“It puzzles me,” said Cabrillo, “that natives come here so seldom when they could take full advantage of this magnificent wood. Good Lord above, imagine the forest where these giants had first sprouted.”
Mateo piped up, “Do you think we will see the forest, sir, up the coast?”
“I dearly hope we do, Mateo,” said Cabrillo. “We may find a tree big enough to sail through.” As they walked on he envisioned such a forest of titans shading a landing somewhere not far ahead of them, and he mused deeply on how it would feel to stand beneath the towering heights of those proud trees. It would be, he decided, like standing inside a living cathedral, the most magnificent house of worship ever constructed. But for now, he must be content with this new and welcome supply of firewood for the fleet.
Although they had no intention of lingering on the island, after setting sail their plans were changed by an authoritative wind that forced the fleet to return and shelter in its lee. Three more anxious days were spent waiting out the gale before they successfully left their refuge, and by then August had aged into September. Tacking often against the northeast wind and maneuvering with aggression against a newly opposing current, they made their way up kelp-strewn coastal waters whose shore displayed greater and greater promise of richly fertile land.
Early on September 8 they entered a cape so breathtaking that it struck Cabrillo as having been blessed from above. He asked Father Gamboa to choose a fit name, so the priest gave it the title of Santa Maria on the very day the church celebrated their holy lady’s birth. Located at the outlet of a wide, quiet river, their anchorage was indeed lovely, framed by mountains large and small to form a verdant valley that ran far away into the interior beyond their view. An abundance of deep green trees and shrubs spread out before them, cheering the spirits of the men and encouraging them to draw deep breaths of the sweet scents wafting from shore.
Leaning on the gunwale as all three ships’ anchors lowered, Cabrillo wished that the lush scene before him could be enjoyed by all of his men. A recently erupted fever had taken possession of three of them, including Manuel, and it was strengthening. The illnesses shadowed the allure of even this place, and Cabrillo acutely felt the absence of Manuel’s silent frame that for years had seldom left his side. Offering what relief was possible to the afflicted seamen, all portals and hatches had been opened wide so that the breeze could reach them where they lay below decks.
The scouts were ordered ashore and soon returned with the judgment that the beach was safe for Cabrillo and a full entourage to land. Flanked by the fleet’s other leaders, its priests, and soldiers, the captain-general performed his second formal claiming of a new region for Spain’s king. This time, with palo verde trees readily at hand, he had his carpenter construct a much more impressive cross to plant on the beach. The exertions of the rite dismayed myriad thin, striped lizards and ring-necked snakes, sending them skittering and slithering to the hidden edges of their site, and causing the men to place their feet with uncommon care whenever they moved. Perhaps because of this caution, no bites were inflicted on the unwary.
Shortly after the ceremony’s conclusion the captain-general returned to the ship, drawn back by his growing apprehension over Manuel.
He entered his cabin and found Father Lezcano and the ship’s physician, Dr. Fuentes, bending over the pallet set up for Manuel. These two men stepped aside as Cabrillo came near and knelt on one knee beside his slave. The black skin of Manuel’s face and chest was beaded with sweat, the whites of his eyes dulled. His eyelids flickered open at his master’s approach.
Cabrillo glanced up at the doctor, who avoided meeting his captain-general’s eyes. Father Lezcano’s gaze held a frightful mixture of sadness, acquiescence, and sympathy. Through a suddenly tightened throat, Cabrillo said, “Manuel, I will not hear of this. You must get well. Do you understand? I will not lose you.”
“I am at peace, sir.”
Cabrillo’s throat closed completely for a moment, then he burst out with, “Well, I am not at peace, damn you!” He struggled to calm his voice. “I have lost far too many men over far too many years to these cursed fevers. Not you, Manuel. I will not lose you!”
Held as he was in the clutches of the fever, Manuel tried to smile. “Father Lezcano has already given me last rites, sir.”
“Damn Father Lezcano!”
The doctor gasped at such outrageous blasphemy. Men had been burned at the stake for less. Father Lezcano’s eyes were huge but he held his tongue.
Cabrillo ignored them both. “Manuel, you must refuse to submit to death. Do you hear me? Fight it with all your strength. Stay with us, with me.”
For a moment Manuel was able to meet his master’s eyes and then he managed a feeble nod. “I will try, sir.”
Unconvinced, and suspecting Manuel’s unspoken thoughts, Cabrillo said with building anger, “When I offered you freedom you chose baptism in its place. I tell you now that if you surrender to this fever without a fight, if you let it take you away under the delusion that your death is God’s will, I will regret ever giving you that choice. God can not condone abandoning our lives at the first opportunity merely because we hope to gain heaven.”
Manuel lay very still, and then nodded.
“I offer you freedom again today, Manuel, but you must live to gain it. Just live. Wrestle this bastard of a fever for all its worth.”
Manuel whispered, “If I am free, will I still serve you, Captain-General?”
Bowing his head to hide his face, Cabrillo said, “Only if that is what you want.”
Manuel’s voice diminished until the last words were inaudible, saying, “Then, sir, I will fight the best I can.” He closed his eyes, and Cabrillo watched Manuel’s weak breath lift his chest in small, shallow rises.
Staring at the dark, damp face until his vision began to blur, Cabrillo leaned his forehead onto the edge of the cot as the patient drifted back to sleep. Moments passed in silence before the captain-general got to his feet and gave two words of command to Dr. Fuentes. “Save him.”
Descending to the main deck and then the steps leading below, Cabrillo went to the horse stalls. Right now, he needed their company more than human interaction. Seguro lifted his face and brought his ears forward in greeting. Viento nickered lowly as Cabrillo neared, and the stallion’s forehead met that of his master to share a moment of comfort, even empathy. “You know, Viento, do you not? Yes, of course you do, and you miss him also.”
Hearing someone’s approach, Cabrillo turned to find Father Lezcano standing behind him. Expecting a reproach or a warning for cursing of the priest, Cabrillo was surprised when Father Lezcano said, “I have noticed, sir, that the slings have begun to wear slightly on the horses recently. Since we will remain at anchor for a few days, I will be happy to care for them ashore.”
Cabrillo moved to Viento’s side and ran his hand gently over the raised lines caused by the border of the sling. “It will do them much good to breathe fresh air and stretch their legs again.” Still, he hesitated. He had not yet let Father Lezcano care for Viento without Manuel’s or his own oversight. Perhaps it was time to fully release his old suspicions.
“Very well, I accept your offer, father. Mateo is a capable groom and he will assist you. Take whatever men you need to build a couple of enclosures before moving the horses ashore. The mares should be disembarked from La Victoria first. Please see that they and Viento are separated at all times. Once ashore, you must not allow any of them to roam, not even if they are tethered and hobbled. Only if I give permission are they to be exercised outside of their corrals.”
Aware that Cabrillo was offering something far beyond permission to perform a requested task, Father Lezcano said, “They will be treated with utmost care, sir.”
He got to work at once and in little more than an hour two wooden pens stood open and waiting just off the beach. While making a show of confidence in Father Lezcano, Cabrillo often stole glances to check his progress, especially as the hors
es were lifted one by one from the deck, lowered into the water, and steadily guided ashore. The captain-general waited for the next launch to carry him to the beach.
The two small corrals had been occupied only briefly and the horses just watered when Captain Ferrelo appeared at Viento’s gate with unwelcome news for Cabrillo. Bowing quickly, Ferrelo said, “Sir, an exploring party has spotted a large group of Indians at a nearby lake.”
“Warriors?”
“About half carry bows and arrows, sir.”
“How many?”
“Perhaps forty, sir.”
“Were your men seen?”
“I do not believe so, Captain-General.”
“In which direction were they moving?”
“At the time we noticed them, sir, they were merely fishing.”
“Very well, Captain Ferrelo.” Seeing in his officer’s face that something had been left unsaid, Cabrillo asked, “What else?”
“Sir, although you have far greater experience than I, I would greatly welcome this opportunity to communicate with the natives.”
“I see,” said Cabrillo. This was evidently going to be a day ripe with opportunities for delegation. He gazed inland and silently analyzed the risks of allowing the captain of La Victoria to head this outing. Weighing heavily in Ferrelo’s favor were not only his many leadership capabilities but also Cabrillo’s desire to remain close by the flagship while Manuel battled his fever. It was clear that Ferrelo wanted this chance badly, and he’d earned it. Most importantly, he was levelheaded enough to avoid any conflict they couldn’t get out of. After another moment, he asked, “Is it your best judgment that there will be no need to engage these Indians in battle?”
“That is my judgment, sir, and I will do everything in my power to maintain tranquility.”
Satisfied, Cabrillo said, “Take with you some trade goods and my interpreter, whose signing skills are improving daily, and have Vargas and at least a dozen soldiers join your party. Also, take no more than one dog, and keep him leashed unless absolutely necessary. If you encounter hostility, withdraw if you can and send a messenger back to me at once. We will be prepared to assist you.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Captain Ferrelo, and even his parting bow expressed appreciation.
Pilot San Remón had been standing close enough to hear the conversation and observe Captain Ferrelo’s leave taking. He had also witnessed the transfer of the horses from the ships to the corrals under Father Lezcano’s untested yet seemingly capable supervision. Cabrillo glanced at him and guessed his thoughts, “Well, pilot? Do you have something you wish to say?”
“Me, sir? Not a word.”
In an undertone, Cabrillo confided, “We should both be praying that my trust in men has not been overly stretched today.”
His pilot replied with no more than a slight bow. Though young in years, he was far too intelligent to make any affirming comment.
The sun was arcing toward the west and Cabrillo was just pulling on his shirt after a swim in the river when Captain Ferrelo appeared and abundantly affirmed the confidence that had been placed in him by the procession that followed. Rather than sending a runner back to plead for reinforcements, La Victoria’s captain strode into the open with full water kegs being carried and rolled by his men as well as some of the Indians he’d encountered. Cabrillo buckled his belt as he awaited the group and upon their arrival was immediately and quite heartily embraced by the native leader. The captain-general was released, however, with a suddenness that almost knocked him off balance as the chief got his first glimpse of the horses around the curve in the beach. He let out a startled exclamation that was immediately joined by shouts and grunts from his men. Barrels were dropped in the sand and several hands reached for bows. Cabrillo stood back a step and addressed them all with a tone and gestures of reassurance, saying, “Easy, easy, now. The horses are our friends, our friends. They will not harm you.” Still smiling, still in the same voice, he added, “Leave your bloody weapons alone and come sit down with us. Yes, just so, good, good, this way.” He ushered them to a shady area where they were seated; the natives finding positions from which they could keep their eyes on the horses. And as the Indians made their equestrian study Cabrillo mentally noted the physical similarities of his new guests to the natives of Puerto de la Posesión. This was easily done given their complete absence of clothing.
He began their discussions with amiable vigor, and the chief pulled his glance away from Viento to respond in kind, each attempting to question and explain, but, again, the lack of a common verbalism allowed them to convey extremely limited details. As before, the art of trade provided a universal translator.
At Father Gamboa’s discreet suggestion, the captain-general ordered yards of cloth to be rowed ashore and added to the small gifts already bestowed by Ferrelo at his first encounter, and the Indians joyously tied pieces of the brightly colored fabric around their waists or draped them over their shoulders. Cabrillo had previously explained what he wished in return, and runners draped in crimson, violet, and emerald were now sent racing inland.
Soon more natives began to appear carrying baskets of food for both men and horses. Trading continued and the exchanges delighted the natives, and that delighted Cabrillo almost as much as his somewhat replenished consumables.
The afternoon evolved into an impressive feast, abundant with fish and roasted maguey, which the natives had made from the plump leaves of agave plants. Having witnessed many times how unrestrainedly wine could affect a man new to its influences, Cabrillo had allowed only a taste to each of his native visitors. Fortunately, none of them showed any desire to consume more of what seemed only a bitter and unpleasant liquid. The wine rations of the men were also strictly monitored, regardless of amounts they might have consumed in the past.
If the guests were unimpressed by the drinks and food offered by the Spaniards, including the captain-general’s prized olives, the same could not be said when they observed the black men, horses, guns, and other weapons that the Spaniards allowed them to inspect closely. After checking for the second time to confirm the health of Viento’s legs and hooves Cabrillo threw his leg over the back of his bridled but unsaddled stallion and rode him slowly along a short stretch of the beach, much to the awe of his new audience.
As the sun began to reach toward a cloud-streaked horizon, the Indians displayed many signs of friendship while they prepared to leave, and they drifted back into the interior bearing many images of the wonders they’d witnessed that day. By the time the last of them had disappeared, though Cabrillo had received regular updates during their visit of, “No change to report, sir,” he was anxious to return to the ship to see for himself how Manuel and his other ailing men were faring.
Once onboard the San Salvador the captain-general was heartened to learn that the conditions of two of the sailors were improving. But back in his cabin, as he approached closely and studied Manuel’s face, Cabrillo could discern little variation in him. Again he knelt beside the cot but this time Father Lezcano added his voice to the prayers. Despite their hopes and efforts throughout the night and into the next dawn, Manuel’s fever only gathered strength.
Father Lezcano was sent ashore to care for the horses. Dr. Fuentes suggested removing Manuel from Cabrillo’s cabin to reduce the risk of the captain-general falling ill from exhaustion, but he refused to allow it.
By mid-morning their commander’s draining worry and need for sleep finally became so apparent to Fuentes and San Remón as they stood beside him exchanging concerned glances that at last his pilot said, “Captain-General, please, you must sleep.”
Cabrillo merely shook his head.
“If you will not rest, sir, perhaps some time ashore will help, even if only for a short time.”
“The crisis is likely to be hours away, sir,” said the doctor. “We will send word of any development.”
No response came.
Pilot San Remón, knowing his captain-general’s softest
spots, offered a last attempt at persuasion. “Father Lezcano may need guidance with the horses, sir. He is new to that role.”
The captain-general stared at Manuel, who slept restlessly under the torture inflicted by his burning body. After several moments Cabrillo rose stiffly to his feet and turned toward the doctor and pilot. Flexing his tightened shoulders and then rubbing his tired neck, he acquiesced, “A short visit, then. I will return within the hour.”
Captain Ferrelo and his men, who had just returned from another scouting mission, greeted the captain-general as he landed. “All is quiet, sir. No natives in sight today.”
“Fine, Captain.”
He walked among the men for a while, quietly encouraging their work on the sails or their own clothing, or gazing inland with the sentries from their hilltops. When he rejoined Ferrelo, his captain asked, “How is Manuel, sir?” Every man in the fleet knew what this companion meant to their commander.
“There is little change for the better.”
“Perhaps soon, sir.”
“I will ask Father Lezcano to offer a Mass for him.”
“Very good, sir.”
Cabrillo returned Ferrelo’s parting bow and headed around the outcropping of trees that blocked his view of the corrals. As he drew nearer to the wooden barriers he heard no acknowledging neigh from Viento, but his mind was so preoccupied that he barely noticed. It wasn’t until he looked up and scanned the other three horses without seeing Viento that his heart began to increase its pace. He walked more hurriedly around the enclosures toward the trees that served as posts on the inland side and gazed searching in that direction. Nothing.
Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon Page 13
