Since the chief patiently awaited a reply from Cabrillo, the captain-general pointing at the native leader as he asked, “Wocha?”
“Wocha!” he said firmly as he placed a hand upon his chest.
Cabrillo nodded and repeated the name with much respect. Then the captain-general said, “Cabrillo!” using the same tone and patting his own chest.
Wocha pronounced his name accurately, and both men smiled in satisfaction at this small victory.
Now that the initial formalities had been conducted, Wocha, a word Cabrillo would later learn meant only “leader” in the Chumash tongue, told them with evident sincerity that the bearded men who had landed by the big river could be reached in seven days.
Confronted anew by this recurring issue and reminded of his orders to offer aid to Coronado, Cabrillo asked, “Father, can you discover anything more specific, such as the name of their leader or where these men might now be found?”
The priest tried, but the chief had evidently provided them with all that he knew.
Torn between sending a couple of his men on what could well be a fool’s errand or worse and failing to attempt a connection with someone that might need their aid, Cabrillo heeded Master Uribe’s urgings for caution. He said to his priest, “Tell him, father, that I will write words upon a paper that can be taken to the bearded men. I will tell them of the friendship of Wocha and these people. If I do this, ask if two of his runners will deliver it to the men at the big river?”
The terms “write” and “paper” challenged the priest’s translating skills, but soon the idea of their purpose was roughly conveyed.
Fascinated by such wondrous claims, Wocha wished to know more before consenting, and Cabrillo had Manuel pull from his pouch the writing materials he’d brought for his master’s use. Wocha learned forward and villagers gathered closer for a better look as Cabrillo spread a parchment sheet atop his writing board, dipped his quill, wrote the word “Wocha” and handed the sheet to the chief. Pointing to the word, Cabrillo pronounced it slowly and then aimed his finger at the chief.
Wocha’s brows lifted in wonder as he examined the curling, looping line. Giving the paper back, he said, “Cabrillo,” and motioned for that designation to be written. When the new word rested beneath Wocha’s title, Cabrillo again presented the sheet to the chief. So impressed was Wocha with this magnificent process that he began to point at people, both red and white, and then inanimate objects, telling Cabrillo the native names and then watching absorbedly as the captain-general wrote each of these down. Whenever he could, Father Lezcano helped provide a Spanish translation to a name, until Cabrillo, nearly as delighted as his host, had filled the first page of a primitive lexicon.
Pleased as he was at this excellent exchange, Cabrillo had not forgotten the issue at hand. After having Manuel carefully store the filled page in his oversized pouch, he again wrote the word Wocha on a clean sheet of parchment. This time, he made the letters as artistically decorative as his talents allowed and handed the page to the chief as a gift.
Wocha took the parchment from Cabrillo with gravest gratitude.
Cabrillo said to Father Lezcano, “Please ask him if he will now agree to send runners with a written message to the bearded men, the ones he calls Taquimine.”
Father Lezcano translated this and then conveyed the chief’s careful response, “What will your message say?”
Nodding his approval of this query, Cabrillo spoke as he wrote, “I, Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo, on this the tenth day of October in the year of Our Lord 1542, have landed with my ships in a bay along the coast of California that lies at 35 1/3°. Here, we have met native people who have shown us welcome and friendship.
“If you are Spanish, or friendly to the Spanish realm, we are willing to assist you if such aid is within our power and the scope of our mission. Please send us word of your location and intentions.” Intentionally omitting specifics about their own mission and course in case the letter was delivered into enemy hands, Cabrillo closed and signed it.
Wocha had attentively observed the creation of the missive and now listened to its translation by the priest. He appeared to find nothing objectionable, so Cabrillo rolled his letter within a waterproof oilskin and tied the bundle securely closed. He then handed the dispatch to Wocha, who accepted it with a satisfied bob of his head. Calling a youth to his side, he ordered the runner to take one companion and carry the message with all haste to the Taquimine who had traveled north up the great river.
As Cabrillo watched the young man choose a friend and the two trot away, he fervently hoped the letter wouldn’t fall into English or Portuguese hands. In the unlikely case that it did, he was determined that his ships and men would be ready. Wherever the letter might land, its result would lay far ahead of today.
To repay Wocha’s kindness, Cabrillo presented him with two empty sheets of parchment, a quill, and a small, lidded bottle of his ink, all of which pleased the chief immensely. Responding to a small voice from behind, Wocha turned to briefly face the group of seven women, of varying ages but notable beauty, who had been watching the proceedings from a discreet distance. Cabrillo had not failed to notice that the youngest of these had seemed deeply interested in his writing, and she now approached and softly asked Wocha if she could hold the paper with the chief’s name upon it, which he allowed her to do.
Facing Cabrillo again, Wocha said with understated pride, “These women are my wives, these and two others. Cabrillo, do your wives travel in your great canoe?”
Withholding any hint of amusement, Cabrillo said, “I have one wife, Wocha, and she is at our home far away.”
Visibly concerned by such news, after a moment’s thought Wocha gave a quick order to one of his wives that Cabrillo and Father Lezcano did not catch, and the woman moved away to drift quietly among the listening crowd. While Wocha evidently awaited her return, Cabrillo offered him two matching goblets of etched brass. The chief was still expressing his satisfaction when his wife reappeared accompanied by four attractive women, all of them under what Cabrillo guessed to be the age of sixteen. The girls stood in their short skirts with their eyes cast downward and their thick hair draping their chests from shoulders to waists, their manner as demure as any virginal noblewoman of Spain.
As Wocha spoke magnanimously to Cabrillo, Father Lezcano hesitated a second or two in awkward discomfort before finally explaining, “Sir, he says that these women...agree to be your wives.” The priest fought to keep his features blank as shuffling and mumbling started circulating among the sailors.
Cabrillo had caught an inkling of Wocha’s intentions without the need of his priest’s assistance, and he stilled his men’s muttering momentarily by saying, “Please thank him for me, father, and explain that it is not our custom to take more than one wife.”
But before the priest could comply, Wocha forestalled any declination of his gift with an assertion that Father Lezcano was compelled to convey, “A great man like Cabrillo, a man who comes from faraway lands in great ships and makes magic messages on dried skins, such a man must have many wives.”
The insistence in Wocha’s voice gave Cabrillo a moment’s pause, but in a respectful tone he tried again. “Father Lezcano, please tell Wocha that his women are beautiful and his gift generous, but that this is not our practice.”
Recognizing Cabrillo’s hesitation, a realization seemed to suddenly cross Wocha’s mind. Father Lezcano had barely finished translating before the chief nodded in acceptance and understanding, then he gazed over the crowd, spotted the one for whom he was searching, and beckoned that person forward. A moment later the most spectacular looking man Cabrillo had ever seen stood directly in front of him.
The muttered words, “Holy Mother save us,” escaped from Father Lezcano. Several of Cabrillo’s men shifted uneasily. Manuel snapped his gaping mouth closed and kept still.
The slender young man’s features were stunningly fine and his feet and hands were small to the point of daintiness.
His effeminate appearance was greatly enhanced by the fact that he wore the clothing and adornments of their women. His hair feathers were even more flamboyant than those worn by Wocha, and his many strings of tiny shells hung almost to the ground. He was beautiful, and he stood just as the girls had, submissively awaiting the chief’s command.
Father Lezcano whispered, “Captain-General, I believe the chief is offering—”
“I know what he is offering, Father,” Cabrillo said evenly. “Thank him kindly, but tell him our customs and our God strictly forbid a man from taking pleasure with another man.”
Forcing his expression and voice to a calmer state, Father Lezcano relayed this message.
The priest’s words were first met with confused disbelief, and then Wocha’s friendly manner grew guarded, even suspicious.
Making an attempt to keep things from growing threatening, Cabrillo said quickly, “Your offers are most kind, Wocha. But I must follow the wishes of my king and my God. I must lead my men by my own actions.”
Mollified only somewhat by this explanation, the chief let his gaze drift to Manuel, as it had several times during the meeting. He pointed to the black man and asked, “Is this man a leader among you?”
Cabrillo responded with, “He is not, but he is a strong and faithful friend.”
Wocha grunted once in acknowledgement and said, again causing Father Lezcano to translate with reluctance. “Since he is no leader, your other men need not follow him. It would please me if he stays in our village tonight. I will give him strong, healthy women. In the new year they will bear his children, and his blood will add life to our people. This will make our friendship strong.”
Momentarily amazed, Manuel managed to say a little too readily, “I am willing, sir. For the sake of the fleet.”
“The fleet indeed,” Cabrillo muttered with an eyebrow cocked. Seeing no other way to avoid offending Wocha and much to the disappointment of his other men for having been excluded from the offer, Cabrillo accepted on behalf of Manuel.
This seemed to satisfy Wocha greatly. He spoke to the girls still standing nearby in a manner that suggested he was bestowing a great privilege. All four of the young women came cautiously forward to sit near to Manuel, occasionally glancing at him as if he were a newly arrived god who had just chosen them as consorts.
Under his breath, Cabrillo said to Manuel, “Just one night. Tomorrow I expect you to be at the beach for the claiming ceremony. And if you value your hide, not a word of your exploits to the other men.”
Manuel hoped his tone held the contriteness of a smuggler standing before a hanging judge as he replied, “Of course, sir.”
Cabrillo noticed Father Lezcano suddenly stiffen as Wocha’s speculative attention moved from Manuel and fell upon him. The priest sat very still and avoided meeting the chief’s gaze. Much to Father Lezcano’s relief, Cabrillo spoke up and agilely turned everyone’s thoughts to the less sensitive practice of trading goods rather than sexual favors.
The next hour was spent exchanging as many ideas as goods, with Cabrillo having Father Lezcano record many of Wocha’s words. In addition to a large quantity of fish, the Chumash had maize, furs, nets, thread, shells, fine twisted rope, and seal meat with which to barter. After much lively bargaining that had replenished food stores for his crews and horses, Cabrillo ordered his men to receive what newly acquired merchandise could be gathered quickly. Wocha would have the rest brought to the boats the following morning.
As their negotiations were drawing to a close he asked the chief a question that had been nagging at him for some days, “Why do your people burn the earth?”
To this uneducated question, Wocha replied tolerantly, “We burn the grass so many acorns can be gathered. During the next moon we will find acorns enough to last until the following harvest. Burning also brings animals to eat the new grass and we hunt them.”
Both Wocha and Cabrillo posed many other questions, and all were answered to the best of their limited communication skills. As their meeting drew near its conclusion Cabrillo formally introduced Father Lezcano and did his best to explain his role among their people. Wocha grasped the priest’s position at once and brought forth his own holy man.
Father Lezcano, showing the shaman diligent respect, explained the basic tenets of the Christian faith. As the descriptions became more clearly understood, the shaman’s face revealed cautious fascination. The priest then placed a rosary in Wocha’s hand, explaining with the beautiful simplicity of a faith-filled man, “When you pray to Our God, he will hear your words. He loves all people.”
Accepting the rosary deferentially, Wocha distinguished this gift from the many others he’d received by placing it around his neck and allowing the crucifix to rest among his shells upon his bare chest.
Not entirely comfortable with so sacred an object being used for personal adornment, especially prior to the baptism of its owner, Father Lezcano had the good sense to keep his misgivings to himself.
Judging that the appropriate moment had come, Cabrillo rose to his feet, followed by his men. With numerous good wishes exchanged they took leave of their host, his people, and Manuel. Before starting back toward their boats Cabrillo said in parting to Manuel, his mouth twitching, “You have your musket but use it only if these women threaten to wear the very life out of you.”
Father Lezcano asked uneasily, “Do you think there may be any real danger to him, sir?”
“I do not, or I would not leave him here, but we will keep watch throughout the night.” To Manuel, he said, “If we hear a shot, you will have us beside you very quickly.”
“Yes, sir. I know I will. Thank you, Captain-General.”
“You realize that every man of the fleet will be cursing your name tonight.”
He grinned a little ruefully, but only a little. “I know that too, sir.”
“You had better be off. Your women are waiting.”
As Cabrillo passed the last of the native homes, he said in speculation, “Look at the size of these houses, Father. At least four dozen pairs of eyes will likely watch every move Manuel makes tonight. Somehow, that offers a bit of comfort to the rest of us.”
Chapter 13
DELICATE AFFAIRS
Cabrillo’s landing party climbed to the flagship’s main deck and Pilot San Remón asked with concern, “I do not see Manuel, sir. Is he remaining ashore?”
Motioning his pilot to the less crowded quarterdeck, Cabrillo said, “Their chief wanted him to stay the night.”
“Indeed, sir? What for?”
“To add strength to their people, physically as well as spiritually, I believe, in the form of future offspring.”
Both surprised and amused, the pilot said, “And he was willing to do his utmost to satisfy this lofty responsibility, I presume?”
“More than willing.”
“How good of him to avail himself.”
Spotting Father Lezcano surreptitiously watching, Cabrillo said, “Yes, well, our good priest does not wholly approve of the arrangement.”
“Well, sir, he is a priest.”
They both smiled and soon drifted off to see to their duties.
Word of Manuel’s mission ashore spread with the rapidity of the plague from man to man and ship to ship, and throughout the long hours of darkness many a sailor conjectured about his activities. Cabrillo was heartened that no musket shot rang out to disturb the quietness.
The next afternoon just prior to conducting a formal rite of possession in the village the natives called Xucu, and which Cabrillo would christen Pueblo de las Canoas, Father Lezcano entered the captain-general’s cabin and asked casually enough, “It has been some time, sir, and I was wondering if you wish to confess prior to claiming this land in the name of Our Lord?”
Cabrillo tossed back a look that implied Father Lezcano was sorely trying his tolerance and said, “I do not relish the position of having a priest aboard my ship, a priest young enough to be my son, whom I have already had flogged, no
less, and who has since developed such an admirable nature that his friendship has become quite valuable to me. Yet there you stand, feeling perfectly free to use heavenly authority in an attempt to modify my behavior beyond all appropriate bounds!”
Not the least ruffled, Father Lezcano replied, “It is only my objective, sir, to modify your behavior so that it falls within appropriate bounds.”
“You are toying with my words, Father.”
“Only to serve God, Captain-General, and you. Do you wish to confess now, sir?”
Cabrillo cast an unconvincing glower. “I should say no, to remind you of your place.”
Father Lezcano answered him with a saintly smile.
Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Cabrillo did so with such a degree of helpless acquiescence that it delivered the same response as a nod.
Concealing his satisfaction, the priest said, “We should have just enough time before heading ashore for the ceremony.”
“Time enough to confess my sins, perhaps, but far from long enough to save my soul. Oh, very well, you brigand of a priest.”
Afterward, not that he would have admitted it to Father Lezcano, Cabrillo discerned a closer sense of peace; a forgiveness he felt he did not deserve but wanted to grasp just the same. The weight of his responsibility to his God, his king, and even his men felt slightly lightened.
Heading ashore, he found Manuel waiting, as previously ordered, and his ex-slave fell into step beside him. His black face and body looked as if he’d been chained to oars in a three-day tempest, but Cabrillo had little time to question him before the ritual began. Manuel stood close by his commander and refrained from glancing toward the crowd of natives.
While presiding over the claiming of Puebla de las Canoas the captain-general was touched by the splendidly mild, sunny morning that wrapped them all in its benevolence. He would have loved to delay leaving, scaling the nearby hills, trekking up the river’s course, swimming in the nearby lagoon, and learning more of the Indians’ ways. But that was not to be, not now. At the rites’ conclusion, he added a silent prayer that the future would allow him to come back and take all the time he wished here.
Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon Page 19