The Disastrous Voyage of the Santa Margarita

by Richard Woodman

  ‘And what,’ asked Iago erratically as he submitted to having his jaw scraped, ‘does the reverend father require from the captain of the port?’

  ‘He has charged Don Felipe to find us more sailors.’

  ‘Huh! I thought every stew from here to Manila had been turned over for marineros,’ Iago said, his reply punctuated by strenuous exertions of his jaw as he avoided the most painful of Ximenez’s ministrations. At last the dwarf had finished and Ah Fong, who had briefly disappeared, now brought Iago some coconut, raisins and rice with which to break his fast. He realized he was ravenously hungry, for the previous evening the promised dinner with Guillestigui had, in the event, never materialized.

  ‘There is much argument,’ Ximenez said, cleaning the razor, ‘about an anchor.’

  ‘Ah,’ replied Iago between mouthfuls, ‘indeed.’

  ‘And now the captain of the port has returned to the shore to find us men.’

  Later Iago went on deck. It was as though they had never sailed. The upper deck had resumed its chaotic appearance but Iago was able to distinguish a greater and more focused purpose as Llerena, under Olivera’s direction, had turned the seamen to, to bend new sails. Also, in the interests of discipline, the women were confined below. Half a cable’s length away from them the San Geronimo lay at anchor, sails furled; there was no sign of the other vessels. And again, almost in replication of that first day, there was an argument raging in the cabin in which tempers were so hot that they could be heard out in the sunshine of the half-deck.

  At the rail, Olivera turned from shouting orders forward, his glance flying to the iron-bound door which led below the poop to the great cabin. Catching his attention, Iago raised an eyebrow in mute enquiry. Olivera shrugged.

  ‘The captain-general has just summoned the pilot-major, apparently Fray Geronimo has just laid further accusations against Don Juan Martinez.’

  Recalling the bad blood that clearly existed between the two men, Iago sought its origin. Olivera imparted the gossip: ‘Oh, Fray Geronimo de Ocampo was opposed to the appointment of Don Juan Martinez de Guillestigui as captain-general from the beginning. The animosity is mutual and Don Juan wished for the governor to send the reverend father aboard the admiral’s ship,’ he explained, gesturing to the San Geronimo, ‘where the fray and the ship’s patronym shared a baptismal name, but Ocampo was adamant. He insisted upon joining the captain-general’s flag, saying the captain-general was not to be trusted and that he needs must be accompanied by a prince of the Church.’ Olivera shook his head. ‘No good will come of it.’

  ‘Is Fray Geronimo a prince of the Church, then?’ asked Iago.

  Olivera shrugged. ‘Not exactly, but I believe he is in expectation of a bishopric.’

  ‘The first time I stood upon this deck,’ Iago remarked, ‘I noted our captain-general had little respect for Mother Church. He ejected Fray Hernando from yonder door with as little ceremony as if he had been an importunate costermonger.’

  Olivera’s face grew grave. ‘’Tis said, Don Iago, that the captain-general is an apostate,’ he confided in a low voice. ‘That is, in part at least, why I am apprehensive about the voyage. As for Hernando,’ he added, his tone lightening, ‘he is below with half the assembled friars who are all in the pocket of Ocampo. The captain-general may listen, but he will not heed them.’

  ‘Is the pilot-major there too?’

  Olivera nodded. ‘Oh yes. He too is called to account . . . But now, if you will excuse me, Don Iago . . .’

  ‘Of course, Don Antonio, my apologies.’

  Iago took himself to the windward side of the half-deck and began a leisurely pacing. The loss of so important and rare an item as an anchor so early in the voyage was a blow but, anchor or not, they could afford little in the way of delay. The season, late already, was now pressing. Preoccupied with these considerations and distracted periodically by some interesting evolution being carried out aloft as the new sails were stretched along and then bent on the yards, Iago thought the ship herself had proved stout enough and a tribute to those responsible for her design and build. But, as every sea-officer knew, it was the crew who broke before the ship herself failed, unless they had the misfortune to run her on a reef. And even in such a case, it could be argued, the crew had failed first.

  But he was not to be allowed the quiet of a speculative reverie for once again the door to the great cabin was opened and, instead of the ejection of a single priest, out came the entire clerisy aboard the Santa Margarita amid a torrent of darkly flapping habits. Something of the drama that had culminated in the great cabin could be judged from the stumbling friars, all of whom held their crucifixes as though recently confronted by the Devil himself. And perhaps they had been, for following what looked like a flock of wounded birds, came Guillestigui, the sunshine flashing upon the rings circling his gloved fingers as he gestured at Ocampo. His entire staff followed, flooding the half-deck with brilliant brocade, silks and the sparkle of side arms, for Pedro Ruiz de Olalde, Rodrigo de Peralta and Joanes de Calcagorta bore drawn swords and lunged in playful malice at the discomfited friars. At the rear of this almost frenzied eruption emerged an unhappy Lorenzo.

  Ocampo was shouting in Latin while Guillestigui responded in his native Basque. Both Olivera and Iago stared at the spectacle and work ceased throughout the ship, men turning aft from the waist and staring down from aloft; even Llerena lowered his whistle to regard the proceedings on the half-deck. As the principals in this unseemly and unedifying row swore incomprehensibly at each other, others were on the move, and Iago felt himself shoved aside as a group of armed men led by Miguel de Alacanadre rushed up from the waist and, forming a crescent about the now quailing friars, flourished their long Toledo blades in defence of the clerics. They were supported by a resolute group of Spaniards, and some fifteen or sixteen Filipino and Negro servants. Later Iago learned that Alacanadre’s party had consisted of Capitán Ayllon, three other minor officers and the combined forces of their serving men and attendants, most of whom he recognized as being his fellow denizens from under the half-deck.

  This intrusion outnumbered the captain-general’s party and robbed Guillestigui of the initiative, a fact which briefly silenced him and his party. From this reinforcement Ocampo drew sudden courage.

  ‘Now thou see’st how God prevails, Don Juan!’ railed the friar. ‘Your greed in overloading this ship, named in all piety after the patron of virgins and placed under the protection of the Mother of Christ, is an act of blasphemy as much as a wilful endangering of us all, especially those bent upon God’s work and purposed to serve Him in all contrition and humility. Many have warned you about this foolishness but you, in the pride of your conceit, have not listened. You are not fitted for this great enterprise—’

  ‘How dare you, you meddling fool!’ snarled Guillestigui, suddenly recovering, aware of the public threat to his authority upon his own deck. ‘I am appointed by the governor, Viceroy of the King himself; you yourself yesterday publicly witnessed my standard blessed by the Archbishop of Manila. My authority is absolute over all things temporal and material.’ He paused a moment to address the men under Alacanadre and Ayllon. ‘And you, you damned fools, put up your weapons lest I hang every mother’s son among you for treason against the King and mutiny against my person and authority!’

  Treason and mutiny were grave charges. Both carried the penalty of death, the former the additional penalty of attainder. Iago noticed the wavering of the sword blades defending Mother Church, while those borne by Peralta, Olalde and Calcagorta stiffened like dogs’ cocks. For a moment all seemed to hang in the balance until two more gentlemen pushed their way through the assembled servants and up the companion ladders from the waist.

  ‘Excellency! Fray Geronimo! I beseech you both to order these blades put up!’

  ‘Capitán Manuel, you would do well to keep out of this matter,’ Guillestigui ordered, but Manuel was shouldered aside by his companion, Teniente Guzman.

  ‘
Don Juan,’ this impetuous young man cried, drawing his sword, ‘order your men to disarm, or by Heaven I myself . . .’

  As Guzman seemed incapable of moderating his advance on the captain-general, Guillestigui drew his own sword and the two men confronted each other, their blades actually meeting with that dry menace as steel grated upon steel. Both parties drew closer.

  ‘Have a care, you damned imp!’ roared Guillestigui, almost beside himself with rage. ‘You are only the governor’s nephew,’ he almost spat in the youth’s face, ‘not the governor himself!’

  ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen . . .’ Capitán Gonzalo Manuel tried again to temporize. ‘This is a regrettable incident, but I beg you all do not let it cloud the voyage. See how God has saved us from disaster last night and brought us back to Cavite. From here we may make a new beginning to our enterprise. Come, Father Geronimo, take the path of the humility that you and your Order are sworn to . . .’

  ‘God warned us yesterday of our wickedness,’ Ocampo declaimed, unwilling to let an opportunity go, but then he lowered his voice. ‘But you speak good sense, my son, and I only ask, nay in all humility I shall beg, Your Excellency, to disencumber the ship of your private trading goods which endanger her, and the women who accompany the crew, whose presence will defile and sicken the men, obstruct them in their duty and are an offence to Almighty God . . .’

  ‘And to our Blessed Santa Margarita,’ another added, lest Ocampo should fail in his duty through forgetfulness.

  ‘Both shall remain.’ Sure of himself, Guillestigui put up his sword.

  ‘You encourage sin among your men, Don Juan!’ Ocampo cried, his voice rising again, baulked by the tall, scarred Basque warrior.

  ‘You, Fray Geronimo, you are consumed by pride! You practice mutiny, you encourage disobedience and you challenge the authority of the King himself! Hell and the Holy Office wait for you.’

  ‘Whilst thou challenge God?’ Ocampo cried, staring about him as if a thunderbolt should fall to add emphasis to his assertion. None appeared, though men in the waist crossed themselves and the women drawn on deck by the fracas quailed and drew away into the shadows. It was all Ocampo could take comfort from. ‘See how the pious – whose souls you would maliciously imperil with your impiety – fear for their spiritual lives.’

  ‘Enough!’ roared Guillestigui. ‘You have said enough and shall betake yourself and those who follow you ashore.’

  ‘You have no right to dismiss me, Don Juan, and arrogate to your person far more authority than it is right to do.’

  ‘Then take your poxed case to the governor and take Pedro de Guzman, Capitán Ayllon and their motley following with you! They may stand as your witnesses in whatever court you choose. You may arraign me in my absence but you shall not stand upon my deck one instant more! Go! At once! Now!’ And with that Guillestigui put up his sword, spun on his heel and, followed by Peralta, Olalde and Calcagorta, retired into the great cabin, whose door was slammed behind them.

  Watching, Iago saw Lorenzo hesitate, then follow declaring himself loyal to the captain-general.

  The silence after this abrupt departure was broken by a sudden cry from Ocampo who fell on his knees, hands upstretched towards Heaven holding his crucifix up before him. His face was contorted with some inner fury that one might have marked as a burning hatred or a zeal for his faith. The intensity of his emotion caused spittle to flicker from his lips in the bright sunshine as he enunciated in a loud and clear voice: ‘In the name of God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit I excommunicate thee, Don Juan Martinez Guillestigui, captain-general of this flota embodied here in the ship Santa Margarita, and I call upon Santa Margarita, after whose holy martyrdom this ship was piously named, to intercede with Almighty God and spare the souls of those who remain faithful to the teachings of Christ.’ He paused before declaiming with a sonorous and chilling gravity: ‘But upon the rest I call down God’s wrath, that all those who indulge in concubinage, impious practices and thoughtless acts, and imperil the bodies of those entrusted unto them, be cursed now and for all eternity. In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost!’

  And such were the power of Ocampo’s words and the sincerity of his delivery that the amen which rose from the ship seemed torn from the lips of everyone who heard them. So strong was this response that there were, long afterwards, those who thought they had connived at their own cursing.

  The prolonged altercation upon the Santa Margarita’s half-deck had attracted the attention of every man and woman on board. But the endurance of its power, at least in the short term, varied from person to person. While Ocampo’s curse had struck fear into the hearts of many, planting within them an enduring sense of terror, some had laughed it off. The majority of these were mostly experienced seamen to whom the fulminations of priests, friars and monks were an awkward irrelevance in their harsh lives. Whatever accommodation they had come to regarding the nature of their maker, any sacerdotal presence aboard ship always seemed to bring bad luck and that alone disqualified the clerisy from any serious consideration in the minds of these rude but practical men.

  This was true also of the common women on board, most of who were, at least in the eyes of their Spanish overlords, mere ‘Indians’ and Indian whores at that. Their interest more closely conformed to the preoccupation of survival in this world, rather than any preparation for the next, despite their nominal baptism into the Catholic Church. Moreover, their survival was entirely dependent upon the seamen who had taken them up and befriended them, while many of them perceived their new religion to be a thing that had men in mind. Women, it seemed, played little part in the life of either the Church itself or the life of Jesus Christ. It was not like the spirits they had worshipped in their villages before the tall, bearded ones came among them with their stinks and their darkness.

  And while there were some among the Spanish gentlemen who held sceptical opinions, most regarded the pronouncement of Fray Ocampo as self-serving, the railings of a disappointed man, the vicious revenge of a privileged and empowered priest. But the notion that the Santa Margarita was overloaded had stuck; the matter was, in fact, indisputable and there was not a man among them, including those most closely associated with the captain-general, that did not know the extent of his venality. It did not help to know that to that of the captain-general they had coupled their own. As a consequence the Santa Margarita bore more private cargo than belonged to her senior commander, almost all of it the property of his Basque cortejo, or entourage.

  Perhaps this unfortunate fact bore upon those responsible for the management of the great ship, deflecting any reflection into a chivvying and a hastening for the Santa Margarita to resume her voyage without further delay. Perhaps the spell of Ocampo’s curse was in part broken by the reappearance of Lorenzo, who signalled the approach of the barge belonging to the captain of the port. Perhaps too the friar’s departure, hastened by the news that Don Felipe brought Fray Ocampo, diverted their minds from the morning’s drama.

  Lorenzo’s face bore the expression of a man upon a mission that he wished he did not have, for he summoned Ayllon and charged him with removing himself, his six under-officers and their sixteen black and Filipino servants, along with Fray Ocampo and his party. He was followed by Olalde, who added the demand that Pedro de Guzman must also leave. In the stir that this caused, Llerena sent the ship’s company about their business, which was taking the ropes of Don Felipe’s barge, while Olivera advised Iago that he, as the most influential of the passengers, should shepherd the idlers below. Most, it transpired, had already made themselves scarce and Iago found Arrocheros fussing over a weeping Doña Catalina, who deplored the cursing of the ship’s company and the excommunications indiscriminately issued by the vindictive Ocampo.

  It was Ximenez, intent upon some errand he had set himself, who brought word of Ocampo’s sudden elevation, an elevation that, it was being said, proved the justice of his cause and the goodness of Almighty God.

  ‘The news
that Don Felipe brought, master,’ he hissed into Iago’s bent ear, ‘is that he can obtain neither more seamen nor any anchor, but that he brings news that a message was lately sent from Manila to inform Fray Ocampo that a bishopric awaits him.’

  ‘Then perhaps,’ remarked Iago with a smile, ‘that is why Providence returned us here.’

  ‘They are saying that too, master.’

  ‘Of course they are, Ximenez, of course they are.’

  This conversation was broken into by the piercing note of Llerena’s whistle summoning all hands to weigh anchor, the second best bower having been used upon their return to Cavite. Going up on deck, Iago found the scene transformed. Having given the order for the anchor to be weighed, Guillestigui was again on deck, standing at the break of the poop in half-armour of morion, cuirass and cuisses, surrounded by his henchmen. On the larboard side of the half-deck the last manifestations of the disembarkation of Ocampo and his party were in progress. Alacanadre and Capitán Manuel were making a plea on behalf of Teniente Guzman, who was asking for a certificate of discharge, detaching himself from direct implication in Ocampo’s actions while Ocampo himself, sitting upon a box of his possessions, seemed torn between his providential release to assume the purple and his reluctance to be evicted by edict of the profane and blasphemous Guillestigui.

  Ocampo was also surrounded by a group of friars who were to remain, among whom were the three Franciscans, Fray Mateo Marmolejo, Fray Hernando and Fray Agustin. Iago could hear the intense debate, for it was clear Ocampo could not in all conscience leave the spiritual needs of the Santa Margarita’s people uncatered for, yet his very curse seemed to doom the faithful who remained to minister to the ship’s company. Safe himself, Ocampo sought to appeal to Marmolejo and his fellows, reminding them that if God ordained that the Santa Margarita should perish they would be immolated through martyrdom. This was clearly failing to recruit much enthusiasm and only succeeded in attracting Guillestigui’s contemptuous dismissal of Ocampo.