Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon

by Christine Echeverria Bender

  Directly across the table from Cabrillo sat Bartolomé Ferrelo, captain of their mid-sized ship La Victoria. Ferrelo’s ability to steer a vessel under any conditions was so acknowledged that the captain-general had also given him the title of chief pilot. Cabrillo knew him well and held him in unusually high regard. They’d sailed together before aboard the Santiago, a ship Cabrillo had constructed but General Alvarado had later commandeered. Several times in the past Cabrillo had seen Ferrelo bring a group of unruly sailors under control with nothing more than a word or an icy stare, and his current crewmen already recognized him as a strict but fair leader. Cabrillo felt confident that those aboard La Victoria would be in proficient hands.

  At the moment, Ferrelo was smiling with leniency into his tankard of wine, silent as usual. Observing Ferrelo’s gentle expression, Cabrillo could not help reflecting on how his two subordinate captains were as dissimilar from one another as snow differs from mud.

  While Ferrelo’s appearance was neat to the point of fastidiousness, it was evident that Correa could not be troubled about his at all. The cost of Ferrelo’s finely tailored wardrobe must have totaled ten times the outlay made for Correa’s sturdy clothing. Ferrelo’s moustache, with its long tapered ends curling upward to form perfectly balanced arches, was nothing short of a work of art. Correa, on the other hand, seldom remembered to keep his beard or moustache trimmed until it began to itch from the stirrings of small, unwanted denizens. Ferrelo was the fittest, most graceful man in the fleet while Correa sported the beginnings of a gut and moved with the finesse of a lame bull. Beyond appearances, Ferrelo was soft-spoken, thoughtful, and deliberate. Correa spoke loudly and often, his words punctuated by a slight lisp issuing from the gap where two front teeth had once resided.

  Fortunately for Cabrillo and his fleet, the two seemed so amused by the extremes of his peer that they got along considerably well. Cabrillo believed that their acceptance of one another was even more due to the fact that, despite their conspicuous differences, the most needed traits to be found in a ship Captains Correa and Ferrelo held in common: loyalty, intelligence, and courage.

  Turning again toward the three gentlemen seated to Ferrelo’s left, Cabrillo addressed Villalobos, Urdaneta, and Bolaños. “I apologize for Pilot San Remón and Master Uribe’s tardiness, gentlemen. They are generally most reliable. I can only presume that something serious has distracted them.”

  “Please do not concern yourself, Captain-General Cabrillo,” said Villalobos. “The viceroy’s instruction can wait a little longer.”

  Urdaneta said, “Such hearty fare as our inn keeper continues to offer has made the waiting enjoyable, sir.”

  Bolaños added, “I must add, it is seldom that I have a chance to share such esteemed company, Captain-General.”

  They briefly let their attention be diverted by the thin middle-aged serving woman who quietly entered and placed a small bowl of olives and a platter piled high with sheep cheese and flat bread on the table. Cabrillo gave her a nod that said they needed nothing more. Just turning to leave, she let out a startled cry and leaped back to avoid being knocked down by the precipitate arrival of young Pilot Gerónimo de San Remón. A breathless Master Uribe immediately followed his entry but did so with slightly more dignity.

  The two men bowed low to the group and the pilot said with his head still down, “Captain Cabrillo, gentlemen, please forgive us for being so late to appear.” He held his bow a little longer than seemed necessary but when he straightened, Captain Correa let out a howl of laughter and Señor Urdaneta slid a hand over his mouth to hide a smile. Cabrillo was so surprised he rose to his feet and addressed his pilot with a highly irregular lack of formality, demanding, “Gerónimo! Explain yourself.” Now that they could all see Pilot San Remón’s clean-shaven face clearly, they took a moment to study the bleeding lip, reddened jaw, and puffy left eye marring the youthful virtue his face usually portrayed.

  “Captain-General,” he reported in his most official tone, “we were delayed when a fight broke out among the crew of the San Miguel.” This abruptly silenced Captain Correa’s laughter and expunged his grin. Pilot San Remón went on hurriedly, “Pilot Barreda had requested that I come aboard to check their binnacle compass, sir. I was doing so when the first punch was thrown and, I am ashamed to admit it, sir, but while trying to stop the brawl I was thrown into it, bodily.”

  Cabrillo’s brow furrowed deeper. “Bodily?” He let out a clipped curse. “What of the other officers?”

  San Remón cast his eyes toward Captain Correa and hesitated an instant before confessing, “Pilot Barreda’s right arm is being looked after by the surgeon, sir. It might be broken. He also lost a tooth, but he felled three men before he was deprived of the use of his arm. It took the help of the boatswain and some trustworthy rowers, but we soon got all six of the bast—” He swallowed and swept a glance over the distinguished assembly, letting it settle again on Cabrillo. “I mean, sir, that the responsible crewmembers have now been securely chained to the San Miguel’s oar locks.”

  When Cabrillo’s scrutiny rotated to Shipmaster Uribe, who stood noticeably unscathed, Pilot San Remón added quickly, “Master Uribe tried to come to our assistance, Captain-General, but he was at a storehouse by the dock when the trouble started. It was nearly over by the time he could arrive.”

  “I apologize, sir,” said Uribe, “for noticing the fight too late to give the aid I would have liked.”

  Cabrillo accepted this and then asked his pilot, “Do you know what started it?”

  “Not yet, sir.”

  “Were any knives drawn, pilot?”

  “None, Captain-General Cabrillo, thank God.”

  Looking about to erupt from the pressure of holding back a reaction to the conduct of his men, Correa shouted, “Why, that pack of criminals!” Despite this outburst, however, there was a barely discernable hint of pride behind the condemnation. Still, he knew what was required under such circumstances. “Every man involved will feel his share of the lash, sir, and they’ll all be kept in chains until we sail.”

  Cabrillo had not yet finished his questioning. “Who were the instigators, pilot?”

  “Gaspar seems to have started things by—”

  Correa exploded again. “That devil! He gives more trouble than the rest locked together.”

  To Correa, Cabrillo said, “Considering this new misconduct, Captain, I ask you to reflect on whether Gaspar should be left behind.”

  Correa actually did pause to reflect, but only for a moment. “He is a robber and a scoundrel, Captain-General, but he is young, and I feel there is hope for him still.”

  All gazes swung to Cabrillo, who sat down again and closed his eyes while running a hand twice across the back of his neck. At last he said, “Very well, Captain Correa, I will allow you to decide the sentence since it is your crew, but I will have the entire fleet witness both the pronouncement of the judgment and its execution.”

  “Of course, Captain-General,” said Correa. “After the guilty have been dealt with, sir, if any of them value what is left of their hides, they will not repeat such behavior.”

  “See that your boatswain bears in mind that we sail in two weeks, Captain,” Cabrillo cautioned. “The punished men must be seaworthy by then.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Cabrillo signaled for San Remón and Uribe to take seats to his right, his pilot next to him. As they were doing so, Cabrillo bent his head close to San Remón and said in an undertone, “Any real damage done to you, pilot?”

  San Remón managed a painful smile, “Only to my pride, sir.”

  Despite being the youngest of his officers, San Remón had skills Cabrillo held in such esteem that he had chosen him above several others to pilot his flagship. Uribe, wizened by experience and time, and calm as an oak in any crisis, had also been chosen with care to act as shipmaster. It disturbed Cabrillo more than he revealed that these two men had been pulled into a scuffle aboard the bergantine. Things had been going r
elatively smoothly during the preparation of his fleet, as well as with the construction of Villalobos’ ships, until this. Cabrillo tried to reassure himself by remembering that a mishap or two always arose prior to embarking. He just hoped this would be the only such occurrence before they sailed, or afterward for that matter.

  Cabrillo said with a touch of chagrin, “Captain-General Villalobos, now that my men are all gathered, would you be kind enough to review the final directives of Viceroy Mendoza?”

  Possessing an unmistakable resemblance to his powerful cousin, Villalobos nodded courteously. He was prepared to make considerable allowances for Cabrillo’s crews.

  Cabrillo had been working diligently to oversee the construction of not only his own ships but Villalobos’ as well. Both fleets were to be completed or nearly so before Cabrillo’s sailing in late June, although Villalobos intended to remain in Navidad until the end of October or beginning of November. The difference in timing took into consideration Cabrillo’s longer northern course versus Villalobos’ more direct southern route, and the two captain-generals hoped to rendezvous in the Molucca or San Lázaro Islands at around the same time in the first months of the new year.

  Villalobos addressed them all. “Gentlemen, some of you are familiar with the viceroy’s orders given to Domingo López de Zuñiga last year. The orders for our voyages mirror them closely.” He then began to read the commands, which first stated the names of the ships and the chief officers, and which required a detailed listing of every hand and weapon aboard each ship. The document then described the appropriate handling and storing of goods for barter and the terms of all trading activities. Next, Captain-General Villalobos read the viceroy’s words requiring officers to hold the morality of their men to the highest standard. He paused here and glanced pointedly at Captain Correa, then resumed by adding that blasphemy was not to be tolerated and that the two priests accompanying the armada must be treated with great respect.

  “Captain-General Cabrillo has told me that an Augustinian friar by the name of Izar Gamboa has arrived in Navidad to sail with you,” Villalobos said, “but you are still waiting for your second priest. The viceroy has instructed me to tell you that he personally selected your other priest, who should arrive within the week.”

  Hearing this news, Cabrillo, Ferrelo, and even Correa kept their expressions composed, but they were all gripped by the same suspicion: anyone personally selected by the viceroy, who happened to be a part-owner in the fleet, would keep a watchful eye and report back on any activities that might have harmed potential profits.

  “Now, gentlemen,” said Villalobos, “the following rules concern your intended route, so please draw near enough to gain a clear view of Domingo del Castillo’s new map.”

  As the men at the ends of the table moved in to hover over those seated closer to the map, Villalobos unrolled the chart and weighted down its sides with the platter and bowl. “As you can see,” he said, “Señor Castillo has done an admirable job of combining charts from the voyages of Captains Ulloa, Alarcón, and Bolaños. He has drawn their entire routes, of course, but he did not neglect the details of the western coast of the California peninsula up to Cabo del Engaño, here, where Captain Ulloa landed two years ago. Unfortunately Captain Ulloa’s untimely death has robbed you of his unrecorded insights, which might have been most valuable. Captain Alarcón, as you know, could have shed little light on what you will face since he traveled only on the eastern side of the peninsula. Luck has, however, allowed us the presence of Captain Bolaños who will be good enough to describe his experiences.”

  They took their time over the map, questioning and speculating, with Captain Bolaños frequently and Captain Correa occasionally sharing their memories of their earlier voyage. At last Captain-General Villalobos said, “Let us now turn, gentlemen, to Viceroy Mendoza’s remaining instructions.”

  The listed mandates made it unmistakable that Cabrillo and his men were to maintain welcoming but wary relations with Indians. In lands inhabited by friendly natives, the expedition was to keep records of their speech, their beliefs and customs, dwellings, crops, consumable game, fresh water supplies, and anything else that would enlighten the prospect of establishing a Spanish settlement in the area.

  After a brief discussion delving into these matters, Villalobos went on, “The viceroy strongly wishes a constant watch to be kept for any sign of the Coronado expedition. The reports he has received indicate that Captain Coronado has traveled far into the heart of the northern lands, and he has met with great resistance from the natives. It is conceivable that he will be forced or inclined to head to the western coast at some point. If so, he could well use your aid. Without definite word of him, however, you are not to divert from your orders to conduct a search. His Royal Majesty’s goal of locating the cities of Cibola may prove to be more easily obtained through your route than Coronado’s. To our king, the gold to be found in Cibola is no mere legend, and he desires it for Spain.

  “In addition to this, I cannot state strongly enough how anxious His Majesty and the viceroy are to discover the location of the Strait of Anián. If you are able to find the waterway that traverses the lands of New Spain from the Pacific Ocean to the Atlantic, you will have done much to prevent the English and Dutch from claiming that passage as their own. The importance of this discovery to Spain is immeasurable.”

  The conversation moved on to analyzing Cabrillo’s quest to reach Asia by his northwestern route. Again their discussion broadened and contracted until some concerns had been offered possible solutions, but the vast majority of their questions hung in the air as little more than food for insatiable supposition. After nearly three hours, Villalobos and Cabrillo agreed that it was time to conclude the meeting.

  Rolling the official papers and map, and handing them to Cabrillo, Villalobos said, “I will pray daily, Captain-General, that nothing will prevent us from a timely meeting in the Asian Sea. With God’s blessing, the waters around the Molucca or Lázaro islands will be empty of Portuguese war ships, and we will be able to trade without conflict.”

  “Yes, may we be granted that favor,” said Cabrillo.

  Tilting his head toward Cabrillo’s officers, Villalobos said, “It is gratifying to know that you have fine pilots to assist in recording the winds and currents, as do I. When your charts and notes are added to mine, they should be most helpful in establishing a westward passage to Asia as well as an eastward route of return. As our good Señor Urdaneta can confirm, a means of safe homecoming has escaped us for far too long.”

  Standing up with Villalobos, Cabrillo said, “I thank you, Captain-General, for conveying the viceroy’s orders to my officers. Do you still plan an immediate return to Mexico City?”

  “Those are my instructions,” he said, his expression communicating that even a cousin must be obeyed if he wears the mantle of Mexico’s viceroy.

  “Then I wish you the greatest success on your own voyage, and I look forward with much pleasure to seeing you again in the land of spices.”

  “You and your spices,” Villalobos said with a smile. “I have heard that your personal servant has learned to be a magician with them.”

  “I admit that enjoying good food is a vice I have a dreadful time eradicating,” said Cabrillo without a hint of shame, and both men chuckled.

  Addressing his own men more soberly, Cabrillo said, “You may return to the ships, gentlemen. I will remain a little longer, if Señor Urdaneta will be kind enough to speak with me further.”

  “With pleasure,” said Urdaneta as Cabrillo’s men bowed and took their leave.

  Before departing, Villalobos gave Cabrillo a rueful look and admitted, “In a way, I envy you, Captain-General. You will sail into the complete unknown, with the possibility of discoveries almost beyond imaginings. My own voyage, following a route already traveled by others,” he cast his gaze upon Urdaneta, “will likely yield stories that sound tame when heard after yours.”

  “I trust that both voyages wi
ll hold opportunities for few wild tales, sir.”

  Offering words of farewell, Villalobos clasped Cabrillo’s hand and bowed, as did Captain Bolaños in turn, and the two men left the tavern.

  When only he and Urdaneta remained in the room, Cabrillo called for the serving woman, ordered that their wine cups be refilled, and settled once more on the bench. He picked an olive from the bowl and tossed it into his mouth. “Well, Andrés, how on God’s good earth have you avoided the viceroy’s attempts to convince you to sail with Villalobos? Surely, he has tried many times.”

  The thin, ruddy-skinned man sitting across the table let amusement enter eyes as wise as those of any owl as he fingered the edge of his thick beard. Both the beard and his shoulder-length hair were heavily streaked with gray, though he had yet to reach the age of thirty-five. “Yes, there have been quite a few opportunities to accept. I was only able to avoid his entreaties by matching my determination against his persistence,” he said. “I can be very hard-headed.”

  “You simply outlasted him?” Cabrillo asked, then spat the olive pit into the seldom-used fireplace.

  Urdaneta smiled gently. “That, and I promised to compile the results of both voyages.”

  Cabrillo laughed. “I thought it must be something like that. You are such a rarity, my friend: a Spaniard who has seen the Moluccas and lived to tell about them. The viceroy will certainly keep after you to sail again, probably long after his cousin’s ships have left port. There will always be another fleet.”

  “Undoubtedly, Juan, but I must correct you again on a point you seem determined to forget. I am a Basque, not a Spaniard. As you too are by now quite aware, we are known for our tenacity.”

  Cabrillo said with mock severity, “You are a citizen of the king’s realm. Being Basque is a mere technicality.”