Six
Doña Catalina
Much to the relief of the pilots, they cleared the Embocadero and left the strait astern on the second day of August, the Feast Day of St Stephen the Martyr. The San Geronimo had vanished, to the consternation of those aboard the Santa Margarita who assumed that she would be lying-to in the offing awaiting the captain-general, so the great ship entered the Pacific Ocean alone.
Iago kept a watch on deck during the hours of daylight, which relieved Lorenzo of some of the burden of his rank, and his and Olivera’s friendship grew closer. This partial assimilation into the Santa Margarita’s establishment further estranged him from the mass of the passengers, adding to the animosity of Arrocheros, who had not forgiven him for allowing Ximenez to go unbeaten, for Fray Mateo declared Ximenez’s conscience clear of theft and affirmed this with some force. While this pleased Iago, the poor dwarf found that their master’s hostility had possessed the Arrocheroses’ entire household, so that Ximenez was constantly mocked and taunted by their servants while Fray Mateo’s reminder that such trials were to be borne with a fortitude that improved the soul brought little comfort to the miserable little man.
‘It is not kind of them,’ Ah Fong whispered to Iago as she kneeled at his feet and served him his rice and meat one evening.
‘Nothing about this ship be kind, my dearest one,’ he responded in the low mixture of Cantonese and pidgin in which they conversed. ‘Ximenez is like the rest of us; he must endure it all in the hope of more good things coming soon.’
‘You belong all my hope,’ she said simply, taking his empty bowl and rising with an elegance that was all female and would have instantly betrayed her had anyone perceptive been watching them.
A cough came from outside the screen, the signal Ximenez used to announce his approach. He drew the heavy curtain aside and entered the confined and cluttered space as the Santa Margarita gave a lurch to leeward.
‘Ha! This will keep those devils on their knees in the scuppers,’ Ximenez said with relish and a gleam of triumph in his eyes. ‘You know, master, one advantage of being set by God upon short legs is that I am less toppled than more perfect men by this vile vessel’s motion.’ It was clear that Ximenez had recovered from his seasickness quicker than some of his fellow sufferers.
‘I told you so, but you are a noble philosopher, Ximenez,’ Iago said with a grin.
‘I serve a kind master, though I was in doubt of the fact when sent to Fray Mateo to confess.’
‘He told me that you had thought to shock him but that he had heard so many confess that nothing was capable of doing so . . .’
Ximenez shrugged and began tidying the space. ‘What more proof do you need that I am not very different from ordinary men?’
‘I was never in any doubt but that you were a good deal wiser than most, Ximenez.’
‘Even though I lay with dogs?’
‘Is that what was supposed to shock the friar?’ Iago asked laughing.
The dwarf shrugged again, tucking a doublet away. ‘I had hoped to appear a little extraordinary to him, master.’
‘I doubt that Fray Mateo found a lie in the confessional extraordinary.’
‘I did not take the ring, master,’ Ximenez said, suddenly serious, his large eyes bright with emotion.
‘I know that, Ximenez.’ Iago’s tone was reassuring, trusting. ‘But that is no matter. Tell me what occurs on deck?’
Ximenez shrugged. ‘Nothing, master. The sea is vast and many are again afflicted with the sickness. There being no islands in sight they wail that they are lost . . . Master, are we lost? I can find no reason to understand how we know how we may proceed beyond the compass in its bowl and even that seems doubtful, for it spins so wildly.’
Iago grinned again. ‘You must have faith in the good offices of Señor Lorenzo and Señor Olivera, our pilots. They have the cunning that will see us to Acapulco if God wills it and the wind blows a little in our favour.’
Ximenez had completed folding clothes into Iago’s trunk and took up a pair of his boots. ‘I had not thought to hear you mention God,’ he said dropping his voice and regarding the boots with distaste.
‘Aboard this ship we should all mention God as often as it occurs to us to do so. Otherwise, Ximenez . . . What troubles you about those boots?’
‘The mildew.’ Ximenez frowned over his charges, which he regarded with some pride, having found them for his master with some difficulty. ‘I blacked them not two days since.’
‘Forbear fussing. Mildew will be your constant companion for the next five or six months, my friend, along with all the vermin that you can imagine, of which more will soon appear other than those taking up residence about our persons. We are – as the poor souls on deck are just beginning to comprehend – crossing a mighty ocean.’
‘But how . . . ?’ Ximenez’s face bore so puzzled a frown that Iago laughed. ‘Master, I cannot even make out the question the answer to which I would know.’
‘See, Ximenez, it is like this: the compass which you perceive, on those furtive visits you make to peer into its mysteries, is capable of holding a steady reference to the north, allowing the ship’s head to point its way in any angular direction relative to it. We are also able to distinguish our latitude, that distance upon the globular surface of the earth above or below the equator – the imaginary but mathematical girdle that encircles the earth midway between the poles. When we reach the parallel of latitude that corresponds with that of Acapulco, our destination and the latitude of which is known to us, all we need to do is to sail east. Unfortunately – and herein lies the art and mystery of navigation – no westerly wind blows along that latitude, so we must seek out the great gyre of the world’s winds and follow it and thus, in order to locate that exact parallel upon which Acapulco lies, we must sail north, since we are now to the south of it, until we discover a westerly wind. And,’ Iago added with a touch of appropriate and significant irony, ‘thanks to the merciful providence of God, we may find a wind favourable to our intent some degrees north of the requisite latitude. Therefore, under its benign influence, we shall cross the ocean until we meet the coast of New Spain, after which it is simply a matter of sailing southwards along its shore until we reach Acapulco. Now, are you clearer in your understanding?’
Ximenez nodded thoughtfully. ‘I think so, master.’
‘What one must bear in mind,’ Iago added, ‘is that the distances over which we must pass are long, far longer than you can imagine and so long that they may seem endless. They are not, of course, but they are so extensive that we must be careful of food and water and, when they seem endless, hold to our courage. Occasionally though,’ Iago added encouragingly, ‘we may land upon an island and replenish our casks . . .’
‘And you are certain we know the place upon which Acapulco stands?’
‘We know the latitude, which is all we need to know, since at the point that this crosses the coast line, there you will find the place we seek.’
Ximenez digested all this. ‘I see,’ he said uncertainly. ‘And do all men except me know this thing, this lati . . . ?’
‘Latitude. No, not all, but the pilots do.’
‘So what if they die?’ Ximenez asked sharply, a real terror in his expression. ‘Shall we drift aimlessly . . . lost to all mankind.’
‘No!’ laughed Iago. ‘We shall consult the pilots’ rutters, their books of information without which no pilot worth his salt would claim a berth aboard ship, and learn them for ourselves.’
‘Would you do that, master? You yourself acquaint yourself with this information lest the pilots die . . . Would you, master, could you?’
‘You are apprehensive upon the point?’ Iago was curious.
Ximenez nodded vigorously. ‘I have twice dreamed the pilots drowned, Señor Lorenzo bound to an anchor by . . .’ But here Ximenez’s recollection failed him and while he jerked his head aft at the bulkhead beyond which the captain-general held his state, he mentioned no name
.
‘If it please you, Ximenez, I shall learn this latitude, though why the master should do the servant’s bidding, I am unsure.’
Iago knew the voyage was properly embarked upon when the first punishment was meted out. Unsurprisingly it was for sleeping on watch and the guilty sailor was flogged senseless, seized to a grating in the waist. All hands, including the male passengers, were summoned to learn of the culprit’s crime, to hear Llerena charge him and Lorenzo sentence him and, finally, to witness the punishment.
After the wretch had been flogged, then doused with sea water, cut down and dragged below, his blood was sluiced overboard so that Iago, leaning dispiritedly over the rail, watched the rusty stain rapidly disperse in the wash of white water along the hull as the Santa Margarita ran on.
‘You find such sights unpleasant, Don Iago?’
Iago looked up to find Marmolejo alongside him. ‘It always troubles me that punishments rarely seem to fit the crime, Padre. That the man slept on watch is indisputably reprehensible, but does it merit reduction to a state of raw meat?’
‘The punishment is not meant to be merely condign, Don Iago, it is meant to deter.’
‘The individual must suffer for the greater good.’
‘Exactly.’
Iago straightened up. ‘You are a good man, Fray Mateo, but is it not ironic that there are those who utterly escape punishment for their misdemeanours?’
‘That is a different matter, Don Iago, theft is—’
‘I was not referring to Doña Catalina’s ring, Padre, but to sins as yet undetected . . .’
‘You refer to the conduct of this ship?’
Iago looked directly at the friar. ‘You are a shrewd man too. Yes, but understand I make no accusation directly . . .’ He hesitated a moment.
‘Go on, my son. I will extend the confidences of the confession if you wish. You have not made any such as far as I know.’
‘As you will, Padre,’ Iago said, noting the friar’s pointed remark, ‘but the punishment of a stupid sailor for a crime which by its nature endangers us all reminds me that it is my opinion that this ship is grossly overloaded. Look below you, see how close is the waterline and yet we bear an immensity of goods of all kinds littering this upper deck . . .’
‘You refer to the evils of private trade?’
‘I refer to the consequences, rather than the act itself. Would it not be an irony – and I can scarcely believe it would be God’s will – if you and your brethren and sisters, all of whom have renounced this world’s goods, were to perish because of the wilful cupidity of others?’
‘What would you have me do?’
‘Have you any influence with the captain-general?’
Marmolejo sighed. ‘To be truthful, none at all. I fear Ocampo’s curse fell upon an apostate.’ There was a brief silence, then Marmolejo asked, ‘My son, I do not doubt your expertise in these matters, but Lorenzo and Olivera seem to accept the lading of the vessel and, it has to be said, we have yet made good many miles since our departure from Cavite without mishap. Are you not fretting for no reason?’
‘Perhaps, and it is true in part to say that we have made progress without mishap, but recall our plight when pressed by a hard gale off Corregidor. Should we meet such a wind out here,’ Iago waved his right arm towards the horizon on the beam, ‘with so mighty a fetch across this ocean, we may revive our fears. We have far to go, Padre.’
‘That I understand.’
‘And the season is far advanced.’
‘And you fear the winds they say blow in these latitudes towards the fall of the year?’
‘I fear them greatly, Fray Mateo, because I have felt the power of a mighty baguiosa.’
‘Then it is natural that you should be in constant fear of another such experience,’ said Marmolejo with that reasonable air of authoritative dismissal that a priest waves away anxiety, seeming to take it upon his own shoulders. ‘But it does not follow that you shall. God is good and does not wish for the senseless deaths of those who serve Him.’
Iago looked at the friar. His own anxiety may have been heightened by his experiences in the Rainha de Portugal, but his instinct told him that if the Santa Margarita encountered a baguiosa, or taifun, she would soon be in difficulties. He shook his head. ‘I wish I had your faith, Padre.’
‘So do I, Don Iago, so do I.’
And, as he went below, Iago encountered two further consequences of the sleepy sailor’s punishment, the first from Arrocheros. The merchant rose from his seat upon a bale and confronted Iago. ‘Your dog of a dwarf should have been flogged like that,’ he said, an unpleasant gleam in his eye.
‘I think not,’ Iago said dismissively, making to pass the merchant who stood close to him. The ship, lifting to a swell, caused both men to lurch, making bodily contact. ‘Excuse me, Don Baldivieso,’ Iago said, but Arrocheros stood his ground.
‘The dwarf is a thief, Don Iago,’ the merchant said unpleasantly, forcing himself upon Iago so that Arrocheros’s breath was hot in his face. ‘Those whom God curses at birth are cursed forever and manifest their evil by their marked condition.’
‘That is a harsh judgement, señor . . .’
‘It is but the sins of the fathers, Don Iago. And God’s will,’ Arrocheros added pointedly.
‘Ximenez is not the dog you take him for, señor. As to his truthfulness, I have absolute faith in Fray Mateo. Please stand aside.’ Reluctantly Arrocheros gave ground.
Within the flimsy privacy of their accommodation, Iago met the subject of this unpleasant meeting. Ximenez was sitting head in hands as Ah Fong stroked his head. He did not look up as his master arrived and it was Ah Fong who explained the cause of the dwarf’s distress.
‘He thinks he should be whipped like seaman topside . . .’
‘What?’ frowned Iago, unsettled by Arrocheros’s unmitigated venom and hostility.
‘For stealing Missee’s ring.’
‘For God’s sake!’ Iago looked down at the wretched dwarf. ‘Ximenez . . .’
Ximenez looked up. His cheeks were wet with tears. ‘Master, I . . .’
‘For the love of God, Ximenez, put that damnable accusation out of your mind.’
‘I could not stand to be flogged like that, master.’
‘Nobody is going to flog you, Ximenez. Anyway, you have seen men flogged before, in the public plaza at Cavite, surely?’
‘No, master. When a public flogging was pronounced I could not watch. Like the dogs whose company I kept at such times, I cannot stand the smell of blood.’
‘You have nothing to fear, so long as your conscience is clear.’
‘Master, I did not take the ring.’
‘I know that.’
For nine days, under the steady press of the trade wind, the great ship ran through the blue Pacific. The steady routine gradually laid its customary balm upon the men and women on board as seasickness was forgotten and all became as able as the marineros at keeping their feet on the gently lifting deck. The mood between decks lightened and Iago’s fulfilled prophecy that the seasickness would pass further enhanced his standing. One or two of the male passengers now ventured aloft by way of an excursion, and thought better of themselves for so doing. Even the captain-general’s party became subdued by the steadiness of the vendavales which drove the Santa Margarita north and, in giving them every prospect of a swift passage, encouraged the general mood of optimism throughout the ship. So much was the mood of the ship improved that the appearance of the captain-general and his suite upon the deck was generally greeted with vague motions of respect and deference from those occupied or idling on deck at the time.
Upon these occasions Guillestigui, bereft of his half-armour and often free of his doublet and in his silk shirt-sleeves, seemed in high good humour. No trace of evil consequences following Ocampo’s curse troubled his fine, haughty features so that he did indeed seem like Caesar himself, and lord of all he surveyed as the great ship drove her way faithfully northwards
in search of a favourable westerly breeze.
In his exposition on the navigation of the Santa Margarita to Ximenez, Iago had not revealed how far north they had to sail under the steady influence of the trade winds – the vendavales – before reaching the prevailing westerly wind that Andre de Urdaneta had discovered thirty-six years earlier. A change of latitude of twenty-four or five degrees would have been incomprehensible to Ximenez. Not that this mattered unduly, for it was as though the ship herself seemed intent on a fast passage and while Guillestigui, noting with satisfaction the increasing latitude, claimed this was due to her clean bottom, Lorenzo and Olivera disagreed. Their daily observation of the sun’s noonday culmination by means of their backstaffs, when compared with the most generous estimations made by log-chip, persuaded them that they were in the mighty grip of a vast oceanic current, the Kuro Shio.
The rapid progress of the Santa Margarita persuaded even the most resistant soul that perhaps there was a magic in being at sea, for the morning sunshine soon dispelled the night’s damp, the creak of the ship’s fabric seemed a friendly background to the buzz of conversation and even the vermin seemed lulled into less aggressive activity. The blue skies were dotted with light, insubstantial clouds, mere puffballs of vapour that seemed utterly benign and marked only the reliable thrust of the trade wind. Such things seemed to augur well, so much so that even the sceptical Iago was lulled. As day followed day, there was no need to start a brace, trim a tack or haul a sheet, let alone reef a sail as the Santa Margarita gradually acquired a personality of her own and bore them in her strong-built hull steadily north in search of the great westerly wind that would carry her far to the east and the King of Spain’s dominions in the Americas.
But on the morning of the ninth day, Iago woke to a different motion and knew immediately that a change was coming, as he knew it must. On deck it was visible, its first manifestation a heaving groundswell moving in on their starboard quarter from the south-east. He caught Olivera’s eye and, without saying a word, both men stared at the sky to windward. The horizon was no longer straight and sharp as a sword blade as it had been for over a week. Now it was shadowed by a band of cloud that stretched across the sky, as yet a mere hint of something uncomfortable, but a hint marked by a slight strengthening of the trade wind. Olivera sniffed.
The Disastrous Voyage of the Santa Margarita Page 11