The circumnavigation of Cuba by de Ocampo in 1509 is generally accepted, but Esteban Mira Caballos provides evidence that this voyage occurred in 1506. In his opinion, circumnavigation actually was achieved by Vicente Yáñez Pinzón and Juan Díaz Solíz in 1508 (Mira Caballos 2000b:138–139). Independent of when or who participated, it reveals an early and strong interest in gaining access to the island. This information is supported by the fact that in 1505 Nicolás de Ovando, Hispaniola’s governor, punished various residents by revoking the encomiendas, because they “haber ido a descubrir a la isla de Cuba sin licencia” (“went to discover in the island of Cuba without approval”) (Mira Caballos 2000b:136). Therefore, there must have been many voyages, both approved and unapproved by the authorities. As was common for many groups, many of these incursions must have been shaped by violence reflecting the obsession to obtaining gold and slaves, and in consonance with the desire of many Spaniards to find lucrative alternatives outside of Hispaniola. There must also have been a large number of sojourns due to shipwrecks. 52

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With the arrival of Diego Velázquez and his retinue in 1510, the conquest and colonization of Cuba began, and the link was forged between the indigenes and European population. Given the experience of the domination process implemented in Hispaniola and its human and economic costs, the Spanish formulated a plan to facilitate the rapid control of the indigenous population and to conserve, if possible, their integrity as part of the basic labor resource of the colonial establishment. To control their territory, the Spanish undertook negotiations to obtain the submission of the communities. This was accomplished with warlike actions that destroyed the limited resistance, complemented by influences expressed over peaceful settlements through demonstrations of force directed at creating fear and to dissuade potential confrontation with Europeans. The presence of the friar Bartolomé de las Casas and his mission to engage with the native population to facilitate their approach and to attempt to placate the European enthusiasm for violence, is an expression of this dual perspective, also followed by Velázquez with the native elite. Velázquez recognized the importance of the caciques and directed toward them not only punitive actions but also peaceful gestures, among which was the pardon of chief Yaguacayex, who was accused of murdering various Spaniards (Velázquez 1973a:69). The initial effort of conquest was concentrated in the eastern part of Cuba and was directed from the first European settlement, the village Nuestra Señora de la Asunción de Baracoa, established in 1511. In this region, the cacique Hatuey led the resistance, with implied alliances and the collaboration of the island polities, as happened in Puerto Rico, where the relocation of groups displaced by European pressure were organized to confront the Spanish intrusion (Oliver 2009:168). A significant number of natives, among them naborías, arrived from Hispaniola and quickly were integrated and inserted in the communal structures and in an important way in the elite groups. While commenting on the convenience of allowing their permanent residence on the island, Velázquez (1973b:79) noted that they were settled, with families, and married with principal men and women from Cuba. Conquest generated a military campaign for the control of the eastern region’s key demographic. Hatuey was defeated and was made an example of by being burned alive. With the guarantee of stability, and after securing his predominance over enemy factions associated with Viceroy Diego Colón, as well as royal approval for the reparto of natives, Velázquez proceeded with expansion, starting in 1513, through reconnaissance and domination. The advance toward the West allowed the subjugation of a large part of the native population, the identification of potential mining sites, and the selection Cuba: The Spanish Colonization

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Figure 3.1. Map of the locations of the first Hispanic towns in Cuba according to the chronological order they were established: 1) Nuestra Señora de la Asunción de Baracoa, 2) San Salvador de Bayamo, 3) Nuestra Señora de la Santísima Trinidad, 4) Santi Spíritus, 5) Santa María del Puerto del Príncipe, 6) San Cristóbal de La Habana, 7) Santiago de Cuba. Towns with post-encomienda concentrations of Indians.

of locations for new settlements. Conquest implies the displacement and disarticulation of communities that fled before the European advance, that were repressed by opposing them or that were simply accosted indiscriminately. The best-known example is the massacre in the Caonao village in the indigenous province of Camagüey, where at least hundreds of people died in a matter of hours (Las Casas 1876:22–26). In the face of the Spanish push, some groups escaped to other parts of the insular territory, nearby cays, and even La Florida (Worth 2004). In a parallel manner the establishment of Spanish settlements was accelerated, including six new towns between 1513 and 1515 (Figure 3.1). At Baracoa, as well as the rest of these settlements, the indigenous population was responsible for building structures, guaranteeing a large part of the food supply, and work at the mines, and in other activities that would sustain the local economy.

Colonial Consolidation The establishment of Spanish towns was fundamental for the control of indigenous communities, as they established locations from which they organized their management. From the beginning Velázquez initiated the indigenous reparto, but the royal permit for the encomienda was not granted until 1513 (Marrero 1993a:168). In Cuba there was a certain tendency to conserve 54

Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

the unity of the indigenous communities and to maintain their own villages or separate settlements (Venegas 1977:26). From these places they were sent to the mines to extract the gold or to work on Spanish estancias. They also served in the houses of the encomenderos, although it seems that this task was more commonly assigned to the naborías. The encomienda resulted in an extermination mechanism (Las Casas 1876:337–339). In addition to the damage caused by excessive work and mistreatment, starting in 1519 there were various epidemics registered that accelerated the demographic collapse. Suicide and failure to procreate were responses to labor exploitation and the existential crisis-–along with escape and rebellion. The latter ones are reported throughout most of the island, and although escapees were not able to consolidate in large and stable movements, they were able to intensify in moments when the white population was weakened during the continental expeditions initiated in 1517 (Ibarra 1979; Pichardo Moya 1945; Yaremko 2006). Many of the rebels used European weapons and in some cases claimed to be immune to them (Wright 1916:136). The permanent existence of rebellious natives, isolated or in groups, indicates the intensity with which colonial domination was rejected as well as the difficulty in achieving complete control of the territory. The “cays Indians,” who settled on the coast of the northern small islands, are an interesting case, because they moved to Cuba to participate in incursions with others from towns near Santi Spíritus (Wright 1916:136; see Figure 3.1). The rebellions sometimes included Indians and black slaves that knew each other from living together in Maroon settlements or palenques (Lago 1994:31; Pereira 2007). In this scenario situations of integration and ethnic blending must have developed, marked by circumstances of marginality and also by the development of identity forged as an oppressed segment of society. The indigenous population declined rapidly. According to the analysis of Pérez de la Riva (1972), by 1520 there were only 18,700 individuals; officials from the time, such as Juan de Vadillo, mention between 4,500 and 5,000 Indians in 1532 (Marrero 1993a:218). In response to the humanist concerns expressed by some sectors of the clergy, the Crown accepted efforts to foster an independent life to try and stop the process. The experiencia de libertad went into effect in 1530 and consisted of 120 Indians who were concentrated in a town near Bayamo after the death of their encomendero (Mira Caballos 1997:181). The town did not prosper, the economic activities needed to sustain the settlement were not fostered, and its inhabitants were not able to demonstrate the self-government skills needed. They did maintain their Cuba: The Spanish Colonization

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rituals, and certain aspects of daily life persisted. Some attempted to avoid being congregated. A prominent case in 1535 was of a couple that killed their daughter when there was an attempt to retain her for the experiencia; they too later committed suicide (Real Academia de la Historia 1888:4:385). It was claimed that variants of this program were maintained until 1540, but the experiencia de libertad always was rejected by the encomenderos and never worked as it was expected. It demonstrated the survival, decades after the island’s conquest, of ideologies and traditional indigenous practices completely different from the ones promoted or imposed by the Europeans. The Spanish observed this situation, which sparked doubt in important people, such as Governor Manuel de Rojas in 1535, or Bishop Diego Sarmiento in 1544, regarding the possibility of civilizing and Christianizing the Indians (Real Academia de la Historia 1888:4:366; Sarmiento 1973). Parallel to the process of indigenous exploitation, and as a part of this beginning from the arrival of the Spanish population, was the appearance of mestizos. The majority of these relations must have had a secondary character in the Spanish social perspective, but on some occasions it led to marriage, and the sons from indigenous wives and concubines were recognized. Even when indigenous blood was not preferable in terms of social status, sons of important fathers, related to the landowner aristocracy, were able to gain privileges and maintain control of their parents’ assets (Wright 1916:189). Many of these mestizos inserted themselves in important positions of Cuban colonial life as early as 1539; they are also mentioned as holding ecclesiastical positions or being involved in the conquest of continental territory (Lago 1994:29, 30). The process of mestizaje also linked the indigenous population, but to a lesser degree, with the black population, contributing to increase of the lower strata and fostering an early racial mosaic. Interaction with the indigenous population was not an undifferentiated process. The Europeans recognized the importance of the caciques and used them as mediators for the control of the labor force. The encomiendas were distributed and the towns named for their caciques, at least 11 of whom were mentioned in the repartos made between 1526 and 1530 by Gonzalo de Guzmán (Mira Caballos 1997:Apéndice XV). One is referred to as “caciquillo,” which suggests a child could have been in that position. The indigenous chiefs were a focal point in the process of civilizing and evangelizing, distinguishing the elite women for the possibility of transmitting, to their Spanish partners, positions of power (Domínguez 2001). Of the 11 caciques mentioned above, in the seven cases where names are mentioned, four of the names are of Christian origin. The interest in children is clear when in 1529 56

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there are requests to send the caciques’ children to Spain to instruct them in the Christian faith and to prepare them to promote it (Olaechea Labayen 1969:94). The indigenous attitude was also diverse, and even though there were individuals and groups opposed to contact with the Europeans, others allied themselves to them to suppress the uprisings of natives or Maroons. An example of the former and the circumstantial way in which the indigenous position was expressed is found in the commentary about some indios de paz (peaceful Indians: in encomiendas and in peaceful relations with the Spaniards) that on occasion acted as Maroons to participate in attacks on the colonizers, after which they would return to the settlements and their daily labors. There were also Indians serving as rancheadores (slave catchers), who in 1542 were more effective than the Spanish campaign in suppressing of indigenous rebels (Ibarra 1979:24, 27; Yaremko 2006). In 1542 the New Laws declared the cessation of the encomiendas in the Antilles. In Cuba the encomenderos were able to postpone the enforcement of the measure until 1553 (Rey 2003:89). By this date gold mining ceased to be the principal economic activity and was replaced by cattle ranching and commerce in hide. With the increase in cattle ranching, the white population stabilized, a process that was paired with the import of manual labor of African origins.

Indigenous Survival The traditional historical discourse focuses on the reduced number of survivors at the end of the encomiendas. However, it is evident that the island conserved part of the Indian population, in contrast with the Bahamas or Jamaica, where the population had disappeared or was reduced to a minimum. By 1556, according to Governor Diego de Mazariegos, 2,000 Indians are reported, 200 of whom were slaves from other places (Marrero 1993b:353). This number includes only residents in the Spanish towns or nearby spaces, so the total number must have been greater, due to the indubitable presence of a large part of the indigenous population outside of Spanish control, who survived in isolation or were dispersed after the collapse of the mining exploitation and the disintegration of the encomienda. Despite the legal recognition of the freedom of the Indians, they became subject to dependence in new ways. Remnants of the communities that retained some integrity and dispersed individuals would be moved to the Indian towns,3 such as Guanabacoa, created in 1554 next to Havana (Rodríguez Cuba: The Spanish Colonization

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Villamil 2002), or El Caney, established sometime after nearby Santiago de Cuba (Reyes 2007:161) (see Figure 3.1). The Crown assigned land to these communities, recognizing determined rights to them and properties that the Spanish neighbors would attempt to steal. In 1562 the Indians in Trinidad, pressured by the inhabitants of nearby villages, sent a representative to the authorities in Havana and asked for protection, calling on their rights as free and Christian. They mentioned the indoctrination sustained for years by one of the members of the community, their capacity to defend the Crown’s interest, and their contributions to the island’s prosperity (Zerquera 1977). Other Indians were absorbed by the villages and towns. In Havana many were able to insert themselves in the urban nucleus, dedicating themselves to work in carpentry, pottery making, or agriculture (Roura and Hernández 2008:153). They frequently carried out defensive responsibilities and served as lookouts on the coast. They appear in this same manner throughout the seventeenth century in diverse labors: in 1617 they worked in salaried positions on sugar plantation under the jurisdiction of the Bayamo village (Morales Patiño 1951:378); they also were engaged as monteros, in hunting and cattle ranching. Two of them in 1612, along with a black child, found the image of the Virgin that would become the patron of Cuba, in her incarnation as La Virgen de la Caridad (Our Lady of Charity). Both knew how to read and were able to immediately recognize the image of the Virgin. Some communities or groups of individuals attempted to avoid relations with the Spaniards. Levi Marrero (1993b:352–355) recounts the complaints of the Spanish inhabitants of Santiago de Cuba, Bayamo and Puerto Príncipe, concerning the Indians that refused to live near the Spanish despite their authorization to relocate them by force in a royal decree of 1563. A group discovered in the zone of Matanzas in 1576 was forced to go to the area of Guanabacoa, and various members committed suicide as an action of protest. In 1574 the geographer Juan López de Velazco (1971) cited by Hernández (2003), mentioned at least eight indigenous “Maroon” settlements. A second concentration of the indigenous population, developed via other methods and in different circumstances to the ones in the sixteenth century, occurred during the first half of the eighteenth century. The most relevant example is Jiguaní, created around 1700 at the request of an Indian supported by a priest (Lago 1994:33; Pichardo 2006:83). It is believed that Mayarí (1757) and Holguín (1720), both in the eastern part of Cuba like Jiguaní, were born from an effort to concentrate the remaining Indian population with Spaniards (Morales Patiño 1951). After the encomienda the social status of the Indian was generally low, but 58

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some individuals of the old indigenous hierarchy maintained certain prerogatives. Toward the end of the sixteenth century, Juan de Argote, survivor of the native elite, was still considered by Spaniards from Puerto Príncipe an “hombre honrado y principal” (an honest and principal man) (Morales Patiño 1951:381). At the beginning of the seventeenth century, an Indian woman of the same city had enough resources to donate land within the city to build a chapel (Tamames 2009:116). Perhaps the most interesting case is of a Jiguaní family who at the beginning of the nineteenth century, in order to defend the quality of their origins and services to the Spanish government, mentioned their lineage as descendants from indigenous caciques as a social endorsement (Tamames 2009:119). The indigenous presence maintained its strength during the eighteenth century, in particular in the eastern part of Cuba. In El Caney there were 528 Indians registered in 1775 (Badura 2013:47). Between 1782 and 1799 there were 1,000 Indians in Jiguaní, 116 resident in Guanabacoa and fewer than 44 in Camagüey (Agüero 1993; Pichardo 2006:80; Rodríguez Villamil 2002:65– 66). In the city of Holguín there were 139 Indians in the rural census of 1775, 96 of whom were considered to be pure; of them 86 were male and 53 female. The age data indicate a predominantly young population; therefore, some of them could have lived into the nineteenth century (Pérez and San Miguel 2014:117–118). The census of 1775 provides interesting details about the process of integration of the Indians through marriages and from their social position. It reports 10 pure marriages and 16 interracial ones. The most common type of interracial marriages were white males married to Indian females (10), followed by Indian males with white females (3), pardos (mulatto) males with Indian females (2), and only one marriage inverse to the last. The racial profiles of the descendants were established in the following terms: the sons of white males and Indian females were considered white; the offspring of pure or interracial marriages (Indian males and white females) are categorized as Indians. Of the registered Indians, 16 were property owners, four were foremen, two were tenants, and nine aggregated. Of the owners, two owned corrals, located in the area of Aguarás, and 14 owned farms established in the commons of the city. “En este último se concentraba el 77.7 por ciento del total de los aborígenes estudiados, expresivo de que la ciudad de Holguín tiene como base este segmento poblacional” (In this last one there was a concentration of 77.7 percent of the total aborigines studied, suggestive that the city of Holguín has this population segment as its base) (Pérez and San Miguel 2014:118–119). Cuba: The Spanish Colonization

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With the consolidation of the colonial process and the increase of mestizaje, the term “Indian” was readjusted and even eliminated in the practice of the Spanish domination in subsequent centuries. A “silenciamiento documental del indio” (silence of the Indian in the documents) (Tamames 2009: 107) that has been observed in the historical research was promoted by some individuals interested in “whitening” their ancestry as a strategy for integration. Also, ways of institutionalizing their disappearance were promoted in the hope of eliminating the rights claimed by those that were considered Indians or their descendants, and as a means of appropriating their lands. In 1846 this was achieved with the official declaration of the extinction of the Indian population of the El Caney, despite the protest of the descendants (Iduate 1985:138). In any case, the report on this demographic component of the population in the documentation from the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth centuries, in urban and rural zones, might independently include descendants of the indigenous population, of mestizos and non-Cuban Indians, shows the persistence of this group and aspects that would single them out at the level of cultural practices, places of residence, and physical appearance. Many individuals in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries would selfidentify as Indians or descendants of Indians—to defend their rights and properties. In some cases this ethnic identification was manipulated to negotiate their legal position. In other cases, it could be an expression of social group membership and interest in maintaining a differentiated sociocultural perception. This attitude of respect for the past and connection with their roots supposes a process of conscious integration to the social environment of the colony rather than one of assimilation or acculturation. In the dominating vision the remnants of the indigenous population and their descendants were blended into the greater ethnocultural entity that began to consolidate in the seventeenth century, unifying all of the population born on the island: the criollo (Arrom 1951). This integration was paired with the mestizaje and supposed a transculturation process from which a new biological and cultural unit was generated, with multiple roots and perceptions of them and in particular a sense of belonging to the land. The criollos and their universe are distinguished by indigenous aspects in their religion, material culture and their genetic base. There was also a hidden resistance, because part of the population attempted to maintain a differentiated identity and survived by maintaining it. This occurred on occasion in the Spanish settlements, but in greater frequency in places far from the urban centers and with a low demographic representation. 60

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The fact that in certain parts of Cuba such as Holguín, Bayamo, and Guantánamo, there remain individuals with a particular physical type who are called Indians or aindiados, and that some of these communities are considered to be of indigenous descent, demonstrates the survival of the population and its identity. Felipe Pichardo Moya (1945) considers that in addition to the Indians that survived linked to Spanish spaces, Maroon ranches that never were controlled by the Europeans must have existed. These ranches survived in isolation, within time comprising the nucleus of the rural population. Some of them might have been the origin of so-called Indians of Yateras, Caujerí, Yara, Dos Brazos, Yaguaramas and other places. According to Pichardo, the strong cultural perception of these rural communities related to their indigenous roots, very important in the rural Cuban scene at the beginning of the twentieth century, expressed a level of belonging maintained not only by their isolation, but also by the possible character as the descendants of rebel natives or Maroons. In his opinion, the individuals that moved to the Indian towns after the end of the encomienda (basically called indios mansos or gentle Indians) adapted to European cultural practices, which was a determining factor in their rapid loss of identity. The Maroon Indians, due to their ephemeral contact with Europeans and their belligerent nature, conserved their connection to their ancestral culture and transmitted it to their descendants. The case of the Indian presence in the current province of Guantánamo, particularly areas like Yateras, is well known and reveals the local importance of these communities. In the nineteenth century, in the midst of the war for independence, the Indian population from Yateras was a determining factor in the control of spaces of the southeastern portion of the island, for which reason the Spanish military and the Cuba independence army worked to include them in their ranks. After forming a feared force in favor of Spain, in 1895 they allied themselves to the pro-independence side. The decision was taken in a ceremony in which Indian leaders, locally recognized as caciques, consulted the spirits of ancestral indigenous chiefs. The Indians formed a regiment of the liberating Cuban army under the symbolic name of Hatuey (Barreiro 2004). The anthropological and ethnographic study of some of the populations mentioned by Pichardo, developed by different investigators (Culin 1902; Pospisil 1971; Rivero de la Calle 1966, 1978), reveals physical characteristics associated with Mongoloid components and endogamy customs, matrilineal descent and communal leadership features with clear indigenous roots. Although at the beginning of the twentieth century these populations already Cuba: The Spanish Colonization

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showed a high level of cultural and genetic mixing, their existence proves the reality and importance of the process of indigenous survival on the island, especially those verified in isolated places. In the rest of the Cuban territory other small bastions of descendants are found, such as that of Fray Benito, in Holguín (García Molina 2007); above all, a diverse ancestry is highlighted, expressing aspects of the rural material culture, house types, construction materials, dietary practices, use of hammocks, plant handling, domestic utilitarian wares, fishing techniques (Guanche 1983:113–116), traditional medicine, and religious practices (García Molina et al. 2007; Lago 1994; Peña y Rodríguez 2000). There is also a wide use of toponyms with an Arawak base, as well as an extensive use of Arawak terms in the flora, the fauna, the material culture, and the spiritual realm (Valdés 1998, 2010). Finally, it is important to mention that in the current Cuban population, they have identified 69 percent of the genes as being of European origin, 19 percent of African origin, and 12 percent as Amerindian (Álvarez Durán 2013).

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4 El Chorro de Maíta A First Look

The archaeological site El Chorro de Maíta is located in northeast Cuba on the hillside of the Cerro de Yaguajay, at a height of 160 m above sea level and at 4.7 km from the coast, in a straight line. Its cartographic coordinates are: X: 605 650, Y: 270 050, Hoja Santa Lucía, 5079–III, Cartas del Instituto Cubano de Geodesia y Cartografía (Charts from the Cuban Institute of Geodesy and Cartography), scale 1: 50000; (21 05'04.52" N and 75 48'56.70" W). It is in the territory of the old township of Yaguajay, today part of the township of Chorro de Maíta in the Banes municipality, in the Holguín province. The site is cut by a path running in an east–west direction that starts at the Banes-Guardalavaca Road. The road ascends the Cerro de Yaguajay hillside up to the Chorro de Maíta spring and continues to the top of the hill. The archaeological site suffers from intense anthropogenic alterations due to its location under the houses and fields of the modern Chorro de Maíta settlement. This settlement formed at the end of the nineteenth century; by 2008 it had a population of 459 inhabitants (Bacallao et al. 2009:77). Access ways and other basic community services were improved with the construction of an archaeological museum directly over the old cemetery in 1990 (Figure 4.1). A tourist installation that reproduces an indigenous village was built over some of the archaeological areas to the north of the museum.

Contemporary Environmental Features The Yaguajay region is distinguished by its abundance of indigenous archaeological sites of diverse types and cultural affiliations. The area may have been attractive because of the concentration of varied natural resources in a relatively small space, as well as its easy access to the coast and the marine

Figure 4.1. El Chorro de Maíta Museum.

ecosystem, in particular the immediate bays (Rouse 1942:103; Valcárcel Rojas 2002:38). The Yaguajay zone forms part of the Maniabón Orographic Group and is constituted by a group of hills and a wide coastal valley in a territory framed by the Samá and Naranjo bays and projected toward the Atlantic Ocean (Valcárcel Rojas 2002, 2012: 82–90); see Figure 4.2. The highest hill is the Cerro de Yaguajay, with an elevation of 262 m above sea level at its highest peak. It is a massif in the form of a plateau with a diameter of 4 km. The western, southern, and part of the northern hillsides are steep rock, while the remaining slopes show a gentle descent toward the surrounding valleys and plains (Figure 4.3). The landscape is composed of Camazán formation limestone. Most parts of the elevation, except for the hillsides, are characterized by karst topography. The karst features are generally covered by thick layers of soil, although in steeper slopes the structural rock with developed lapies can be seen. Humic calcimorphic soils predominate (red rendzina, black rendzina), as well as very typical, fertile brown carbonates. Outcrops of highly vesicular limestone are observed, as are accumulations of caliches in the form of superficial patches. The caliche soils in this zone are hardened deposits of calcium carbonate mixed with other materials, among these clays and marls. There is an autochthonous drainage caused by rainfall over the elevation and various karst springs. One permanent spring, which originates from a small stream, 64

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is known as Chorro de Maíta. The vegetation on the hills is degraded due to farming activities and human settlements, but in some areas a semideciduous forest has been conserved, which maintains stable ecosystems that provide refuges for numerous plant and animal species. The coastal karstic plains extend to the north of the hills with various levels of terraces and a mosaic of plant formations. The flora include sandy and rocky coastal vegetation, mangrove forests, coastal xerophytic shrubs and prickly xerophytic growth over serpentinite, and, somewhat farther from the

Figure 4.2. Map showing geographical features and the distribution of archaeological sites in the Yaguajay zone. Location of Yaguajay zone within eastern Cuba.

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coast, the remnants of an old semideciduous forest. The coast has numerous beaches, such as Guardalavaca, with a sand fringe around 4 km long. There are also various estuaries, associated in particular with the Naranjo and Samá bays. The karstic character of the region limits surficial runoff; the Naranjo River is to the west, flows permanently, and empties into the Naranjo Bay from the south. The river is also known as the Río de Oro (River of Gold), due to its auriferous runoff. The central part of the plains has small intermittent streams that are filled only during periods of rainfall. Also, the Samá River flows with a permanent current along the eastern border. The region’s climate is warm and dry, with an elevated median temperature of 26.5°C. The relative humidity is high throughout the year, which, coupled with the high temperatures, causes a suffocating heat that is attenuated in certain places by the wind, especially in high-altitude areas. The winds are very stable and blow almost always from the east. Precipitation is low but occurs throughout the year. Dangerous meteorological phenomena minimally affect the area and generally are of reduced magnitude.

Figure 4.3. View of the eastern hillside of Cerro de Yaguajay and the tourist installation that reproduces an indigenous village.

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Banes, Yaguajay, and El Chorro de Maíta: Historical Data and Archaeological Space The Yaguajay zone is located in an area of early Spanish presence. It is believed that Bariay Bay is where Christopher Columbus arrived in Cuba, some 20 km to the west of El Chorro de Maíta (Guarch Delmonte et al. 1993). After the arrival of Diego Velázquez, Yaguajay might have been one of the areas affected by the actions of a group of Spanish conquerors led by Francisco de Morales, who participated in a violent campaign into the indigenous province of Maniabón. The existence of a large group of hills known as the Lomas de Maniabón, of which Yaguajay forms part, has been used to infer the possible location of the previously mentioned province (Figure 4.2). A more concrete historical reference is provided in the account of Diego Velázquez’s voyage from Baracoa to Bayamo in 1513, which he made with the intent to organize control of the indigenous population and to establish new settlements. Velázquez arrived by water to gain access to the indigenous provinces of Bani and Barajagua,1 from which he moved south, in the direction of Guacanayabo and Bayamo, where he established a town bearing the same name (Velázquez 1973a:70). The permanence of toponyms with this denomination, Velázquez’s general direction of travel, and the fact that he accessed this area by water allow us to situate these provinces within the confines of the current Cuban municipalities and provinces: Bani in the municipality of Banes, and Barajagua in the municipality of Cueto, both in the Holguín province; and Guacanayabo and Bayamo in zones of the Granma province, close to the gulf of Guacanayabo (see Figure 4.2). By 1520, some 57 km to the southwest of El Chorro de Maíta, it is believed that a lot of land was in the possession of an inhabitant of Bayamo named García Holguín, who appears to have had Indians under encomienda in this area (García Castañeda 1949b:30). Also during the sixteenth century, these lands were recognized as a hato (a large territorial property dedicated to cattle raising). In 1752 a settlement located there was acknowledged a city, known as San Isidoro de Holguín. Its inhabitants, and the ones from Bayamo, would play an important role in the control of the nearby territories of northeast Cuba, among them Banes and Yaguajay, which since the establishment of the town of Bayamo were under its jurisdiction. According to historical data in 1749 Yaguajay was registered as a corral (a general property dedicated to raising pigs of smaller size than the hato). In 1800 the place was considered to be a realengo (ownerless), in other words, a property that belonged to the Spanish Crown (Archivo Nacional de Cuba El Chorro de Maíta: A First Look

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[ANC], Fondo Gobierno Superior Civil, legajo 630, no. 19886, año 1814; Bacallao et al. 2009:297). These dates suggest that Yaguajay might have been a short-lived or unimportant location for livestock herding. Landowner expansion to the Cuban northeast was relatively late, commencing only at the end of the first or during the second half of the eighteenth century, when realengo pieces of lands near Yaguajay, such as Samá and Retrete and even Banes, were adjudicated (Novoa Betancourt 2008:39–40). The zone was apparently uninhabited or scarcely used until 1846, when its use as a livestock herding area is mentioned (Novoa Betancourt 2008:82). In the 1943 general census Yaguajay is registered as a township of the Banes municipality bordered on the east by Samá Bay, to the west by Naranjo Bay, and to the south by an elevation known as Pan de Samá (Cuba 1943). Modern references to Indians or their descendants in Yaguajay are absent, and the rural population seems to have originated from criollo settlements founded during the nineteenth century. In terms of archaeological patrimony and the features of contexts located there, Yaguajay is included in the so-called Banes Archaeological Area (Figure 4.2). This area consists of the majority of the Banes and Antilla municipalities, over a territory that stretches toward the Atlantic Ocean. It is distinguished by the high concentration of Agricultural Ceramicist sites (more than 70), and the relative distance of them from the rest of the archaeological zones of such communities in northeast Cuba (Valcárcel Rojas 2002:26, 28). The Banes Archaeological Area is distinguished also by the presence of certain ceramic traits, particularly within the Cuban Meillacan expression, and a high frequency of ornamental and ritual objects. Also, chronological indicators show a long occupation sequence of the territory from the ninth to the eleventh century (Aguas Gordas, MO-399, 1000 ± 105 BP; 2 sigma cal AD 801–1258; Potrero de El Mango, Beta-148961, 880 ± 60 BP; 2 sigma cal AD 1014–1280) and its continued use until the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, in the midst of the period of European interaction (Cooper 2007; Valcárcel Rojas 2002:Table of radiocarbon dates). The sites from the Banes Archaeological Area are recognized as one of the most significant and substantial expressions of the development of Agricultural Ceramicist communities in Cuba (Rouse 1942; Tabío and Rey 1985). Aguas Gordas, 10 km to the east of El Chorro de Maíta, is one of the earliest Meillacan sites in Cuba, after El Paraíso (unknown laboratory code; 1130 ± 150 BP; 2 sigma cal AD 638–1218) and Damajayabo (Y-1994; 1120 ± 160 BP; 2 sigma cal AD 618–1253), both located on the southern coast. There are indications of a strong demographic increase at the earliest 68

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sites of Banes, from where the population moved to nearby places, comprising groups of sites marked by some form of a shared zone identity. This identity was maintained and expressed in the similarity of particular cultural aspects and a common adaptation to specific geographical environments within the area. The oldest sites, always the largest, were occupied for many centuries. An accumulation of sumptuary materials can be seen, something that has been interpreted as evidence for increasing social and political complexity, which clearly consolidated during the fifteenth century AD (Valcárcel Rojas 1999; 2002:93–96). Three groupings of sites are recognized, apparently delimited by geographical accidents: one to the east (Banes), another in the Samá-Río Seco zone in the north-central part, and the Yaguajay in the northwest. The 25 archaeological Agricultural Ceramicist sites identified in the northwestern part are located between the coast and the north and east hillsides of the Cerro de Yaguajay mountains, an area of around 50 km², with the majority of sites exhibiting this cultural affiliation; see Figure 4.2. The Yaguajay Agricultural Ceramicist sites follow a vertical order that starts with habitation contexts, mostly located at elevation and always in fertile terrains. El Chorro de Maíta is in the highest location. Next in order are small camps located between the habitation sites and the coast, and, finally, at the coast are situated a couple of habitation sites and small camps. Both at high elevations and in the coastal plains are cave sites used for mortuary, and in some cases ceremonial, purposes. Although few radiocarbon dates or other means for establishing the contemporaneity of the sites are available, it is possible that many of them were at one point interconnected through mechanisms of provisioning marine goods, evidenced by faunal remains of marine origin that have been encountered in habitation sites located far from the coast. We cannot discard the possibility of political integration schemes necessary to organize access to farming spaces and the hunting and gathering of resources, perhaps linked with religious aspects. Although the Yaguajay sites of the Banes Archaeological Area stand out for their high frequency of ornamental and ritual objects made out of shell, stone, and metal, in general, these objects tend to be concentrated in the places of greater size, particularly in El Chorro de Maíta. Such concentrations are considered, as we will see later, to be a preeminent feature of the settlements in this area. Of a sample of 530 pieces of a ceremonial, ritual, or ornamental nature recognized in 1999 for the Banes Archaeological Area, El Chorro de Maíta held 31.7 percent of the shell objects and 14.1 percent of the lithics. The site has the greatest number of metal objects, as well as a substanEl Chorro de Maíta: A First Look

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tial number of clay figurines, while in quantity of bone artifacts it is surpassed only by the Potrero de El Mango site (Valcárcel Rojas 1999). In Yaguajay only El Chorro de Maíta and El Porvenir have evidence of burials in open spaces. El Porvenir is important because it is one of the few sites in Yaguajay, along with El Chorro de Maíta and Río Naranjo, with Spanish materials or evidence for habitation after the arrival of Europeans. El Porvenir site is located 2.5 km south of the coast and 1.5 km to the west of Samá Bay at the top of an unpronounced hill. It is the second-largest site in the zone, following El Chorro de Maíta, which is 3.3 km away. El Porvenir was excavated multiple times, although the human remains were found only during the excavations by the collector Orencio Miguel Alonso (1949). He mentions the skeletons of apparently five individuals, buried in the same space where indigenous domestic remains were discarded. All of the burials were primary, lying face up, in a flexed position, and there was no evidence of disturbance due to funerary overcrowding. The physical anthropologist César Rodríguez Arce suggests, based on a photograph from Miguel Alonso’s article, that the individuals were adults (Valcárcel Rojas 2012:78). Three of the skeletons have evidence of offerings in the form of ceramic vessels. The radiocarbon date from El Porvenir (Beta-148960) is 500 ± 50 BP; 2 sigma cal AD 1320–1455. Two of the burials were associated with Spanish material. The following European objects were found in these graves and other parts of the site: metal spear point, bells, horseshoes, two scissor sheets, a sheet of iron, horse bits, and diverse ceramics, including a glazed vessel in the form of a pitcher (Miguel 1949) (see Figure 4.4). Later work at the site yielded fragments of horseshoes, sword points, nails, and lead-glazed coarse earthenware (Castellanos and Pino 1978). Bones from pigs (Sus scrofa), some with metal cut marks, and others that were very fragmented, possibly due to marrow extraction, were also identified. Castellanos and Pino (1978) detected a decline in the presence of remains of hutias and iguanas, animals used for indigenous alimentation, which, they explain, represents a change in diet brought about by indigenous interaction with Europeans. Tomé and Rives (1987) observed changes in the frequency of shell artifacts at the site, which they associate with the nature of these interactions. An interesting piece of information, apparently connected not only to this process but also to the arrival of Mesoamerican natives, is the reported finding of a metate leg (Rives 1987). In Río Naranjo, located near the bay of the same name, abundant remains of early Olive Jars have been found. In the Banes zone, between 15 and 20 km 70

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Figure 4.4. Ceramic vessels found at the El Porvenir site, Yaguajay. Lead-glazed coarse earthenware, 25 cm tall (left); indigenous ceramic that copies a European form (bottom).

west of El Chorro de Maíta, various indigenous sites have yielded Spanish materials, including Varela III, Cuadro de los Indios, Loma de Baní, Potrero de El Mango, and Esterito (Valcárcel Rojas 1997), all of which have less evidence of European influences than El Porvenir. The situation is different at the sites located to the south: Barajagua, 55 km from El Chorro de Maíta, Alcalá, 34 km away, and El Pesquero and El Yayal, next to the city of Holguín, some 50 km away. All these sites held significant assemblages of Spanish artifacts, particularly Alcalá and El Yayal (Figures 2.1 and 2.2). The last site is considered to be the place of García Holguín’s encomienda, with possible evidence of use until 1580 (Domínguez 1984; García Castañeda 1938a, 1949a:200). The differences in the type and quantity of European material between the sites near Banes and Yaguajay and those located to the south have been interpreted as a reflection of the differing use of these places and their population by the Spanish. Apparently, such a scenario is related to the proximity of the southern enclaves to Santiago de Cuba and Bayamo settlements, and, as such, to a greater Spanish presence (Valcárcel Rojas 1997:76). El Chorro de Maíta: A First Look

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Collections and Initial Archaeological Recognition The first information regarding El Chorro de Maíta comes from circulated notes by the collector and archaeologist José A. García Castañeda, who refers to it as one of the most important sites located in the Yaguajay and Banes zones (García Castañeda 1938b, 1941:19). In 1941 Irving Rouse visited and explored the area and published a detailed report about it (Rouse 1942:103–7); at that time it was known among collectors and local people as Yaguajay or El Cerro de Yaguajay. The area with archaeological material was scattered across a series of small plots of lands belonging to different owners. The road that goes from the town of Yaguajay to the Chorro de Maíta spring crossed the site at that time. The largest part of the material that showed evidence for indigenous occupation south of the road was located on the plot of Josefa Vázquez, and to the north on Francisco Cordovés’ plot. The only extant mounds were found in these plots; none were more than 1 m high, and all were highly affected by agriculture. Collectors frequented the area to acquire pieces found by the residents. García Castañeda began their visits in 1927. According to Rouse, no archaeological work had been done by 1941. He considered the site’s environmental setting as the best in the Maniabón highlands, except for its relative distance from the sea. The greater part of the references consulted by Rouse are those of García Castañeda, who mentions finding a skeleton near the Vázquez house, 10 m from the road. The skeleton was found in the flexed position, with an inclined skull supported between the ribs and the leg bones (García Castañeda 1938b; Rouse 1942:104). Indigenous ceramics were numerous, including burén fragments (ceramic griddles used in the preparation of foodstuffs and manioc breadcake or cassava production), and two clay dog figurines. Flint pieces, a hammerstone, mortars and pestles, net weights, stone pendants, a bone spatula, and other bone objects were collected as well. In addition, artifacts including shell gouges, simple olive-shell pendants (Oliva sp.), idol figurines, tabular pendants, discs, and shell denture inlays were found. According to Rouse (1942:106), El Chorro de Maíta was the Maniabón area’s site with the largest number of objects, as well as stone beads, which could possibly imply specialized production at the site. He considered it to be one of the most significant sites in the Maniabón area and the most important site in the northwest of Banes. Rouse found glass and Spanish ceramic fragments in the Vázquez plot, which he, because of their proximity to the house of Vázquez, perceived as modern. He also refers to comments 72

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made by Carrington, a collector of the area, regarding the discovery of an iron sword (Rouse 1942:106). For Zayas y Alfonso (1931:290) it was the afore-mentioned Yaguajay area in Banes, and not that one of the same name in Sancti Spíritus province in the north-central part of Cuba, the place where a similarly named indigenous village was documented by the Spanish in the sixteenth century, near an indigenous zone or province named Cubanacán. This conclusion was supported by the researchers Van der Gucht and Parajón, who associated it with the settlement visited by two of Columbus’ emissaries during his first voyage (Rouse 1942:34, 103). Considering the number of sites surrounding El Chorro de Maíta, and its preeminence in terms of position, size, and artifact richness, Rouse (1942:106, 155–57) concluded that it was a village with a large population and accepts its identification as the major town of the indigenous Cubanacán chiefdom that dominated the Yaguajay zone.

Finding the Cemetery Further exploration of the site was done after Rouse by other archaeologists and collectors (Morales Patiño and Pérez de Acevedo 1945:8; Castellanos and Pino 1978), although there are no data regarding excavations. In 1979 a team of the Archaeological Section of the Institute of Social Sciences of the ACC (Academia de Ciencias de Cuba) in Holguín, directed by Dr. José Manuel Guarch Delmonte, surveyed the site and reported the findings of materials and apparently disturbed contexts on both sides of the road and underneath some of the houses of the modern Chorro de Maíta settlement. No mounds were observed, but on the surface indigenous ceramics and worked shell and stone were found. For the first time the site was registered under the name of El Chorro de Maíta (Guarch Delmonte et al. 1987). In 1983 the surveys were expanded, and in 1985 five test pits (0.50 × 0.50m) were dug in a high zone north of the road. In 1986 the ACC team nearby excavated a unit (Unit 1) of two squares measuring 1 m by 1 m. North of this unit another five squares were excavated, each also 1 m by 1 m (Unit 2). They also surveyed a zone that the local people said contained burials, located south of the road some 40 m southwest of the Units 1 and 2 in the backyards of various houses. The team indeed found human remains and started excavating another unit, Unit 3 (Figures 4.5 and 4.6). In this unit, in 1986, burials No. 1 to 40 were removed; and in 1987 burial No. 42 to 96 were excavated. This allowed the investigation of an area composed of 207 squares, each measuring 1 m by 1 m. For purposes of clearing space for the construction of a El Chorro de Maíta: A First Look

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museum, the area of investigation could be enlarged in 1988 to reach 421 m2 in total, which enabled the discovery of almost all of the remaining burials. This group excludes burial No. 41, located in Unit 5, and No. 107, located to the south of Unit 3 (Figure 4.6). The locations of burials No. 106 and 108 are not known, because they were not registered in the field notes or on the maps. After the discovery of the concentration of human remains, the research focused on establishing the structure and limits of the site and burial distribution. According to the site plan (Guarch Rodríguez 1987a), five other units were excavated. Unit No. 5 was excavated due to the discovery of a burial and comprised three squares of 1 m by 1 m; Unit 6 was initially laid out as a unit of 4 m² located to the west of Unit 3, but only two 1-m squares were excavated. Another unit also named Unit 6, and with at least 42 1-m by 1-m squares or quadrants, was excavated very close to Unit 3. To avoid confusion, we will refer to this unit as Unit 6 and call the former unit, of smaller size and somewhat more distant from Unit 3, “initial Unit 6” (Figure 4.6). To the south of the house that was located over Unit 6, the owners had located a burial during the construction of a latrine. The neighbors also men-

Figure 4.5. Excavations in the El Chorro de Maíta cemetery by the Departamento de Arqueología de Holguín (1986). From Valcárcel Rojas (2012:Figure 2).

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Figure 4.6. Area of archaeological materials at the El Chorro de Maíta site and the location of excavation units completed between 1986 and 1988. Map created by Roberto Valcárcel Rojas using information from Guarch Rodríguez (1987a).

tioned finding the remains of 17 individuals in surrounding spaces (Guarch Delmonte, Rodríguez Arce, and Pedroso 1987:25). These individuals were not recovered, and only the burial found in the latrine was spatially located. Nevertheless, these provide a point of reference that alongside the excavation data may serve to establish the limits of the concentration of human remains, recognized from now on as the “Burial Area.” The boundaries of the Burial Area are the road on the north; Units 4, 5, 7, and 8 form an irregular axis that defines the eastern border, with these units inside the funerary zone; another axis begins in the south near Unit 4 , and this axis turns to the north from Unit 6, which is also part of this area. The exhibit hall of the museum was built on top of the center of Unit 3, and the administration office on top of Unit 6. The construction of the museum enabled additional excavations that were supervised by archaeologists. Burial No. 107 was located during the excavation of a trench for drainpipes located 6.7 m to the southwest of Unit 3. In 1993 archaeological zones to the north of Units 1 and 2 were used to reconstruct an indigenous settlement for touristic purposes (Figure 4.7). We do not know how the construction of this facility has impacted the archaeological El Chorro de Maíta: A First Look

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Figure 4.7. Re-creation of an indigenous village near El Chorro de Maíta site.

contexts that are possibly located there. In 1995 investigators of the Departamento Centro Oriental de Arqueología (DCOA) and the archaeologist Alain Kermoban of the University of Tours, France, made electromagnetic surveys to the south of the Burial Area (Manuel Garit, personal communication 2005). There was no new fieldwork until 2003, when a number of 50-cm2 test pits were excavated in an attempt to locate the human remains the neighbors had reported buried southeast of the museum and to the north of Unit 5 (Valcárcel Rojas 2012:95). In the latter area very little archaeological material appeared, and only some small fragments of human bones were recovered. Test pits to the north of this area located similar remains 10 m southeast of Unit 8, whereas test pits located farther away turned out to be sterile (Figure 4.8).

Excavation Units 1, 2, and 5 Apart from Unit 3 we have excavation data only for Units 1 and 2 (Valcárcel Rojas 2012: 96–100). The materials from these two units and Unit 5 were studied, but only in a fairly general way. The excavations were done in 10-cm arbitrary levels. Indigenous artifacts, mostly ceramics, were collected from 76

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Figure 4.8. Map of Burial Area and units excavated between 1986 and 1988 at El Chorro de Maíta. In the right side, test pits excavated in 2003. Map created by Roberto Valcárcel Rojas using information from Guarch Rodríguez (1987a, 1987b).

Units 1 and 2, as were diverse local terrestrial and marine species, in addition to pig bones found at shallow depths in Unit 1 (Rodríguez Arce 1987). European ceramics were found in various levels of Unit 1 and in the first layers of 10 cm of Unit 2. Unit 5 was excavated at 30 m southeast of the cemetery. In this unit, at about 50 cm deep, there is a burial identified as No. 41 that reached a vertical depth of 80 cm. The burial was surrounded by a pocket of remains that constitute the majority of the evidence collected at a depth between 50 and 80 cm. According to Rodríguez Arce, the burying of this individual impacted a hearth and a refuse concentration, explaining the association of these human remains with animal remains, shells, and various artifacts. The indigenous artifacts are remarkably varied and show an abundance of pottery and burén fragments. Remains of different animals, including pig (Sus scrofa), were found in the first three levels. European ceramics were also abundant (20 fragments) and were found in the first four levels. Thanks to Dr. Betty J. Meggers (Smithsonian Institution), radiocarbon El Chorro de Maíta: A First Look

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analysis was done in 2000 on the bones of two burials located in Unit 3, as well as on a sample of plant-based charcoal obtained from square 2 in Unit 5 (30–50 cm). From the charcoal was obtained a date of Beta-148957, 730 ± 60 BP, laboratory calibration at 2-sigma of AD 1200–1320 (Cal 750–630 BP) and AD 1350–1390 (Cal 600–560 BP). This result suggests a pre-Columbian timeframe for Unit 5, although the tree species of the charcoal is unknown, hindering the specification of the impact of age on the dated wood. This complicates our interpretations, especially since the dated levels are associated with European materials. In this situation the relationship of this burial to the archaeological materials is not clear; neither is its association to either a pre- or post-contact context. No differences were observed between the materials found in the previously mentioned units. The indigenous ceramics are considered to be of average quality in decorative terms when compared to similar sites in Cuba (Guarch Delmonte, Rodríguez Arce, and Pedroso 1987:25–28, 38). The same data have led Valcárcel Rojas (2002:61–65) to propose that the pottery and materials from the Banes Archaeological Area are an expression of a regional process of cultural development. In his opinion, they are Meillacan ceramics, but with the features more typical of the northeast Cuban. The archaeozoological study indicated that marine fish and mammals (Capromys pilorides, Boromys offella, Boromys torrei, and Mysateles melanurus) constituted the core of the animal-based nutrition (Rodríguez Arce 1987). Unit No. 5 is noteworthy for the presence of pig remains. This animal was not subjected to more detailed analysis; an interesting aspect was the identification of possible boar remains, between the pig bones (Rojas 1988). Units 1, 2, and 6 were identified as part of the habitation area of a large village surrounding a wide burial area (Guarch Delmonte, Rodríguez Arce, and Pedroso 1987:25) In the case of Unit 6, there is a significant concentration of a group of objects with ornamental and ritual characteristics, in a space not larger than 4 m², which Guarch Delmonte (1994:35–38) considers to have been owned by a behíque, or shaman. To his understanding this is not an accidental accumulation, but rather a deposit of artifacts associated with the function of this place. He mentions an anthropomorphic bone pendant, pendants and beads made from Oliva reticularis shells, stone beads, a metal sheet considered to be of brass with a perforation, a European brass bell, and a bone vomit spatula. Within this unit, unrelated to these objects, a vessel fragment also was found, which, according to Guarch Delmonte, would possibly have been manufactured in the Spanish town of Concepción de la Vega in the Dominican Republic at the beginning of the sixteenth century. 78

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Excavation and Initial Study of the Cemetery The Burial Area is described by Guarch Delmonte as a “plaza de tierra casi blanca donde no se aprecian restos de la vida cotidiana” (plaza with almost white soil where no remains of daily life appear), surrounded “por un anillo de basura arqueológica producto de los restos de habitación” (by a circle of archaeological refuse produced by habitational waste). He refers to the excavation of 1,000 m² of the total of 2,000 m² attributed to this area. The human remains were deposited between a depth of 8 and 105 cm, with the majority being between 40 and 70 cm, under a stratum of yellowish brown soil (stratum 1), where only loose bones and very limited cultural evidence were found (see reconstruction of the stratum in the museum; Figure 4.9). Stratum 1 is between approximately 10 and 30 cm thick. The stratum associated with the burials (stratum 2) consists of caliche, a whitish material of alkaline pH that in the opinion of Guarch Delmonte could have favored the preservation of the skeletons. The human remains in contact with the upper stratum 1, which has a high content of organic material and is contaminated with anthropic remains of an acidic pH, were affected by an osteolytic process that caused them to lose their structure (Guarch Delmonte 1996:17–20). Similar effects, but less severe or frequent, occurred in the second stratum. These, however, were generated by the moisture associated with the movement of water through the ground, which resulted in a leaching process that degraded the skeletal material (Taylor 1990:41). The compacted and chalky calcareous stratum extends below stratum 2 with some areas of structural limestone. The width and depth reached by stratum 2 (between approximately 70 and 90 cm thick) coincides with the depth of the burial pits, which due to its hardness apparently did not penetrate the third stratum. Guarch Delmonte, Rodríguez Arce, and Pedroso (1987:32) indicate that burials pits have a median range of 0.70 to 1.50 m in length, 30 to 50 cm in width, and 15 to 30 cm in height. They mention that these graves do not generate perceptible changes in the sediments. Certain areas of the cemetery were affected by excavations and modern domestic activities. In the excavation notes there is mention of the disarticulation of burial No. 43 upon digging a pit for the purpose of making a hearth. Evidence of another modern hearth is located to the south of burials No. 80 and 99, but the burials were not directly impacted. The cemetery plan (Guarch Rodríguez 1987b) shows a large altered space around burial No. 68 that covers up the leg bones of burials No. 66 and 65; No. 36 is associated with a modern midden, and No. 67 is displaced due to the growth of a tree. El Chorro de Maíta: A First Look

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Figure 4.9. View of the disposition of the replicas of human remains in the El Chorro de Maíta Museum. Notice the reconstruction of the cemetery stratigraphy in the lower walls.

Guarch Delmonte (1996:17) also mentions a space removed in the southern part of the cemetery that he identifies as an early colonial midden. This midden disturbed burials No. 49 and 51 and contaminated the caliche soil zone with materials from stratum 1 (pig and local fauna remains, and ceramics of unknown cultural origins). He does not exclude the possibility that burials No. 50, 53, and 54 were also affected. Recordings of the burial excavations up to 1987 were registered in daily excavation notes (Guarch Delmonte et al. 1987). There is no information about the burials found after Nos. 97 to 108, or of No. 41, found in Unit 5. The burials were excavated following the natural strata and drawn and photographed in situ, producing distribution maps of the remains in Unit 3 (Guarch Rodríguez 1987a, 1987b). The assessment of the skeletons’ sex, age, and preservation status was done by César Rodríguez Arce, who at certain stages had the help of the anthropologist Manuel Rivero de la Calle and other specialists. The information retrieved from these investigations was registered by Rodríguez 80

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Arce (1988a). Rodríguez Arce composed a table summarizing the data from 108 burials, among them No. 22, identified as one of European origin, and No. 36, which is considered to be an intrusion. The latter, according to the locals, was a member of the Ejercito Nacional (pre-revolutionary National Army), who was casually buried at the site (Rodríguez Arce et al. 1995). In 1992, after diverse analyses of the remains, Rodríguez Arce prepared a new version of the table titled Tabla de control de las características osteométricas del material osteológico de El Chorro de Maíta (Registry [Table] of the osteometric characteristics of the skeletal material of El Chorro de Maíta) (Rodríguez Arce 1992b). Information from both tables is used later on in this study to describe the El Chorro de Maíta mortuary practices (chapter 7). A report of the funerary practices was elaborated by Rodríguez Arce (1992a) and partially reproduced by Guarch Delmonte (1996). Rodríguez Arce considers the alteration between burials an indication of unmarked graves. He reports a clear correlation between the quantity of remains and the level of disturbance. This is especially visible in the central part of the cemetery, where the number of inhumations is greater. He mentions the lack of secondary burials. The most common burial deposition is face up, followed by burials in lateral deposition. Two burials lying face down and one seated were also identified. Hereafter, we will refer to these practices by use of the terms “On Back,” “On Side,” “On Face,” and “Seated,” as defined by Sprague (2005:31). Legs appear to be mostly flexed, while in a significant group (16 burials), they were extended. Guarch Delmonte (1996:19, 22) suggests the possibility of a link between the burials in the extended position and European contact. Rodríguez Arce (1992a) mentions the presence, in some burials, of rocks with a lithological composition that does not correspond with the caliche stratum, which leads him to attribute to these an anthropic source. He highlights the absence of a cranium in burial No. 31, the presence of metal objects over the skeleton, and its relation to a human bone fragment marked with incisions. Rodríguez Arce believes that these aspects indicate a particular treatment of that individual and that the extraction of the cranium was part of ritual activities. The finding of two burials with extremely flexed extremities over the thorax was interpreted as evidence for the use of bindings to achieve this posture. Special attention was given to a group of contiguous burials deposited at similar depths: a woman (No. 57), a man (No. 29), and a child (No. 58). The three burials have body ornaments and metal objects that were interpreted as evidence of a distinguished social status and a possible group inhumation related to practices of sutteeism or family burials. El Chorro de Maíta: A First Look

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Materials were found in various burials that appeared to have been moved accidentally during their opening or treatment. Among the items found were indigenous and European ceramics, local fauna, and pig bones (Guarch Delmonte 1988:163; Rodríguez Arce 1992a). In other cases, objects and body adornments were found on top of the human remains that apparently were worn by the individuals at the time of inhumation. Guarch Delmonte (1996:20, 1994:20) considers these to be funerary offerings, while he also comments on the peculiar absence of typical offerings, such as ceramic vessels and petaloid axes. He highlights the limited presence of funerary offerings and their predominance among women and children. Unlike the faunal and ceramic remains encountered in the graves, some of these objects were investigated.

Individuals’ Features Excluding the intrusive individual (No. 36) and the one considered to be of European origin, it was estimated that the burial group had an American Mongoloid ethnoracial profile (Guarch Delmonte 1988:163; Rodríguez Arce et al. 1995). This conclusion is supported by cranial morphological features as well as more general features common in communities of Antillean origin, such as skull deformation; high levels of dental wear; and noticeably short stature (Guarch Delmonte, Rodríguez Arce, and Pedroso 1987:36; Rodríguez Arce 2003:87). Cranium No. 22 was considered atypical because of the lack of cranial deformation. The burial was altered by other inhumations, and the postcranial skeleton was not found. A comparison with a series of skulls of European origin as well as other indigenous skulls (from Agricultural Ceramicist contexts) confirmed with 95 percent reliability its correspondence to the European group. It also established his estimated age at between 18 and 20 years (Rivero de la Calle et al. 1989:73, 84). The sex and age of the 106 individuals were estimated by Rodríguez Arce (1992a, 1992b). There were a total of 26 subadults (0 to 20 years), with a significant presence of those less than five years of age (13). He identified 80 adults, comprising 43 females, 36 males, and one of indeterminate sex. Rodríguez Arce (2003) estimated their stature by conducting an osteometric study of the long bones. He established that females had an average height of 147.6 cm, with a range of 134.7 to 156.1 cm. The mean height for males was 158.6 cm, with a range of 150.8 to 172.3 cm. Artificial skull deformation was very common among individuals considered to be indigenous. This is especially true among adults, of which only No. 45 did not have evidence of the deformation. The type of deformation 82

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observed was tabular oblique, common among Agricultural Ceramicists in Cuba as well as the other islands of the Greater Antilles. There is mention of its absence in some subadults, which, according to Guarch Delmonte (1996:21), could be related to specific changes in practice resulting from European contact. According to Rodríguez Arce, very few pathological alterations were identified. He reports only bony callus, indicating two rib fractures in burial No. 47, and a chronic dental abscess in burial No. 25. Caries were the most important pathological alterations (Valcárcel Rojas and Rodríguez Arce 2005:134). A dental characterization distinguished common features in Cuban and Antillean populations (Rodríguez Arce et al. 1995), and a dental genetic study indicated the proximity of this mortuary population to the samples of Agricultural Ceramicist communities in the Dominican Republic (Coppa et al. 2008). To determine the type of diet and the possibilities of differences in consumption, considering sex and social status, a study of isotopes and trace elements (strontium, zinc, calcium, copper, magnesium, manganese, sodium, and iron) in samples of 10 male and 10 female adults was conducted (Taylor 1990:50–53). The results showed that despite processes of diagenesis, the strontium isotope levels in the studied samples must have been low. The limited variability of the isotope ratios and the absence of significant differences between the sexes indicate similar dietary customs, even when taking into consideration apparent differences in status. The pattern in the strontium isotope ratios and the high incidences of zinc, sodium, and copper suggest that in addition to marine foods vegetable foods were consumed. From this, it can be assumed that the diet was varied and, in general, omnivorous. There is also a clear emphasis on the consumption of food with low values of the strontium isotope ratios, such as maize or yucca, perhaps also indicating diet transformations after European contact. As previously mentioned, the results of the radiocarbon analysis of the bone samples from burials No. 25 and 39 were provided by Beta Analytic Inc. These results date burial No. 25 to before the European arrival, and burial No. 39 during the fifteenth to seventeenth centuries, overlapping with the moment of contact. The dates are: 1) Burial No. 39. Beta-148955, 360 ± 80 BP, calibrated to 2-sigma by the laboratory as AD 1420–1670 (Cal 530–280 BP). 2) Burial No. 25. Beta-148956, 870 ± 70 BP, calibrated to 2-sigma by the laboratory as AD 1020–1280 (Cal 930–670 BP). El Chorro de Maíta: A First Look

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Objects on the Skeletons One of the most revealing aspects of the cemetery is the presence of objects whose position with respect to the bones allows for the assumption of their location on the bodies at the moment of inhumation. In various texts Guarch Delmonte (1988, 1994, 1996) has detailed the characteristics and origins of the pieces found on burial No. 57, while making general comments about those collected on other burials. Of these objects only some of the metal ones were studied. In order to contextualize the criteria previously mentioned and as part of a new study, the author directly revisited the evidence, which is currently conserved in the collections of the DCOA, and proceeded to quantify and register the objects’ morphology and measurements.

Nonmetal Beads Burial No. 57 contained the largest collection of nonmetal beads. Diverse beads—and other pieces made of metal—were located between the ribs and very close to the mandible. Guarch Delmonte (1988:176, 1994:24, 26) mentioned the existence of three pearl beads, pink coral beads, 23 discoid shell micro-beads, four calcite beads, and five lithic micro-beads, one black and four white. He considers the coral, shell, and calcite beads to be of local manufacture. Among the objects in the DCOA collection, there is no black lithic bead, and only two pearl beads were found, one of 4.0 mm in diameter and another one, fragmented and of a smaller size, 3.2 mm in diameter; both are of a silver color and with golden dots. In the DCOA collection, 21 quartzite micro-beads, of 1.5 to 2.7 mm in diameter, and 59 beads of 4.8 to 5.7 mm in diameter, were located. All of them are cylindrical, of a white or grayish white color, with biconical perforations and a weight of less than 0.1 g. The height is variable, but no greater than 5.7 mm; amongst the largest are four reel-shaped beads and some with lateral holes (Figure 4.10). The 18 coral beads are cylindrical or barrel-shaped. Some are smooth and others have a rough texture. They have a diameter between 2.0 and 2.3 mm and a length between 3.6 and 6.1 mm. Three of them are reddishbrown in color, but the majority are of a light pink or white color. The perforation is cylindrical and might be toward one side. According to the excavation notes, various beads of pink coral alternated with dark resin beads were found near the bones of the right hand in burial No. 58. On top of the bones of the right foot were found pink coral, as well as resin beads (Guarch Delmonte et al. 1987) (see Figures 4.11 and 4.12). The materials associated with burial No. 58 that are deposited in the DCOA include a 84

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possible collar of alternating beads of resin (11) and coral (11), and another set with 15 coral beads (Table 7.9). The coral beads of both groups are similar. They have a diameter between 3.9 and 5.7 mm and a length of 3.7 to 9.4 mm, and the majority are barrelshaped. All beads are polished, and their color is light pink to orange red. The perforations are cylindrical and generally displaced to one side. The resin beads have a diameter between 4.6 and 6.0 mm and a length of 2.9 to 5.5 mm; some are spherical and others have facets, and their color is brown with yellowish areas. The average weight of the beads of both materials is between 0.1 and 0.3 g. The registry of osteometric features (Rodríguez Arce 1992b) mentions 24 quartzite beads in burial No. 64. According to the site plan, they were found next to the right forearm. In the burial material in DCOA there are 32 beads of this type. Their diameter is between 2.4 and 4.7 mm, with a length of 4.6 to 5.5 mm. They are cylindrical, of a grayish white color, with a biconical perforation in the middle (Figure 4.13). Two quartzite beads with similar characteristics, but of greater size, were found in burial No. 100.

Figure 4.10. Nonmetallic beads found with individual No. 57A: quartzite beads of between 4.8 and 5.7 mm in diameter (center); beads of a similar material of between 1.5 and 2.7 mm in diameter (upper right); coral beads of between 3.6 and 6.1 mm long (right); pearl beads (top), the biggest with a diameter of 4.0 mm.

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Figure 4.11. Resin and coral bead ornaments found with individual No. 58A.

Figure 4.12. Coral bead ornaments found with individual No. 58A.

Figure 4.13. Quartzite beads, with diameters between 2.4 and 4.7 mm, found with individual No. 64.

In burial No. 84 the excavation data and register mention coral beads and a black spherical bead; the latter were found in the neck area, according to the cemetery site plan. The site’s collection holds two bead sets attributed to this burial, with 28 and 33 beads respectively (Table 7.9); see Figure 4.14. The beads’ material was identified as coral by Guarch Delmonte (1991). The majority are cylindrical, while others are barrel-shaped. They are light pink or yellowish white, with shapes and dimensions similar to the ones from burial No. 57. The black bead, identified as made of resin by Guarch Delmonte, is spherical, has a cylindrical perforation, and measures 5.5 mm in diameter on its widest part. Also, burial No. 54 contained a fish vertebra that seems to have been modified into a bead; and in burial No. 63 there is mention of quartz beads (Guarch Rodríguez 1987b; Rodríguez Arce 1992b), but these last were not part of the cemetery material in the DCOA collections.

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Figure 4.14. Ornaments found with individual No. 84: coral beads between 3.6 and 7.7 mm long; jet bead (lower center) of 5.5 mm in diameter.

Earspools Two resin earspools were found in burial No. 94 (Figure 4.15), and two quartzite ones in No. 99 (Figure 4.16). Guarch Delmonte (1996:21) mentions that these were found in association with the skull, indicating their use as adornments. The resin earspools, suggested by Guarch Delmonte (1991) to be of amber, are cylindrical and measure 12.0 and 13.5 mm in length. They have a notch around one end. Both are brown with a transparent and crystalline interior and crackled surfaces. They both weigh 0.3 g. The earspools from burial No. 99 are reel-shaped and are very similar to the common quartzite beads, although they are narrower in the central part. The earspools measure 12.1 and 13 mm in diameter, are 13.7 and 15.6 mm tall, and weigh 2.4 and 2.9 g, respectively. Both have biconical perforations. 88

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Figure 4.15. Resin earspools found with individual No. 94; the largest is 13.5 mm long.

Figure 4.16. Quartzite earspools found with individual No. 99, the largest measuring 15.6 mm tall and 13 mm in diameter.

Cloth According to Guarch Delmonte (1996:22), two fragments of cloth were found lying on top of the mandible of burial No. 57, in the interior of the mouth. He comments on the possibility that both fragments were part of the same piece and describes them as “tela de algodón de color blanco amarillento” (yellowish-white cotton cloth). Both this textile and another one in burial No. 72 have been reported by Rodríguez Arce (1992b). Only the two fragments from burial No. 57 are among the evidence deposited in the collections of the DCOA (Figure 4.17). The largest piece measures 41.9 mm long and 26.4 mm wide, and weighs of 0.6 g. The smallest piece is separated in two fragments; one is 22.6 mm long and 20.86 mm wide, and the other is El Chorro de Maíta: A First Look

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Figure 4.17. Remains of cloth found with individual No. 57A, measuring 41.9 mm long.

12.7 mm long and 8.3 mm wide. All of the textiles contain granules of what seems to be black sediment.

Modified Bone Even though it was not placed over the body, there is a piece of human bone that, according to Guarch Delmonte (1996:21), seems to have been intentionally placed with the adult male located in burial No. 31. This piece is a juvenile femur fragment with three consecutive notches separated by regular spaces. The cuts seem to be postmortem. The bone has not been located in the DCOA collections.

Pendants and Metal Beads The metal objects form two groups: one with evidence of gold and of a varied typology, and the other of pieces with a tubular structure. Objects of the first group were exclusively found in burial No. 57. It includes four laminar pendants, a hollow figure in the form of a bird’s head, a bell, a hollow spherical bead, and two cylindrical metal beads. The trapezoidal laminar pendants have a reddish-gold color and are perforated at one end. One has a bilobed base, and all of them have an embossed line that circles the border and the perforation. The average weight is 0.2 g, the length varies between 13 and 18 mm, and the width of the bases is between 15 and 19 mm, with a thickness of 0.1 mm (Valcárcel Rojas 2012:Table 4). 90

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The bell is hollow and measures 12.4 mm long; it has an elongated form, somewhat pear-shaped, and a pointed inferior extremity with a longitudinal notch and ring in the superior part. The cylindrical beads, made of gold according to Guarch Delmonte (1996:21), have a diameter of around 2 mm, a hole of 0.7 mm and heights of 0.81 mm and 0.83 mm respectively, with an average weight of 0.04 g. The bird’s head measures 22.2 mm in length and has a semicircular base and a missing rectangular fragment in the posterior part; the thickness of the sheet is around 0.1 mm (Figure 4.18). According to Guarch Delmonte, the spherical bead—which at present is very fragmented—was made of low-carat gold. Only a drawing of this piece has survived (Guarch Delmonte 1994: Figure 7G). When it was found, “tenía soldado en uno de sus extremos, un delgado tubito de 5 mm de longitud, muy fino, el que se deshizo al ser extraída. . . . ; por el lado contrario se advierte el inicio de lo que debió ser un apéndice similar, destruido con anterioridad. La esfera tiene un diámetro de 3 mm y en sus interior se observa con el microscopio un fragmento de hilo” (it had a narrow tube 5 mm long soldered to one of its extremities that became separated when the piece was extracted; on the opposite side there is an indication of a similar appendage that was destroyed previously. The sphere has a diameter of 3 mm and there is microscopic evidence of a thread fragment in its interior [Guarch Delmonte 1988:166]). Six of these pieces were analyzed using a scanning electron microscope (Guarch Delmonte 1996:notes 7, 10, 11). The laminar pendants and bell contain a high percentage of gold and copper, with some silver and very low levels of silicon. The nonquantitative results for the ornithomorphic piece

Figure 4.18. Metal objects (gold and guanín) found with individual No. 57A. The bird head is 22.2 mm tall.

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suggest the material to be an alloy of gold, copper, and silver (according to Guarch Delmonte known as guanín in indigenous vocabulary). Guarch Delmonte (1988:169, 1996:21–22) considered that the bird head was manufactured by the forging technique, with areas united by welding or hammering. The cylindrical beads, he concluded, were made of gold and could be associated with the bird’s head as having been part of the same pectoral piece. He suggests that the bird could represent the mythical entity called Inriri Cahubabayael in Hispaniolan indigenous mythology (Guarch Delmonte and Querejeta Barceló 1992). However, the object’s morphology is classified as non-Antillean, and it is recognized as consistent with goldsmithing from Central America and Colombia. He considers the bell to be similar to objects found in Monte Albán (Mexico) and zones in Central America. In sum, Guarch Delomnte rejects an Antillean source for the spherical bead, but does not exclude a pre-Columbian origin for the pieces, and leans toward the idea of their arrival through the translocation, by the Spanish, of a native who carried them or the knowledge of how to make them to Cuba (Guarch Delmonte 1988:173–75; 1996:note 17).

Metal Tubular Objects According to Guarch Delmonte (1994:14), the tubular objects were made of a rolled thin metal sheet. They often have the remains of a cotton thread inside. Only 25 pieces, five complete ones and 20 fragments, are kept in the collections of the DCOA. In many cases it is impossible to determine their original shape, because they are deteriorated or covered by a layer of limestone sediment (Figure 4.19). The five largest tubes have dimensions that vary between 28.9 and 25.3 mm in length, with a maximum diameter of 3.9 to 2.9 mm, and a minimum diameter of 1.7 to 1.2 mm. The thickness of the sheets is approximately 0.3 mm. Consultation of various sources (Guarch Delmonte 1988, 1994; Guarch Delmonte, Rodríguez Arce, and Pedroso 1987), and especially the research and excavation data and material registry produced an estimate of at least 17 burials with metal tubes (burials No. 13, 19, 24, 25, 27, 29, 31, 38, 39, 45, 57, 62, 69, 84, 92, 98, and 101). The tubes curated in the DCOA are identified as associated with burials No. 25, 57, 69, 84, 94, and 101, while others were found during the process of soil screening, without any information to link them to a particular burial. There is no mention of tubes in burial No. 94 in any of the consulted sources, so the DCOA identification of various fragments in this burial is not reliable. The tubes were found over the thorax and around the neck (Valcárcel Rojas 2012:Table 6). In the majority of the cases only one was present: in burials 92

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No. 45 and 69, three were found in each, and four were found in No. 27. Five tubes in No. 25 form part of what Guarch Delmonte (1994:16, 1996:20) considers to be an ornament that was worn below the knee. The piece, circular in shape (36.5 mm in diameter and 8 mm thick), is described as being composed of a copper disc with four layers, covered by cotton cloth. The tubes, held by threads, hang from the inferior extremity (Guarch Delmonte, Rodríguez Arce, and Pedroso 1987:29–30). The direct examination of the piece indicates the possible presence of more than one metal disc inside the cloth bundle. The textile is as green as the tubes attached to it (Figure 4.20).

Figure 4.19. Metal tubes (brass) found in the burials at El Chorro de Maíta. The largest is 28.9 mm long.

Figure 4.20. View of both sides of the cloth and metal piece found in burial No. 25, measuring 33.7 mm long.

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The assumption that copper was used in fabricating the piece is supported by a more detailed study of one of the tubes by means of an LMA-10 laser spectral microscope that determined the presence of this element as a major component. While evaluating its origin, the possibility that local copper obtained and worked by the indigenous population was considered, as was European copper modified by the natives to make the tubes. It was considered that the tubes were used as pendants and were part of adornments (Guarch Delmonte, Rodríguez Arce, and Pedroso 1987:3; Guarch Delmonte 1996:20). Between 2002 and 2003, Valcárcel Rojas coordinated an X-ray fluorescence (XRF) analysis of various metallic pieces from El Chorro de Maíta along with similar objects from the El Boniato site, located only 300 m away from El Chorro de Maíta in the Yaguajay area, and the Alcalá site, which is relatively far to the south. The studies were done in the Centro de Aplicaciones Tecnológicas y Desarrollo Nuclear (CEADEN) in Havana (Valcárcel Rojas 2012:Table 7). One of the cylindrical beads and a fragment of a spherical bead from burial No. 57, two sheet fragments from the Alcalá site, a laminate pendant from the El Boniato site, 19 tubes from El Chorro de Maíta, and two tubes from the Alcalá site were studied (Valcárcel Rojas, Martinón-Torres, Cooper, and Rehren 2007:Tables 2 and 3). In addition, a perforated sheet from El Chorro de Maíta Unit 6 was analyzed. The majority of the results for the group of possible gold objects or guanines (samples MB1/E1, M3/E2, MA14, MA15) were nonquantitative. They indicated the presence of gold, copper, and silver, with other components such as iron, zinc, and tin. The cylindrical bead (sample M2/E2) consisted primarily of gold (74.5 percent). The supposed brass objects from Unit 6 had a composition largely of copper. The results from the tubes of the first group (samples M3/E1 and M4/E1) revealed a composition within the parameters of brass, a copper and zinc alloy in which the latter element contributes over 10 percent (Scott 1991:137); this alloy came to America with the Europeans. The other sample analyzed (M2/E1), part of a tube found in burial No. 25, presented an even higher quantity of copper (93.2 percent) and much less of zinc (6 percent). As mentioned above, this burial dates to pre-Columbian times, because of which the tubes of the adornment were assumed to be an indigenous-made product based on local copper. Based on this analysis, Valcárcel Rojas and Rodríguez Arce (2005:137, 141) suggested that the brass tubes found in other burials could be an adaptation of the new metal obtained from the Europeans to the pre-Columbian tubular format.

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El Chorro de Maíta as a Center of Power Valcárcel Rojas (2002:84–88) and Valcárcel Rojas and Rodríguez Arce (2005), using the data from the work done between 1986 and 1988, and also the radiocarbon dates acquired in 2000, proposed that the cemetery was a symbol of territorial control, sustained by a community that must have controlled the use of resources in the zone and exercised political and ideological influence over the area. The differential distribution of ornaments in the burials, the exotic character of some of these objects, and the particular link with high-status figures and children would indicate the existence of groups or families with a superior status who maintained this status at a hereditary level. Considering the dates from burials No. 25 and 39, as well as the presence of European brass in some burials, they suggest a pre-Columbian origin for social differentiation, a situation that it is believed was maintained until European arrival, even when the impact of the interaction with the Europeans on these processes is not considered. Valcárcel Rojas and Rodríguez Arce (2005) propose that the cemetery was an indigenous space for the preservation of the ancestors that was maintained in various centuries, as indicated by the dates from burial No. 25. They relate its central location to a possible plaza, with its position marking the symbolic center of the community and a place of connection between the natural and supernatural worlds. The lack of formal boundaries for the cemetery and the absence of grave markers are an expression of the communal vision in which preeminence was placed on the space, and not on the individualization of death. This detail, as well as the abundance of burials and the limited presence of individuals with ornaments, is understood as reflecting an egalitarian organization that existed parallel to the institutionalization of inequality.

Evidence of Indigenous–Spanish Contact An inventory of the materials of European origin was made by Roxana Pedroso (1992), who reports 56 ceramic pieces and distinguishes, without mentioning any quantities: majolica (White Columbia Plain and Green on White) and the coarse earthenware types Melado, Green Lebrillo, and Early Olive Jar. She mentions the possible vessel from Concepción de la Vega, a disc-shaped fragment of majolica with a central perforation (Figures 4.21 and 4.22), nails, a piercing iron object, the perforated metal sheet, and the bell from Unit 6 (Figure 4.23), as well as the tubes related to the burials. She classifies the El Chorro de Maíta: A First Look

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tubes, the majolica bead, and the perforated sheet as objects manufactured by the natives from European material and, as such, transcultural. In addition, Guarch Delmonte mentions the presence of faceted glass beads that have not been located in the DCOA. He mentions as transcultural material a small cylindrical vessel with two handles that was manufactured with indigenous techniques. A replica of the pot is exhibited in the El Chorro de Maíta Museum. Burial No. 22, which is attributed to a European origin, is considered by Guarch Delmonte as evidence for the physical presence of a colonist on the site. These aspects, alongside the pig remains, point to early indigenous–Spanish interaction and cohabitation. From his perspective, an indigenous community must have existed here before European arrival, and in contrast to other sites where interaction generated a contraction of the local culture, here diversity was maintained. He suggests that, due to the isolated character and large population, the Banes region could have remained an indigenous core area after the initial actions of conquest. He believes that the Europeans settled in the area but only in small and isolated groups, and without developing encomiendas. El Chorro de Maíta could be one of these

Figure 4.21. Object associated with Europeans found at El Chorro de Maíta: 30 cm tall, painted earthenware vessel.

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cases, and in this context burial No. 57, with a broad set of objects of value, could have been interred when the Spaniards were not present (Guarch Delmonte 1996:17–25). In fact, the European materials and the indigenous objects that copied Spanish forms received little attention. Contact with Europeans was not considered significant, and following the scheme proposed by Domínguez (1978), the site was classified as a “contact site,” and therefore as a space of limited connections with the Europeans (Domínguez 1978; Guarch Delmonte 1996:22; Pedroso 1992; Valcárcel Rojas 1997:73, 74).

Figure 4.22. European objects with indigenous modification from El Chorro de Maíta. A perforated ceramic fragment, 26 mm in diameter; and a copper sheet, 32 mm long, with a perforation in the upper part.

Figure 4.23. European bell, measuring 32.6 mm on its longest part.

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5 Recognizing the Living Space

New research in the nonfunerary zones of the site was initiated in 2006, through fieldwork aimed at revising of the boundaries of the site, recognizing its structure, stratigraphic and spatial organization, evaluating its use from a cultural, as well as temporal, dimension, and particularly locating evidence and deposits associated with indigenous–European interaction. Although the Burial Area provides the most recognizable heritage value, it is associated with the museum infrastructure and protected by rigorous regulations, so it was decided that no work would be done within the perimeter of the museum. In addition, previously unstudied materials from excavations conducted between 1986 and 1988 were included, as was other evidence from the site that existed in different institutions. These actions served to establish a general image of the location and understand the cemetery in its relation with the site. Given the time and available financial resources, concentration was on surveys and limited formal excavations, directed to obtain a general picture of the site’s spaces before and during indigenous–European interaction. To accomplish this, priority was given to the timeline established through stratigraphic analysis, following the chronology provided by the presence of European materials or related in some way with them, and through radiocarbon dates. To refer to the chronological position of the contexts and materials, the terms pre- and post-contact are used on occasion. These refer to the timing of the formation of such contexts, or the entry of materials to the site using direct or indirect European interaction as a reference, at times that do not necessarily coincide with the arrival of Columbus, or the initial moments of the conquest in Cuba. They do not imply a relation with the contact situation or the period of contact in the sense discussed in chapter 2; they deal with a reference regarding the existence, or nonexistence, of indigenous–European interaction.

Site Reconnaissance The limits of the area of archaeological material dispersion considered in the site plan from 1987 (Guarch Rodríguez 1987a) show a space with a central nucleus in the Burial Area. Guarch Delmonte (1994:7) calculated the dispersion of archaeological materials as 22,000 m²; this is henceforth called the Archaeological Area of 1987 (AA1987). It is difficult to compare its limits with the references provided by Rouse (1942), who locates the western border of the site at a point next to the Chorro de Maíta spring. The spring is located 270 m to the west of AA1987, which indicates that perhaps Rouse considered the site to be larger. The parcels with mounds mentioned by Rouse, according to Reinel Riverón Vázquez (personal communication 2008), son of one of the proprietors mentioned in Rouse’s report, coincinde with the southwest half and part of the north-central zone of AA1987. Interviews with the local inhabitants provided data about archaeological materials from within and outside of AA1987. They also mentioned the extraction of a skeleton in the flexed position. This skeleton was of an unknown cultural affiliation in a rocky shelter 40 m to the northwest of AA1987. From this data a study was formulated, executed between 2006 and 2007, to evaluate new areas in different directions over an area of 81,588 m². The study was organized as a general surface survey followed by shovel test pits (between 30 and 40 cm in diameter) at 15 m intervals and later at 5 m intervals. Finally, a unit of 2 m by 3 m was excavated (Unit 9). Reports of this research have been presented by Valcárcel Rojas (2006), Persons et al. (2007), and Valcárcel Rojas, Persons, Knight, and Pérez Iglesias(2007). The surface survey was extended to the area of the touristic village within AA1987. Burial No. 96, with a known spatial location, was used as a reference to relocate the old excavations. The surface survey was conducted in 24 search areas that covered 34,359 m² (42 percent of the total research area), and it resulted in the collection of 789 indigenous pieces and diverse faunal remains. Areas of great material diversity were located around the cemetery, mainly in the south and the north, zones that correspond to the old Vázquez and Cordovés plots, and that from this point on will be referred to as Campo Riverón, and Campo Moisés, respectively. A certain quantity of evidence was found to the east of AA1987, as well as isolated finds to the west, mainly near the spring. In the eastern half of the research area, faunal evidence, indigenous materials, and European ceramics (mainly Olive Jar and various Majolica types) and a fragment of Mexican Red Painted, were found in Campo Recognizing the Living Space

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Moisés (Table 5.1). Near the spring a shell gouge and a gouge fragment were located, as well as small flakes and shatter. The report of only one ceramic sherd and of abundant remains of the marine pelecypod Lucina pectinata, which are not common in the rest of the explored area, provide a differential character to this zone (Valcárcel Rojas, Persons, Knight and Pérez Iglesias, 2007). The principal result of the exploration was recognition of a large space with evidence of Agricultural Ceramicist communities in the eastern half of the research area. Toward the west there are isolated pieces and a small grouping of materials in the spring’s valley. Although shell gouges are occasionally found in Agricultural Ceramicist sites, their occurrence next to hammers and other stone artifacts in this last area leaves open the possibility that this is an Archaic site. However, without further study one cannot discard the possibility that this context is solely the result of differentiated activities in this location by the Agricultural Ceramicist inhabitants of the eastern part. European ceramics are restricted to the eastern half, evidently concentrated in Campo Moisés to the north of the cemetery. In that area, 51 of the 62 fragments were found, for a total of 82.2 percent of the total sample (Table 5.1). To organize the location of the shovel pits, a reticulate system of 15 by 15 m was established, with a north–south orientation that covered the total work area and allowed for the spatial ordering of the information, including the topographic data (Figure 5.1). The shovel pits were situated at the quadrants’ vertices of the 15 by 15 m area. Following these parameters, 208 shovel pits were excavated, of which 86 were positive, providing 368 indigenous sherds, three European ones, and faunal remains. In addition to the tourist village and the museum, the zones near Units 1 and 2 were also excluded from the work, as were the survey pits done in 2003. A great concentration of evidence was again found in the eastern half, as was a concentration of lesser importance on the western side, near the spring. Only one marine mollusk shell fragment was found between these concentrations. Two zones of archaeological material distribution were identified from the contour provided by the positive pits. These are identified as the East Area (34,448 m²) and the West Area (near the spring, with 2,262 m²). It is clear that the East Area corresponds to the true zone of archaeological materials at the El Chorro de Maíta site, now expanded with respect to AA1987, redefining its limits and establishing its larger size (Figure 5.1).

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Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

3

2

1

1 1 4 51 1

Green Lebrillo

Unglazed coarse earthenware

Lead-glazed coarse earthenware

European ceramics (Total)

Mexican Red Painted

Melado

Bizcocho

4

1 4

1

1

3

1

1

62

5

1

2

1

26

3

1

19

1

1

5

20

19

Olive Jar (lead-glazed)

1

1

1

Shovel Pits Shovel Pits (15-m intervals) (5-m intervals)

11

1

Majolica Isabela Polychrome

1

5

1

Total

18

1

Majolica Santo Domingo Blue on White

1

Surface (other areas)

Olive Jar (Unglazed)

4

Majolica Columbia Plain

Surface C. Torres

1

1

Majolica

Surface C. Riverón

Majolica Caparra Blue

Surface C. Moisés

Ceramics

Table 5.1. European and non-Antillean indigenous ceramics found during surveys

1

84

6

2

2

1

1

31

31

1

1

1

6

1

Total

Figure 5.1. Map of the location of cuts (test pits) made at 15- and 5-m intervals and the location of Unit 9 showing the new area with a dispersion of archaeological materials at El Chorro de Maíta. From Valcárcel Rojas (2012:Figure 40); modified by the author.

The most common evidences in the East Area were the marine and terrestrial faunal remains, followed by indigenous ceramics. In the western part the survey confirmed the presence of Lucina pectinata, and only two indigenous ceramic fragments were obtained. However, a flaked-stone technology assemblage and coral were more frequent than previously reported. The new materials found during the survey were not abundant and exhibited little variability. Only the ceramics presented a stable representation, with relatively high frequencies in some zones. In this sense, in addition to Campo Moisés and Campo Riverón, a farming area is distinguishable in the eastern end, outside of AA1987. This area is the property of the Torres-Guerra family, and from this point is called Campo Torres. European ceramics are scarce. Only one sherd was found in each of the three Campos previously mentioned (Table 5.1). On the east side, the archaeological material appears primarily in the first 25 cm of the deposit, reflecting the extensive removal of the contexts and the presence of modern elements. 102

Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

These materials were related with a stratum of limestone soil of fine and loose granules that is slightly clayey and mixed with organic material. Among the objects found was a metal piece of semicircular shape that reminds some specialists (Roger Arrazcaeta, personal communication 2008) a part of the mechanisms of an old firearm, although this has not been verified. Utilizing the same methodology used with the pits located at 15-m intervals, additional pits were done at a distance of 5 m. Campo Moisés was selected because it had the highest density of surface materials. The pits at 5-m intervals were distributed over an area of 250 m² (Figure 5.1). A total of 21 pits were excavated, all were positive, and they yielded a total of 460 indigenous artifacts and 19 European ceramic sherds. The fauna collected maintained the same profile found in the 15-m-interval pits. The most notable component is the indigenous ceramics, which registered a greater quantity of body sherds, decorated lugs, and rim sherds than were found in all of the 15-m-interval pits. A similar situation occurred in the case of the European ceramics, with 19 sherds recovered, although these were of few ceramic types (Table 5.1). A flat buckle was also located, of an unidentified metal similar to brass. These have not been chronologically identified (Table 5.8). The initial stratum in all of the pits appear to have been altered. In various pits were concentrations of charcoal, ash, and fauna. One of these concentrations was located in Pit 2, next to skeletal elements later identified as pig (Sus scrofa). Another concentration was located in Pit 20 and included a burén fragment with encrusted carbonized material. Since the context seems to be scarcely altered, the materials from Pit 20 influenced the location of an excavation unit (Unit 9). It was placed 38 m to the northeast of Unit 3 (center of the Burial Area) (Figures 5.2). It was organized in six 1-m² quadrants and was excavated in arbitrary 10-cm levels. The soil matrix starts with the clayey limestone soil of a 10YR 5/4 color (Munsell Color Corporation 2000). This soil is dominant in many parts of the site. Since the excavations are in an area of cultivation, the initial stratum 1 appears to have been disturbed, with abundant archaeological materials displaced on the surface. Stratum 1 is between 18 and 20 cm thick, and it does not have a distribution particular to archaeological evidence, formed by faunal remains and of indigenous and European ceramic. At the beginning of the second artificial level (12–22 cm), the faunal remains, now associated with ash and charcoal, are more notable. Near the end of the second artificial level, a new stratum (No. 2) begins to appear, between 18 and 20 cm deep. It is formed by reddish-yellow clayey soil (7.5YR 4/4) that is relatively compact, with the inclusion of small lumps of caliche. There are Recognizing the Living Space

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Figure 5.2. Unit 9. A burén (griddle) fragment (left center).

faunal remains within it and immediately over it. A central element of this context is a concentration of charcoal associated with burén fragments (Figure 5.2). In stratum 2, vessel fragments were located containing articulated bones of Capromys sp., and an almost complete navicular vessel next to fish bones. The excavation continued in quadrants 1 and 3. In the 32–42-cm level, there was a new stratum (No. 3) of compact dark soil (7.5YR 3/2 color) without the small granules from the previous stratum, and where the archaeological materials were extremely scarce. In the 42–52-cm level archaeological materials no longer appear. The beginning of the 52–62-cm level has a layer of sterile caliche (7.5YR 5/4 color). The concentration of ash and charcoal mixed with faunal remains, found at the beginning of stratum 2, has fragments of different types of vessels and burén fragments that belong to only one piece, measuring 1.8 cm wide and 38 to 40 cm in diameter. Its presence, and that of the vessels next to food remains at the same depth, indicate a soil level, or perhaps a floor associated with a 104

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hearth area. Stratum 1 is altered and has evidence of modern intrusions. The same is true for some places in stratum 2; however, the concentration of the faunal material, charcoal, and ash is coherent and seemingly unaltered. In Unit 9, the indigenous ceramics display decorated lugs and incised and appliqué decorative elements, as well as paste of compacted texture, with a fine temper (less than 1 mm) formed by sand granules or crushed rock and possibly ground shell. The vessels were formed by coiling, achieving walls of diverse thickness that do not exceed 7 mm for the body and 9 mm for the bottom. The exterior surfaces are predominantly smoothed, but rough to the touch, with occasional irregularities and frequent traces of exposure to fire. In one case there is a red slip. A dark brown color predominates, although there are pots of light brown and reddish-brown color. The interior surfaces have a similar treatment, although the reddish colors are more common. The rims are almost always straight, with the top generally rounded. The majority of the sherds come from angular vessels. A navicular vessel and a plate were found. Given the small size of the fragments, the only complete reconstructions were of the 10-cm diameter angular vessel, the 22-cm plate and the 20-cm-long navicular vessel. Stylistically, the ceramics are Cuban Meillacan and are similar to the ones associated with the Banes Archaeological Area (Valcárcel Rojas 2002:44–57). In addition to these indigenous ceramics, the European ceramics found exhibited little variation and were concentrated in the initial stratum 1 (levels 0–12 cm and 12–22 cm) (Table 5.3). Non-ceramic artifacts were not abundant, including only flakes, chert shatter, and Codakia orbicularis scrapers (Table 5.2). According to Pérez Iglesias (2007), the minimum number of individuals (MNI) in the faunal remains was 5,426. They were concentrated at the bottom of stratum 1, in stratum 2, and at the beginning of stratum 3. The greatest percentage of animal biomass is provided by marine fish, followed by terrestrial mammals, with Capromys pilorides as the most frequent species (Table 5.11). The marine mollusks and, particularly, terrestrial mollusks appeared in all strata. Unit 9 reinforces the observation of the structure of contexts revealed by the excavations conducted at 15-m and 5-m intervals. Its profile contributes to the identification of at least three anthropic strata on the site: stratum 1 begins on the surface and is a very altered stratum of 10 to 20 cm thick, containing a mixture of indigenous, Spanish, and modern items. The two strata under this are superimposed and undisturbed and contain only indigenous elements. The presence of ash, charcoal, faunal remains, and ceramic vessel fragRecognizing the Living Space

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ments, as well as the reiteration of some animal species, indicates a situation involving the preparation and perhaps consumption of food at this location. This concentration of remains is not very dense and contains almost no artifacts and a reduced number of vessels, including only one burén. It suggests that perhaps most of the remains, among them the burén, could be related to the same event. The presence of this domestic zone in Campo Moisés and the collection during surveys, of numerous faunal remains linked to ceramic sherd and utilitarian artifacts, records the existence of various points of refuse accumulation (middens) around the Burial Area. The evidence also indicates that the manufacture of some lithic artifacts took place here. Such aspects correspond to the usual archaeological structuration of indigenous habitation sites (Figure 5.3).

Figure 5.3. Topographic map of the site showing the present location of houses and land use (elements in black are modern constructions). Compare the differences between the new area of archaeological materials recognized in 2007 (2), with respect to the area recognized in 1987 (1). From Valcárcel Rojas (2012:Figure 43).

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Excavations and Surveys (2008–2009) An objective of the research was an increased reconnaissance of Campo Riverón and Campo Torres, as well as the evaluation of the structure of the hearth deposit found in Campo Moisés and its relation to other deposits in the immediate area (Figure 5.4). During the investigation, the collection of sediments was incorporated for paleobotanical studies to understand the characteristics of the vegetation, to evaluate the agricultural management, and to locate species introduced by the Europeans. In relation to this last aspect and considering the experiences at En Bas Saline regarding animals or European objects of small size that are difficult to identify using traditional methods of sampling and recovery (Deagan 2004:603), the soil was sifted using screens with a 3-mm mesh in areas with concentrations of faunal remains. Special attention was also given to the detection and location of pig bones during excavation, as well as in the laboratory. Reports of these efforts are presented in Knight et al. (2008) and in Valcárcel Rojas et al. (2008). Unfortunately the results of the paleobotanical research, directed by Dr. Lee A. Newsom, are not available yet. The excavations were organized in units of 2 and 4 m², formed by 1-m² quadrants. Unit 9 was expanded with three 1 m² squares located immediately to the west, registering the new area as Unit 9A. When both units are mentioned, they will be referred to as General Unit 9. In Campo Moisés, five units were excavated in addition to this unit (Figure 5.4). Unit 9A shows a stratigraphic profile and materials similar to those found in Unit 9. However, the concentration of remains associated with the hearth in Unit 9A does not form a continuous lens. The strata of Unit 12 are similar to those of General Unit 9, and the unit also contains indications of cooking (Figure 5.5). The soil type in stratum 1 in Campo Moisés is common to all units. It was extremely affected by agricultural management, and it yielded large quantities of European ceramics, making it impossible to determine whether the whole stratum is due to the consequences of interaction, or whether the strata, with and without European material, are mixed. A second stratum, generally unaltered, without European material, and with burnt material, is located in General Unit 9, Unit 12, and in the west side of Unit 11. In Unit 12 there were many relatively large burén fragments, which are not as frequently found in the other units, except Unit 10. This domestic zone must have functioned in open air, because there were no evidences of structures in any of the units. The greater part of Unit 11, as well as Units 13 and 17, does not have an evident function. Unit 10 contains a great quantity of faunal remains, charcoal, Recognizing the Living Space

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Figure 5.4. Map of the location of the new excavations in the different plots (campos). Detail of the excavations in Campo Moisés at bottom.

Figure 5.5. Stratigraphic profile of the west face of Unit 12.

ashes, and diverse cultural evidence, but its mix is typical of a trash midden. The presence of rocks could also be an indication of this activity, perhaps due to the clearing or cleaning of domestic spaces to the north. Because of its proximity to the road, it could belong to the mounds mentioned by Rouse on the Cordovés property. The presence of a human bone (part of the proximal radius of a juvenile) in stratum 4 of Unit 10 is significant. In 2009, Valcárcel Rojas excavated an exploratory cut of 1 × 0.80 m, 5 m to the west of Unit 10. It was registered as Cut 19 (a “cut” is an independent square or quadrant). The intent was to verify the context where pig bones had been found during the exploratory excavation located 5 m away (Pit 2). The initial stratum was similar to that in the other units located in this field, although its consistency is looser, because it is the point at which sediments accumulated. At about 20 cm deep, the soil is darker, with small stones. This appears throughout the rest of the excavation until about 50 cm of depth. There are no other indications of alteration at 30 cm deep. The cut was stopped before reaching sterile strata. The noteworthy element is the presence of European ceramics and abundant pig bones, mixed with indigenous ceramics, until 40 cm deep (Figure 5.6). This is defined by an unaltered area with European material and indi-

Figure 5.6. Concentration of pig bones and European and indigenous ceramics in Cut 19.

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cates not only that the admixture of indigenous and European materials is the result of the anthropic processes of disturbance of the zone, but that genuine contexts generated by indigenous and Spanish relations can be found in the site. On the other hand, the presence of pig remains is much more important than what was observed in the remaining units. The accumulation of sediments and the small size of the excavation do not allow for the determination of whether the first stratum of this cut, apparently covered by a superficial deposition, corresponds to stratum 1 of in the rest of the Campo Moisés area, or whether it is a different stratum, generated by the deposits located to the west that was not recognized during the surveys. In Campo Torres, Units 14 and 15 were excavated. Measuring 4 and 2 m² respectively, they are located more than 100 m to the east of Unit 3 (Figure 5.4). The strata with archaeological material are of decreased thickness. They start with a stratum of mixed plant material with clayey limestone soil, similar to Campo Moisés, which is followed by one or two strata of very thin darker soil over the rock base. Agricultural activity altered the first two strata of Units 15 and 14. In strata 1 and 2, the material (faunal remains, indigenous and European ceramics) does not show a significant relation. Two units were opened in Campo Riverón. Units 16 and 18, measuring 4 and 2m² respectively, were located between 26 and 23m to the southeast of Unit 3. Unit 16 begins with a stratum of somewhat compact brown clay soil (10YR 5/4), with a thickness of between 20 and 30 cm. This stratum was affected by plow use. The stratum has intrusions of modern material, mainly glass and metal, as well as a great quantity of indigenous ceramics, Spanish ceramics sherds, part of a European bell, and utilitarian and ornamental indigenous artifacts. At about 20 cm deep, a stratum (No. 2) of dark reddish brown soil (7.5 YR 4/4 color) was encountered; it was somewhat compact and contained limestone rocks. Stratum 3 begins at about 50 cm and becomes sterile between 60 and 70 cm. It seems to be the base soil in this area, and in it is evidence of a posthole. Unit 18 repeats this stratigraphic sequence, but with a low incidence of materials. According to Reinel Riverón (personal communication 2008), the modern surface of this zone is not original, because part of the initial sediment has been lost due to agriculture. Even so, it is evident in Unit 16 that the deposits are rich. The ornamental and ritual objects in the process of manufacture indicate a possible artisan labor space. The posthole could have been part of a building, but the small size of the excavation did not allow further evaluation. Unit 18 seems to be an extension to the south, of the area with few materials observed to the east of the Burial Area. Reinel Riverón reported the 110

Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

finding, many years prior to these new excavations, of two individuals buried less than 2 m to the north of Unit 16, and two others to the north of Unit 6.

Material Study The material from Unit 9 is included in this analysis because it is important for understanding the patterns in Campo Moisés. These pieces, the ones from Cut 19, and the ones from the remaining units in the other fields (Table 5.2) form a collection of 5,771 artifacts, including both indigenous and European objects coming from an excavated area totaling 37.8 m². Another four pieces of European ceramics were found on the surface during the excavations. In the case of the European materials, only the ones that date to the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries are considered. A group of metal artifacts, mostly nails, could date to this same time period, but because they also were common in later centuries, they were not included in this group. They were evaluated later with similar artifacts obtained at other times, under the category “Old Metal.” Glass and other modern artifacts were also found. There was no specialized analysis of the glass, and although it seems to be mainly modern, the presence of older pieces cannot be discounted. Only one glass object was included in the European material analyzed. The glass that was considered to be modern was only quantified. The majority of the sample (91.3 percent), is indigenous ceramic sherds (Table 5.2). These sherds were decorated with incised, linear, and pointed elements, but rarely with appliqué. Decorated lugs and adornos were more common than decoration on vessel shoulders but were not very frequent. In typological terms, the pottery features maintained the scheme described for Unit 9. Vessels with an angular profile and circular base dominate, maintaining the set within the stylistic aspects referred to by Valcárcel Rojas (2002:61– 66) for the Banes area, although in a moderated expression in regard to its aesthetic complexity. The comparison of the data from El Chorro de Maíta with the ones from a group of sites in the Banes area, with and without indigenous–Spanish interaction (Jardines et al. 1994:Tables 1 and 3), shows similar patterns in quantity and in decoration. The rest of the materials, considered to be from indigenous contexts due to their typology, are not varied, and are particularly utilitarian. The flakedstone technology assemblage and shell follow ceramics in importance, but their presence is fairly low: 2.4 and 0.84 percent of the total materials respectively (Table 5.2). A limited portion of the flakes were utilized, resulting in a collection of mostly unutilized cores, flakes, and shatter. In shell, scrapers Recognizing the Living Space

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88.8

% Total

1

54

4.5

Rims

Subtotal

% Total

2

3.1

4

1

3

67.7

86

5

81

Cut 19

2.5

15

6

9

92.9

565

2.1

12

5

3

4

46

507

U.9

6

2

1.0

3

3

92.0

277

1.8

5

5

12

260

U.17

Flake

90.5

172

2.9

5

4

1

20

147

U.13

1

9

2.5

20

1

19

92.8

727

1.2

9

5

2

2

63

655

U.12

Core 3

2.8

12

1

11

91.4

395

0.7

3

3

34

358

U.11

Flaked-stone technology assemblage

53

Sherds

Griddles

1054

32

Decorations (Total)

Subtotal

26

Lugs/Handles/Adornos

3.03

1

Appliqué decoration

% Subtotal

5

112

Rims

Incised decoration

910

Undecorated sherds

Ceramic vessels

U.10

Table 5.2. Artifacts obtained in excavation units and in Cut 19

9

1

2.4

14

14

89.9

534

1.9

10

10

42

482

U.9A

6

1

1.4

13

1

12

95.0

861

0.8

7

5

2

38

816

U.16

1

2.6

3

3

94.0

110

0.9

1

1

7

102

U.18

3

1.0

4

4

91.7

368

1.3

5

4

1

36

327

U.14

0.8

1

1

95.2

119

1.7

2

2

7

110

U.15

41

3

2.5

143

11

132

91.3

5268

1.7

91

70

6

15

422

4755

Total

37

3.1

Subtotal

% Total

2

3.2

19

9

2

3

Scrapers (bivalve)

13

1

Gouges

Tools and implements (shell)

0.2

0.8

4

0.8

5

1

0.3

3

0.08

1

% Total

2

1

Subtotal

4

1

1 1

1

Objects with ornamental incisions Coloring materials

1

0.5

1

2

1.6

1.3

12

5

Idol preforms

Beads

Ritual/Ornamental items (stone)

0.1

0.3

6

1.8

11

4

% Total

2

2

0.8

1

1

3

1

3.0

9

7

3

3.2

6

6

Subtotal

1

Hammers

1

1.5

12

10

1

1

Unidentified worked objects

3.0

13

10

Fish-net weights

1

Petaloid axes (fragment)

Tools and implements (stone)

28

Shatter/Debitage 0.8

1

2

0.2

1

1

3.7

15

12

31

1

0.20

12

5

1

1

5

0.17

10

1

6

2

1

2.4

137

93

(Continued)

0.8

1

1

6

U.9

4

U.9A

U.16

1 1 0.1

Projectile points

Subtotal

% Total

Tools and implements (bone)

0.4

0.3

% Total

0.2

3

3

Subtotal

1

1 2

1

Tabular pendants

Discs

0.3

2

1

0.9

Pendants (bivalve)

1

1.6

1

2

0.6

Beads (Oliva sp.)

Simple pendants (Oliva sp.)

Carved pendants (Oliva sp.)

Ritual/Ornamental items (shell)

0.5

0.7

0.1

1

1

0.2

1.8

Cut 19

% Total

3

U.17

2

5

U.13

22

2

U.12

Subtotal

2

2

U.11

1

9

U.10

Worked fragments

Debitage

Picks

Scrapers

(Table 5.2—continued)

0.8

1

1

U.18

0.2

1

1

0.7

3

1

U.14

0.8

1

1

U.15

0.01

1

1

0.19

11

3

2

1

1

3

1

0.84

49

1

13

1

2

Total

1

2

20.6

% Total

Old Metal

1.187

Total (general) 1

7.4

432

1.2

2

13.6

783

0.6 3.2

190

4.2

1

5.2

301

2.6

2.2

127

26

10.5

608

1.3

2

10.3

594

1.2

7

1

6

11

1

15.7

906

1.3

0.9

8

8

0.2

2

% Total

33

33

1.3

8

12

8

8

0.2

1

11

8

8

1.0

3

Subtotal

5

5

0.5

1

4

2

1 5

5

0.9

7

1

4

Metal bells

Glass

Ceramic

11

0.2

% Total

European artifacts

4

2

Subtotal 0.9

4

1

Used coral

Not-used coral

1

Files 3

0.3

% Total

7

1

Subtotal

Tools and implements (coral)

1

Beads

Ritual/Ornamental items (bone)

2.0

117

1.7

2

2

6.9

401

3.7

5

5

0.7

3

2

1

0.2

1

1

1

2.2

125

2.4

3

3

10

5.771

1.8

105

1

1

103

0.57

33

22

10

1

0.03

2

2

Figure 5.7. Bone projectile point from Unit 12.

were made predominantly from Codakia orbicularis bivalves, although there are also gastropod fragments and a gouge. The ground-stone assemblage (including pecked and ground and use-modified implements) included a net weight, a fragment of a petaloid axe, and various hammerstones. A bone projectile point made from the caudal spine of a devilfish (Order Rajiforme), from Unit 12, is the only utilitarian bone artifact (Figure 5.7). Among the coral, only a fragment used as a file or rasp, is distinguished. The ornamental or ritual elements are comparatively more diverse, although they are also scarcer (0.42 percent of the total sum of shell, stone, and bone) (Figure 5.8). Among the stone were quartzite and calcite beads, found in various units. One comes from Unit 16, where there is an exceptional set, including a small idol preform and a rectangular object with incisions (Figure 5.9). Among the shell discs collected was one that might have been used as an inlay, tabular pendants, a pendant made from a bivalve fragment, and beads and pendants of Oliva reticularis (Figure 5.8); of the latter, the only one with incised designs was found in Unit 16. Two bone beads made from fish vertebrae were reported. Without combining Units 9 and 9A, with the purpose of maintaining them in comparable relation to the rest of the excavated spaces, Unit 10 appears to contain the most evidence (20.6 percent of all of the materials), followed by Units 16 and 12 (Table 5.2) (Figures 5.10 and 5.11). This is significant because these units are smaller than Unit 9, and they point to a function different from that of General Unit 9. A total of 107 European ceramic sherds were recovered, including four found on the surface that were not included in the general count of excavated materials (Table 5.3). Except in Cut 19, where the European ceramics occur 116

Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

Figure 5.8. Indigenous objects made from conch shell from El Chorro de Maíta.

Figure 5.9. Indigenous ritual or ornamental objects found in Unit 16 (left to right): stone idol in the process of manufacture, stone object with incisions, conch shell pendant, and stone bead.

Figure 5.10. Indigenous utilitarian stone objects: petaloid celt fragment (upper left); net weight (right); hammerstones (bottom).

Figure 5.11. Indigenous utilitarian objects of flaked chert from El Chorro de Maíta.

in strata 1 and 2, ceramics were restricted to stratum 1 in the remaining areas. An exception is one fragment found in Unit 14, stratum 2, but it seems to be intrusive (Table 5.4). The ceramic types are very similar to the types found on the surface and the shovel pits, except for the Santo Domingo Blue on White majolica, and the Green Lebrillo. As on the surface and in the test pits, Olive Jar fragments are the most common, followed by Columbia Plain majolica. In terms of vessel shape only, we identified part of an albarello neck in Caparra Blue majolica (Cut 19), part of a Bizcocho pitcher (Unit 16), and a sherd from an Isabela Polychrome majolica plate (Unit 14), and another plate fragment on the surface of Campo Moisés. In stratum 1 of Unit 16, the inferior half of a Clarksdale bell was found, with a diameter of 24 mm and a height of 9 mm. A curved object, similar to a pear-shaped bead, in dark blue glass, was found in Unit 9A, stratum 1 (Figures 5.12 and 5.13). The perforation must have had a diameter of at least 7 mm, which is too wide for a bead. The object had a diameter of approximately 12 mm. Its rounded shape and a fracture alongside the inferior rim suggests that it might have been the mouth of a very small vial or, perhaps, a lagrimario, a container used to gather tears, common in the first half of the sixteenth century (Deagan 2002a:137) (Figure 5.12). The area of Campo Moisés (2.736 m²) is less than that of Campo Riverón (4.644 m²) and Campo Torres (4.617 m²), but it concentrates 80 percent of the European ceramics found on the surface. Cut 19 yielded 30.8 percent of all the European ceramics found in the excavations (Table 5.3). It had a lesser level of disturbance and will provide a more accurate image of stratum 1, even when we do not know the relation with other contexts found in Campo

Figure 5.12. Shard of European glass, measuring 12 mm long, from El Chorro de Maíta.

Recognizing the Living Space

119

Figure 5.13. Part of a European metal bell, 24 mm in diameter, from El Chorro de Maíta.

Moisés. This detail and the abundance of surface material suggest the dispersal of many objects of stratum 1 due to agricultural activities and a special situation in this plot with regard to the catchment of European materials. It is important to note the peculiar absence of pig remains in Campo Moisés, while they were very frequent in Cut 19. The zooarchaeological research considered only one quadrant of Units 10, 12, 14, and 16 (Pérez Iglesias 2008). In terms of the MNI, the terrestrial mollusks are the most abundant. However, the principal contributions to the biomass came from fishing, followed by hutia hunting and mollusk collection. In all units, the majority of the taxa and of the MNI was identified in stratum 2; only in Unit 16 were there greater contributions of biomass in stratum 1 (Figure 5.14). There are no substantial differences in terms of taxa composition between the different strata, although there are differences between units. Unit 12 had the greatest number of individuals and taxa, much greater than the others. Although the highest MNI from Unit 12 comes from mollusks, the presence of fish remains is highlighted, particularly in stratum 1. The common taxa in Unit 16 are similar to those from other areas, but this unit is distinguished by the presence of dog (Canis lupus familiaris) and of some pig bone fragments that belong to at least one individual. Unit 10 is the only unit with an important quantity of individuals in stratum 4. Fourteen taxa in Cut 19 were identified. They were similar to those of the excavation units, although no local terrestrial mammals or reptiles were found (Table 5.11). The most important species was pig, with 107 elements 120

Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

1

3

bT1

(Surface Campo Moisés). Total Campo Moisés. cSCT (Surface Campo Torres). dT2 Total Campo Torres. eT3 Total Campo Riverón. fTG Total General.

aSCM

8

Total

3

1

1

Lead-glazed coarse earthenware

Unglazed coarse earthenware

Melado

Bizcocho

6

1

2

11

5

5

3

5

1

1

8

1

5

8

1

4

33

2

1

19

3

3

1

Olive Jar (unglazed)

2

8

4

3

Olive Jar (lead-glazed)

2

1 2

1

1

Majolica Caparra Blue

Majolica Isabela Polychrome

Majolica Columbia Plain (Green)

1

1

87

6

2

1

45

24

1

1

5

2

1

1

5

1

2

1

1

3

2

1

9

4

3

1

1

U.10 U.11 U.12 U.13 U.17 C.19 T1b SCTc U.14 U.15 T2d

1

U.9A

Majolica Columbia Plain

U.9 1

SCMa

Majolica

European ceramics

Table 5.3. European ceramics from excavation units and Cut 19

11

1

1

1

3

1

3

1

U.16

11

1

1

1

3

1

3

1

T3e

107

6

1

3

2

52

28

1

1

1

9

3

TGf

Figure 5.14. Variation in the MNI and comestible biomass in Units 10, 12, 14, and 16. From Valcárcel Rojas (2012:Figure 61).

that included bone fragments and teeth, present in all strata and coming from two subadult individuals. This, along with the finding of pig in stratum 2 of Unit 16, defines the relationship of this animal with the indigenous– Spanish interaction situation in nonfunerary spaces. In excavations, stratum 1 generally shows more artifacts than all the other strata combined (Table 5.4), suggesting a strong indigenous presence in this final moment, although it may also be because this stratum incorporates materials from underlying strata. The patterns found in the fauna are different because the quantity of taxa and of MNI decreases in stratum 1 in relation to stratum 2. In terms of biomass there is less information, while in Unit 12 there is a reiteration of the predominance of stratum 2 (Figure 5.14). The decline in the proportion of animal remains in stratum 1 apparently was not due to post-depositional factors. Indigenous sites in the Banes Archaeological Area, with similar conditions of soil and alteration, have greater quantities of faunal remains in their initial strata (Rodríguez Arce 1988b, 1989). This expression of the faunal aspect could be influenced by the reduced space studied in each unit (only one 1-×-1-m quadrant), but perhaps it is associated with the impact of the interaction with the Europeans on the economic life of the indigenous community. 122

Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

Radiocarbon Dating Using samples taken during the 2007–2008 excavations and from Cut 19, 15 radiocarbon dates were obtained (Table 5.5). Fourteen of these dates were obtained from carbonized plant remains, and one was from part of a pig bone. Dating was also done on the charcoal collected in the 1986–1988 excavations from Units 1 and 2, conserved at the DCOA. Including the date obtained from Unit 5, referred to in chapter 4, there is a total of 18 measurements of materials from nonfunerary contexts. Two (GrA-43727, GrA-48827) were dated by AMS in Rijksuniversiteit Groningen, Holland. The rest were analyzed in the Beta Analytic, USA laboratories: three by LSC (Beta-148957, Beta-239262, and Beta-239265) and 13 by AMS. The dates were calibrated by Bayliss and collaborators (2012) with a 95 percent probability range, using IntCal09 (Reimer et al. 2009) (see Valcárcel Rojas 2012:appendix 3). They date the various zones that were studied, and in many cases the specific contexts that were considered to be relevant. For example, dates were obtained for the hearth in General Unit 9, the zones with ash and faunal and charcoal remains in Units 12 and 11, and the material from the posthole located in Unit 16. In Units 1, 2, and 5, as well as Units 9, 10, 11, 14, 16, and 17, there are dates of strata without any European material. Only the dates from GrA-43727 and GrA-48827 were obtained by analyzing samples from strata that had evidence of European interaction. In the first case (GrA-43727), the sample was charcoal from a potentially disturbed stratum (stratum 1, Unit 10, quadrant 3, level 2); the second sample (GrA-48827) was a pig bone from an undisturbed context located in Cut 19. The pig bone was dated to 315±30 BP (cal AD 1470–1650). Despite the wide 2-sigma range, and although the initial age of the calibration is slightly earlier than the date of European arrival, the fact that this animal first arrived on the island with the Spanish indicates its timing to the first colonial centuries and confirms the relationship of the pig bones found in Cut 19 with the interaction situation. In five cases, Lee A. Newsom (personal communication 2010) could identify the wood taxa of the dated charcoal samples: sample Beta-252839 is from the Myrtaceae family (Eugenia spp.), samples Beta-252840 and Beta-252842 are from the Rutaceae family (Amyris spp.), sample Beta-252843 is from the Fabaceae family (Andira spp.), and sample Beta-252838 is wood from the Oxandra family (O. lanceolata). All of the samples identified were from trees with a dense, or relatively dense wood of slow growth capable of living for decades or even centuries, Recognizing the Living Space

123

% Total (campo)

Ritual/Ornamental items (stone)

% Total (campo)

Tools and implements (stone)

100

3

84.6

11

Flaked-stone technology assemblage

% Total (campo)

100

83.1

% Total (campo)

% Total (campo)

807

Total ceramic (vessels)

16

75

% Total (campo)

Griddles

6

Decorated ceramic elements

15.3

2

16.8

164

25

2

3

13

16

971

8

100

1

75

12

80

4

72.8

355

85.7

6

Stratum 1

25

4

20

1

27.1

132

14.2

1

Other strata

Total (campo)

Other strata

Stratum 1

Campo Torres

Campo Riverón

Table 5.4. Stratigraphic distribution of artifacts

1

16

5

487

7

Total (campo)

66.6

6

66.6

6

56.4

61

46.7

57

71.7

2732

61.8

47

Stratum 1

33.3

3

33.3

3

43.5

47

53.2

65

28.2

1078

38.1

29

Other strata

Campo Moisés

9

9

108

122

3810

76

Total (campo)

12

10

137

143

5268

91

Total

3 75 12

100

856

83.6

% Total (campo)

European artifacts

% Total (campo)

Total (stratum/campo)

% Total (campo)

100

1

100

3

Tools and implements (coral)

% Total (campo)

Ritual/Ornamental items (bone)

% Total (campo)

Tools and implements (bone)

% Total (campo)

Ritual/Ornamental items (shell)

% Total (campo)

Tools and implements (shell)

16.3

167

25

1

1.023

12

4

1

3

73.5

387

87.5

7

100

3

100

1

100

4

26.4

139

12.5

1

100

1

526

8

3

1

1

4

70.4

2.976

74.1

63

61.5

16

100

1

100

1

77.7

7

61.9

26

29.5

1.246

25.8

22

38.4

10

22.2

2

38.09

16

4.222

85

26

1

1

9

42

5.771

105

33

2

1

11

49

Table 5.5. Radiocarbon dates of nonfunerary zones Laboratory Number

Material and Context

Radiocarbon δ13C/ Calibrated Date Range Age (BP) δ15N (‰) (95% probability)

Beta-148957 Charcoal from Unit 5, square 2 (0.30–0.50m)

730±60

−25.0 (assumed)

cal AD 1210–1390

Beta-239261 Charcoal from Unit 9, square 2, Feature 1 (0.22–0.32m)

520±40

−27.2

cal AD 1315–1450

Beta-239262 Charcoal from a hearth in Unit 9, square 2

380±50

−23.8

cal AD 1430–1645

Beta-239263 Charcoal from a hearth in Unit 9, Feature 1 (0.23 m deep)

530±40

−24.8

cal AD 1310–1445

Beta-239264 Charcoal from a hearth in Unit 9, square 6, Feature 3

530±40

−26.9

cal AD 1310–1445

Beta-239265 Charcoal from Unit 2, square 1 (0.40–0.50m)

630±60

−23.5

cal AD 1275–1435

Beta-252836 Charcoal from Unit 17, square 1, stratum 3

390±40

−24.8

cal AD 1435–1635

Beta-252837 Charcoal from a hearth in Unit 9A, square 10, stratum 2, Feature 5

610±40

−27.6

cal AD 1280–1420

Beta-252838 Charcoal from Unit 14, square 1, stratum 3 (0.31m deep)

560±40

−25.5

cal AD 1295–1440

Beta-252839 Charcoal from Unit 1, square 1, stratum 1 (0.40–0.50m)

470±40

−26.8

cal AD 1405–1470

Beta-252840 Charcoal from a hearth related to Unit 12, square 1, stratum 2, Feature 9 (0.26 m deep)

520±40

−24.7

cal AD 1315–1450

Beta-252841 Charcoal from a hearth related to Unit 11, square 1, stratum 3, Feature 8 Beta-252842 Charcoal from Unit 10, square 2, stratum 2 Beta-252843 Charcoal from Unit 10, square 2, stratum 4

630±40

−26.4

cal AD 1280–1410

670±40

−26.9

cal AD 1270–1395

660±40

−25.1

cal AD 1270–1400

Beta-252844 Charcoal from Unit 16, square 1, Feature 11 (post hole)

390±40

−23.4

cal AD 1435–1635

Beta-252845 Charcoal from Unit 12, square 1, Feature 10

520±40

−25.1

cal AD 1315–1450

GrA-43727

Charcoal from Unit 10, square 3, stratum 1

440±30

−24.2

cal AD 1420–1475

GrA-48827

Pig bone from Cut 19, stratum 2

315±30

−19.1/+9.6

cal AD 1470–1650

Note: Data from Bayliss et al. (2012) modified by the author.

although none are considered centenary species. For this reason, these dates, and perhaps many of the remaining ones, may reflect the “old wood” problem, which can attribute a significant number of additional years to a date (Bowman 1990:15). In other words, the wood could have been used in more recent times than the date obtained, given the lifetime of the tree. However, the similarity between the results is noteworthy. The concentration of the age ranges in pre-Columbian times is congruent with the absence of European materials or effects generated by European interaction in the strata, and the dated contexts. The dates are also within the ranges recognized in the Banes area (Valcárcel Rojas 2002; Cooper 2007), where they indicate an occupation that could have begun around the thirteenth century and perhaps continued until the arrival of Europeans. The relevant detail in the latter aspect is the absence of strata with indications of abandonment below stratum 1, with European materials, and the date obtained in stratum 1 of Unit 10 (GrA-43727; cal AD 1420–1475), even with the possibility of the old wood problem, is congruent with a continuing occupation in the fifteenth century. The similarity of the dates obtained in General Unit 9, combined with the archaeological data, point to the hearth as a unique event. Its proximity to Unit 12 suggests the spatial management of both units in the fourteenth century. The remains associated with the posthole (Unit 16) are within a calibrated range that is too wide to determine whether this possible building material is either pre- or post-contact.

Investigation of Materials from the DCOA and from Other Institutions A large quantity of materials obtained from El Chorro de Maíta, in the archaeological explorations of 1979, and the surface collection and shovel pits from 1985, are conserved in the DCOA. Materials from Units 1, 2, 3, 5, initial 6, and 6 are also curated there. Finally, a large collection of pieces from the 1988 excavations is registered as “exploratory trenches 1 and 2” and “Unit 1,” but we do not know the exact spatial location of these excavations. In 1988 the last of the burials was extracted, and Unit 6, as well as the extension of Unit 3, was excavated. For this reason, it is very probable that the exploratory trenches and the remaining excavation units could be part of the work connected to the clearing of space for the construction of the museum. Numerous other archaeological materials lack provenience because the information labels deteriorated, or they were registered only as surface Recognizing the Living Space

127

finds. We understand that they belong to Units 3 and 6 because the registered materials with those proveniences are only one part of what must have been collected, given the area excavated in those units and the number of quadrants. They also could have been obtained during any of the surveys, and even from exploratory trenches 1 and 2, and Unit 1. This study follows the strategy used with the materials obtained between 2006 and 2009. To organize the analysis of the pieces from exploratory trenches 1 and 2, and Unit 1, they are analyzed together as an independent group labeled the “Museum Area Material.” In this group there are also materials that seem to come from Units 6 or 3. The remains without identification are grouped together under the label “General Material.” This last group also includes the materials from the 1979 and 1985 surveys, because their precise location is not known. These surveys were very limited, and it could be considered that for the most part the unidentified material comes from the museum zone, in particular Units 3 and 6. The material from Unit 3 was obtained principally in the initial stratum 1, called a tapón, that is above the caliche soil (stratum 2) where the burials are located. In this unit only a small collection of pieces belong to the quadrants that were excavated to 71 cm, coinciding with the midden area located in the southern part of the cemetery (Guarch Delmonte 1996:17). Various bags from Unit 6 come from stratum 1, also a tapón, which in some areas reaches a depth of 52 cm. Apparently all of the material from stratum 1 in this unit was extracted as part of the same set. We do not know whether lower levels were excavated, but considering the layout of Unit 3, it is very possible that under the Unit 6 tapón there was sterile caliche, and that not much was excavated. Exploratory Units 1 and 2 were excavated in arbitrary 10-cm levels to depths of 50 cm and 40 cm respectively. Unit 1 was excavated in arbitrary 25-cm levels and reached a depth of 50 cm. In the El Chorro de Maíta museum collection, a vessel found in Unit 6 was identified by Guarch Delmonte (1994:35–38) as originating from Concepción de la Vega in Hispaniola. The museum also holds two sixteenth-century coins found on the surface of the sterile area to the east of the museum, as well as a sherd from a vessel with a handle, which was manufactured with indigenous material and technology and that copies European forms (possibly a pitcher). A small vessel (cup) with similar characteristics can be seen in the private collection of Romero Emperador, a replica of which is on exhibit in the museum. A fragment of unglazed Olive Jar from the site, identified as early style by Goggin (1960:11), is located in the Yale Peabody Museum of Natural History (Brooke Persons, personal communication 2010). 128

Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

The European objects and the ones that copy European forms will be evaluated alongside objects from the research done in 1986–1988. Their quantification with those from Unit 6, Initial Unit 6, Unit 3, General Material, and Material from the Museum Area, excluding the faunal remains, modern material, and Old Metal, increases the number of objects to 15,437. Of these objects, 361 are European ceramics or metal, 43 fragments are non-Cuban indigenous ceramics or copies of European forms, and 15,028 are indigenous pieces (Table 5.6).

Study of the Evidence Although more abundant than in the collection obtained from the areas worked between 2006 and 2009, the indigenous component does not present a greater variety, with the exception of some bone objects (Figure 5.15). The group General Material comprises 59.3 percent of the pieces, and Unit 6 also has a large quantity. The ceramics offer forms similar to those observed in the controlled excavations, although the decorations are somewhat more complex (Figures 5.16, 5.17, and 5.18). Of the indigenous utilitarian artifacts (Table 5.6), the most noteworthy is a flaked-stone technology assemblage, followed in abundance by ground-stone technology and use-modified tools with a high number of hammerstones and stone net weights. The main shell artifacts are Codakia orbicularis scrapers. Objects of ritual or ornamental use are scarce, highlighting their manufacture in bone, especially the vomit spatula and an anthropomorphic pendant found in Unit 6, where three stone beads and a fragment of hematite were also found. The presence of non-Cuban indigenous ceramics and other indigenous ceramics that copy European forms stands out. This small collection, identified among the materials from diverse areas (particularly Unit 6), includes a group of sherds of the Mexican Red Painted type, with a variant of thinner walls and thick paste, and others with thick walls of fine and compact paste. The thick fragments are similar to the materials found in La Habana Vieja (Lugo and Menéndez 2001, 2003; Arrazcaeta et al. 2006:208), in contexts that date to the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and even later. An Aztec IV ceramic sherd was also found. Both types come from Mexico. Aztec IV is considered to be an indigenous ceramic type dating from the first half of the sixteenth century to the seventeenth century (Charlton 1979; González Rul 1988; Nichols et al. 2002). Mexican Red Painted is a colonial type ranging between 1550 and 1750 and based on indigenous pottery traditions (Deagan 1987:Table 2). Because there are no definitive indicators for pre-Columbian contact between Cuba and Mesoamerica, and because the interaction enRecognizing the Living Space

129

40

1.7

Decorations (total)

% Decorations 16.7

1.9

6.0

14.8

60.4

% Total

1646

11988

Total

3.9

% Total

18.9

20

1

Flakes

Retouched/Used flakes

Blades

3

Cores

Flaked-stone technology assemblage

15

105

Rims

Subtotal

Sherds

90

86.8

% Total

Griddles

2328

Subtotal

2

4.8

14

14

92.3

264

0.7

2

2.5

1

6

4.02

40

3

37

84.3

838

3.2

27

14

7.1

5

31

1

5.1

120

6

114

88.5

2060

1.2

25

15

21.3

11

2

111

4

3.09

283

37

246

91.7

8377

1.6

139

50.3

17

3

170

8

3.6

562

61

501

89.8

13867

1.7

233

153

6

958

7280

General Material

6 2

% Total

93

29

10

281

1754

Museum Area Material

Appliqué decoration

13

88

723

% Total

Lugs/Handles/Adornos

11

Incised decoration

36

226

U.3

74

283

Rims

% % Total Initial U.6 Total

40

2005

Undecorated sherds

Ceramic vessels

U.6

Table 5.6. Artifacts from excavations done in 1979–1988, and others

20.0

2.8

8.6

1 5.7

2.6

243

115

4

0.1

Subtotal

% Total

1

10

0.4

Subtotal

% Total

0.3

1 28.6

57.1

Debitage

Scrapers (bivalve)

10

1

Coloring materials

Tools and implements (shell)

3

Beads

Ritual/Ornamental items (stone)

1.0

10

10 28.6

0.34

8

3

5

0.08

2

3

7

0.3

Subtotal

% Total

0.3

1

2

Used/Modified pebble

Fish-net weights

Mortars

22.8

0.06

6

2

4

0.03

3

3

0.2

23

9

1

2 1

3.9

20.2

11

6

2.5

91

53

Hammers

1.04

5.5

1

Petaloid axes (used fragment)

Petaloid axes (fragment)

1

3.3

25

% Total

Tools and implements (stone)

0.7

17

3

88

Subtotal

1

64

Shatter/Debitage 19.5

1

Retouched/Used blades

17.1

42.8

65.7

54.0

(Continued)

0.2

35

6

29

0.04

7

4

3

0.2

35

1

12

1

18

2

1

2.9

450

250

2

U.6

General Material

16

0.5

Not-used coral

Subtotal

26.2

% Total

0.9

9

8

11 0.4

11

18.03

0.3

25

21

1

2

14

Worked coral

1

2

0.01

Pestles

Files

Hammers

0.1

0.2

% Total

Tools and implements (coral)

1

3

5

Subtotal

1

Anthropomorphic pendants

1

3

Beads

Pendants (animal tooth)

1

Vomit spatulas

Ritual/Ornamental items (bone)

2

33.3

% Total

0.02

3

Museum Area Material

% Total

14.7

% Total

Subtotal

1

U.3

2

55.5

% % Total Initial U.6 Total

Simple pendants (Oliva sp.)

Ritual/Ornamental items (shell)

(Table 5.6—continued)

40.9

11.1

100.0

% Total

0.39

61

54

3

1

1

2

0.06

9

1

1

6

1

0.01

2

2

Total

33

9.0

3

0.11

Subtotal

% Total

286

1.8

6.4

20

2.328

1.4

15.1

2

26

0.01

1

1

1.7

993

0.2

0.3 9.151

59.3

0.4

2.679

% Total

Total general

2

10

15.437

0.27

43

5

1

2

31

1

1

4

32

0.03

5

3

1

1

2.36

361

1

77.5

20

43.2

2

1

358

Coarse earthenware Painted Black on White Indigenous ceramics that copy European forms Subtotal

2

1

0.1

1

1

6.5

1

17.3

60

1.4

Aztec IV

5

2

Fine gray ceramic

Mexican Red Painted

Other ceramics

2

1

Ceramic sherds with perforation

Pendants (animal-tooth)

Metal pendants

European artifacts modified

3.8

18.0

% Total

65

156

1.09

154

103

4

33

Subtotal

28.5

65 2

1

Metal bells

4

Coins

102

European artifacts

Ceramics

Figure 5.15. Materials encountered in Unit 6: bone vomit spatula, 83 mm long (left); bone idol pendant, 30.4 mm long (right).

vironment with the Europeans is visible on the site, both types seem to be products of colonial linkages with Mexico. Among the painted coarse earthenware is a vessel in pitcher form related to ceramics from Concepción de la Vega on Hispaniola, according to Guarch Delmonte (1994:38). He recognizes the designs and forms of the La Vega ceramics, but this piece exhibits a combination of Black on White paint that is absent from the La Vega materials, according to the type description published by Deagan and Cruxent (2002a: 294). For this reason it is classified as coarse earthenware Painted Black on White. Fragments of one or two vessels, apparently jars or pitchers, were also found, with a gray paste and made by using a potter’s wheel and coiling. These vessels and the pitcher with Black on White seem to copy European forms, or non-Cuban and non-Antillean indigenous forms (see appendix). There are no data to evaluate the piece in the form of a small cup that Guarch Delmonte (1994:38) refers to as manufactured using indigenous techniques, because there has been no opportunity to access the original object. The fragment of a vessel with a handle in the form of a pitcher has a surface and paste treatment very similar to the indigenous ceramics from the site, and it could be a local product. Similar characteristics could be seen 134

Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

Figure 5.16. Decorative motifs on indigenous ceramics from El Chorro de Maíta.

in three vessel bases where details from European ceramics are followed. Although they are very small pieces and it is impossible to establish the form, the bases are flat, which is very rare in Cuban indigenous pottery. Given the way the bodies of the ceramics were developed, they could be part of receptacles that copy European plates or bowls. The European material includes 361 pieces and constitutes 2.36 percent of all of the recovered material. It is primarily ceramics, with 358 sherds comprising 99.1 percent of the total European assemblage (Tables 5.5 and 5.7). Some new materials were identified in the collection from 2006–2009, Recognizing the Living Space

135

Figure 5.17. Ideal reconstruction of indigenous ceramic vessel profiles from El Chorro de Maíta.

Figure 5.18. Indigenous ceramic vessel fragments from El Chorro de Maíta.

among them relatively later types, such as Orange Micaceous and El Morro, with chronologies of 1550–1650 and 1550–1770, respectively (Deagan 1987:Table 2); both were only one fragment. The most common types are Olive Jars (137 glazed and 107 unglazed sherds), followed by the Columbia Plain majolica (38 fragments). The presence of Melado, Columbia Plain Green Dipped, and Morisco Blue on White is notable. The remains of plates and bowls are common among the majolica, and among the Olive Jars the fragments are of the early style. Except for initial Unit 6, all of the areas report important quantities of European ceramics, especially Unit 6. At the top of Unit 6, quadrant 4E, a Clarksdale-type bell was found (Figure 4.23). It measures 28.6 mm wide, 32.6 mm long, and 18.4 mm tall, excludTable 5.7. European ceramics from excavations done in 1979–1988, and others

European Ceramics Unglazed coarse earthenware Olive Jar (lead-glazed)

Museum Area Material

U.3

Initial U.6

1

General % Material Total (Total)

3

2

6

1.6

32

56

137

38.3

55

107

29.8

15

31

9

14

29

1

4

5

1.4

Orange Micaceous

1

1

0.3

Lead-glazed coarse earthenware

3

4

1.1

4

1.1

Olive Jar (unglazed) Bizcocho

3

U.6

1

Lead-glazed coarse earthenware (green-golden brown)

1

1

2

Melado

1

3

2

7

13

3.6

1

1

2

0.5

1

1

0.3

4

2

7

1.9

2

1

4

1.1

9

15

38

10.6

Green Lebrillo El Morro Morisco Green

1

Majolica

1

Majolica Columbia Plain

4

9

Majolica Columbia Plain (Green)

1

4

4

8

17

4.7

1

6

4

11

3.07

1

1

0.3

358

Morisco Majolica Blue on White

1

Majolica Isabela Polychrome Total

33

65

4

102

154

% (total)

9.2

18.2

1.1

28.5

42.7 Recognizing the Living Space

137

ing the ring located in the superior part. It retains the clapper, which seems to be a small pebble. Due to their coloring, the two coins collected on the surface to the east of the museum could be considered copper coins, or vellónes. Both have greatly deteriorated inscription areas. One coin measures 25 mm at its widest (Figure 5.19). The second piece measures 26 mm at its widest (Figure 5.20). The dimensions and weight coincide with those described by Deagan (2002a:Table 12.2) for coins of four maravedíes. The first coin presents features of the maravedíes coined in the mints of Burgos and Sevilla between 1505 and 1531 that were destined for use in America. The other coin is consistent with the characteristics of those produced in the mint at Santo Domingo during the reign of Carlos I and Juana. According to Deagan (2002a: 240), this coinage was authorized in 1535 but did not begin until 1542, and continued until 1558.

Figure 5.19. Coin found at El Chorro de Maíta, possibly minted between 1505 and 1531.

Figure 5.20. Coin found at El Chorro de Maíta, possibly minted between 1542 and 1558.

138

Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

A pig canine with a biconical perforation in the area of the root was found in the General Material. The perforation and the type of object are similar to Antillean pendants made from dog teeth (Jiménez and Fernández-Milera 2002; Jiménez and Arrazcaeta 2005), thus indicating indigenous manufacture. In Unit 6 a metal sheet with a perforation was found. It measures 32 mm on its longest side, is 2 mm thick, and weighs 5.4 g (Figure 4.22). It was manufactured in copper (see chapter 4). Given the absence of this metal in indigenous contexts, we consider it to be of European origin. Due to its irregular form, with hammering marks, a perforation on one side, and irregular-shaped flanges, it seems to be a piece of a larger object modified to create a pendant and was possibly made by an indigenous individual(s). From Units 3 and 6 there are two fragments of Columbia Plain majolica and one of Morisco Green with biconical perforations and modifications to the sides. In two cases they are disc-shaped. The other piece has a triangular shape and is broken over the perforation (Figure 5.21). Pieces like these are considered to be indicators of indigenous modification of European materials (Domínguez 1978:44; Goggin 1968:34). Because of their size, it is possible

Figure 5.21. Modified European ceramics from El Chorro de Maíta: fragment of Morisco Green measuring 57 mm on its largest part (top); fragment of Columbia Plain majolica measuring 38 mm on its largest part (bottom).

Recognizing the Living Space

139

that they were used as pendants, although they also have been considered to be spindle whorls (Rouse 1942:125). Circular pieces without perforation that are found in urban colonial contexts have been identified as game pieces (Deagan 2002a:295).

Faunal Remains Although the collection studied (Pérez Iglesias 2011) is distinguished by an elevated taxa diversity, particularly among mollusks, the number of individuals was low (2,281 MNI, excluding material from graves; see Table 5.12). The highest MNI is recorded for crustaceans, among them a land crab (Gecarcinus ruricola), a pattern very different from that observed for the areas researched between 2006 and 2009. Terrestrial and marine mollusks follow in importance. Three species of reptile and nine taxa of fish were identified. Among the terrestrial mammals were four species of hutia, in addition to Solenodon cubanus, found previously only in Unit 1 (1986), and dog (Canis lupus familiaris). Pérez Iglesias (2011) identified the remains of at least 21 pigs (MNI), predominantly subadults from Unit 6, and the General Material. In his opinion, the characteristics of these individuals are the same as those seen in other areas of the site without evidence for the presence of boars. Investigators like Osvaldo Jiménez and Carlos Arredondo (2011:209) also reject the existence of boars in contexts like this. The study is inconclusive, but at the moment Pérez Iglesias has identified gnawing marks on the bones, perhaps by dogs, and numerous marks generated by human action. Fractures predominate, occasionally related to the bone cuts and in some cases with possible marrow extraction; there is also evidence of scraping, stabbing, cutting and chopping. The selection of parts for consumption indicates a preference toward the rear quarter, followed by the anterior quarter, and finally the axial skeleton. The heads were used, as indicated by the high fragmentation of these bones. The types of bones present suggest processing of whole animals on site and the intensity of their management. This, and the use of the marrow, open the possibility that the indigenous population participated in the consumption.

Other Materials: Old Metal Among the unstudied material from the fieldwork conducted between 1979 and 1988, and the results obtained during the 2006–2009 period, there were metal objects that appear old based on their consistency and possible manufacturing technique (Figure 5.22, Table 5.8). A piece of this type was also 140

Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

found in Unit 2. Some sheets and handle fragments could be related to a type of cast iron vessel, called a trévede (trivet) that was frequently used in the nineteenth century. There are hand-forged nails, as well as diverse fragments of objects with a laminate structure. These fragments, and the nails, are of a ferrous metal and have a high level of oxidation and deterioration that makes them difficult to identify. There were also non-ferrous sheets of metal, possibly copper or brass. The finding of the trivet parts, as well as refined earthenware (loza) from the nineteenth century, indicates that activities continued at this location after the site was abandoned by the indigenes, and that some of the metallic materials could be from this time period. Many of these pieces are difficult to differentiate from earlier objects. In fact, some nails are very similar in form and size to those from La Isabela and Puerto Real (Deagan and Cruxent 2002a:251–254; Deagan 1995a:267). From this evidence, along with consideration the site’s context, we cannot exclude the possible existence of early materials mixed with the nineteenth-century objects and those from other time periods. Excluding parts of the vessels from the nineteenth century, 28 items were classified as Old Metal (Table 5.8). There is a greater probability that the 13 nails are from the fifteenth or sixteenth centuries. The nails have dimensions between 5.3 and 9.8 cm long, and have flat, faceted, or rounded heads. There

Figure 5.22. Metal objects obtained at El Chorro de Maíta during work between 1986 and 1988: 95.1-mm-long wedge (top); 87.1-mm-long wrought iron nail (bottom).

Recognizing the Living Space

141

Forged nail, headless, square in cross section Forged nail, square in cross section Forged nail, square in cross section Forged nail, faceted head, square in cross section Fragment of flat object Possible nail with flat head Possible nail with flat head

Iron Iron Iron Iron Iron Iron Iron Flat buckle Forged nail, flat head, square in cross section Forged nail, flat head, square in cross section Sheet, possible blade Fragment of flat object

Campo Moisés (shovel pits; 5-m intervals) Possible brass Iron Iron Ferrous metal Ferrous metal

Campo Torres (excavation units)

Unit 6

Iron

Forged nail, round faceted head, square in cross section Forged nail, cube head, square in cross section

Iron

Campo Moisés (excavation units)

Description

Metal

Zone

Table 5.8. Undated metal objects

24 mm × 19 mm; width 9 mm

28 mm × 88 mm; width 4 mm

Length: 98 mm

Length: 53 mm

38.9 mm × 2 mm

Length: 34.2 mm

Length: 25.6 mm

51.4 mm × 11 mm; width 8 mm

Length: 35.2 mm

Length: 22.9 mm

Length: 23.5 mm

Length: 59.6 mm

Length: 89.8 mm

Length: 54.1 mm

Size

Surface (other areas)

Museum Area material

Fragment of flat object

Ferrous metal

Fragment of flat object

Sheet, possible blade

Ferrous metal

Possible brass

Forged nail, cube head, square in cross section

Fragment of flat object

Ferrous metal

Iron

Fragment of flat object

Ferrous metal

Fragment of flat object with rivet

Possible knife handle

Ferrous metal

Ferrous metal

95.1 mm × 35.8 mm

Wedge

31 mm × 7 mm; width 2mm

72 mm × 32 mm; width 16 mm

27 mm × 106 mm; width 3 mm

Length: 75.2 mm

37.8 mm × 12.5 mm; width 7.6 mm

25 mm × 17 mm; width 6 mm

30.2 mm × 37.5 mm; width 11 mm

27 mm × 14 mm; width 3 mm

65 mm × 24 mm; width 2 mm

Sheet fragment

Length: 51.6 mm

61 mm × 16 mm; width 2 mm

Length: 87.1 mm

28 mm × 35 mm; width 2 mm

Possible brass or copper Iron

General material

Possible nail

Sheet, possible blade

Ferrous metal Iron

Forged nail, flat head, square in cross section

Sheet fragment

Iron

Unit 2

Unit 3

Brass or copper

are also two broken nails with flattened heads, similar to those used to set horseshoes. Four of the ferrous metal sheets have perforations, two of which retain the remains of rivets, similar to handles or grips. There are also an iron wedge, and copper or brass sheets. Because of their size, the nails could be related to domestic carpentry, furniture, containers, and light architectural elements. Based on their width, dimensions, and form, and the presence of rivets, the sheets and fragments could have been part of knife blades or, perhaps, weapons or tools that were not of large size. This material was found in almost all of the areas worked, especially in Campo Moisés, and always in the initial stratum.

Units 6 and 3: Intra-Site Variability The materials studied represent diverse areas of the site, but the majority come from Units 3 and 6, at the surface and in the initial stratum of the cemetery, and in the area immediately to the west. They come from large-scale excavations that provide a highly representative collection, marked by the abundance of European objects that serve as indicators of the post-contact functioning of these zones. As is shown in chapter 7, the presence of European material in the graves is important, and it defines the chronology of many of the inhumations. Nonetheless, it lacks sufficient detail to establish, or refutes the existence, of strata that precede the indigenous–Spanish interaction in these areas. In the absence of provenience data for a lot of the material, it is impossible to compare these units with one another to understand their features, although certain aspects are exclusive of one or another. For example, in Unit 6 there is a significant amount of ritual or ornamental paraphernalia, composed of stone beads as well as complex bone objects, in addition to the perforated copper metal sheet and the bell. This concentration supports the idea put forth by Guarch Delmonte that this is perhaps a post-contact ceremonial context, given the presence of European material. The inventory of Unit 3 is broad, especially because it does not include all of the seemingly varied evidence obtained in the graves. However, given the scope of the excavation (421 m²), which is more than four times the total area of all of the site units, these objects do not indicate large deposits. The proximity of Unit 6, located at a higher elevation, could have facilitated the displacement of some of these objects by the action of surface water runoff, and, as Guarch Delmonte reports for the southern part of the cemetery, small concentrations of refuse could have existed. Despite their differing natures, both units share an abundance of European ceramics, European 144

Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

objects with indigenous modification, and local ceramic copying European forms, as well as the dense occurrence of pig bones. This similarity is relevant because of the contiguous characteristics of the spaces. To achieve this analysis, the material from Units 6 and 3 was considered a set and was labeled the “Burial Area and Nearby Zone” (BANZ), to which the Museum Area Material, the General Material, and the European ceramics in the graves (see chapter 7) were added, for a total of 15,151 items. To decrease the effects of objects from other areas, the two coins found to the east of the museum and the two fragments of the vessels with unknown origin from the museum were not quantified. Pieces from the surveys conducted in 1979 and 1985 were also excluded. These data were compared with the information obtained during the fieldwork conducted in 2006–2009, from excavations as well as surveys (7,421 cultural evidences), and with items from the units excavated in the 1980s, Units 1, 2, and 5 (3,355 objects). This set of 10,776 pieces was called the “Domestic Areas” (DA). It does not include the Initial Unit 6; and only European ceramics that could be analyzed by the author were considered from Units 1, 2, and 5, for a total of 13 of the 27 fragments referred to in the initial reports (see Tables 5.9 and 5.10). In the case of the faunal data, only the material obtained in excavation, with adequate classification and count, was considered. The spaces excavated have very different dimensions, and a large part of the material obtained during the fieldwork between 2006 and 2009 is from the surface. This situation restricts the comparison to only an exploratory analysis. Despite having the largest number of archaeological objects, the BANZ area has a lower density of artifacts. If only the materials excavated from the rest of the site are considered (discarding 1,617 items obtained in different Table 5.9. Comparison of the presence of artifacts from diverse areas of the site Burial Area and Nearby Zone (BANZ)

Domestic Areas (DA)

Comparison (total)

Total General (site)

Decorated ceramic elements

240

176

416

418

% (Ceramic vessel elements)

1.7

1.8

1.8

1.7

13600

9808

23408

24106

89.7

91.01

90.2

90.2

Ceramic vessel elements % Total (group)

(Continued) Recognizing the Living Space

145

(Table 5.9—continued)

Burial Area and Nearby Zone (BANZ)

Domestic Areas (DA)

Comparison (total)

Total General (site)

Griddles

557

244

801

824

% Total (group)

3.7

2.2

3.08

3.0

Flaked-stone technology assemblage

438

244

682

705

% Total (group)

2.9

2.2

2.6

2.6

Tools and implements (stone)

32

24

56

63

% Total (group)

0.2

0.2

0.2

0.2

7

18

25

25

0.04

0.16

0.09

0.09

Tools and implements (shell)

38

132

170

171

% Total (group)

0.2

1.2

0.6

0.6

2

20

22

22

0.01

0.1

0.08

0.08

2

2

2

0.01

0.007

0.007

9

2

11

11

0.05

0.01

0.04

0.04

Tools and implements (coral)

60

74

134

136

% Total (group)

0.4

0.6

0.5

0.5

361

204

565

600

1

1

1

1

2

2

0

2

Ritual/Ornamental items (stone) % Total (group)

Ritual/Ornamental items (shell) % Total (group) Tools and implements (bone) % Total (group) Ritual/Ornamental items (bone) % Total (group)

European artifacts European ceramics Glass Bells

1

Coins Subtotal

362

206

568

605

% Total (group)

2.4

1.9

2.2

2.2

5

5

5

0.03

0.01

0.01

Modified objects % Total (group) Other ceramics and indigenous ceramics that copy European forms

41

2

43

45

% Total (group)

0.2

0.01

0.1

0.1

15.151

10.776

25.927

26.720

58.4

41.5

Total % Total (comparison)

types of surveys, and reducing the DA material to 9,159), as well as the area of these excavations (47.8 m²), the artifact density is 191.6 per square meter. The BANZ group of 15,151 artifacts potentially comes from an area of at least 463 m² (the sum of the area of Units 6 and 3), for a total of 32.7 artifacts per square meter. Given the evidence of the low quantity of materials in Unit 3, the density in the space of Unit 6 (an area of only 42 m²) must have been much greater. The BANZ area has a proportionally smaller representation of various types of indigenous artifacts, but a definite superiority in quantity of European ceramics and its types (Tables 5.9 and 5.10). The BANZ has 63.8 percent of all of the European ceramics from the site (361 pieces of 600), and in addition, almost all of the Mexican ceramics (there are only two fragments from outside, which were found in Unit 2 and in Campo Moisés), and almost all of the non-local indigenous ceramics, or those that copy European forms. A particular aspect of the BANZ is the only presence on the site of objects or European items modified by the indigenous population. The faunal profile is also different. The MNI of the BANZ (2,430), presented in Table 5.12 as Total for the Burial Area, is very inferior to that recorded for the Domestic Areas, which have 14,212 MNI (see Table 5.11). In the DA collection, the taxa are more numerous, and terrestrial mollusks clearly dominate the MNI. In the BANZ, the quantities by taxa are more balanced. Although there is no calculation of the biomass, the input of fish and

Table 5.10. Comparison of the presence of European ceramics from diverse areas of the site

European ceramics Unglazed coarse earthenware

Burial Area and Total Nearby Zone Domestic Comparison General (BANZ) (site) Areas (DA) (Total) 5

3

8

9

% Total (group)

1.4

1.5

1.4

1.5

Olive Jar (lead-glazed)

137

92

229

244

38

45.09

40.5

40.6

108

59

167

180

30

29

29.5

30

6

3

9

9

1.7

1.5

2.6

1.5

% Total (group) Olive Jar (unglazed) % Total (group) Bizcocho % Total (group)

(Continued) Recognizing the Living Space

147

(Table 5.10—continued)

Orange Micaceous % Total (group) Lead-glazed coarse earthenware

Burial Area and Total Nearby Zone Domestic Comparison General (BANZ) (site) Areas (DA) (total) 1

1

1

0.27

0.17

0.16

4

12

16

16

1.1

5.8

2.8

2.6

4

4

4

% Total (group)

1.1

0.7

0.6

Melado

15

4

19

19

% Total (group)

4.1

1.9

3.3

3.1

2

4

6

6

0.55

1.9

1.06

1

1

1

1

% Total (group)

0.27

0.17

0.16

Morisco Green

7

1

8

8

% Total (group)

1.9

0.49

1.4

1.3

4

4

8

8

% Total (group)

1.1

1.9

1.4

1.3

Majolica Columbia Plain

36

16

52

58

% Total (group)

9.9

7.8

9.2

9.6

Majolica Columbia Plain (green)

19

1

20

20

% Total (group)

5.2

0.49

3.5

3.3

Morisco Majolica Blue on White

11

11

11

3.04

1,9

1,8

1

1

1

0.4

0.17

0.16

1

2

3

3

0.3

0.9

0.5

0.5

2

2

2

0.98

0.35

0.33

565

600

% Total (group) Lead-glazed coarse Earthenware (green-golden brown)

Green Lebrillo % Total (group) El Morro

Majolica

% Total (group) Majolica Santo Domingo Blue on White

0

% Total (group) Majolica Isabela Polychrome % Total (group) Majolica Caparra Blue % Total (group) Total European ceramics

361

204

% Total (comparison)

63.8

36.1

terrestrial mammals in BANZ is proportionally more significant. Pig bones here (BANZ), represent 32 individuals of a general total of 38, the greatest quantity at the site (84.2 percent). It is difficult to establish the cause of these differences. They must have been influenced by the fact that these two spatial groups had different functions. The evidence collected between 2006 and 2009 came basically from domestic contexts, while the ones from Units 6 and 3 are a combination of the cemetery (with a low artifact density) and possible domestic and ceremonial zones. From the BANZ one could expect different combinations of taxa, and a less intense management of utilitarian artifacts, with a wide presence of the ritual aspects, although this last aspect is observed only in the case of indigenous bone objects. Nonetheless, this does not explain the higher incidence of European materials that cannot be justified adequately by the dimensions of the excavated areas because, as we have seen, there is a low density of artifacts by square meter. A similar situation occurs with the objects and modified materials, and with the remaining evidences associated with the interactions. Such data establish a profile particular to the zone (BANZ) in reference to the strength of colonial materiality, parallel to the contraction of the multiple expressions of the indigenous culture. .

Site Structure, European Material Presence, and Chronology of Interaction The information gathered during fieldwork establishes the generalized presence of indigenous contexts in a carefully selected space, paying attention to the peculiar topography of the place (the space available between two arroyos on the elevation of the hillside). In various areas there is a stratum 1 that mixes indigenous and European material over indigenous contexts and was generated by the situation of interaction. Due to intense alteration it is not possible to identify specific contexts in the mixed initial stratum 1, and it cannot be excluded that this incorporates strata that precede the beginning of the indigenous–Spanish interaction. The concentration of the European materials in certain spaces, especially in Campo Moisés and Units 3 and 6, indicates their relevance in the processes and situations of interaction. The absence of the European materials, or of indigenous material that copies European forms, in the strata under the mixed strata, particularly in stratum 2, indicates a moment of indigenous occupation prior to the interaction. This consideration is supported by radiocarbon dates and seems to

Recognizing the Living Space

149

U.9

U.10

49

Subtotal MNI x x x

Cittarium pica (Linnaeus, 1758)

Isognomon alatus (Gmelin, 1791)

Crassostrea rhizophora

Intertidal mollusks (rocky or attached to root)

x

Pinctada sp. (Roding, 1798)

Anadara sp. (Gray, 1847)

Tellina fausta (Pulteney, 1799)

Vasum muricatum (Born, 1778)

Puperita pupa (Linnaeus, 1767)

x

x

3

x

x

x

20

x

x x

x

x

3

x

x

x

3

6

x

x

x

x

x

x

30

x

Fasciolaria tulipa (Linnaeus, 1758)

Charonia variegata (Lamarck, 1816)

x

x

x

Columbella mercatoria (Linnaeus, 1758) x

x

U.1

x

x

x

U.16

x

x

x

U.14

Lucina pectinata (Gmelin, 1791)

x

x

Cut 19

x

x

Lobatus gigas (Linnaeus, 1758)

x

U.12

Asaphis deflorata (Linnaeus, 1758)

x

Codakia orbicularis (Linnaeus, 1758)

Mollusks of shallow inshore waters (rocky and sandy)

Taxa

Table 5.11. Identified taxa and MNI in domestic areas

x

x

x

37

x

x

x

x

x

U.2

x

x

x

64

x

x

x

U.5

215

Domestic Areas (Total)

4739

x

Chondropoma sp. (Pfeiffer, 1847)

Subtotal MNI

x

x

Emoda blanesi (Clench and Aguayo in Aguayo, 1953)

715

x

x

Emoda sp. (H. and A. Adams, 1858)

3256

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

86

x

520

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

149

x

x

x

x

115

1204

x

x 218

x

x

x

Coryda alauda alauda

x

x

x

93

x

x

Caracolus sagemon (Beck, 1837)

x

Cerion sp. (Roding, 1798)

x

x

461

x

x

x

x

Polymita muscarum (Lea, 1834)

x

28

x

x

Liguus sp. (Montfort, 1810)

x

Zachrysia sp. (Pilsbry, 1894)

Terrestrial mollusks

Subtotal MNI

x

x

6

x

Chitonidae 355

x

Ischadium recurvum (Rafinesque, 1820)

Cerithium litteratum (Born, 1778)

x

Bulla striata (Bruguiere, 1792)

x

x

x

x

x

Fissurella sp. (Bruguiere, 1789)

x

x

x

x

Cenchritis muricatus (Linnaeus, 1758)

x

x

x

Nerita versicolor (Gmelin, 1791)

x

x

x

x

Nerita peloronta (Linnaeus, 1758)

x

x

Fissurella nodosa (Born, 1778)

654

x

x

x

x

x

x

197

x

x

x

x

173

x

x

x

x

173

x

x

x

(Continued)

11565

1577

x

Callinectes sapidus (Rathbun, 1896)

x x x x

Calamus bajonado (Bloch and Schneider, 1801)

Mycteroperca venenosa (Linnaeus, 1758)

Scarus sp. (Forsskål, 1775)

Balistes sp. (Linnaeus, 1758)

Sphyraena barracuda (Edwards in Catesby, 1771)

x

x

Lachnolaimus sp. (Cuvier, 1829)

Lachnolaimus maximus (Walbaum, 1792)

Sparisoma sp. (Swainson, 1839)

Sparisoma viride (Bonnaterre, 1788)

Fish (coral reef and pelagic)

136

x

Cardisoma guanhumi (Latreille, 1825)

Subtotal MNI

x

Gecarcinus ruricola (Linnaeus, 1758)

x

x

14

x

Crustaceans (terrestrial and shallow inshore water)

x

x

x

x

55

x

x

6

1

8

Subtotal MNI

x

U.12

x

x

U.10

x

U.9

Trachemys decussata (Bell in Griffith and Pidgeon, 1830) Cyclura nubila (Gray, 1831)

Reptiles (terrestrial and freshwater)

Taxa

(Table 5.11—continued)

x

1

x

0

Cut 19

0

0

U.14

x

6

x

1

x

U.16

x

x

x

x

38

x

7

x

x

U.1

x

x

x

x

32

x

x

11

x

x

U.2

x

x

x

x

x

34

x

x

1

x

U.5

316

35

Domestic Areas (Total)

0

0

5426

772

3855

99

2

616

0

Note: Data from Rodríguez Arce (1987a), Pérez Iglesias (2008), modified by the author; x indicates presence.

Total MNI

0

1377

1

0

Sus scrofa (Linnaeus, 1758)

0

1

27

Subtotal MNI

11

x 4

x

x

Canis lupus familiaris (Linnaeus, 1758)

Solenodon cubanus (Peters, 1861)

Geocapromys columbianus

Capromys sp. (Desmarest, 1822)

x

493

1

25

x

x

1093

0

79

x

x

481

2

7

x

x

x

x

27

Capromys pilorides (Say, 1822)

x

x

83

x

x

x

59

x

x

9

Mesocapromys melanurus (Poey, 1865)

x

0

x

x

1

Boromys torrei (Allen, 1917)

Boromys offella (Miller, 1916)

Terrestrial mammals

46

7

Subtotal MNI

112

x

x

Epinephelus sp. (Bloch, 1793)

Rajiformes

x

Bodianus rufus (Linnaeus, 1758) x

x

Lutjanus sp. (Bloch, 1790)

Mycteroperca sp. (Gill, 1862)

x

Centropomus sp. (Lacepède, 1802)

14212

6

154

344

Table 5.12. Taxa and MNI in zones next to the cemetery

Taxa

U.6

U.3

Total Museum General Material (Burial Area Material in Graves Area)

Mollusks of shallow inshore waters (rocky and sandy) Codakia orbicularis (Linnaeus, 1758)

x

x

x

x

x

Lobatus gigas (Linnaeus, 1758)

x

x

x

x

x

Lobatus sp. (Linnaeus, 1758)

x

Asaphis deflorata (Linnaeus, 1758)

x

Lucina pectinata (Gmelin, 1791)

x

x

x x

Purpura patula (Linnaeus, 1758)

x

Lobatus pugilis (Linnaeus, 1758)

x

x

Cypraecassis testiculus (Linnaeus, 1758)

x

x

Fasciolaria tulipa (Linnaeus, 1758)

x

x

Charonia variegata (Lamarck, 1816)

x

x

Periglypta listeri (J. E. Gray, 1838)

x

Tellina fausta (Pulteney, 1799)

x

Conus daucus (Hwass, 1792)

x

Conus sp. (Linnaeus, 1758)

x

Anadara sp. (Gray, 1847)

x

Chama macerophylla (Gmelin, 1791)

x

Melongena corona (Gmelin, 1791)

x

Tellina radiata (Linnaeus, 1758)

x

Pinctada sp. (Roding, 1798)

x

x

Cymatium femorale (Linnaeus, 1758) Subtotal MNI

x

x

x 21

52

15

124

37

x

x

Intertidal mollusks (rocky or attached to root) Cittarium pica (Linnaeus, 1758)

x

x

Isognomon alatus (Gmelin, 1791)

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

Crassostrea rhizophora Nerita peloronta (Linnaeus, 1758) Nerita versicolor (Gmelin, 1791) Cenchritis muricatus (Linnaeus, 1758)

x

x x

x

249

Taxa

U.6

U.3

Total Museum General Material (Burial Area Material in Graves Area)

Littorina sp. (Ferussac, 1822)

x

Brachidontes sp. (Swainson, 1840)

x

Fissurella sp. (Bruguiere, 1789)

x

x

Bulla striata (Bruguiere, 1792)

x

x

Ischadium recurvum (Rafinesque, 1820)

x

x

Chitonidae

x

x

Arca zebra (Swainson, 1833)

x

Periglypta listeri (J. E. Gray, 1838)

x

Neritina sp. (Lamarck, 1816)

x

Subtotal MNI

x

16

68

2

331

52

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

469

Terrestrial mollusks Zachrysia sp. (Pilsbry, 1894) Polymita muscarum (Lea, 1834) Cerion sp. (Roding, 1798)

x x

x

Coryda alauda alauda

x

x

x

Liguus sp. (Montfort, 1810) Caracolus sagemon (Beck, 1837)

x x

x

Emoda sp. (H. and A. Adams, 1858) Polydontes imperator (Montfort, 1810)

x

x

x

x

x

Polydontes sobrina (Férussac, 1819)

x

Emoda blanesi (Clench and Aguayo in Aguayo, 1953)

x

x

5

422

36

x

x

x

Subtotal MNI

14

60

537

Reptiles (terrestrial and freshwater) Trachemys decussata (Bell in Griffith and Pidgeon, 1830) Epicrates angulifer (Bibron, 1840)

x

x

Cyclura nubila (Gray, 1831) Subtotal MNI

2

0

x

x

2

5

1

Amphibians

x

Subtotal MNI

1

10 1 (Continued)

(Table 5.12—continued)

Taxa

U.6

U.3

Total Museum General Material (Burial Area Material in Graves Area)

Crustaceans (terrestrial and shallow inshore water) Gecarcinus ruricola (Linnaeus, 1758) Subtotal MNI

x

x

x

x

x

33

265

27

624

3

x

x

x

x

x

x

x

952

Fish (coral reef and pelagic) Sparisoma viride (Bonnaterre, 1788) Sparisoma sp. (Swainson, 1839)

x x

Lachnolaimus maximus (Walbaum, 1792)

x

Lachnolaimus sp. (Cuvier, 1829) Calamus bajonado (Bloch and Schneider, 1801)

x

Balistes sp. (Linnaeus, 1758)

x

Scarus sp. (Forsskål, 1775)

x

Balistes sp. (Linnaeus, 1758

x

Sphyraena barracuda (Edwards in Catesby, 1771)

x

Subtotal MNI

1

18

x

x x

15

60

5

x

x

x

x

99

Terrestrial mammals Boromys offella (Miller, 1916) Mysateles melanurus (Poey, 1865)

x

x

Capromys pilorides (Say, 1822)

x

x

x

x

Geocapromys columbianus

x x

Solenodon cubanus (Peters, 1861)

x

Canis lupus familiaris (Linnaeus, 1758)

x

x

Subtotal MNI Sus scrofa (Linnaeus, 1758) Total MNI

11

13

3

51

4

82

6

4

5

6

11

32

104

480

74

1623

149

2430

Note: Data from Pérez Iglesias (2010, 2011) modified by the author; x indicates presence.

reflect with greater probability an occupation that extends from the thirteenth century to the fifteenth century. The functions of some of the spaces located in these strata were identified only in Campo Moisés, including food consumption areas and trash middens. Such spaces are not associated with structures, although possible evidence for a structure seems to have been found in Unit 16. A combination of hearths and trash layers is observed in Units 1 and 5, and they represent the scope of the domestic zones that, with the previously mentioned contexts, are laid out around the Burial Area (according to the limits defined in the 1980s), and even over the southern border. Such diversity, without adequately integrating it in temporal terms, reflects the dynamics and intensity of the indigenous occupation, and these results are coherent with continued findings of ornamental and ritual elements, and with the traditional vision of the site as a center of potentially high craftsmanship and political protagonism. According to the Antillean archaeological data in the indigenous villages, many of the houses were near trash middens and hearths, and artifacts were manufactured and ritual activities performed in the houses (Samson 2010:19–23, 57). From these data one could expect residential structures, which have not been found, in proximity to trash contexts, hearths, and places of paraphernalia elaboration. At present one can only conclude that zones of diverse domestic activities were located around the Burial Area, characterized by a certain centrality. To the north of this elevated terrain there is a natural border where an alignment of trash concentrations was identified during the excavation of Units 1, 2 and 10. Although a human bone was found in pre-contact stratum 4 of Unit 10, there were no indications of whether there is a coherent extension of the cemetery in this direction. In this regard, it apparently indicates an independent ritual or funerary management. In some of the remaining directions, the domestic spaces are located next to the inhumations or are impacted by them, but they are not structured in a definite way over the area of greater burial density located in Unit 3. In Unit 5 is a burial and other inhumations that are next to Unit 6 and Unit 16. There are also relatively isolated burials to the south of Unit 3; and to the southeast of Unit 8, the 2003 surveys located small bone elements. During these surveys the absence of burials and materials to the east of Units 3, 7, and 8 was established (Valcárcel Rojas 2012:179), a detail that coincides with the results from Unit 18. This information defines the Burial Area as a

Recognizing the Living Space

157

zone with margins to the south and west where domestic spaces are inserted, although it is poor in artifacts and is adjoined to the northeast by zones of minimal artifact density (Figure 4.8). The Burial Area and the spaces without any material to the east offer a certain comprehensiveness, given their regular relief and an intermediary position with respect to the higher elevations to the west and north, and to the lower ones to the south and east (Figure 5.3). The idea that all of this space is a plaza becomes more coherent when these data, and the perspective provided by the identification of domestic areas, are taken into consideration. The placement of cemeteries within a plaza area has been widely discussed in the case of Puerto Rico, and it is very clear in the initial Saladoid period, later losing popularity (Curet and Oliver 1998; Siegel 1999). In the case of Hispaniola, there is no adequate discussion of the topic. Places with large cemeteries are not recognized as plazas, and the information from identified plazas offers no clear evidence for the presence of burials. For Cuba, Las Casas (1876) mentions the use of plazas in various villages, but without specifying any characteristics. There are no known cemeteries in Agricultural Ceramicist sites on the island, and from the archaeological record there is no reliable identification of non-formalized plazas, even when there are apparently cleared spaces in the central part of the sites, a common pattern that is generally assigned this function. El Chorro de Maíta seems to fit this scheme, thus completing the image of an indigenous village. What remains to be achieved is the identification of habitation structures, as well as clarification of the cemetery’s formation process. The European presence is represented primarily by the existence of ceramics. These can be found in various areas of the site and suggest an integrated function for almost all the site in the post-contact moment. Including the European ceramic found within the graves, 605 European artifacts were reported, of which 99.1 percent (n = 600) are ceramic sherds (Tables 5.9 and 5.10). The Old Metal objects have not been considered, and the glass has not been studied, but the number is significantly greater than the one gathered in the initial investigations. Quantitatively, it reaches the level of other sites recognized by the abundance of this component, such as El Yayal, with 530 objects of different types and materials, and Alcalá, with 541 ceramic sherds and numerous metal objects (Domínguez 1984:80; Pedroso 1995; Valcárcel Rojas 1997:69). There are no precise data about the dimension of the excavations at these locations, but they do not seem to reach the intensity of fieldwork at El Chorro de Maíta. This implies a European presence that is potentially moderate when compared with the other spaces. 158

Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

The European ceramics from El Chorro de Maíta are not varied, and Olive Jars (vessels commonly used for storage) constitute 70 percent of the material (Table 5.10). The rest are majolicas and, in lesser quantity, some glazed and unglazed coarse earthenwares (see appendix). The vessels identified, without considering the Olive Jars, are associated with a serving function, although some pieces might have served for storage, and very few for cooking and the preparation of foods. There are Lebrillo sherds (i.e., basins and other vessels used for cleaning and diverse domestic activities) that are rather large, along with sherds from one or two medicine vessels (albarellos). There is a clear focus on storage that might have involved non-European ceramics (such as Mexican Red Painted). Given their frequency, the European ceramics must not have arrived here solely through exchange or gift networks where the indigenous individual gained exotic objects. Although the absence of conserved contexts makes it difficult to establish their use, their dispersal across the site suggests their final transformation into just one more piece of refuse. Even their presence in graves, as discussed in chapter 7, indicates an accidental entry of materials that were abandoned on the surface. A massive assemblage of ceramics, and of functions where they achieved an ordinary and disposable character, must have been implemented and maintained by the Europeans or by the individuals in direct relation with them and accustomed to the Spanish material culture. In a particular way, the household ceramics also cover necessities of a medical and hygienic nature, as well as the basic tableware, forming a minimum pattern of domestic activities. Two bells, two coins, and part of a possible lagrimario complete the register of European materials, in addition to those elements modified by the indigenous population. It is a set with little variety, even when considering Old Metal objects and including Rouse’s commentary (1942:106) about a possible sword. It is important to say that the pieces of metal with an unspecified chronology seem to belong to objects, weapons, or tools of small size, and even nails can have multiple uses. In some of the graves, as described in chapter 7, a ferrous metal was found; it maintains the same profile as the rest of the site. Compared with sites that have similar collections of European ceramics, the proportion of metal objects in El Chorro de Maíta is low. In El Yayal, there are 184 identified artifacts: horseshoes, knives, bells, coins, rings, locks, scissors, and nails (Domínguez 1984:89) (Figure 2.2). Recent findings widened the variety in a notable way with the location of spurs, bridles, harpoon points, buckles, sword hilts and other objects. Although there are no counts for the Alcalá inventory, it includes axes, knives, scissors, picks, nails, Recognizing the Living Space

159

horseshoes, chain links, wedges, bells, sheets, and brass aglets (Valcárcel Rojas 1997:70; Valcárcel Rojas, Martinón-Torres, Cooper, and Rehren 2007). In El Porvenir these materials are also very frequent. As Cut 19 indicates, there could be contexts that could provide new materials, and a different image of this presence; however, around the cemeteries the surveys and excavations have been broad and offer a largely complete registry of representation. Because of this, it is possible that we are in the midst of a specific type of presence, marked by a reduced number of metallic artifacts, in particular those from weapons and tools of ferrous metal. The range of containers and storage vessels sustained by the European ceramic forms is present in a Mexican Red Painted jar. Due to its chronology and origin, the jar must have arrived in Cuba as part of the flow of economic and colonial expansion that existed between the Antilles, and especially in Cuba, and Mexico. A fragment of Aztec IV ceramic could also be linked with these mechanisms. Other vessels with indigenous components, but of nonlocal appearance, could be related to the same process of regional interrelationships, although perhaps involving other zones under Spanish control. This diversity of material culture is difficult to explain as the product of an independent indigenous assemblage. Another important indicator of European elements is the pig bones. A strontium isotope analysis of the bones found in the graves and in Unit 6 (see chapter 6) identified only animals that were not born in the region, which indicates movement to the site rather than situations of local breeding. Some bones have evidence of processing with metal artifacts and of an intense and complete use of the animals (Pérez Iglesias 2011). Unlike with the European ceramics, the distribution of pig is spatially limited. This would seem to indicate special features of Units 3 and 6, places where pig bones are found, in reference to the situation of deposits associated with the European interaction. In any case, its presence in Unit 16 and Cut 19, next to faunal remains and local cultural materials, suggests indigenous access to this animal. Also relevant is the presence in Units 6 and 3 of European objects with indigenous modification, and a large part of the local and non-local indigenous ceramics that seem to copy Spanish forms. In that space, their peculiarities have their counterpart in the contraction of diverse indigenous aspects, perhaps a reflection of the impact of interaction and the function of that place during this process. Unfortunately, the variability or continuity of indigenous patterns in this and other parts of the site in relation to the interaction could not be analyzed adequately, due to lack of information about the stratigraphic structure of the contexts with European materials, 160

Archaeology of Early Colonial Interaction at El Chorro de Maíta, Cuba

and elements that would allow the function of the spaces to be established. It is interesting that in the areas excavated between 2007 and 2009, the mixed stratum always has mostly indigenous artifacts, while the stratum prior to interaction accumulated faunal remains. Only five ceramic sherds of clear indigenous manufacture, possible local origin, and copying European forms were observed, even when the labor-intensive analysis (coordinated by Vernon J. Knight) allowed for the evaluation of a large number of vessel profiles. No zoomorphic (anthropomorphic) lugs or adornos related to aspects of the European world, or similar independent images, were located. We do not discard variations at the technological level, but this aspect has not been studied yet. The small size of the nonfunerary areas excavated, and the alterations to stratum 1, make it difficult to intensively analyze the subject, but in general there seems to be a domination in the continuity of the indigenous aspect and a limited transformation of the Spanish materiality, and the copying or syncretic capture of it. According to the available data, the European material universe in El Chorro de Maíta was sparse: poor in the domestic setting and, above all, in tools and weapons, or in evidence of building materials. If there was a direct Spanish presence on the site, or of individuals used to the European way of life, as the ceramic in particular suggests, it must have been limited and necessarily complemented by indigenous elements. There must also have been indigenous access to Spanish materiality in the domestic setting, but apparently in a reduced way. Nonetheless, it is clear that there is a strong insertion of this place in the process of indigenous–European interaction. The chronology of European ceramics provides a very wide time range. The most common types, Olive Jars and the Columbia Plain majolica, cover the period from European arrival on the continent until the first half of the sixteenth century. The jars are all from the early style (AD 1490–1570), and there are features with this temporality in the Columbia Plain majolica (AD 1492–1550) (see appendix). Types with a similar chronology (AD 1490–1550) are the Melado and Morisco Green. Some of the ceramics have greater ranges: Green Lebrillo (AD 1490–1600) and the Isabela Polychrome majolica (1490–1580 AD). Only three European ceramic sherds reach in a definitive way into the seventeenth and even the eighteenth centuries: Orange Micaceous (AD 1550–1650), El Morro (AD 1550–1770), and the Santo Domingo Blue on White majolica (AD 1550–1630). The chronological approximation from the ceramics is completed with the six sherds of Mexican Red Painted, found in Unit 2 and the surface of Unit 6, framed within 1550 and 1750. Alongside the European ceramic types Recognizing the Living Space

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with dates toward the beginning of the sixteenth century, they indicate a late occupation, but are problematic due to their low quantitative representation and identification based on small sherds. In any case, the maravedi coin minted in Santo Domingo between 1542 and 1558 reinforces the assumption of an occupation that extends to the mid-sixteenth century. Given the sporadic and limited character of the Spanish presence in Cuba before the arrival of Velázquez in 1510, the materials from the site seem to be more consistent with the idea of an interaction after this date. The abundance of pig, an animal imported at this time, and the evidence of Mexican material, from an area explored after 1517, support this hypothesis. Tentatively, the interaction could be extended to the mid-sixteenth century, and perhaps toward the beginning of the second half of the century, on account of the previously mentioned aspects and other elements of a chronology that ends at 1575, such as the Clarksdale-type bells.

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6 The Cemetery Death and Human Diversity

Indigenous–European interaction has had a wide biological impact on indigenous populations throughout the New World, though its influence has been variable, being dependent on the characteristics and timing of the process, the European strategies, and the participant ethnic groups (Larsen 1994:124). It reveals to us changes in identities, the mortality indexes and levels of health, work regimes, nutrition, and even the impact of violence (Blakely and Mathews 1990; Cohen et al. 1997; Larsen et al. 2001; Stojanowski 2005; Tiesler and Oliva 2010; Warinner et al. 2012). Shifting the investigation of the El Chorro de Maíta cemetery to the study of indigenous–Spanish interaction, observed definitively in the nonfunerary space, has proposed not only to change the way of interpreting the initial information but also to revisit it to understand it in greater depth in light of recent research. This chapter summarizes the investigations of the human remains with the goal to identify biological, demographic, ethnic, temporal, territorial origin, and funerary treatment features, and to evaluate aspects potentially connected to the indigenous–European interactions. For the description of the remains and their location, the concentration of the skeletal remains from Unit 3 is generally considered as a cemetery (Figure 6.1). The term “Burial Area” is employed in the sense established by Guarch Delmonte and his team since the 1980s (see chapter 4). Occasional reference to the chronological position of the remains employs the terms “pre-contact” and “post-contact” (e.g., chapter 5). In particular, these terms indicate the moment at which the inhumations were made, and whether or not the individuals had begun to interact with the Europeans or their materiality in a direct or an indirect way. It does not imply a link with the contact situation or the period of contact, in the sense discussed in chapter 2. It is only a chronological positioning in respect to the indigenous–European interaction.

Figure 6.1. Plan of Unit 3 showing most of the burials encountered. Prepared by J. Guarch Rodríguez, J. Cruz Ramírez, and Roberto Valcárcel Rojas based on the plan by Guarch Rodríguez (1987b).

Biological Aspects This review focuses on the comprehensive osteological analysis of the collection of human remains from El Chorro de Maíta, deposited in the resources of DCOA in Holguín, conducted by Darlene Weston in 2010. The information that is presented here comes from a report prepared by Weston (2010, 2012).

Minimum Number of Individuals In the sample from the 1986–1988 excavations, a total of 108 individuals were identified, but Weston identified 133 individuals. She established that some burials considered to be only one individual contained the remains of more than one person, and even isolated bones. When the additional remains had a significant quantitative presence, they were considered to be another individual and designated as the burial number plus one letter: for example, 2A, 2B, and 2C. Two sets of unnumbered bones were also located. Their provenience is unknown, and because of this they were registered as individuals Extra A and Extra B, but not as independent burials.

Age According to Weston, the burial population consisted of 43 juveniles (32.3 total percent) and 90 adults (67.7 total percent). The age group most common among the juveniles was of five to nine years (13.5 percent), while among the adults the category of general adult (i.e., those whose age could not be specified more accurately than 18+ years) is the most frequent (n=22; 16.5 percent), followed by 18–25 years (14.3 percent) and 26–35 years (14.3 percent). Two fetuses were identified. The difference from the initial study done by Rodríguez Arce (1992b) is in the identification of a larger number of juveniles, 17 more than previously mentioned. In the case of the adults, the figure is very similar to the initial one, with only three additional males and one more female.

Sex A total of 39 male adults (including six possible males) and 44 females (including five possible females) were identified, with seven adults that could not be sexed (see Tables 6.1 and 7.14); these numbers represent 43.3 percent, 48.9 percent and 7.7 percent of the total adults respectively. In four juvenile adolescents sex was defined (No. 22, male; Nos. 75A and 82, female; and No. 83, possibly female). The combination of age and sex shows the most-

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Table 6.1. Age and sex distribution of individuals Male/ % Female/ % % PMa Total PFb Total Indeterminate Total Total

Age

Total Juvenile/ Adult % Total

>0 (fetus)

2

1.5

2

1.5