Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon

by Christine Echeverria Bender

  Even more thoughtfully, Cabrillo admitted, “I let him share in Viento’s care on the chance that he indeed means well. But you are quite right about my lingering mistrust of him.”

  “I am willing to stake your benevolence toward me, Captain-General, a thing I value greatly, and to pledge my word on the belief that Father Lezcano is honorable.”

  Without haste Cabrillo said, “The fact that he has held his tongue about our past encounters tells me much. Very well, Father, if you see such unquestionable good in him, I will surrender my prejudices as far as I am able.”

  Relieved and pleased, Father said, “God blesses a generous man, sir.”

  “Do not offer me grace that is undeserved, Father. I merely try to interpret and lead fairly, and in this I may have judged wrongly. If that is all, Father, will you please find Father Lezcano and send him to me?”

  Father Gamboa bowed and departed, returned shortly with his brother priest a step behind, ushered him into Cabrillo’s cabin, and immediately left them alone.

  What exactly was exchanged between the young priest and the captain-general that evening was never revealed to Father Gamboa or anyone else, but from that time forward there was an improvement in the consideration Cabrillo showed toward Lezcano. Perceptive to his master’s unspoken permission, Manuel began to more openly display his own growing esteem for the priest. The rest of the crew noticed the change as well, and as with the resolution of any tensions between superiors, it put the men more at ease.

  When the fleet left San Lucas on July 8, sailed to Trinidad Point, and was held there for three days by a tight-fisted wind, the two were seen together often. If an occasion arose for Father Gamboa to be invited to the commander’s cabin, Father Lezcano’s presence was also requested. Once, Cabrillo publicly praised Father Lezcano for his devoted care of Viento. Much to Father Gamboa’s gratification, and a little to his surprise, there even seemed to be threads of camaraderie being woven between them.

  As they sailed ever farther up the coast, Captain Correa frequently came aboard the San Salvador at the captain-general’s bidding. Correa had seen this treeless, mountainless shoreline while a part of the Bolaños expedition, and Cabrillo questioned him minutely as they studied the land and their charts and speculated about when they might sight their first Indians.

  Heading into Puerta de Madalena, whales numbering in the dozens spouted, rolled, and breached in undaunted proximity to the ships. As far up the beach as the eye could trace skeletons of the great beasts, washed ashore over the ages, now littered the sand. Gulls circled and scolded overhead as the ships drifted gently to this new anchorage. Other birds, feathered beasts of every color, size, and form, flitted and cried amongst the bushes or dove to scoop a prize from the innumerable schools of sardines.

  Scanning the scene from the railing, assessing the potential bounty this fauna would provide to any human inhabitants, Cabrillo concluded, “If there are no Indians here, there most certainly should be.”

  He chose to be among the initial scouting party, and once on the sand he and his men paused beside a monstrous cetacean spine that had long since been washed clean and pitted by the elements. “As I suspected,” he said to Vargas as he looked the skeleton over, “several of the smaller ribs have been removed. Likely used to construct shelters.”

  “They’ve been taken from the next one, too, sir,” Vargas said, pointing to a carcass thirty feet up the beach.

  “Keep a sharp eye,” Cabrillo said to his soldiers, who were already tautly alert. He gave the area a sweeping glance but other than the birds nothing stirred. With Manuel standing guardedly by, Cabrillo allowed his fascination to be recaptured by the whalebones. He ran a hand over the porous surface of the long skull, and then stepped inside the frame, straddling a gap between two vertebrae and spreading his arms wide between a pair of ribs still attached to the spine. He could just touch their inside edges. Letting his arms fall, he said in wonderment, “This mighty fish could have fed a village for months.”

  “A big village, sir,” said Father Lezcano.

  Drawing his men and himself away from the baleen cemetery at last, Cabrillo easily found a path that had been used not long ago by the natives. They searched, expectant and even hopeful, but many minutes and then two hours passed without an Indian sighting. If any were near, they remained artfully hidden. The men of the fleet lingered long enough for Cabrillo to make note of what they’d seen before heading back to the boats.

  Setting sails against headwinds, the fleet was forced to channel its way through pod after pod of whales swimming in previously unimagined numbers to reach Puerto de Santiago. After nudging a lane between the massive bodies to reach an anchorage near nightfall, the whales began to bump the ships with such regularity that concern began to build as to whether they might cause significant damage. Faced with the risk of leaving an unfamiliar port during an hour of darkness or dealing with the whales where they lay, Cabrillo called for his pilot and shipmaster and said, “Well, gentlemen, before we become any more like grist under these unrelenting millstones, I must give the unique order to make as much clamor as necessary to keep these cursed whales from the sides of our vessels. Please pass the word along, Master Uribe.”

  To help, Father Gamboa immediately brought out his bagpipes, but his well-intended music seemed to have the unanticipated effect of drawing the whales closer rather than repel them, and he almost immediately ceased his piping. At a signal from Master Uribe drums of every shape, size, and material—including the temporarily adopted bombardeta, swivel guns, and kegs—were beaten upon amid a chorus of earsplitting yells from the drummers, and the resulting din was loud enough to frighten any whale, bird, or unsuspecting human for miles around. These noise-making activities began with merry, rowdy enthusiasm as a welcome reprieve from the routine of shipboard life, but within an hour the men’s arms grew weary and their heads developed a pounding ache that pulsed painfully to the cadence of their drumming.

  Cabrillo, too, soon yearned for silence, but every time he ordered the drummers to still their instruments the whales began to draw near and shove the ships anew, so men were ordered to resume beating with their billets, knife hilts, kindling sticks, or whatever else was at hand. It was an exhausting, restless night that made even the most even-tempered of the men growl with longing for their habitual practices. With barely enough light to make their way clear of the bay and with all ears ringing after so prolonged a period of clamor, Cabrillo made sail and aimed his fleet’s sterns at Puerto de Santiago.

  Up to now Correa’s sharp memory had proven to be of great service, recalling the best approaches, anchorages, and springs or rivers of fresh water. But from this point until they reached uncharted waters, the captain-general and his navigators relied heavily on the maps that had been drafted by Ulloa and compiled by Castillo.

  Making a brief landing fifty miles up the coast at Bahia Santa Ana, they rejoiced at the sight of an abundance of trees again. Here the whales were blessedly much fewer in number, but there was no shortage of other marine life. Thousands of sea lions basking on the rocky shore and swimming at its edge raised such a riotous barking chorus that human discourse was difficult. Again, Cabrillo chose not to loiter. They reached Puerto Fondo with the intention of leaving the following day, but shortly after departing at dawn they were met head-on by forceful winds that refused to relent. After struggling against them for three additional days, the fleet was driven back to their previous anchorage. At the first easing of the blow, they sailed on.

  With similar determination to reach uncharted waters, Cabrillo allowed the fleet to stay no longer than the winds demanded at San Pedro Vincula, San Esteban, Isla de Cedros, Puerto de Santa Clara, Puerto de Mal Abrigo, Isla de San Bernardo, or Punta del Engaño, all visited earlier by Ulloa and his crew. Though a careful watch was kept at each of these landings, Indians were seen only at Puerto de Santa Clara, and those four fled at once to a distant place where they could not be spotted again.

  The h
unger Cabrillo felt to reach their first unknown, unseen, untrodden land was building in all of the men. When the sails were lifted and the ships eased away from Punta del Engaño, the final landing named by those of another fleet, many eager voices arose with the sails. “Onward, onward!” they cried. “To the heart of California!” Pilot San Remón stood tall beside his captain-general and breathed in a huge breath, his teeth gleaming at the open sea. It was clear to Cabrillo that it took a significant effort from his young pilot to refrain from committing a breach of protocol by joining the men in their wild cheering. San Remón, however, did allow himself to burst forth with, “We stand at the last point on our map, sir! The last point! Ahead, everything is new.”

  Cabrillo was not untouched by the contagious exhilaration exhibited on his decks, but his relative age and war experience helped soften the tugging at his nerves. He smiled broadly and said, “Yes, pilot, new to us as well as our country.”

  Mercifully, they didn’t have to endure an extended wait before the opportunity to land arose. Unlike Ulloa, they rounded Punta del Engaño without difficulty, and just twenty-seven miles beyond it the hearts of everyone aboard pounded anxiously as they glided ever-closer and entered an uncharted harbor. Once clear of the mouth, the port seemed to form an irregular horseshoe dominated in the center by a large brown hill. Scrubby trees and bushes thickly covered the rising, curving edges of the land. The eastern arm of the bay appeared to offer the best prospect for a river, and Cabrillo directed the ships in that direction. Within minutes, their anchors rested securely upon the seafloor.

  Despite the eagerness of his men and himself, Cabrillo remained cautious. In the deepening dusk he could see no movement of any kind, but the low growing greenery could hide many warriors. He forbade anyone from going ashore other than a few well-armed soldiers assigned to search for needed firewood and water. No more would be permitted to land until daylight provided a better sense of the dangers that might await them.

  The midnight watch was exceptionally alert, and this attentiveness brought Pilot San Remón to Cabrillo’s cabin and bedside just before the hour of one to awaken his commander.

  “Captain-General,” he said, “the lookouts have spotted at least one campfire. I would not have disturbed your rest, sir, but for the order to inform you at the first sign of natives.”

  Clearing his throat and trying to sharpen his sight in the dimly lit cabin, Cabrillo asked, “Did you see the fire, pilot?”

  “No, sir, only two lookouts. After they called out, no one saw it again.”

  “How far from shore?”

  “The range of an arquebus shot, Captain-General.”

  “Very good, pilot. Double the lookouts and keep me informed of any other sighting.”

  “I will, sir.”

  He left Cabrillo to ponder the possibility of encountering natives at this newly discovered location, and growing speculation gradually swept all grogginess from his mind and body. Less than an hour later he gave up all attempts to return to sleep, dressed, and went on deck to stand along with the men of the second and third night watch and await the sun’s arrival. When the light finally appeared, it shown down on a land that revealed no evidence of ever having supported human life, by neither smoke stream, structure, nor footprint.

  Still taking every precaution, Cabrillo ordered three boats to be filled with soldiers and two of the war dogs, and these launches were sent ashore to establish a protective loop around the beach. When a sailor returned to the captain-general with word that all was ready, Cabrillo dismissed the messenger from his cabin and looked thoughtfully over at his slave. After a moment, he said, “Well, Manuel, here we are on the verge of making history. Are you ready?”

  Manuel’s pride shone on his big-boned face. “Ready as a man can be, sir.”

  “You may want to say a prayer that we hold onto our lives while we make our mark here.”

  “I will do that, sir.”

  Cabrillo, followed by Manuel and together with his officers, priests, and scribe, headed toward shore. Leaping from his boat as it scraped the beach, he took his first steps into the unknown territory.

  Because the day was one of such importance, all who landed wore their best ceremonial dress and all were impressively armed. The officers had donned their finest shirts, sleeveless doublets, and loose-fitting breeches that ended above the knee. Plumed velvet hats adorned the heads of Captains Correa and Ferrelo and Pilot San Remón, but Cabrillo had chosen to wear the conquistador helmet that had twice saved his life in battle. Paulo had polished his master’s metal chest plate to a high shine, and it flashed brilliantly in the early sunlight.

  All followed Cabrillo as he hiked up a slight rise to a spot large enough for twenty men to gather. When everyone stood waiting expectantly, the captain-general said with impressive volume and precision, “I, Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo, on this twenty-second day of August in the year of Our Lord fifteen hundred forty-two, do claim this land located at the latitude of 31 1/2° upon the western coast of California in the name of Charles our king and emperor, and on behalf of Don Antonio de Mendoza as governor of New Spain. This place will henceforth be called Puerto de la Posesión, and I stand ready to defend the claim now made with my sword and my life.”

  The captain-general moved to a nearby shrub, cut two limbs, and took a leather strap from the pouch at his belt to form a three-foot high cross. He then collected several skull-sized stones and braced the cross upright in the sand. Taking a cup that Paulo had brought ashore for this purpose, Cabrillo strode to the water’s edge to fill it and returned to his small monument. As he dripped the water in a circle around stones that supported the cross, he said, “I place a cross upon this new land as a sign that it is now a possession of our homeland, and that we will hold it in the name of Our Father, and His Son, and the Holy Spirit.” At a gesture from Cabrillo, Father Gamboa stepped forward and offered a prayer of thanksgiving, and this concluded the ceremony.

  As his men drifted down the hill, Cabrillo remained behind. He wanted a few moments of solitude to take in the full substance of this landing and so he had even Manuel leave him, under orders to help unload the horses. Staring down at the small cross, Cabrillo listened to the calls and songs of the birds that seemed to be harshly discussing the arrival of the strangers. He lifted his head and slowly scanned the country all around him. The breeze was gentle, the sun glaring, the greens and blues brilliant, the dark recesses beneath the trees ominous. In the uncommon solitude of his small hilltop, Cabrillo began to wonder if the lookouts had truly spotted a fire the night before. Were there really people here? If so, what must they be thinking, planning as they watch from their hiding places? What weapons did they possess, and were they prone to using them out of fear? Mulling these questions, he grudgingly surrendered his privacy and let his feet take him down to join his crews.

  Though the evidence of a recent native presence was slim, he kept the sentries watchful. He also sent the captain, pilot, and gunner of La Victoria back to their ship to safeguard the command of at least one vessel, as well as to see that the swivel and great guns were kept aimed at their landing place.

  The San Miguel was in bad need of caulking, for which she must be brought ashore, and several sails ought to be spread and mended. He had his scouts make a wider search of the area while the horses were landed, and since nothing threatening presented itself he gave the command to have the San Miguel unloaded and hauled onto the beach. A few hours later she was resting on her side in the sand and workmen were busy scraping her exposed belly.

  Only then did the captain-general set out to explore with Shipmaster Uribe, Manuel, Mateo, half of his soldiers, and one war dog. Manuel carried Cabrillo’s crossbow and writing instruments and walked closely enough to keep them within his master’s reach. Cabrillo’s sword of many years swung at his side. His mood matched that of the men, tense and vigilant as they heightened their senses to pick up any hint of an ambush.

  Following the bank of a river, Cabrillo l
ed them deeper and deeper inland until they veered away from the water and began climbing the rise of a hill. At its top they halted to search for any human sign, and discovered that the river had broadened into a three-branched lake. Cabrillo’s eyes were tracing the southern edge of the lake as the rest of his men came up through the brush behind him. Suddenly he stiffened, then dropped into a low crouch and sharply signaled for his cohorts to do the same. Silently pointing with his arm, his intense gaze also marked a group of six men fishing from the lakeshore not fifty yards away. But their movements had caught the attention of one of the Indians who was already backing away and fearfully gesturing to the others.

  Cabrillo whispered, “Sergeant Major Vargas, Laca, Sanchez, and Manuel come with me. Master Uribe, remain here with the others. Lázaro, do not release that dog.”

  Slowly, his arms held open, Cabrillo stood up.

  The fishermen froze.

  Cabrillo and his chosen men advanced carefully with arms held open to show they were empty. Their own weapons hung from belts and shoulder straps but they could still see none carried by the natives. The captain-general began to use his hands to communicate that he had gifts for them, but he could see that they were preparing to flee. The only thing that seemed to have held them this long, in mesmerized terror and awe, was the sight of the large black man walking a step behind and to the left of Cabrillo. When the soldiers narrowed the distance between them to little more than twenty paces, even the spectacle of Manuel was not enough to keep them from bolting toward cover, and Cabrillo shouted, “Catch one of them!”

  They raced after the slowest man, gaining on him steadily until Manuel was near enough to leap forward, catch the Indian by the shoulders and roll him to the ground. The other fishermen let out a sympathetic cry for their friend but kept running. As they disappeared into the trees, Cabrillo called out, “All right, Master Uribe, come ahead.”

  “Gently,” said Cabrillo, as the Indian was lifted to a sitting position and surrounded by him and his four men, who were quickly joined by Master Uribe and the others. Seeing the horror on the captive’s face melt into an expression of fateful acceptance, Cabrillo said in a calm voice, “Disengage your weapons and sit down, men. Keep the dog on watch outside the circle, Lázaro. We are going to trade.”