With considerable trepidation the boy again cast his eyes upon the bursting colors and held his gaze steady. Gradually, but only somewhat, his fears seeped away. He became reflective and said at last, “It was kind of you to share this wonder with me, sir.”
“Since you must help stand watch until midnight, Mateo, whenever you feel sleepy glance at these lights and let them keep you awake. As you know, falling asleep during a watch is one of the worst offenses a sailor can make. The lash is put to use to make certain it is not committed twice.”
“Yes, Captain-General. I shall remember.”
“Well then, join the men at the foredeck for this hour of the watch.”
“Yes, sir.” He bowed and was gone.
In the quiet that settled after the boy’s departure Cabrillo was allowed to reflect back on the first time he had seen the mystifying lights in the foam. He had been a year younger than Mateo, traveling from Spain to Española, then Cuba, then Mexico, lands that would hold terror and enchantment far beyond what he could have imagined.
And now, now, what would California unveil to him and his men? Once seen, would any of them survive to tell of her mysteries?
Chapter 6
A QUESTION OF TRUST
Someone gently shaking his shoulder drew Cabrillo, grumbling and groggy, from the deep slumber he’d fallen into for no more than three turnings of the sandglass. He recognized Manuel’s touch before he heard his voice. “Captain-General, Pilot said to wake you. Cabo de Corriente lies four miles ahead.”
Cabrillo was now sitting up and reaching for his shirt. He peered at Manuel who stood outlined by the morning light slanting in through the window. “Four miles? What is the hour?”
“Not yet seven, sir.”
This news brought him fully awake. “I knew it. May the saints be praised! That blessed wind will have carried us a hundred miles in less than twenty hours!”
As Manuel bent down and began picking up a few sheets of paper scattered across the floor, Cabrillo cast him a puzzled look. Smoothing out the pages on the desk, Manuel said, “You went sleepwalking again, sir. You must have bumped your desk.”
Cabrillo shook his head and muttered, “Even during so short a night.”
“Maybe you meant to write something, sir, while you were dreaming. I listened close, but you soon settled down again.” Without having been instructed to do so, Manuel had taken possession of the floor outside the captain-general’s door as his sleeping area, to guard him from harm, certainly, but also to lessen any embarrassment brought on by the nocturnal meanderings that plagued him.
A knock at the door preceded the arrival of Paulo with a bucket of water. He entered and asked Cabrillo, “May I assist you now, sir?”
“I thank you, Paulo, and I know it will take time for you to become accustomed to life at sea, but I need even less help dressing while aboard this ship than I did on land.”
Paulo expression grew decidedly pinched.
“I ask you, as I have many times, to accept that I was not raised to be a coddled gentleman.”
Paulo’s stiffened even more at such a self-inflicted affront. “Forgive me, sir, but you are a gentleman of high esteem and captain-general of this fleet. I prize the honor of serving you, and one of my duties is to assist you with your dress.”
“Perhaps I should find a servant less educated in his duties and more prone to obedience.” Having heard similar threats repeated for two years, Paulo paid these words little heed until Cabrillo said with much more conviction, “Paulo, show me the goodness to be satisfied with confining your duties to my meals, my laundry, and my cabin. While under sail leave me to tend to my dressing and grooming as I will. If necessary, consider this an order.”
His servant’s haughty expression fell to one of mournful resignation, and he began quietly tidying up the small room while Cabrillo gave Manuel his orders for the day ahead.
After hurrying through breakfast Cabrillo appeared at his usual post on the stern deck to be greeted by a pilot in particularly buoyant spirits. “We have arrived, Captain-General. A sailor can not hope for a day and night better than what we enjoyed.”
Cabrillo glanced behind to check the positions and movements of his other two ships as he said, “Agreed, pilot, and the wind holds steady.”
Shipmaster Uribe, older than his commander by a handful of years, with a ruddy face already bristling with gray stubble but matched with a body still nimble and a wit still sharp, climbed the stairs to join them. More to spark the morning dialogue than to announce anything unknown to his captain-general, he said, “The decking has been washed and the bilge waters pumped, sir, light work after just setting out.”
“Very good, Master Uribe.”
“And there lies our first port, Captain-General,” Uribe said with a jerk of his chin. “What are your orders, sir?”
“We shall not tarry here but sail on to California. It would be sinful to waste such a breeze.”
San Remón and Uribe bobbed their heads in harmony. Men standing just below them grinned and slapped each other on the back as if they’d just heard of an unexpected increase in pay.
Enjoying their exuberance, Cabrillo said, “May the men always be this pleased when I order the fleet to ignore an anchorage. Please pass the word to the other ships, Master Uribe.” When this order had been obeyed, Cabrillo asked his pilot, “While I slept did you spot any signs of life ashore?”
“Not many, sir. A flash here and there that might have been campfires, nothing more.”
Growing thoughtful as he took in the coastline, Cabrillo asked, “What might we have seen, I wonder, if we had sailed here before Bloody Guzman pillaged the land?” The gazes of his officers grew more speculative as they too searched the farther reaches of the shore. “Knowing how swift the Indians’ vengeance can be, I would not readily risk a landing in that bay even if the wind was against us. Hurtado should have been more cautious, and I doubt the ten years between now and then have quenched the thirst to repay some of Guzman’s devilry.”
“Is it true, sir, that Hurtado’s mutineers were killed not far from here, at another spot in Bahia de Banderas?” said San Remón.
“That crew was killed at Banderas, yes, but Captain Hurtado and those loyal to him met the same fate farther north, near Rio Fuerte. And the following year, as my wife recently reminded me, Jiménez and his mutinous crew were slain near La Paz. Happily for us, we may avoid facing the natives of both locations. Doubtless we will encounter Indians enough in the lands ahead to keep us attentive.”
Uribe’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “There is a warning to be learned from these tales, eh, sir? Mutineers beware of natives.”
“Indeed there is.”
San Remón asked, “One of the Jiménez survivors returned to tell of gold and pearls at La Paz, did he not, sir?”
“There were three survivors to spread that story, which was likely true. Cortes, too, found pearls there. Even so, gold and pearls carry too low a value to recklessly trade for our lives.”
“Far too low, sir.”
“And our mission does not allow us a delay to hunt for previously claimed treasure.”
“No, sir,” said San Remón. “We had best find treasures not yet claimed, had we not?”
At the turning of the glass the ships drew together for the early prayer services of matins, and Father Gamboa gave humble praise to the Lord for his benevolence. Though Cabrillo’s head was bowed, his devotion was significantly diverted by nagging thoughts concerning Father Lezcano, who stood in apparently pious silence beside his senior priest. It was unlike the captain-general to let a potential problem pester him this way, and he wondered if his own reluctance to deal adequately with the matter was bothering him as much as the man. He asked himself if he should have punished the priest for approaching Viento rather than merely warning him? On the other hand, could Lezcano be completely innocent of malicious intent?
At the intonation of the final “amen” the captain-general raised his
eyes and found his gaze met by that of the young friar. Cabrillo replaced the velvet hat upon his head and was turning away when Father Lezcano approached him and asked politely, “Captain-General, may I trouble you to spare me a moment of your time, in private?”
“It is my watch, Father,” Cabrillo responded. “I do not wish to relinquish it.”
“Yes, of course, sir, then may I join you on the quarterdeck for a few words?”
Father Gamboa, noticing the terseness in Cabrillo’s voice, glanced between the two wearing a troubled expression.
“If you wish, Father,” said Cabrillo. “Please excuse us, Father Gamboa.”
Discerning their commander’s desire for privacy, the sailors cleared the way as he and the priest passed by, and an area around the aft of the ship grew sparsely populated.
Cabrillo’s withheld impatience was nearly as tangible as the heat of the rising sun, so Father Lezcano came quickly to the point. “Captain-General, I ask you to reconsider your opinion of me.”
His frankness was a surprise. “My opinion of a man can only be changed by his actions, even if that man is a priest.”
“I meant no harm to your horse, sir, and I can imagine no other action that might have caused concern. Can it benefit your men or your mission to show distrust of a priest who only wishes to serve you and God?”
Though the question was posed in a humble tone the challenge in the words made Cabrillo’s gaze sharpen. “To serve me? You have no worldly ambition beyond that?”
“When I was ordained I spoke my holy vows with sincerity, Captain-General. I will spend my life attempting to obey God’s will, and his will has placed me on this ship. I cannot minister to the San Salvador’s men as I should if they neither respect nor trust me. And they will not, if you do not.”
Cabrillo folded his arms over his chest, considering. “That is very likely true. How then, would you gain my trust?”
“Give me the care of your horses, sir.”
Cabrillo almost let loose an incredulous bark of laughter but managed to check himself. “My horses?”
“I have given it much thought, sir. That would be the best way to show how I have changed, before the eyes of men and God, since our first meeting.”
With his brow knitted, Cabrillo was about to refuse when Father Lezcano hurriedly added, “I accept the fact that you would kill any man, priest or otherwise, if he intentionally harmed Viento.”
They studied one another for a long moment until Cabrillo said, “I would be justified in doing so. Are you saying you will gladly risk that?”
“It is no risk at all, sir, since I know my own heart.”
Cabrillo still hedged by saying, “I remember your pointing out that you are of noble blood. How does working as a stable-hand fit with your high breeding?”
“It suits my calling if not my breeding to do even the humblest of work, sir.”
Faced with this final declaration, Cabrillo felt his defenses waver a bit. “I do not often misjudge men. I would have died very young if I had not learned to read a man quickly, but perhaps with you I have been too abrupt.”
“At our first meeting, Captain-General, you said you saw courage in me but that I must learn wisdom. I ask you to be one of my teachers.”
Cabrillo weakened further and Father Lezcano noticed, and there it was, a brash though slightly tempered smile that celebrated the realization that his captain-general would yield.
“Cloak that boldness, Father, if you seek my favor.” The smile vanished. “And take care in what you ask of me. As you know, some of my lessons are not easily endured.”
Father Lezcano heard the warning, but he still said, “I have been told that I too can judge the make of a man. I ask again that you help me learn what a man should know.”
Cabrillo turned to face the eastern clouds but found no escape in them. “Then, for the sake of my soul as well as yours, I will grant at least a share of what you ask. Do not let either of us come to regret it.” Looking around and calling Manuel to them, he said, “In the future Father Lezcano will assist you in the care of my horses.”
Manuel tried to mask his astonishment. “Yes, sir.”
“You are to be with him at all times when he is near the animals. At all times, Manuel.”
“Yes, Captain-General.”
Father Lezcano bowed deeply and said, “I am grateful, sir.”
Cabrillo offered a short, deliberate bow in return. “Now, Father Lezcano, I must resume duties.”
Almost immediately Cabrillo began to question the prudence of his decision, another train of thought relatively unusual to him, yet within minutes he had reassured himself by recalling Manuel’s unquestionable loyalty and watchfulness, and he forced his mind to become more engrossed with the command of his ship.
At the southern-most point of the fifteen-mile-wide Bahia de Banderas they sailed past protruding Cabo de Corrientes, where the deep green foliage of the plain reached toward them from the mountains. If this place had held a different history Cabrillo might have been tempted to linger briefly. The rivers here could provide fresh water, which was never passed by lightly, but they had water enough for the present circumstances. The wind still seemed willing to acquiesce to the wishes of the fleet, and it swept them up the coast at a speed almost equal to that of the day before.
That evening, after first obtaining permission from the captain-general, Father Gamboa delighted the men by appearing on the main deck with his bagpipes. Anticipation brightened the faces of men who gathered around him. It took only a moment or two for Father Gamboa’s breath to expand the leather bag and for his fingers to find their marks. The priest’s eyes glowed as he drew the first notes from the instrument, and he soon produced a melody so poignant that no words were needed to touch the emotions of all who listened. The rising, circling notes expanded out over the waves and into the sky. It carried to the other ships, stilling hands and lifting gazes to the summoning sound. Here and there eyes began to fill and noses to sniffle as the music turned thoughts toward loved ones left behind. The piper played on, and as he finished his first song he immediately began another, and then a third. When he paused, men begged for more, and he complied with a soft smile. If anyone heard the sound from shore, they doubtless look out to sea and were mesmerized by what they saw.
At last the priest’s music drew to a gentle close and he tenderly tucked his pipes into their chest. The two Irish gunners had been among those most moved by the music, and the one who spoke Castilian, the taller of the two, said, “Father, I never knew that any but the people of my own land could play the pipes so. That was mighty fine, mighty fine indeed.”
“I thank you, my son.”
“I heard tell that the Irish were the first to breathe life into a set of pipes, Father. Have you heard the same?”
“Well, I have read that bagpipes were played a thousand years before Our Savior was born, and shortly after Jesus’ death Emperor Nero of Rome played them. I was fascinated to also read of a primitive pipe, carved from the leg bone of a bird that was found in Viscaya. That pipe may be thousands of years old.” The eyes of the sailor had grown large in amazement. Father Gamboa smiled and said, “Who can say with certainty where the pipes were first played?”
The Irishman offered no supposition, but his expression left little doubt that he was unwilling to surrender his faith in his earlier claim. As the men drifted away toward their sleeping corners, the humming of tunes that the bagpipe had yielded could be heard about the ships.
The following dawn the benevolent wind demonstrated the capricious side of its nature by swinging around 180° and buffeting them from the northwest just as they attempted to nose away from Mexico’s mainland and head toward the southern tip of California. They toiled against the gusts and swells for every mile they gained, and the rolling decks worsened the seasickness aboard, further torturing those already weakened by its effects. The next day and the next the fleet fought against contrary winds that swept away the occasional m
oans of the sufferers. While the ship’s surgeon treated the sick bodies by doling out sea biscuits hard enough to chip teeth, Fathers Gamboa and Lezcano ministered to their souls with prayers. Little by little, most of their patients gained the ability to hold down food.
Even his duty to care for the ill didn’t prevent Father Lezcano from accompanying Manuel on at least three visits per day to the horses. Initially Cabrillo made unannounced appearances to oversee and add to the equestrian education of the priest. Somewhat to the captain-general’s disappointment, Viento didn’t seem to object to Father Lezcano’s touch.
On Sunday, shortly after the morning prayers and as if by divine intervention, the wind shifted to a more favorable direction. Weary faces began to illuminate, reflecting their excitement at leaving the waters off Mexico and nearing the mystifying territory of California. Eyes seeking land now turned eagerly from the east to the northwest.
Just prior to the turning of the glass at the hour of twenty, the San Salvador’s lookout shouted, “Land, Captain-General! Land dead ahead!” The cry of “California! California!” swept through the ships. Many of the hands peered and gaped as if they half expected to see Queen Calafia waiting on shore to greet them. Cabrillo also felt the thrill and wonder at this long-anticipated sight, yet he kept his emotions contained for the sake of his excitable men. His young pilot revealed a struggle with his own anticipation by asking, “Sir, may I volunteer to be among the foremost landing party?”
“A landing is not yet assured, pilot. We must first study the situation from the ships to determine the advisability of sending out a scouting party.”
Subtle though it was, Pilot San Remón understood the admonishment for his impetuosity. “Of course, Captain-General.”
Quietly, Cabrillo said, “However, if there is to be a scouting party, I know I need not look far to find the right man to lead it.” With that, Cabrillo headed to the foredeck and began to examine the approaching coast. Here, at the most southeastern cape of the Californian peninsula, the barren rocky hills seemed to have shoved their unwanted offspring into the sea, leaving the boulders to protrude from the waves like so many overgrown fingers and knobs.
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