Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon

by Christine Echeverria Bender

  He left a handful of men behind to keep the four-legged beasts in sight while he and the others trotted back to the encampment. His men cleared a path for them when he returned riding his young mare, Luna, accompanied by Captain Ferrelo on Seguro.

  “There,” Cabrillo said, pointing Ferrelo toward the herd of deer. The horses saw them too, and began to blow and sidle in eagerness, making their riders tighten their knees and firm their grips to hold them to a measured walk. Cabrillo ordered his men to hang back as the riders slowly advanced.

  For this hunt Cabrillo had chosen to carry a long bow, as did Ferrelo, and they each already held an arrow with its iron tip pointed downward across the center of his bow. Ferrelo’s horse breathed a short, anxious nicker and the heads of several grazing deer jerked up. Ferrelo leaned down slightly and whispered cautions to the gelding, and they proceeded deliberately forward.

  The deer stared alertly but none moved. One of the herd’s leaders took a tentative step toward the riders, and then another. Cabrillo and Ferrelo exchanged a subtle glance and brought their bows up in a careful, protracted movement.

  As if warned by an abrupt cry of alarm the herd exploded. Needing nothing beyond instinct and anticipation of her master’s wishes, Luna bolted after their prey. Cabrillo’s mind and body screamed to let her run but, knowing that all-out exertion would be unwise for his mare after her recent periods of confinement, he held her to a swift gallop, and Ferrelo kept Segura to a similar pace. The deer had no such restraints and they flew as if weightless before them. “Look at them run!” breathed Cabrillo with both admiration and regret.

  With incredible agility the deer sprang, shifted, and raced ahead. Cabrillo quickly realized they could not lessen the distance between them unless the horses were given their heads, and he refused to risk it. He suspected that the deer were beyond the range of his bow but decided to take at least one quick, desperate shot. Nocking his arrow, he pulled back on the bowstring, held his breath as he steadied his aim, and freed the shaft. Somehow the arrow flew as far as the last of the disappearing deer, but it missed its rapidly shifting mark by at least ten feet. Ferrelo too let loose an arrow but achieved the same disappointing result.

  With his voice and knees Cabrillo signaled Luna to lessen her gait, but the mare hesitated to obey. It had been long enough since she’d felt the stretch and pull of her muscles, the expansion of her heart and lungs that she would have willingly raced for miles. All of this Cabrillo knew, but for her own good he grasped the reins and gently but firmly let her know that the decision was final. This time, Luna complied.

  Over the next five days several more brief attempts were made to bring down one of the elusive deer, but the only mementos the men were able to take away from San Mateo were sketches and, to Cabrillo, less than adequate descriptions. Even so, the grass and exercise enjoyed by the horses had given them much vigor. Viento’s shoulder wound was very nearly healed and it would not leave a lasting scar. Aside from some lingering yellowish bruising, Cabrillo’s jaw and lip looked almost normal. The appearance, mood, and physical condition of the crews and ships had also improved during their stay. It was time to sail on.

  To the wonder and appreciation of Cabrillo and his men the land became even more appealing as they progressed northward. Palm trees began to appear in vibrant groves, and valleys grew thick with wide-leafed and flowering shrubs in an array of colors almost beyond belief. They journeyed past three islands that, after seeing no sign of life, they named Islas Desiertas. The presence of natives became evident, however, when great clouds of smoke became visible over the mainland, but since this stretch of rocky coastline looked less hospitable for his three ships Cabrillo pushed on in search of a safer refuge.

  From all initial signs, the last day of September’s fourth week could not have presented a better answer to his wishes. The coastal fog had lifted entirely when they sighted a harbor opening so promising that Cabrillo said with relish to Manuel, “This may well be a worthy place to celebrate surviving three long months at sea. May heaven be praised, we have much to be thankful for.”

  “We do indeed, sir. That tall point ahead seems to mark the place especially for us.”

  The high spit of land they were quickly approaching pointed directly at them and looked to be at least 400 feet high, and it did seem to welcome them like the curved arm of a waiting friend. They let it usher the ships into its possession as they followed the 5-mile eastward rounding boundary. Drawing deeper into the harbor, the smiles evolved into expressions of attentiveness as men sounded the depths and called the fathom count on both sides of the ship.

  When they reached an angle at which much of the bay became visible, they spotted the threat at once. On the shore a group of seventeen Indians stared at the ships in astonishment. They hung in stunned paralysis for only a moment before most of them suddenly pivoted and fled. Yet three stalwart men remained behind, armed only with lowered bows, and these few stood rooted bravely to the sand even after the ships had settled into their anchor lines.

  Cabrillo watched them with building admiration as he ordered a boat lowered. Father Lezcano appeared at his side and asked, “Please, sir, will you allow me to accompany you to act as your interpreter?”

  Taking his eyes from shore, Cabrillo said, “It may be dangerous, Father.”

  Father Lezcano’s eyes shown with a youthful excitement and daring that his religious training had not successfully quelled, “Yes, Captain-General.”

  Hungry young pup, wants to risk getting himself killed, he thought, but aloud he said, “Very well, you may come.”

  The natives were still waiting when the launch rowed ashore with the captain-general at its stern. As he drew close enough for a more minute inspection, Cabrillo perceived that these natives were from a culture further advanced than those the fleet had encountered during the last few weeks. They dressed in more finely tanned and sewn animal skins, wore elaborately beaded decorations around their necks, and bound their long hair back with headbands or in braids. With proud facial features and robust bodies, Cabrillo found them to be a handsome people.

  As the captain-general took in the measure of the Indians he was highly aware of their arrow-nocked but lowered bows, yet when he leaped from his launch he chose to leave his crossbow behind. Manuel, Vargas, and the four guards accompanying him, however, did not, and Cabrillo knew his soldiers would keep eyes and weapons trained on him as well as the direction taken by the Indians who had abandoned the beach.

  As he gradually approached the three men Cabrillo extended his arms out to his sides, his hands open, and then gestured to express a desire for accord. He strode slowly to within twenty feet before halting, spread the small rug Manuel brought to him, and laid out a collection of metal and glass goods from a small chest. He then drew back several paces and beckoned the natives to accept his offering.

  Cautiously, a middle-aged Indian with a deep scar on his left forearm stepped forward and ventured close to the articles on the rug, all the while shifting his eyes to and from the strangers. As this man allowed his fascination to be temporarily captured by the items presented, Cabrillo gradually approached and sat down beside the rug. Only a yard apart now, the two studied one another with open fascination that each tried to keep within the bounds of universal politeness. From head to foot and back up again their eyes took in the look and measure of the man from another world. Cabrillo was struck by the directness and honesty of the Indian’s gaze, and appreciated the rich craftsmanship of his necklace that displayed fanning, light-colored shells and dark stones. When the native tentatively reached out and touched the Spanish flat cap, Cabrillo ran extended fingers lightly over the central black beading of the necklace. Both arms lowered, and it was clear that even this subtle, momentary physical contact had been enough to create a small tacit bond between them. Their mutual perusal now generated enough confidence in the native to allow his attention to return to the trade goods.

  The other two Indians, seeing that their frie
nd seemed to be growing more comfortable with the stranger and further encouraged when Cabrillo motioned them nearer, came to join them. The captain-general allowed this outnumbered ratio to last long enough for the Indians to gain a higher level of assurance, and then he called Manuel to his side. As hoped, this closer sighting of Manuel also claimed the natives’ fascination. In moments all five diplomats sat cross-legged in a small ring exchanging glances, and the captain-general beckoned Father Lezcano forward.

  “Father, please tell them we mean their people no harm,” said Cabrillo.

  Through gestures for the natives and words for the sailors, this was communicated well enough to offer an evident level of reassurance to all three of the Indians. But the trepidation they attempted to hide, and almost succeeded, was still there. Cabrillo and Father Lezcano tried to calm them further by repeating their peaceful intentions and placing gifts into brown hands. These were accepted with unveiled awe.

  Slowly, the man who had first permitted Cabrillo’s proximity and who continued to act as leader for his small band began to speak. Through signing, he asked Cabrillo, “What do you call yourself?”

  The captain-general dispensed with formalities and answered simply, “Cabrillo.”

  Wondering what this might mean, the Indian repeated the word, testing the sound. Evidently coming to a conclusion of some kind, he signed and Father Lezcano translated aloud, “Our relatives live far inland. They tell us that men of your kind, warriors with great weapons, came to their land. Those men killed many. They treated women badly. My people see you here and they are afraid.”

  Silently cursing Coronado or whoever it was who had inflicted these wounds, Cabrillo said through his priest, “We are not those men. We have no wish to hurt your people. We come in the name of a great chief and in the name of our God. Today, we will place a symbol of our God on this beach, which will show his great love for all people. We want to stay only a few days. We will trade and then depart in our ships that will take us far to the north and west.”

  The greatest attentiveness was paid to his words, and the Indian leader said in reply, “I will tell these things to my people.” With that, Cabrillo wrapped the presents in a length of light blue cloth, handed the bundle to the natives, and watched as they disappeared into the surrounding trees.

  In a brief, vigilant ceremony Cabrillo named the new harbor San Miguel, primarily because the feast of that saint would fall on the next day but also in order to greatly please the crew of his ship bearing that same name. To mollify his other two crews, however, he promised that the next couple of landfalls would be duly named after their faithful ships.

  Throughout and after the claiming rite Cabrillo keenly sensed that they were being watched, but no Indians showed themselves during the rest of the day. Considering the fears of the natives, and though he kept his most attentive lookouts on watch and his swivel guns ready, he was deeply thankful for the absence of hostilities, which left them to make small repairs in restful peace.

  That evening the sunset fanned its brilliance like a peacock’s mating array, darkness reached gently into their harbor, and a nearly full moon shone down on the tranquil water like a blessing. Father Lezcano mentally greeted the lunar company as he climbed to the quarterdeck and found Cabrillo. “Have you ever seen a more beautiful night, sir?”

  “I wish my wife were here to see it.”

  “Perhaps, sir, she is gazing into just such a night sky.”

  “I imagine her at our window, looking out at the moon.” He didn’t mention how he ached to hold her, as he had held her the last time he’d stood at that window. Wanting to turn aside his thoughts of yearning, he asked, “How many such nights have you seen, Father? You could not have been very old when you entered training for the priesthood.”

  “My parents died within months of each other when I was eight years old. An uncle delivered me to the nearest monastery.”

  “You, an orphan? I would not have guessed that.” Cabrillo studied the young face as he mulled over this revelation.

  “It is not a fact I share with many, captain-general. My family’s circumstances were far from exceptional; we were of the nobility but had very little wealth. One of my uncles thought I had a promising mind, and he knew the monastery would offer an education that he could never provide.” The priest smiled ruefully as he said, “I doubt it will surprise you to hear that the good friars beat me often, hoping to defeat my rebelliousness. They must have been relieved when I sailed to New Spain.” Cabrillo smiled too but said nothing, and Father Lezcano continued. “Once here I served as a page for the viceroy while I continued my studies. As I mentioned before, shortly after that first meeting between you and me—” he paused and they exchanged a meaningful look— “I was ordained.”

  “Then, before your ordination, you felt called by God?”

  “Not as some men have, perhaps, not suddenly or profoundly, but, yes. I do believe this is the path He has chosen for me.”

  Their voices grew still as they watched the San Salvador’s boatswain climb the stairs, approach them, and bow respectfully. “Excuse me, Captain-General, but several of the men have requested the chance to toss a net or two from shore. That moon is shining rightly for a good catch, and fresh fish would be welcome fare, sir.”

  Cabrillo took a moment to observe the bushes, trees, shadows, and hills beyond the beach. “All seems quiet, but that may mean little. I will give permission for no more than five men to fish at a time, and they must be guarded by Vargas and at least four of our soldiers.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “And keep the men quiet. These natives are already uneasy and it would take little to push their fears into action.”

  “Yes, Captain-General.”

  As the boat was loaded and rowed toward a promising spot, the priest and Cabrillo speculated softly about their potential catch and how it should be cooked. Vargas was perched upright and dutiful in the stern of the small craft, with two other soldiers sitting to port and starboard and one in the bow. They landed and pulled the boat above the tidemark, speaking seldom and only in hushed tones. Five sailors gathered up their large net and formed a line in ankle-deep water as their guards took up positions.

  To coordinate the toss one man counted, “One...two...three...” and they let the weighted net fly out over the water, hissing ssstt. The weights made a rapid syncopated popping as they hit the surface, settled and rested for several minutes before the fishermen, anxious to discover what riches the bay would surrender, began to draw the net back in with practiced efficiency. As they strained against the increasing burden their excitement built, and their voices rose along with their emotions.

  From his position at the rail Cabrillo tensed at the increase in noise, but he heard Vargas shush the men sharply. Thankfully, the night air grew quiet once more as the fishermen resumed their work. Under their strong, deft hands the net eased closer to shore. When it was near enough for the moon to confirm the fantastic bounty of leaping, flapping, glistening fish, one of the fishermen let loose a “Hahaaaah!” loud enough to reach the other end of the harbor.

  Vargas strode into the water up to the guilty man and slapped him so hard across the mouth that he nearly tumbled into the fish. Struggling to keep his balance as well as his hold on the net, and knowing he had committed a punishable transgression, the fisherman clamped his stinging mouth shut.

  Expecting it, yet intending to take over if necessary, Cabrillo heard Vargas order, “Get the boat into the water. This load of fish will be the only one taken tonight.”

  The soldiers pushed off and rowed close to the net, steadying the boat until the fishermen could board while balancing their load alongside. When all had settled in, the soldiers began to pull at their oars and slowly set the heavily loaded launch in motion toward the San Salvador.

  They’d rowed only a few strokes when Father Lezcano espied movement in the trees; it was bodies heading toward the boat. “Captain-General, look there!”

&nbs
p; Seeing them at once, Cabrillo called in an undertone, “Natives approaching, sergeant-major.” But Vargas, watching from the launch’s bow, was already aware of the Indians. His and two other arquebuses were now lifting and aiming as the two remaining soldiers kept rowing and four of the sailors grabbed for the free oars. With a steady voice that carried across the water, Cabrillo commanded, “At the first sign of trouble, men, let loose that net.” Glancing from his advancing boat to the shore, he headed toward his second launch. Fully knowing that Manuel would meet him there with his weapons, he hurried along signaling to several men who had lined up and in readiness to accompany him. He reached the railing of his main deck and shot a glance toward La Victoria, seeing that Captain Ferrelo was already sending men over the side. Captain Correa’s boat was also being boarded.

  Without further warning, the unmistakable hiss of arrows in flight issued from the trees, and Cabrillo heard the cries of at least two of his fishermen as arrows found them in the boat. Vargas and his men instantly lit their guns and released a volley that lacerated the brush concealing the archers. Cursing under his breath, Cabrillo ordered his master gunner to load the swivel guns and bombardeta and stand by. One sharp nod at Pilot San Remón shifted his command of the ship and hastened men already heading toward battle stations. The captains of La Victoria and the San Miguel followed these actions in quick succession.

  Cabrillo threw himself over the railing, clung to the rigging to steady his landing, and dropped into his launch with a thud. Manuel, his arms loaded with his master’s helmet, weapons, and leather breastplate, boarded two steps behind him. Eight more men soon found their seats near them, shoved off, and sailors sawed at the oars while soldiers aimed their weapons. Scanning the beach and straining to hear any sound from shore as Manuel deftly secured the side straps of his breastplate, Cabrillo then raised his own crossbow. His eyes could detect no movement, and all his ears could perceive were the sharp rustlings of foliage caused by men in retreat.