The cabin boys were just gathering the trenchers and cups when the wind began to rise.
Cabrillo lifted his face and studied the sky. “A devilish storm may not be far off. Father Lezcano, we must induce our guests to return to their village.” But the Indians were already getting to their feet without encouragement, eyeing the far-off clouds and sniffing the air in their own evaluation of nature’s changing mood. They made their way to the railing where their leader halted and turned back to face Cabrillo. He gestured the “farewell” sign of his people and then bowed to the captain-general in a manner so polished it would have fooled many at the Spanish court. The captain-general returned this salute and said with his hands, voice, and eyes, “Well met, my friend.”
When the rain started it fell lightly enough but Cabrillo was not fooled. Although the fleet had been unusually fortunate to avoid facing anything more threatening than strong headwinds during their voyage thus far, the captain-general had been forced to fight storms at sea in previous years. His gut sensed what was to come. As the thunder strengthened from growls to explosions and the rain thickened from sprinkles to torrents, Cabrillo repeatedly gave thanks for this blessedly snug harbor. They felt little more than soft reverberations of the ravaging wind and waves that might have crushed them on the open sea.
Seven hours later, the storm gentled and faded away to the southeast, leaving behind a cleansed and flower-scented evening of stunning, sparkling beauty. Cabrillo stood at his stern rail facing shore and pulled in a doublet-stretching breath, and then another. His pilot joined him, and they looked with admiration at a land that the last two days had enhanced with such promise.
“We must maintain our vigilance,” said Cabrillo, “but there is magic in the air tonight, eh, pilot?”
“Be it magic or, as Father Gamboa would maintain, God’s majesty, this harbor is magnificent, sir.”
“Judging from the health and size of its people, they lack nothing in the way of food or medicine.”
“No, indeed, sir. Once we learn their language, perhaps they will share some of their secrets.” San Remón added with a grin, “I would not mind adding a few inches to my own stature.”
Cabrillo returned his smile, and their conversation wandered from the mysteries of the bay to the needs of the ship and the men, and what lay in the waters and lands ahead. At last they stilled their voices and surrendered to the quiet realm of the sleeping harbor.
Though the following day was a Sunday, Cabrillo didn’t want to chance unsettling the natives again by landing a large party, even to attend a Mass. He did allow two small groups to gather firewood, but these men had strict orders to remain very near the shore, and two other boats were kept ready to come to their aid in the event a call was raised. The precaution proved unnecessary and his men returned to their ships without espying a single Indian.
The next day, while the ships awaited an agreeable change in the wind, Cabrillo hoped that peaceful natives would make an appearance, but all remained hidden. Yet the sense of being watched never left him. These people may have moved to what they felt to be a safer distance from their intruders, he thought, but some had remained behind to keep watch over the bay. He longed to visit their village but knew he dared not. Small streams of smoke rose from deep within the lush greenery, greatly tantalizing Cabrillo’s curiosity about the ways of these people. Were the customs measurably different from those of the Aztec and Maya? What idols did they worship? What skills did they teach their young? What were their houses like? Were their women attractive? His musings recalled Beatriz’ fear that his voyage would lead him to meet the legendary Calafia, and he smiled inwardly before his thoughts were reclaimed by the Indians of this bay. He remembered their favorable impression of Manuel. The blacks aboard his ships must be the first of their kind seen by these natives. He hoped the novelty of the blacks, horses, clothing, weapons, and trade goods would work to their peaceful advantage in the days to come.
When the light of early dawn shone brightly enough to allow one last sweeping gaze over the deserted beach, Cabrillo committed all that he could see to his memory. He delayed no longer the weighing of anchors or setting of sails, and soon the San Salvador led the way to the mouth of the harbor. His men were hale and willing after their stay here, and those who had been wounded were healing without complication. Asia and duty beckoned with a renewed will.
Glancing back at the landscape, Cabrillo said, “I leave this place with yearning, Manuel. I hope we will return.”
“Perhaps so, Captain-General. Perhaps many times.”
“I would dearly love to wander at will in those hills and valleys. Their beauty entices a man to venture closer, with a draw almost as powerful as a striking woman.”
Chapter 11
ISLAND ENCOUNTER
Renewing speculations over why men might repeatedly set their world ablaze, the crews watched great billows of smoke rolling upward to mingle with an older, broader layer hanging over the landscape to the east. Since leaving the port of San Miguel they’d been generously favored with three days of fair weather, but as they’d sailed up the coast the fires that generated the gray haze had grown in number and size, signaling a dramatic increase in the number of inhabitants and bringing the seamen to a heightened level of alertness.
As Mateo and Cabrillo also concentrated on the smoke hovering above the coastal hillsides and hollows, the boy asked, “Are they not destroying their land, sir?”
“Fire is not always destructive, Mateo. It can clear and cleanse the earth. Perhaps they are encouraging a crop to grow, but which crop I do not know.”
“Then they are farmers, sir?”
“They may not till the land, but they evidently harvest what they can. They hunt too, or they would not have the skins they wear.”
“And they fish, sir. There were piles of clamshells on the beach at San Miguel.”
“So there were. We have learned a few of their ways, but we still have many questions in need of answers.”
La Victoria’s lookout cried out, “Land ahead! Five points off the port bow!”
All heads swung to the northwest. The hint of an island was just coming into view. Cabrillo gazed from it to the mainland, estimating the distance at about twenty miles. He immediately ordered their course altered, intent on investigating the island’s potential to harbor the ships a safe distance from the populated mainland.
As they drew nearer, another island appeared to the southwest, enticing them farther on, but the wind chose that time to abruptly suspend its force. With little aid given by the current and only an infrequent, ineffective puff of a breeze, the pace of the ships dwindled to a near standstill. For hours they floated, as helpless as three water-soaked logs.
By late afternoon the immobility of his ships was sorely pricking Cabrillo’s patience. He’d heard of other ships stagnating in doldrums lasting weeks and eventually costing men their sanities or their lives, and the longer his fleet remained motionless the more these old tales taunted him. He could feel the restiveness growing in his men too. Rather than remain on deck pacing and casting glowers at the inert sails, he headed to his cabin to add notes to his latest map.
He was unhappily surprised to find Father Lezcano sitting in the captain-general’s chair and reading aloud to Manuel and Mateo. Upon Cabrillo’s entry, these latter two hurriedly rose from the floor. Father Lezcano also swiftly got to his feet, his expression more than a little guilty.
“Please forgive me, sir,” he said. “I merely sought a quiet place where I might instruct them for a few minutes.”
“And my cabin is the only quiet place on the ship?” Cabrillo demanded in a tone that would have been more aptly pointed at the miserly wind.
“I should have asked your permission to read on the main deck, perhaps, sir. These are words meant to be heard by everyone.”
Reining in his testiness somewhat, Cabrillo asked, “What were you reading, Father?”
Father Lezcano handed him the book. “They
are new teachings written by a Basque priest called Ignatius de Loyola.”
“Ignatius? I have not heard of him.”
“Few have, sir. His work has only recently been approved for distribution. You may find him particularly fascinating, Captain-General, since in his youth he was a mounted warrior like yourself.”
“A warrior, who became a priest?”
“Indeed, sir. He descended from a noble family and served as a knight until he was badly wounded.”
“It is difficult to imagine a knight who is holy enough to write religious works.”
“Yes, Captain-General, though, from what I have heard, his earlier life was far from monastic. He discovered the depth of his faith while convalescencing. He has already gained many followers, and not only in Spain. Some call them Jesuits, but they refer to themselves as members of the Society of Jesus.”
Eyeing the book and flipping through a few pages, Cabrillo said, “What is the goal of his writings?”
“Helping us and himself to better follow Christ’s example.”
Cabrillo took his chair and with a gesture offered Father Lezcano the edge of his bunk. “These readings may truly benefit the crew, especially today when our forward progress has been arrested. Although we must not count on miraculous improvements in the overall behavior of seamen, listening to holy teachings might calm them.”
“It just might, sir.”
“You have my full permission to read on the main deck for a half-hour, Father. But first tell me, does Ignatius recommend any specific means of enhancing faithfulness?”
“Prayers, meditations, and other means of examining our consciences, Captain-General.”
“Hmm. Perhaps, Father, you will take me on as one of your students?”
“I would like nothing better, sir.”
“Fine. After dinner, then, but before the evening watch. Now, all of you, if you will kindly allow me the private use of my cabin...”
As they were departing Paulo appeared at the door, his arms loaded with plates and utensils with which to set the table. Cabrillo shooed him out with, “Not now, Paulo. The ship lies too calm. I could not eat a bite.”
When they had left him with his parchments and ink, he pushed the fatal doldrums from his mind and bent intently over his maps. For a short time he was able to forget the fleet’s suspension between two shores and allow memories of the wonders they’d seen to be awakened and recorded. An hour passed, then two, and then his quill suddenly stilled when he felt the ship gently yield as if to a gentle nudge and give a little heave forward.
He could anticipate the San Salvador’s motions as well as Viento’s, and he sat alertly as he waited for the soft fluttering of a sail and Master Uribe’s orders to adjust the lines. Men’s feet beat familiar paths to their positions and strong, eager hands started hauling. By the time Cabrillo reached the stern deck the lines were being tied off. The breeze was weak but he blessed what little there was for giving them enough momentum to advance slowly, slowly toward the nearest island.
The day was growing old and still they were far from an easy rowing distance to the inlet ahead. Even so, expectant looks turned with growing frequency toward Cabrillo. He had no more forgotten his promise to his men than they had, and it was a lovely island, worthy of bearing their ship’s name. Scanning the hopeful faces, he said, “We will keep our sails full tonight. God willing, tomorrow our anchors will set in that bay, and at first light I shall go ashore to dub the island San Salvador.”
The roar that burst from his crew was loud enough to raise the curious stares of the men aboard nearby La Victoria. Cabrillo cupped his hands to his mouth and called out, “Well, Captain Ferrelo, will the farther island be suitable for bearing the name La Victoria?”
Having to bellow to be heard above the explosive din raised by his own sailors, Captain Ferrelo shouted back, “Quite suitable, sir!”
Overhearing this exchange and unwilling to omit his crew from the impromptu celebration, especially since his ship had been first to share its name with an island, Captain Correa led his sailors in a robust round of cheers.
Wearing grins, the officers and seamen of the fleet bent their efforts to capturing whatever gust of wind would force the sea to surrender even an inch of distance and bring them closer to land. When stars began to dance overhead the breeze lessened once again, and Cabrillo was forced to accept that any island anchorage was subject to nature’s goodwill.
Leaving his boatswain to oversee the watch on this calm evening, Cabrillo dined late with his officers, and Father Lezcano showed up with his book as Manuel and Mateo were clearing the table. “Come in, Father, come in,” said Cabrillo. His pilot had been rising to take his leave but quickly found his seat again when the captain-general added, “I trust you gentlemen do not mind adding to Father Lezcano’s group of listeners. Is that agreeable to you, Father?”
“Agreeable, sir? Why, yes. The larger the flock, the happier the shepherd.” He opened his pages as the men and boy settled comfortably down to hear the thoughts and recommendations of the priest from Loyola. Father Lezcano began by reading, “Be slow to speak, and do so only after having first listened quietly, so that you may understand the meaning, leanings, and wishes of those who speak to you. Thus you will better know when to speak and when to be silent.” At this advice, Cabrillo and his officers carefully avoided eye contact with one another yet managed the rare feat of successfully following this recommendation as Father Lezcano continued on to the next suggestion.
Dawn was just lifting its face above the horizon to reveal the earth in its first gray obscurities when Cabrillo, caught in the throws of another dark dream, rolled from his bunk and hit the deck with a heavy thud. The thump was immediately followed by a loud, angry groan and a clipped obscenity. One step in front of Manuel, Paulo calmly entered as if he’d just received a formal invitation to do so, and set Cabrillo’s washing bowl on the table. “Good morning, Captain-General.”
Cabrillo gave a curt nod then tossed his blanket back onto his bunk and went to the window. He stood there, his hair in wild disarray and his body clothed in nothing but a linen shirt that hung halfway down his thighs, wordlessly gauging the weather and tide. Allowing his thoughts an additional moment to move from ocean conditions to the shore, he said, “I like the look of that island, Paulo. My feet are itching to wander there.”
“Yes, sir. I will bring your breakfast at once.”
Cabrillo dressed and ate quickly and within an hour had the fleet lowering its anchors in a lovely cove ringed tightly by steep, rocky hills. Smoke trails rising from a village tucked in with the trees had become visible as they’d neared, and they could now see that the shore was strewn with shells and canoe planks. The captain-general ordered two boats lowered and joined a landing party, as eager as any to explore the bay. A couple of lengths ahead of the other, his launch was twenty yards from shore when Vargas called back from the bow in warning, “Captain-General.”
Armed Indians came rushing from the cover of bushes and tall grass, and kept coming. “Still your oars,” Cabrillo commanded.
They steadied their boats in place, glancing ashore with heightened consciousness of the capabilities of their own weapons and speculating on the range of the native bows. The beach grew crowded with Indian archers, shouting and gesturing for them to land, but Cabrillo caught glimpses of women and children fleeing farther inland through the greenery and he held his rowers where they were.
Looking back at the ships, Cabrillo affirmed that the other boats were standing by, awaiting his orders. The ships’ guns were manned and aimed. Shifting his gaze shoreward again, he spotted several natives nocking arrows to bows, and Vargas and his soldiers raised their guns.
Cabrillo said, “Hold your fire, men. Keep the boat stable.”
Standing slowly, he took up an arquebus and a crossbow, held them high above his head and then set them down in the boat with a deliberation that could not be misinterpreted. He instructed his men to lower their armame
nts as well, and they quickly obeyed. Cabrillo then spread his arms wide open. Speaking in his most calming voice and using words and signs he’d learned from the San Miguel Indians, he said, “Trade. Friend.” He repeated this and crossed his arms over his chest. Glances shifted from one warrior to another, and the natives began to lay down their bows and arrows.
As Cabrillo’s boats maintained positions of safety a brief discussion took place ashore. Several natives disappeared into the brush and immediately remerged pushing a large, sturdy plank canoe. They launched it into the water and cautiously came abreast of Cabrillo’s boat. The men in each vessel eyed one other with tightly controlled curiosity, but Cabrillo broke the impasse by signaling an invitation to accompany them to their ship. To his relief as the boats shifted positions the native canoe fell in line and followed him back to the San Salvador.
Nine Indians climbed aboard the flagship, and their trepidation soon gave way to amazement that widened their eyes and heightened the contours of their rich features. Father Lezcano fell in step beside Cabrillo as he showed them his world, highlighting the bercos, bombardetas, capstan, tiller, and whipstaff. Unable to fully conceal his own fascination as they toured the ship, the captain-general took in the powerful naked builds and chevron-shaped facial tattoos of his visitors. He tried to consign to memory the way the hair of several was pinned up with rounded man-shaped splinters of ivory. Their earlobes were also decorated with cylindrical, though much shorter, bones, and their chests displayed artistic arrangements of shells, soapstone, and carved whalebones. Although these Indians had bravely faced them alone, Cabrillo was not yet certain if they were merely warriors or considered chiefs among their people.
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