When the men had settled around him, Cabrillo crossed his legs and eyed the Indian in a frank but cordial manner. The fisherman was impressive in stature if not in costume. Although he was perhaps a decade older than Cabrillo he was tall and strongly built, but he wore not a thread of clothing. His long hair hung loose and tangled around a well-shaped skull and raw-boned face. Cabrillo took a moment to mentally scan the different tribes he had encountered during his career, many of whom had later become allies. The thought touched him that in dress and carriage their captive was wholly unlike the proud Aztecs who had followed Montezuma. This Indian, however, was a fisherman and must hold a humbler status among his people than any fighting man. It was probable that his tribe, just like the Aztecs and Maya, had a separate warrior class to protect and distinguish them. Then again, perhaps, just perhaps, these natives felt no need for warriors or the embellishments of war.
Glancing at his slave, he said, “Manuel, give me your knife.”
Manuel withdrew the blade from his belt and handed it to Cabrillo, who offered it with reassuring words and nods to the Indian. Almost unwilling to believe that the knife was being offered as a gift rather than used as the instrument of his death, the fisherman very gingerly reached out and accepted the blade. His eyes diffidently sought Manuel’s and he made a sign that Cabrillo presumed to be an expression of gratitude. After a moment’s consideration, Cabrillo opened the casing that held his crossbow darts, extracted one, and handed it to their captive. The Indian accepted this new gift with enough courage to examine it briefly, momentarily meet Cabrillo’s gaze, and then repeat his previous hand gesture.
Wishing their Indian interpreter were with them now, Cabrillo made several attempts to explain who they were. He then tried to discover a few details about the natives, such as their number and the location of their village. The fisherman replied distinctly and gestured fluidly, yet almost nothing was understood between them.
Eventually Cabrillo surrendered with a soft sigh and said, “Men, let him go. The others could be miles away or they could be heading back here with an army. If we are granted a great deal of luck, this man will take a good report of us back to his people. But since luck is a fickle thing we had better return to the beach and warn our men of a possible attack.”
Careful to make no threatening moves, Cabrillo and his men got to their feet and backed away from the captive. When the fisherman did not move, Cabrillo reached down and helped him up, then motioned for him to follow after his friends. The Indian’s first departing steps were tentative, then quickened but did not break into a run as he glanced repeatedly backward. When Cabrillo and his men turned away and began retracing their steps, the man increased his pace and was soon out of sight.
At the beach where the San Miguel still lay under repair, guards kept a tense alertness throughout the night. Even the birds seemed unusually hushed. As morning dawned Cabrillo stood on his stern deck and watched many trails of smoke rising from scattered locations inland, giving him the first indication that the Indian population could be sizable. He went ashore and found Correa before the sun had reached the treetops. The incisive smell of boiling pitch already assaulted the air, and men were scurrying around the bergantine like ants rebuilding a collapsed hill. As he surveyed the work Cabrillo asked, “When can she be seaworthy, Captain Correa?”
“By noon, sir, if need be. But a few more hours to better dry the pitch would be welcome.”
“Welcome indeed. I will do what I can to prevent any interruption.”
Not long afterward Cabrillo donned his heavily padded leather vest and ordered the men that would accompany him on a second trek inland to wear the same. Over this vest, he and his men of rank pulled on jackets with diagonal slits on each side of the breast, where insets of lighter fabric could be seen as their torsos moved. These layers, Cabrillo decided, should be enough to protect them from arrows lacking the length, thickness, and iron tips of their own. Their armor could be left aboard to prevent them from boiling like crabs in this intense heat.
He had noted earlier that the nearest smoke seemed to be coming from just upriver, and after assuring himself that this was still the case he ordered his companions of the day before, plus an interpreter, to board the rowboats. They loaded quickly, pushed off, and headed directly toward the mouth of the river.
The river’s width and current accommodated the two launches without much difficulty and they soon found themselves approaching a small but wandering lake. Slowly, watchfully they rowed almost stem to stern as they entered it and held to its right-hand rim. They advanced around a sharp bend and suddenly spied a large group of Indians fishing from the shore. At Cabrillo’s command the sailors stilled their oars. Vargas whispered, “I count thirty of them, sir, some with bows and arrows.”
The armed fishermen had clearly seen the boats. They stood their ground, weapons in hands but not raised. Keenly watching the movements of the natives, Cabrillo signaled for his men to row forward cautiously. Just as wary as the captain-general and his men, the Indians gave no indication of potential flight even as the strangers neared. When the boats drew within easy firing range the natives slowly lowered their bows to the ground.
To Cabrillo’s hopeful eyes, they now seemed to be awaiting their landing with guarded curiosity. “Keep your weapons down but within grasp,” he ordered.
As the distance between the two groups dissipated, the natives left their bows and arrows idle in the sand and walked boldly toward the boats. To the relief of Cabrillo and everyone else, the more advanced European weapons also proved to be unnecessary as the two groups came together. The Indians greeted the strangers with a measure of warmth that amazed and delighted Cabrillo, and he looked from face to face in an unsuccessful search for the older fisherman they had dealt with generously the day before. Though he was nowhere in sight, Cabrillo could only assume that his good word had caused such a reception.
The evident leaders quickly seated themselves close enough together to begin energetically scrutinizing each other and attempting to improve their means of understanding. The two Indians on either side of the captain-general fingered his fabric and stitching with exclamations of approval and awe, indicating that the clothes of the Spaniards held at least as much fascination for the fisherman as their iron weapons did. Touching his jacket and then his shirt, Cabrillo said, “clothing”. The natives echoed the word quite clearly, which greatly kindled hopes of gaining intelligence of their lands and ways. It took little time to discover that the locals in fact possessed an uncanny ability to precisely repeat any Castilian word, but real conversation, even with verbal and gestured efforts by the interpreter, proved only a little more successful than the day before.
Today, however, Cabrillo had instructed the scouting party to bring a few trade goods with them, and these were quickly toted ashore and distributed among the fishermen. This method of communication was easily comprehended, and in exchange the native men soon offered Cabrillo small fishing nets and carrying bags that had been cleverly and beautifully woven from a finely twisted thread.
While the presents were being passed around and examined, Cabrillo spotted several women and children hanging back within the nearby greenery but watching and listening closely. Though they were undoubtedly as inquisitive about the strangers as their men, they conducted themselves by look and gesture with notable restraint and modesty. Most of the women, possibly those who had married, were clothed from breast to thigh in animal skins, and many carried both an infant and a toddler in their arms. Intent on recording any new knowledge, Cabrillo took out his writing materials, quickly drew a few small sketches of the natives, and noted examples on their speech and behavior.
Drawn by an overpowering curiosity about what the strange man was doing, a brave lad of about four approached Cabrillo and plopped down in the sand before him for a closer look, unknowingly providing an excellent model for the captain-general’s quill. With this development, a few of the women also drew near. One sharp, swee
ping glare from Vargas reminded the men to hold their tongues and positions, and things proceeded peacefully.
When at last the captain-general and his men rose to leave, he invited a few of the fishermen to accompany them back to the ships. It was apparent that his offer had been comprehended when the natives began to debate over who was to come, but eventually two young women and a child were brought forward, each wearing nothing but a small piece of deer skin. Understanding only too well the challenges the women might create amongst his crew, Cabrillo nevertheless accepting these three with grace, had them lifted into his boat, and ordered his men to push off.
With the scantily dressed women sitting in such proximity the rowers found it difficult to keep their eyes and minds on their oars. Not missing the stolen glances and the unusual unevenness in the cadence of their boat’s progress, Cabrillo barked, “Look sharp, there!” To Manuel he muttered close to his ear, “When we reach the ship, get them clothed immediately. I will not risk an uprising over two naked females.”
In no time they reached the San Salvador and, coming aboard wide-eyed with apprehension and wonder, the women were seated on the main deck where Father Lezcano was called upon to reassure them. Cabrillo saw at once that though the young priest spoke with soothing sincerity he was at least as distracted by the feminine bodies as his rowers had been, and one of the Indian women seemed instantly attracted to his handsome young priest. Thankfully, Manuel appeared with long shirts that soon covered most of the skin. An Aztec sailor fluent in several Mexican languages was brought to them in the hope of communicating but the speech of these new people was incomprehensible to him. Offering hand signs he hoped would convey friendship, Cabrillo ordered the newcomers be given small gifts and returned to their lakeshore.
After they had left the ship Cabrillo found Father Lezcano gazing off in the direction of the departing boat. “Why, Father, are not priests supposed to be above such worldly enticements?”
Lezcano’s guilty discomfort deepened the color of his sun-bronzed face. “I try very hard, sir, but women are temptations I have not fully overcome as yet. I have been a priest only a short time and on occasion I must sharply remind myself of my sacred vows.” Under Cabrillo’s unrelenting gaze a hint of Father Lezcano’s devilish grin came to his assistance. “Perhaps as my youth fades it will become easier.”
Cabrillo could not completely veil a smile. “It would be wise, Father, not to depend too much on the passage of years to reduce such desires.”
Shortly before noon of the following day Correa interrupted a discussion between Cabrillo and Father Gamboa to report, “Captain-General, I sent a party of men out to gather water and a small group of Indians led them to a spring. After the barrels had been filled, the same Indians guided them to a salt pool, where they collected this.” He opened a leather pouch and pulled out a handful of salt crystals.
Testing the salt and finding it to be of high quality, Cabrillo said, “Well, you bring fine news, Captain Correa. We will certainly welcome a few barrels of this.” He handed the salt to the priest to try.
Correa went on, “These Indians seem to be from a different tribe than the fisherman who live nearby. If my men understood them right, they come from a large nation farther inland.”
“Are they in your camp now?” asked Cabrillo as he went to his window.
“No, sir, they could not be persuaded to visit us. But before they departed, one of my men gave them his dagger as a sign of thanks.”
“He did very well, Captain.”
Pleased, Correa said, “Ah, sir, even members of my band of rabble have a worthy moment now and again.”
“Worthy indeed. They have helped expand the number of natives who may pass along good words about us.”
“Your treatment of the locals yesterday likely reached these new Indians before they fell in with our kind, sir, starting things on a good footing.”
“That may be.” Cabrillo gazed out at the San Miguel. “Since we have been left unmolested, I trust the repair work is progressing well.”
“Quite well, sir,” was the reply, but Captain Correa’s brow furrowed as he spoke.
“Is there a problem?”
He hesitated before adding, “It’s Gaspar, Captain-General.”
“That rogue. What has he done now?”
“That is the problem, sir. His behavior has been beyond reproach, as has the conduct of the men he influences. That’s what concerns me. All looks too calm, and I sense a growing tension among the crewmen not included in his circle of schemers. It feels like a powder keg about to blow, sir, but without proof of trouble I have no good idea how to ease the mood.”
The cabin grew quiet as the men considered the problem. “Captain-General,” said Father Gamboa softly, “please excuse my intruding, but do you think my presence aboard the San Miguel might give some comfort to those men?”
Shifting the question to that ship’s commander, Cabrillo asked, “Captain Correa?”
Correa rubbed his stubbly chin with unusual thoughtfulness. “That is a generous offer, Father, but my men are a rough lot.”
This brought a tolerant smile to the priest’s face. “Your crewmembers are children of God, sir, and they will not be the first rough lot I have served. If the captain-general does not object, I will gladly do what I can to spread Our Holy Father’s guidance on your ship.”
“I can offer no valid objection, Father,” said Cabrillo, “though I will surely miss your company. You are welcome to go with Captain Correa, if you wish.”
Correa shook his head and clasped the priest’s hand, thinking, I hope you know what you’re doing. Aloud, he muttered, “Thank you, Father, and may God protect you.”
Not an hour after Correa’s morning visit to the San Salvador he returned with five native men, warriors of the newly arrived tribe, judging from their distinctive appearance and the bows and flint-tipped arrows they carried, who were brought to the ship at the request of their own leader. Cabrillo welcomed them and had a rug spread upon the deck in order to sit more officially with his guests where all could be seen and heard.
To the fascination and concealed amusement of the sailors, each native had painted his body in an attempt to imitate the clothing of the Spaniards. Though their waists were lightly belted and their shoulders draped with deerskins, their torsos and arms had been carefully dyed to produce a darker background. Their blackened chests and thighs bore white diagonal slash marks meant to imitate the jackets and breeches that the local natives had seen the sailors wearing. Much more intriguing to Cabrillo than their adornment, however, was how cleverly these men were able to exchange ideas through no more than body language and hand signals.
After preliminary greetings had been extended, their chief addressed Cabrillo and explained through signs that his home lay to the northeast and was rich with parrots and maize. Cabrillo nodded encouragingly to the chief so he continued, using smooth gestures and his rhythmic aboriginal language to deliver a message that astonished his audience. “Chief of the great canoes, you are not the first of your kind to enter these lands.”
Cabrillo worked to keep his features calm as he again prompted the chief to tell more.
The Indian said and signed unhurriedly, “Men with beards, crossbows, swords, and dogs have been seen inland at a distance of a five-day march from the sea.”
Speculative mutterings broke out and circled them, causing Cabrillo’s boatswain to issue a tightly whispered threat to hush the crew.
Over the next half-hour the captain-general tried repeatedly to determine just when and where the bearded men had been seen, but the exceedingly dissimilar languages made it impossible to discover anything specific. Turning aside to Correa and San Remón, Cabrillo tried to hide his frustration as he said, “Who knows how long ago the Spaniards were seen. He could be referring to Alarcón. The mouth of the Colorado River lies only a hundred and fifty miles or so from here. I would wager the Indian runners could easily make such a distance in five days.”
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“Could he be talking about Captain Ulloa’s expedition, sir?”
“Yes, that is possible. Or Coronado’s or Diaz’s, or some new expedition of which we have no knowledge at all.”
Addressing the chief once more, Cabrillo’s hands asked if he would deliver a small gift to the Spaniards in the northeast. He then repeated his request to make certain it was understood. After a moment’s pause the Indian leader agreed, intimating that it could actually be delivered to a group of Spaniards still present in his land. Cabrillo told himself that this could well be a false assertion, but the possibility of meeting with a group of his own countrymen farther up the coast was gripping indeed.
After presenting his visitors with presents of beads, metal bells, and clothing, Cabrillo turned over his hosting duties to Pilot San Remón and Father Lezcano while he went to his cabin to hurriedly compose a short letter.
Whoever the other Spaniards were, he must tell them where his fleet was headed and offer his aid if it was needed. He could only hope his message would reach them given so untested a means of delivery.
Chapter 8
A PRIEST WORTH BEATING
With the sails mended and the San Miguel repaired, and with at least a stone of groundwork laid for agreeable future encounters with regional Indians, the fleet departed from Puerto de la Posesión immediately after the celebration of Sunday Mass.
Twenty-seven hours later they landed on a sizeable island, which Cabrillo christened San Agustin as he stood amid a graveyard of driftwood rather than whalebones. The once living trees must have been of unimaginable size, with these mere remnants of their full trunks still measured more than sixty feet in length. Signs of only occasional human habitation encouraged Cabrillo to take a group deeper into the island’s interior. They set off exploring, and Mateo, spotting a massive hulk of driftwood ahead, ran and stood before it with mouth agape as Cabrillo, Manuel, and the others caught up to him. “Will you look at that, sir,” said Manuel. “A mighty storm must have tossed it here and wedged it upright as a post.” Two of their larger men handed their weapons to a companion and stood on opposite sides of the twisted hulk. Stretching their arms as far as they could reach, they were still unable to span its girth.
Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon Page 12
