Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon

by Christine Echeverria Bender

  Morning prayers were curtailed as they entered the cape. Even their cold breakfast of cheese and hard bread was postponed until the ships, settling as gently as three swans tucking their wings, came to a full rest in the brilliantly blue water. When the food was quickly set out the men were so captivated by the features of the land, they hardly noticed what they ate.

  One sailor swallowed a mouthful and voiced with disappointment, “Why, it needs trees to look anything like the paradise we heard so much of.”

  “And women,” said another. “There’s not a creature in sight, man nor beast, male nor female.”

  “Be grateful there are none here looking to cut out your heart and eat it,” said a third. “As for me, I can wait awhile longer before I face that kind of enemy.” His comment was met with head nodding and general mutterings of agreement.

  While the crew hurried through their breakfast Cabrillo sent Manuel to his cabin for writing material and continued to scrutinize the beach. When his slave reappeared, the captain-general dipped his writing quill and began to make notes and sketches of the geography at hand. After several minutes, he handed Manuel his papers, cupped a hand to his mouth, and called to his lookout, “Bilbao, any movement?”

  “None but from the birds, Captain-General!”

  “Very well.” He faced his shipmaster and said, “Master Uribe, have both launches lowered but keep one tied alongside.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Pilot, take four sailors, Vargas, and three other soldiers to scout for water. If you are challenged, withdraw at once. If you need assistance fire a signal shot. Do not fire upon an enemy unless your lives are clearly at risk. And if all seems safe, send a man back to the beach bearing a white cloth, and I will come ashore with the next barrel crew.”

  “Very good, sir. Thank you, sir,” the pilot said as he hurried away to collect his men.

  Master Uribe descended to the main deck and passed along similar landing instructions to the captains from the other two ships, and it took little time before the keels of three small boats slid onto the golden sands of the California peninsula. The men remaining on board the ships felt pangs of envy as the landing parties leaped from their boats, hauled their crafts ashore, hefted their weapons, and watchfully moved inland.

  Neither Cabrillo nor Mateo were immune to the same yearnings as the others, but Mateo had neither the experience nor the passage of years to keep his from showing. Noting the boy’s drooping mouth and sad eyes, Cabrillo said, “How many landings do you suppose there will be before we reach the San Lázaro Islands, Mateo?”

  “I can not guess, sir. Will there be very many?”

  “Dozens at least, perhaps a hundred.”

  “A hundred, sir?”

  “Perhaps more. We shall see. If things remain quiet here, you shall have your turn ashore by nightfall.”

  “Oh, thank you, sir!”

  “But for now, you must have duties in need of attention. Such as scrubbing barrels.”

  “Yes, sir, I will go at once.” Casting one last glance toward land, Mateo went in search of the ship’s cook.

  “Master Uribe,” Cabrillo called down, “unless the scouting party encounters trouble, all on board will be allowed time ashore at the end of their watch.” At this announcement, a grateful cheer burst from the men. “And, Master Uribe, set some men to fishing. These waters seem to be begging for hooks and nets.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  Cabrillo’s two priests approached him with a respectful bow, and Father Gamboa said happily, “This is a fine precedent, Captain-General. I, too, look forward to a cool swim in the river.”

  Father Lezcano added, “It will be good to rinse our clothes as well as our bodies, sir. The clothing will last longer if it is kept cleaner.”

  “That is my hope,” said Cabrillo. “When the weather becomes cooler in the north, every article of clothing will be needed.”

  “May I ask if you intend to take the horses ashore, Captain-General?”

  During the last few days Cabrillo had watched every movement made by Father Lezcano as he helped tend to Viento. The priest had shown nothing but a gentle touch and growing affection for the horse. Still, this question struck a slightly uneasy chord in Cabrillo.

  “I will await the report of the landing parties before deciding,” he said, “but at the moment I will check on how the horses are faring below. Please excuse me.”

  Within the hour a soldier bearing a white flag appeared on shore and cried out that the area was secure. Although Pilot San Remón was not visible, four other soldiers stood positioned around the landing beach as guards. Cabrillo wasted no time in collecting his journal and several canvas bags from the ship’s steward and choosing a group of more than willing men to row him ashore. His heart drummed to an animated beat as he climbed into the San Salvador’s second boat.

  By the time they landed, Pilot San Remón was striding to the shoreline to meet them. He announced as Cabrillo stepped onto the sand, “We found good water just upriver, sir, and a small amount of wood a little farther inland. I saw no fresh traces of Indians but there is a deserted camp nearby where perhaps twenty of them lodged not long ago.”

  “Can you estimate when?”

  “Perhaps three or four days, sir, but it is difficult to know. The fire rings we found over that southern rise are quite cold. Judging by what was left behind, it would take them almost no time to collect what little they own and carry it away. They may move quite often.”

  “Show me, pilot.”

  Cabrillo’s hungry gaze took in every plant, rock, and bird they passed, and he paused now and then to collect specimens and write notes, setting a pattern for the many landings to come. After he had seen enough to satisfy his concern for the safety of his fleet, he sent back word that they would remain here for at least one more day. The horses were to be prepared for landing.

  Relieved from duty by watch, officers and crews of the San Salvador and La Victoria were allowed ashore, and many were soon swimming and lazing in the shallow waters where the river emptied into the ocean. Only a few of the San Miguel’s rowers were trusted with such liberty and, for most, their sentences forbade such leniency. So as Captain Correa descended to his boat and his rowers pushed it away, most of his men watched and wished from the confines of the small bergantine, softly cursing their hard fortunes, or their officers, or both.

  One of the few sailors shackled to his block glared after the launch with open hostility, then leaned close to the skinny man beside him and snarled under his breath, “If they think we’ll stand for anchorages with never a leave to go ashore, our fine officers may feel the bite of a blade or two one of these lonely nights.”

  Shifting uneasily, his fellow rower muttered, “Here now, Gaspar, such talk can get a man’s neck stretched tight.”

  “Quell your cowardice, Alonso,” Gaspar whispered through gapped teeth. “When the time is right, no one with a mind to do any neck stretching will be left alive.”

  With a dreadful mixture of fear and admiration, Alonso stared at the huge, shaggy man at his side. He noticed how the brawny hands were clamped around the idle handle of his oar, twisting forward and back, as if intent on choking off whatever life the wood might possess. The smaller man wiped a hand across his mouth and said, “Share no such plans with me, Gaspar. Not even in jest. I want no part of them.”

  Gaspar only sneered at such frailty, but as he shifted away in disgust he spotted the steady, sober eyes of an unchained, pock-faced Indian slave clasped upon him. The stare held a kindred understanding and perhaps the spark of a bond that could be inflamed to meet a mutual goal. An ally, thought Gaspar, then he dropped his glance as the boatswain strolled by softly patting the palm of his hand with a wooden billet. Keeping his eyes lowered, Gaspar slowly released his oar and forced his body to relax as he considered the Indian further. Savage or man, it makes little difference. I will sharpen any tool that will strike at my call.

  Chapter 7

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p; CONTACT

  Long ago Cabrillo had learned that sailors treasured visits ashore as much as gluttons treasured feasts, but spending two days at anchor so soon after the outset of their expedition left him and most his men with an agitating desire to push ahead. When he ordered the eager seamen to set the sails, a cooperative wind carried them swiftly south and west to the harbor of San Lucas. Here, too, they were unable to detect a single inhabitant but easily located an abundance of fresh water; so welcoming a watering spot, in fact, that shortly after the bay had been scouted Cabrillo proclaimed, “Master Uribe, give the men time to wash themselves and their clothing. As long as we can prevent lice and fleas from devouring us, we shall.”

  It took little time before the area resounded with energetic shouts and laughter from the crews splashing near the river’s mouth. Most of them wore their clothing only until they considered them well enough rinsed, then shed their false skins like relieved reptiles. The more conscientious among the men used sand to scour their garments thoroughly before tossing them on bushes to dry. While his men washed, Cabrillo, Paulo, Manuel, Mateo, and two guards headed upriver to stretch their legs and explore its banks.

  They’d hiked long enough to work up a sweat when a deep pool under a canopy of shade beckoned so strongly, and Mateo flashed his uncle a glance so pleading, that the captain-general gave in with a bob of his head. He and the boy began striding quickly forward, then trotting, then racing full out to reach the water, stripping their clothes and flinging them aside as they went. Manuel grinned after them but Paulo muttered disapprovingly as he collected the strewn belts, shirts, shoes, stockings, and breeches. The guards exchanged furtive glances of amusement at the entire scene.

  Mateo let out a great shriek of elation as he ran into the water, his speed launching him forward and thrusting his chest and head under with a splash. Cabrillo’s entry was even louder, and his smile even broader when he surfaced and tossed his hair back out of his eyes. He cried to the cloudless sky, “May heaven feel this good, and may we all get there someday to feel it!” Noticing that Manuel and Paulo were already preparing to wash the clothing they’d brought along, most of it his own, he said, “No, no. Let that wait until you two have rinsed yourselves.”

  Manuel needed no more encouragement before kicking off his shoes, unbuckling his belt, and tugging at his shirt, but he was momentarily stilled by Paulo saying, “Captain-General, it would not be appropriate for us to—”

  “Damn your propriety, Paulo. I order you to put it aside on this one occasion and get into this water.”

  With an offended air, Paulo sat on a rock and delicately began to remove his garments. He’d gotten as far as lifting his shirt when Manuel leaped from a large rock into the pool and shot a spouting shower high into the air that splattered Paulo from nose to knee. This set off howls of laughter that Paulo did his best to ignore. Moments later, although he never would have admitted it, he savored the blissfulness of cool water dancing against his bare skin and the smooth current massaging his muscles. None of them hurried to leave their river retreat.

  That evening Cabrillo could see that the swimming had done a world of good for everyone who’d taken part, everyone but Paulo. Though he may have enjoyed it at the time, his indignation at being ordered into the water had obviously ripened since returning to the ship, manifesting itself in the stiff manner in which he served dinner to the three captains, pilot San Remón, and Father Gamboa. As Paulo and Manuel cleared the dishes away, Cabrillo said, “That was a meal even the king would have relished, Paulo.”

  Paulo bowed but remained silent.

  Deciding not to humor this rebellious mood, Cabrillo ignored it. “We are ready for our chocolate now.”

  Again the rigid bow was made, but soon cups of the requested liquid were set before the captain-general and his guests.

  After his first sip, Captain Ferrelo said, “I have heard, sir, that you drink chocolate every day.”

  “I have done so whenever possible since first tasting it,” said Cabrillo. “The beans used in our drinks were grown on my own encomienda. With the Mayans cultivating it for centuries, I am happy that Spaniards can also reap its rewards. Mayan holy men once used it in their religious ceremonies and some probably still do. The Aztecs believe it comes from one of their gods, and that it will bestow good health. Perhaps there is some truth to the claim. I suspect that drinking chocolate has helped me keep so many of my teeth.”

  “Do they not also believe, sir,” said Correa with a speculative expression, “that chocolate enhances a man’s prowess and potency? Perhaps that is also true.”

  Cabrillo raised his cup in toast to such a possibility.

  As Captain Ferrelo sipped his spicy, bitter drink, he noticed that Father Gamboa was merely making a show of drinking his. He said to the priest, “A thought just came to me, Father, about a rumor I heard recently. I was told that a nun has concocted a formula for chocolate that has removed the bitterness.”

  Father Gamboa shifted uneasily, but every other diner found this news to be of great interest and they cast their expectant eyes upon him. “Captain Ferrelo,” said the priest, “if I knew of such a formula, I hope you would not ask me to divulge such a secret.”

  In various glances the officers all acclaimed that they would indeed ask such a thing.

  “It is not even our secret,” Father Gamboa tried again. “It belongs to the Dominican order rather than the friars of St. Augustine.”

  “Well then,” proclaimed Correa, “If the Dominicans have already shared it with the Augustinians, just how secret can it be? Besides, our faith surely does not hold chocolate to be sanctified. To put such heavenly value on a victual would be a sacrilege, would it not?”

  Father Gamboa decided that his best chance at maintaining discretion lay in attempting a compromise. “Dear gentlemen, I offer to do this much and hope you will be satisfied. I will look into the captain-general’s supplies, and if all of the needed ingredients are among them, I will make you the chocolate myself.”

  “Fine! Fine!”

  “Very well, tomorrow evening then?”

  “Tomorrow? Why wait, Father?” demanded Correa, standing and stepping behind the priest to pull his chair out for him.

  Resignedly, Father Gamboa signaled Paulo to accompany him to the captain-general’s stores chest. Within moments Paulo was sent back to the diners while Father Gamboa headed with a pot and an armful of ingredients to the ship’s fogon, where he could work his magic in solitude over the glowing embers of the firebox.

  The officers continued to chat easily among themselves but now and then the attention of each broke off to listen to the activities of Father Gamboa. Although it seemed longer, in only a few minutes the priest called to Paulo, and both of them reappeared with vessels full of the awaited brew.

  As each man savored the thick, sweet richness his eyes brightened with surprise and delight. A round of “Bravo, Father! Well done!” circled the cabin, and Father Gamboa bowed humbly.

  “Not a trace of chili peppers, and the bitterness is gone!” said Ferrelo.

  “Why, this is creamy,” said Cabrillo. “Our good cow must have contributed to our cups.”

  “I taste sugar and vanilla,” said Correa, licking his upper lip.

  “And cinnamon,” said San Remón.

  “And even nutmeg,” said Cabrillo, taking another drink. “Though I ration such spices dearly this is divine, worth every grain of seasoning used.”

  Cabrillo said to his servant, “Come, Paulo, you must taste this, so you can do your best to recreate it without our extracting the secret from Father Gamboa.”

  Paulo took Cabrillo’s cup and brought it to his lips. With an expression of intense concentration he let the liquid circle his tongue before swallowing. His grumpy, aloof expression gave way to a smile. “I may need another swallow or two, sir, so I will remember.”

  All of them laughed. “Let it not be said that I withheld my chocolate from a man of science. Let the rest be cons
igned to your memory.”

  Disappointment flickered across Manuel and Mateo’s faces, who had been hoping for a small sip from the captain-general’s cup. But they both brightened when Cabrillo said, “Paulo, why not set to it at once while the original brew is still fresh? Make a thorough study of it, and let Mateo and Manuel help with the tasting of your reproductions.” Seldom had so welcome an assignment been issued, and the three were soon out the cabin door.

  After the rest of the cups had been emptied to the appreciative smacking of lips, the dinner guests prepared to take their leave. Father Gamboa, however, hung back and asked, “Captain-General, may I have a moment?”

  Cabrillo agreed and the two men sat down again, the oil lamps bestowing a soft glow to their sun and wind-burned features. Father Gamboa asked, “May I speak freely, sir?”

  “Always, Father.”

  “It appears to me, sir, that something has caused you to form a poor opinion of Father Lezcano. He was not invited to dine with us this evening, and I have seen disapproval, no, perhaps a better word is distrust, when you speak to or even look upon him. Yet you allow him to groom your most prized horse that very few others are permitted to approach. I am confused and unsettled by it all, as are others. This trouble between you, sir, is it something I can help to repair?”

  Cabrillo folded his hands together and laid them on the table. “Did Father Lezcano give you no explanation of what has occurred?”

  “None, sir. He has refused to discuss it, and he generally confides in me. I have even suggested that his silence could be sinful if any harm comes from it, and still he says nothing.”

  Cabrillo had lifted an olive from its bowl but it still rested in his fingers. He said softly, “Truly? The man has the ability to repeatedly surprise me.”

  “Is it possible, sir, that you are mistaken about him? He shows the deepest dedication to his faith and to his role on this voyage... and to you.”