by Tim Severin
Hector paused, unwilling to offend his host. Then, keeping his tone as neutral as he could, he said, ‘Ma’pang, you will need more than the help of the spirits if you are to defend yourselves and your families.’
Ma’pang set aside the fish head he had been sucking, and wiped his fingers on the ground. ‘You are going to tell me that we must become like Dan here.’
Hector couldn’t help but admire the way the naked warrior often seemed one step ahead of what he was about to say.
‘That’s right.’
‘And that is why he stole those muskets when we were in the fort?’
‘Yes, with enough powder and shot and those muskets, your people—’ he began.
‘A handful of muskets is not enough. The guirragos have many guns and cannon.’ Ma’pang broke off a fishbone and began to use it to pick at his sharpened teeth.
Hector ploughed on. ‘Even half a dozen muskets have their uses. Your people must first learn how to use guns. Dan and Jezreel can show them how to load and aim, how to fit new flints and keep such weapons in good repair.’
‘And after that?’
‘You obtain more muskets, distribute them to all your warriors and to any Chamorro clans who are your allies.’
‘And where do we find these extra guns?’ Ma’pang was watching Hector narrowly, a gleam of real interest in the deep-set brown eyes.
Hector drew a deep breath. This was something he and Dan had discussed during the journey back from Aganah. It was their chance to leave the islands.
‘Do you remember what I said to you on the day you captured us on the beach?’
‘That you had been set ashore to make an alliance with us. With our help you would seize the big ship that comes here yearly to supply the guirragos.’
‘Exactly. The muskets we already have are sufficient to carry out that attack ourselves, using exactly the same plan.’
‘Go on.’ Ma’pang flicked the fishbone into the embers of the cooking fire.
‘Your people paddle out to the ship, pretending to want to trade. Dan, Jezreel, Jacques and I will lie hidden in the canoes. Stolck can bring his musket. After the initial shock of our gunfire, your warriors can climb aboard and seize the ship.’
Ma’pang belched softly. ‘Five of you will not be enough. The ship is too big, too many men on board.’
‘But we don’t ambush the big galleon. Instead we seize the much smaller one, which, according to Jacques, is due very soon. She carries enough weapons to arm everyone in your village.’
The Chamorro warrior lifted his chin as he stared down at Hector. ‘And what would you want from us in exchange?’
‘Every guirrago ship brings a smaller boat that we call a launch. It is either stowed on deck or towed behind her. We ask that the Chamorro give us that boat and enough water and food to last three weeks, and allow us to leave Rota.’
‘And where would you go?’
‘Towards the setting sun, because that is downwind. Eventually we will reach a place where we can contact our own people.’
Ma’pang’s red lips gleamed wetly as he spat out a shred of food. ‘I will explain your plan to the council of the old men. It is up to them to decide. But I warn you. If the plan succeeds, you will have a long, long voyage. We call our islands tano’ tasi – “land of the sea” – because we are so far from any other country.’
SEVERAL DRUNKEN Chamorro were snoring on the ground by the time the feast ended some hours later, and Hector had lost sight of Maria. He supposed she’d gone back to Ma’pang’s hut with his wife and, as it was getting dark, he decided it would be more appropriate if he spent the night in the uritao. But he got little rest. He lay awake, turning over and over in his mind what he should say to Maria.
Shortly after dawn the next day he climbed down from the bachelor house and succeeded in making a pack of bright-eyed, giggling Chamorro children understand that he wanted to find the guirrago woman. They led him to one of the larger huts at the far end of the village. As he arrived, Maria had just emerged. She’d washed and changed, and combed out her hair so that it hung loose around her shoulders. Barefoot, she wore the same plain brown skirt as the previous day and had put on a fresh, dark-blue bodice that she must have carried in her bundle of clothes. Hector thought she looked strained, and was not entirely recovered from the hectic events of the previous two days.
‘Let’s walk down to the beach,’ he proposed. He felt self-conscious and awkward. ‘The village fishing fleet makes quite a sight.’
She treated him to a guarded smile. ‘I’d like that. All the time I was in the fort, I never saw how the local people really lived.’
In silence they strolled along the track to the beach. The path wound its way through a ravine where ferns and creepers grew among tangled roots of wild banyan. They startled a bird, a native dove with an iridescent green body and a rose-coloured head, which had been feeding on fallen seeds. It flew up with a sudden clatter of wings and they stopped and watched it weave its way among the branches. Hector stepped aside and broke off a bright-yellow blossom from a small, shrubby tree.
‘Dan tells me the Chamorro use the fibres from this tree to make their fishing lines and nets,’ he explained, as he held out the flower to Maria.
She took the blossom from him and looked at it for a moment. ‘The same flowers grew around the fort in Aganah. I love their bright colours, but there’s something sad about them. Each flower lasts no more than a day. By night the petals have faded and begun to fall.’
They emerged on to the open beach. The day was hot and sunny, but a few clouds were building up on the far horizon. The Chamorro fishing fleet had been at sea since dawn and was spread across the glittering surface of the bay. For some minutes they stood and watched the youngsters fishing with hook and line from their miniature dugout canoes. Farther out, the larger boats were tacking back and forth under sail.
‘Let’s find somewhere to sit down,’ suggested Hector, and together they walked to where a fishing canoe lay drawn up on the sand, covered with palm fronds to protect it from the sun. Hector watched Maria reach out and run a finger along the red and white lines that decorated the hull. He knew she was waiting for him to begin. Yet, in his uncertainty, he did not know how to start.
‘It must feel strange for you to be among these people,’ he ventured.
‘Not really,’ she replied. ‘It’s similar to the village where I grew up. We had the same concerns – tending the crops, providing for our families, teaching the children. The people here are more fortunate in one way. They don’t fear the winter cold.’
‘Have you heard from your family?’ he asked. He knew she came from a village in Andalusia and that her parents were plain, unpretentious people. They’d encouraged their only daughter to take up a position as companion to the wife of Don Fernando at a time when he was an up-and-coming government official in Peru with a bright future ahead of him.
Her poise weakened a little. ‘I haven’t had a letter in all the time I’ve been here. In her last letter my mother wrote to say my father was in poor health. His chest was weak and he had difficulty in breathing. I don’t know if he still lives.’
As if making up her mind about something, she turned to look at him directly.
‘Hector,’ she said firmly, ‘I know you’re worried about me, and my decision to come away with you. Does it help if I tell you I had already resolved to leave Aganah?’
‘Even if I hadn’t come?’
She nodded. ‘My life here has not been good.’
Hector sensed she was holding something back. ‘Because of me?’
‘Not in the way you’re thinking. Of course, I was longing and hoping to see you again.’
‘Can you tell me what happened?’
Maria gazed out across the sunlit bay, unseeing. ‘After I refused to testify at your trial for piracy, everything changed.’
‘Were you accused of lying?’
‘Not openly. But I was ignored, almost shunned. The s
ame Spanish officials who had brought me from Peru to London, to give evidence at your trial, treated me as though I had betrayed my country.’
Hector felt guilt rise slowly within him. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘You made that sacrifice for me. Without you I’d have been condemned to hang.’
She looked directly into his eyes. ‘I’d do it again,’ she said. ‘But the days and months that followed passed so slowly, and I had no idea what would happen.’
‘It was the same for me,’ he said. ‘But now it will be different.’
‘From the bottom of my heart, I hope so,’ she answered. ‘Two days ago I wept, not because I was sorry to abandon Aganah and come away with you, but from relief that finally my wait was over.’
Hector felt humbled. ‘Was your life here so difficult?’
She nodded, and he noticed that her eyes were moist with tears once again. ‘When I first arrived in these islands, I told myself I’d wait two years, no more. If after that time you hadn’t come, I’d force myself to forget you. I’d make a new beginning.’
‘What did you plan to do?’
‘Ask Doña Juana to release me from service. I’m sure she would have agreed. At heart she’s a kind woman. She’d have persuaded her husband to find me passage to Manila on the next ship.’
‘Was it Don Fernando who was difficult?’
Maria bit her lips. ‘The Governor blamed me for his own troubles. He never said anything outright. But from the moment I returned to Peru, he was against me. Weeks would pass without him speaking to me directly, and I could sense his anger seething within him. And in all truth I was partly responsible for his disgrace.’
Hector allowed a long moment to pass before he touched on a subject that he knew would be a delicate one.
‘Maria,’ he said at last, ‘to leave these islands, we must have a suitable boat. The only way we can do that is to seize it from your compatriots. There will be bloodshed and—’
‘Perhaps it’s better if you don’t tell me any more,’ she interrupted.
Hector shook his head. ‘No. There mustn’t be secrets between us. Dan, Jezreel and the others will join me in an ambush. We intend to capture the patache that brings supplies to Aganah. The Chamorro will loot the vessel for weapons. We are to be given her launch for our voyage westwards.’
Maria looked at him in consternation. ‘Then we won’t leave the islands for many months,’ she said.
‘Why not?’
‘The patache has already been and gone.’
Hector thought he’d misheard. ‘But the Maestre de Campo told Jacques he was expecting more supplies, that a patache would be here at any time.’
Maria was struggling to keep her voice calm. ‘The patache did arrive, late last week. She dropped anchor off Aganah and stayed only long enough to unload, and then sailed onwards for Manila. The following day you and the others climbed in over the wall.’
Hector’s spirits sank. He’d built up his hopes, and had begun to believe he would really be sailing west with Maria. Now it was all in ruins. ‘I’ll have to tell the others. Maybe one of them will have another idea,’ he said lamely.
Just then they heard the sound of a distant musket shot. Alarmed for a moment, Hector thought the village was being attacked. Then he realized that Dan and Jezreel must already have started to train the Chamorro.
‘WE’RE TOO LATE. We’ve missed the Spanish vessel,’ he told Ma’pang bitterly as soon as he and Maria arrived back in the village. The Chamorro was standing outside his hut, deep in conversation with Kepuha. A little farther off, Dan was demonstrating to a group of Chamorro men how to knap a gun flint and install it in the doghead of the lock.
‘Did your woman tell you this?’ asked Ma’pang. He glanced at Maria, already surrounded by a cluster of children fascinated with her clothes.
‘She did. We must abandon our plan for an ambush.’
Ma’pang took the shaman by the arm and led him to one side and there was a long, animated exchange between the two men. Finally Ma’pang returned to Hector and said, ‘The council has already made its decision that we should attack the Spanish vessel. Kepuha believes it is not too late.’
Hector was taken aback. ‘But the ship left for Manila three days ago. We’d never catch her.’
Ma’pang seemed unconcerned. ‘Tell me how long you think it will take this vessel to reach Manila?’
Hector made a quick calculation from what he remembered of the charts aboard the Nicholas. ‘She’s a patache, and probably sails faster than a galleon. Maybe ten days,’ he said.
‘Are you and your friends still willing to attack with muskets, if we meet up with her?’
Hector recalled a sea fight off Panama, three years earlier. On that occasion a flotilla of musketeers in canoes – including Dan, Jezreel and himself – had tackled a trio of small sailing ships armed with light cannon. The musketeers had won.
‘We are,’ he said flatly.
‘Then come with me,’ said Ma’pang. He called out to the men under Dan’s instruction, and immediately several of them ran off in the direction of the beach. Ma’pang, Hector and Kepuha followed.
They passed the place where the little fishing canoes lay drawn up on the strand, then veered to the right and a short distance farther on came to a grove of coconut palms. Set back among the trees was a barn-like building. Its palm-thatch roof was supported on stone columns similar to those that held up the uritao. It was a great cavern of a place, even larger than the bachelor house. The Chamorro stripped away the palms fronds that covered whatever was stored inside and gradually the shape of a boat emerged, similar to the fishing canoes, but much, much larger. At nearly sixty feet long, it was a substantial vessel. Like its smaller cousins, it had a long float attached to the side of the main hull by three curved, slender wooden struts. The float had been hollowed from a single large tree trunk. That was impressive enough, but Hector found it difficult to imagine what sort of giant tree had been used to provide the main hull. It stood taller than a man and was carefully shaped, with one side swelling in an elegant curve, while the other was nearly flat.
Ma’pang stood back, looking proudly at the giant canoe. ‘That is our village’s sakman,’ he said.
Hector noticed a massive pole slung from the rafter of the boat shed. ‘Is that her mast?’
Ma’pang nodded. ‘And that long bundle next to it, her sail.’
Hector stepped across to the huge canoe, and squinted down the length of the narrow blade of the hull. ‘I can see why the village takes such good care of her,’ he said wonderingly. ‘She must skim across the surface of the sea.’
Ma’pang caught the note of admiration in his remark. ‘Only a few sakman remain. The Spaniards take care to burn them if they find them. Only a handful of old men still know how to construct them. Even if we can find trees large enough.’
‘And the village council is willing to allow you to use the sakman to pursue the Spanish ship?’ Hector asked.
Ma’pang reached out and, almost lovingly, touched the sharp prow of the great boat. ‘The council agreed it would do honour to our proudest possession.’
A worrying thought struck Hector. ‘Ma’pang, what happens if we manage to overhaul the patache and take her far out to sea? How will you find your way back to Rota? I expect we’ll find charts and navigation instruments on the patache. But they will be of little use to you and, while I am willing to guide you back to Rota, I’d prefer to head on directly westwards.’
To Hector’s astonishment, Ma’pang threw back his head and began to laugh so hard he started to cough and splutter. When he finally caught his breath and had wiped away a runnel of red saliva from his chin he said, ‘Now you speak like a true guirrago. You think that you know everything, and that we, the Chamorro, are stupid.’
He translated Hector’s questions to Kepuha, and the old man’s face crinkled into a knowing smile. He beckoned to the young man to follow him.
‘Go with the makhana,’ said Ma’pan
g. ‘He’ll reassure you that we won’t get ourselves lost on the ocean. But hurry. We leave before nightfall, and there is much to do.’
Mystified, Hector accompanied the shaman at a fast walk back towards the village. Halfway along the track they turned to their right and plunged into the undergrowth. Pushing their way through the dense vegetation, they arrived at the foot of a low cliff draped with lianas and climbing plants. Kepuha pulled aside the vines. A section of the cliff face had been painted over with a light wash of lime. Here and there someone had made black marks with soot. Other mysterious symbols were drawn in red ochre.
Still holding back the vines, Kepuha looked back at Hector and waited expectantly.
Hector scrutinized the marks, trying to guess their meaning. When he failed to decipher them, the makhana stepped up to the wall and tapped on a symbol. It was larger than most, the size of the palm of his hand, and showed a hollow circle with four short curved lines radiating from it. He pointed up into the sky and made a sweeping movement from horizon to horizon. Next, he touched three or four of the black marks and again pointed to the sky, but this time in different directions.
Hector began to understand. ‘The sun? Stars?’ he enquired.
The makhana nodded. He carefully snapped off several twigs from a nearby bush and laid them on top of one another on the ground to make an open framework. Walking in a circle around the twigs, he stopped at various points to look up into the sky, then turned on his heel to face the opposite direction and again made a sweeping motion with his arm above his head. All the while he crooned what sounded like verses of poetry in his own language. He intoned with such reverence that Hector was reminded of the monks who’d taught him scripture during his childhood in Ireland. He understood that the makhana was trying to tell him something to do with the stars and sun, and that it had to do with the coming voyage. So he nodded and smiled politely and pretended to understand what the shaman was saying. Then, as soon as Kepuha finished, he hurried back in search of Maria to tell her of the new developments.
He found her in the village, talking with Jacques.
