Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon

by Christine Echeverria Bender

  “With nearly a hundred of us to be heard,” said Cabrillo, “we will have to be quick with our confessing. Very well, Paulo, get my dress clothes together and we’ll head to town. While I may, I am going to wash ashore one last time.”

  Pleased as always to attend to Cabrillo’s wardrobe, Paulo gathered what was requested with a brisk, attentive airiness. In moments all was ready.

  They left the ship in a launch that landed them speedily, but before Cabrillo could head for the inn and a bath Lázaro de Cárdenas met him at the shoreline. This soldier had fought at Cabrillo’s side in many campaigns, and he now held the respected and often feared position as handler of the war dogs. It was highly unusual to see Lázaro wearing a concerned expression, but this morning he looked like a mother who had misplaced a favorite child. A large gray-brown mastiff with a white belly and a bandaged left front paw stood beside him, tense and watchful. As Cabrillo neared them the dog danced and pulled against his leash in attempt to welcome his master, but Lázaro yanked him back sharply and shouted a command that the dog obeyed by sitting and keeping still.

  “Greetings, Captain-General,” said Lázaro, holding the leash tightly.

  Less than pleased, Cabrillo asked, “Lázaro, what brings you two here?”

  “I came with reluctance, sir. I know you prefer that the dogs be kept away from the men, but his paw is corrupted, sir. I thought you would want to see it before he is brought aboard. The surgeon says it will not heal completely for at least a week.”

  The dog whined for Cabrillo’s attention, but he had been trained to understand that this would gain him nothing unless he complied with Lázaro’s handling. He waited for any signal of release.

  “Very well, show me.”

  Lázaro commanded, “Hold!” but with his master so near the dog did not obey until Cabrillo repeated the word.

  They bent down and Lázaro removed the bandage. Cabrillo shoved the dog’s licking mouth aside, examined the swollen and seeping paw, and said, “He will have to remain behind, Lázaro. Now, there is no need to look so glum. You will have the other three to oversee.”

  “But, Captain-General, only three dogs? The viceroy sent us more than twice that number. If we should find lands where the natives are dangerous...”

  “If so, we have adequate armaments at our disposal. As you well know, the dogs are my last choice as a weapon.”

  “Yes, Captain-General,” he said, his downcast eyes clearly indicating his unsatisfied preference.

  “Lázaro, I know that you have heard the name of Nuño de Guzman.”

  “As have we all, sir. A godless man. Bishop Zumárraga was right to have him arrested and shipped back to Spain. Few men lament his rotting in prison.”

  “Then you have not forgotten the crimes he committed with his dogs. And you can be certain the Indians will not soon forget how their people were fed to his beasts for sport. Even those who fought against my commanders and me have valid reasons for their hatred for our war dogs, as do many who fought beside us and became accidental victims. I took pains to have these dogs trained to bring down a man without slaying him, but you well know how capable they are of killing. I pray that will not be necessary on this voyage. One fewer dog may reduce our chances of bloody misfortune. Understand me, Lázaro, I will not have my name recalled in the same breath as Guzman’s.”

  “No, sir. Of course not.”

  “Three dogs only. Leave him here.” Over the years Cabrillo had learned to hide his own discomfort around the war dogs, even from the dogs. It was an uneasiness born less from fear than dreaded memories. He had been only ten years old and under the command of Pánfilo de Narváez when he had first seen the animals used in the gory massacres through Cuba. He had long hoped he would forget that horror or at least outgrow his aversion to the brutal, sacrilegious efficiency of the huge dogs, but those old unrelenting images returned again and again to torment him, especially at night.

  Cabrillo motioned Paulo forward, and they hurried to the inn where a tub was already waiting. He slowly sank into the water and settled there up to his chin with a smile that stretched his cheeks. He let the near-scalding heat soak into his muscles for several long moments and then began to soap his body from crown to toe. When he could find no patch of skin that had not been rubbed at least three times, he stood and left the tub with pitiful reluctance. For once he showed great patience as Paulo dressed and shaved him before he joined his men heading toward the chapel.

  Once there, the sailors and soldiers formed two lines according to rank, and when their turns came they stepped behind the two large screens of woven palms that served as partitions for the confessionals. Cabrillo noted that the expressions of the waiting men ranged from reflective, to resigned, to downright rebellious, but every Christian was there except the few left to guard the ships, and they too would be given a chance to confess their sins before anchors were weighed.

  The only slave permitted to stand in line was notable, even to those unaware of his status as the captain-general’s prized property, due to his powerful six-foot three-inch frame and the blackness of his skin. He had been a gift to Cabrillo from his old commander, Alvarado, and he still bore Alvarado’s brand on his right forearm. Several years ago, after this slave had saved Cabrillo’s life by deflecting a Mayan war club with his shield, Cabrillo had offered him his freedom. But the man had asked instead to be baptized. The wish had been granted, and he now was called by his Christian name, Manuel, and was privileged to participate in all Christian rites.

  Standing first in the confessional line, Cabrillo did not have long to wait before Father Gamboa beckoned. He acted as an example to his men by keeping his confession brief. So brief, in fact, that when he came to the end of his short list of sins, Father Gamboa paused and then encouraged, “Is there anything else, Captain-General?”

  A decidedly firm, “No, Father,” was the only response.

  Father Gamboa possessed the tact to push the matter no further before hearing Cabrillo’s prayer of contrition, pronouncing the captain-general’s assigned penance, and, with God’s blessings, absolving him of his misdeeds. Cabrillo stepped from behind the screen and bowed Captain Ferrelo toward the waiting priest.

  After the confession line had dwindled away and, presumably, the penances had been sincerely offered, Mass began. The scripture Father Gamboa chose on this propitious morning was John 6:16. He read of when the disciples had tried to cross the lake toward Capernaum but were caught by a storm three miles from shore. As the storm raged, darkness fell and they began to fear greatly for their lives. Suddenly they spotted Jesus walking toward them upon the surface of the water. When Jesus reached them and they took him into their boat, the winds and waters immediately calmed, and the men soon reached the safety of the shore.

  “The message is clear,” said the priest. “We have only to accept Our Lord into our lives and let him guide us, and we too will be saved. We must hold this lesson within our hearts as we face the challenges ahead on this great voyage.” Father Gamboa bowed his head and asked God to keep their conduct holy and their bodies and minds in good health.

  Throughout the service Cabrillo had furtively kept his eyes on Lezcano. He had to admit that the man seemed pious enough. Time, however, would reveal his true character.

  When the rite was concluded, Cabrillo ordered his officers to gather the men at the water’s edge. Before joining them there he momentarily led Father Gamboa aside, and said in a voice meant for no other ears, “Father, I must ask you to tell me your impressions of Father Lezcano.”

  The small, gentle priest smiled and answered with, “He gives every sign of being devout and hard-working. Do you have concerns about him, Captain-General?”

  Unwilling to disclose his brief but turbulent prior contact with Lezcano, Cabrillo hedged, “He is very young.”

  “True, sir, but I am only nine years his senior. I believe he will learn quickly.”

  “Do you sense any rebellion in his nature?”

&nbs
p; There was a slight hesitation, and then the tolerant smile reappeared. “Is there not a touch of rebellion in all young men, sir?”

  “In all seriousness, Father, I must ask whether you perceive the potential for treachery in him?”

  Surprised, Father Gamboa said, “Captain-General Cabrillo, you are a just man. Is it right to suspect such a thing after so short an acquaintance?”

  At this Cabrillo was tempted to tell him everything but ultimately shook his head. “The men are waiting, Father. I hope my suspicions are groundless. I only ask that you watch him closely, and come to me if there is any difficulty.”

  Father Gamboa’s face clouded but before he could question Cabrillo further, his commander turned away and hurried to join his officers.

  As the wind played with the beaching foam and the morning sun flared to its brightest glow, Captain Ferrelo stood to his right, Correa to his left, and Cabrillo gave strength to his voice. “Men, this is a day to lock in our memories. You all know our goals, but I will state them again to strengthen our resolve to see them attained. We set out to explore and claim the coast of California all the way to the shores of Asia. Along our way, we shall seek to locate the Strait of Anián. Once we reach the San Lázaro or the Molucca Islands we will aid Captain-General Villalobos in his trade efforts, and then return home with our holds filled and our routes proven.

  “Whether we will find only wastelands as we voyage, or we discover places such as the Seven Cities of Gold, only God now knows. There is much, however, that we can do to improve our outcome. Each man who gives the full measure of his strength and determination to achieve what we now set out to do increases his chance of survival and reward. Such high efforts must be maintained throughout every challenge the sea and sky may deliver. And on land we must always offer welcoming relations with the Indians we come across, regardless of your past encounters with any natives.”

  At these last words Cabrillo did not miss the slight shifting and muttering that ensued, and he said with an icy bite that left none doubting his seriousness, “Any man who jeopardizes the success of this voyage by not heeding my words will meet a punishment both swift and severe.” Silence and stillness instantly followed. He held them there for two breaths.

  As he continued, his expression and voice warmed. “I am confident that in the weeks and months to come you will show me, and our viceroy, and our king, the depth of your courage and honor.” He scanned the bodies and faces before him, taking in the staunchness of his battle-scared soldiers and seamen. Some wore an eye patch or stood upon a pegged leg. Others displayed the unmarred body and bare cheeks of shining youth. The Indian allies who accompanied them stood erect and calm, their expressions implying an acceptance of whatever came.

  Cabrillo felt his chest suddenly swell with pride and affection. He raised his arm and pointed to the northwest. “Out there lies the unknown, and I would rather face it with you than with any other crew in the world. Our time has come, men. Are we ready?”

  The shout of a hundred voices confirmed the eagerness of a hundred hearts.

  “Then, men of the San Salvador, La Victoria, and San Miguel, say one last farewell to this land and board your ships!”

  Chapter 5

  TESTING THE SHEETS

  Overhead, clinging to ratlines with their feet, Cabrillo’s sailors released the ties along the yardarms and the canvas surfaces unfurled with a blending “whoosh.” Deckhands on all three ships hauled with gusto, as a stiff possessive wind billowed the spotless sails. The fleet glided proudly forward while men secured the dripping anchors to the bows. Captain-General Cabrillo signaled with a nod to Pilot San Remón, who lifted his face, drew air from deep within his lungs, and shouted, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, we ask for a splendid voyage and a safe return!”

  Onshore a small but lusty crowd let loose a high-spirited cheer. When the breeze caught the answering roar from the ships, it blew it toward the northwest, away from Santiago. Even so, Cabrillo imagined their farewells somehow carrying all the way to Beatriz. She would be on her knees this Tuesday morning, praying for their safety. It took much willpower to turn his thoughts from her and his sons, as well as Lucia and his daughters, and to allow the concerns of the fleet to possess him. For now, he belonged to these men and these vessels.

  He turned his gaze ahead and studied the responses of his fine flagship under the handling of his chosen men. Although they had made short trial runs to train the newer crewmembers, Cabrillo sorely missed the seasoned hands who had sailed with him to Peru but had been killed by the earthquake. Brief hesitations and slight errors were occurring on the decks below that those men would never have made. Watching his frustrated boatswain bark corrections at the men working the lines in this stiff breeze, his shouts occasionally emphasized by the snap of a stiffly knotted rope across a pair of shoulders, Cabrillo assured himself that they would learn quickly. They had no choice. In a few short days their bellies would stiffen to the rocking of the ship and their hands would toughen with each tug on the lines. Despite the disparity in their languages of Castilian, two Indian dialects, Basque, Galician, and Catalonian, they would soon discover how to be sixty men working with the will of one. In the meantime, the older hands would often preempt the boatswain by yelling at the sailors deemed slow or inept, and the younger men would jump to their tasks a little more spryly, dodging the occasional fist whenever possible. The twenty-four soldiers aboard had been given enough instruction to make them useful at the lines if the need arose, but for now they stood aside and left the duties of departure to the seamen.

  At the last moment prior to boarding, Cabrillo had changed his mind about having Father Lezcano sail aboard the San Miguel. Better to have the young monk on the San Salvador where he could watch him closely, he decided. Both priests on board the flagship were absolute novices when it came to the workings of a tall ship but, so far, both seemed willing to follow the dictates of their captain-general as well as their God.

  In spite of the rawness of the newcomers, the ship’s officers already had made the three shifts familiar with their assignments. Rotating every four hours, each seaman was designated specific duties in the fore, mid, or aft sections of the ship. Shipmaster Uribe commanded the decks from the hours of twelve to four, day and night. Their pilot took control of the watches from four to eight. Although Cabrillo’s active dominion theoretically ran from the hours of eight and twelve, his word was always final and he spent most daylight and many nighttime hours on deck.

  Manuel was never far from his side. He stood close by at the moment, staring out at the sea ahead and swaying with the stern deck, a black guardian of the man who owned him.

  To Cabrillo there was little interest in the section of nearly treeless coastline along which they were sailing. Others had studied and claimed these shores, and this land was at least somewhat settled. Before long he altered their course slightly westward and let his gaze leave the coast in answer to the beckoning ocean.

  Thoughtfully, he asked Manuel, “How does it feel to be at sea again?”

  “Steadier than the first time, sir.”

  A glance at his slave revealed a slight droopiness of the eyes and slackness of the mouth that were unusual to Manuel while on land. “Ah, I remember,” said Cabrillo. “We began to wonder if you would ever see Peru. Thankfully, your stomach behaved much better on the return voyage.”

  “Now I wish to see California, sir. That will keep me well.”

  A couple of loud thumps came to them from below their feet. “It sounds like Paulo may need some help in my cabin.”

  With a respectful bow Manuel headed for the stairs, careful to find secure handholds along the way. Cabrillo glanced astern at the closely trailing La Victoria, and then at the San Miguel. The bergantine sailed with her oars at rest, allowing her crew comparative ease as they adjusted to their new lives upon the waves. As Captain Correa prowled her decks, Cabrillo occasionally caught sight of him or heard one of his bellowed orders.
The captain-general’s attention swung again to La Victoria, and his eyes met those of Captain Ferrelo. Ferrelo bowed from the railing of his quarterdeck in a manner that expressed thanks for this chance to command under sail. Cabrillo returned the bow, understanding all too well.

  He was not a man who hungered for the sea, aching to set foot aboard another ship from the very moment he returned ashore. When home Cabrillo found fulfillment and happiness, and his ships were almost forgotten. But each time he made his way back to the ocean’s realm and stood upon an upper stern deck, he was swallowed anew by the sensations that possessed him only here.

  The unconquerable enormity of the sea never failed to expand his heart and mind. It drew from him an untamed, boundless spirit that the land never could. In times past its beauty and power had come together in a way that had shouted, “Take all of this deep within and rejoice at the glory laid before you!” Yet on other occasions it had murmured, “Beware, for I can crush you and your ship whenever I please.” Hearing these whisperings, his daring had risen to defy them, and God had chosen to see him through the sea’s mighty trials. After each terrible storm the magnanimity of the ocean had emerged and calmly reclaimed his welcoming soul.

  Even the longing he currently suffered for his family could not diminish the countering amplification of himself that the sea both bestowed and demanded. More fully with each mile that separated him from the harbor, he surrendered to the familiar, undeniable pull.

  The San Salvador had settled well into her canvas sheets and was making good time when Mateo approached Cabrillo, lost his balance, and almost stumbled into him. His captain-general caught him under the arms and yanked him upright.

  “Please forgive me, sir,” the boy gasped weakly, his eyes glassy as he fought to keep a waving nausea down. He gulped a few breaths before trying again. “Paulo sent me to ask, to ask what...” He swallowed hard.

  Taking pity on the boy, Cabrillo grasped his shoulders and turned him to face the bow as he stepped him to the leeward railing. Knowing he would do his nephew no favors by showing him unwarranted leniency in front of the other men, he kept his voice firm as he said, “I told you, Mateo, keep your gaze ahead. Hold onto the rail and inhale deeply. Paulo’s question can wait.”