Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon

by Christine Echeverria Bender

  “Father Lezcano,” he called out, telling himself that there was a simple explanation for Viento’s absence. Yet he remembered with painful clarity his telling the priest to keep his horses contained at all times unless given permission to do otherwise. “Mateo!” he cried, circling the corrals completely and this time eyeing the sand. Though human prints marred the smoothness all around the enclosure, on the far side of the corral where Seguro was contained Cabrillo spotted a set of Viento’s tracks. They led off toward the mountains, and were mingled with more human footprints. He started trotting along the line of the prints, and then loping at an increasing speed, and then running so fast that his chest burned, his anger gathering momentum right along with his legs. As he crashed into the forest curses and threats burst from his lips like bees from a beaten hive. His breathing grew ragged and his legs tight but he pushed on through the slapping branches and grabbing undergrowth. He reached a small clearing and suddenly spotted Father Lezcano. The priest was leading Viento back toward him but Cabrillo slowed his pace only slightly. He could see that Viento was heavily lathered and his eyes were wild. There was a bleeding cut on his left shoulder. He was hurt.

  When Cabrillo reached them Father Lezcano tried to speak but Cabrillo grabbed the rope of Viento’s halter and shouted into the priest’s face, “You bastard!”

  Again the priest tried to make himself heard, but Cabrillo yelled, “You sneaking bastard! I was right about you!”

  Under this verbal assault the face of the priest darkened to crimson and his teeth gritted tight, and Viento danced and snorted, but Cabrillo was beyond noticing.

  “I was a damned fool to listen to Father Gamboa. He claimed you were trustworthy, that you—”

  Father Lezcano drew back his right fist and smashed Cabrillo in the mouth with enough force to knock him off his feet. Viento tried to rear but Cabrillo never loosened his grip on the halter rope. When the captain-general jerked his gaze up he saw that the priest was even more stunned than he. Paralyzed and speechless for a moment, Father Lezcano gaped at his fist as if trying to discover how it had so abruptly developed such a destructive mind of its own.

  Cabrillo touched his split bottom lip and drew away fingers reddened with blood.

  “Captain-General...” Father Lezcano wheezed in a strangled voice.

  Still sitting where he’d fallen, Cabrillo thrust out the flat of his hand to silence him. He spat the blood from his mouth and ran his tongue over his teeth. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mateo cringing amongst the trees. His gaze found the priest again, and he spat once more. A moment later the captain-general’s shoulders began to agitate at the same cadence of a deep rumbling that was rising in his chest.

  Father Lezcano would never have guessed that he could be more shocked than he’d been by his own incredible action, but it actually seemed that the commander he had just struck, a crime for which he could lawfully be put to death, was starting to chuckle. In fact the laughter grew steadily within Cabrillo until it burst from him so loudly that birds took flight in screeching protest from the branches of a nearby tree.

  Father Lezcano fell to his knees, too stunned to stand, wondering if a temporary madness had claimed the fleet’s master, and watched without a word as Cabrillo gradually regained his breath.

  Mateo stepped from the greenery and cautiously approached them. He knelt courageously beside the priest, yet faced Cabrillo with utmost respect.

  A little wobbly, Cabrillo got to his feet and patted his skittish stallion. He walked up close to the priest and the boy, and took in their sweat-stained clothes, their worn faces. He sighed and said softly, “Will you please forgive me, Father?”

  “Forgive you, sir?” This time Father Lezcano feared that his punch had done lasting damage.

  “Yes. If I had been in my right mind I would have realized that Viento had escaped, and that you were merely retrieving him. Your footprints were made after his, were they not?” He glanced at the braid rope in his hand and then at the horse’s head. “And he is wearing his corral halter rather than his bridle. You were not riding him.” Cabrillo’s bleeding mouth stretched into a painful smile. “If these things, which my mind should have grasped sooner, were not enough to convince me of your innocence,” he said, lifting a hand to massage his aching jaw, “your punch certainly was.”

  Struggling against both wariness and shame, Father Lezcano could make no response.

  “Did he jump the fence?”

  “Yes, Captain-General,” whispered the priest.

  Mateo now roused his own small voice. “A snake as thick as my arm crawled into the corral, sir. Viento killed it, but then he fled. We chased him for miles.”

  “I see.”

  Father Lezcano offered nothing more. He stood awaiting a sentence that surely must come despite the captain-general’s confused request for forgiveness. He was not prepared for Cabrillo’s next command.

  “We will never speak of this again. None of us.”

  “Sir...”

  “Not to anyone, Father.” He glanced intently at his nephew. “No one, Mateo.”

  “No, sir!”

  He held the boy with his eyes, his expression growing firmer. He knew a permanent impression must be made. “If word were to get out, Mateo, I would have no choice but to order this good priest drawn and quartered.”

  “Oh, no, no, sir! Never will a single word about this day come from my lips!”

  Above the boy’s head, Cabrillo cast another weary smile at the priest, revealing that the threat of drawing and quartering had been an idle one. He touched his bleeding mouth again, this time thoughtfully. “I must come up with some explanation to give the men for my fat lip and loose teeth. Perhaps God will forgive such a small lie, eh, Father?”

  Father Lezcano swallowed hard and said in a voice that fell to a mumble. “I believe He will, sir. I thank you, Captain-General Cabrillo.”

  A slight twinkle appeared in Cabrillo’s eyes. “I hope I prove as worthy a student at learning from my beating as you have from yours, Father.”

  Understanding and gratitude swelled until it overwhelmed Father Lezcano, and he turned his face toward the sea to conceal this tide of emotions.

  Cabrillo turned his attention to Viento’s cut and determined with great relief that it was superficial. The birds overhead and the waves on the shore did the talking as he led them slowly back to the camp. Once there, the men and boy groomed and pampered the fine horse together.

  Late that evening, with Cabrillo and Dr. Fuentes watching over the patient, Manuel’s fever broke. When the physician finally finished his ministrations and left the room, Cabrillo remained close by slumped in his chair, his head lowered in prayer.

  With all that had happened during the day and despite the lateness of the hour, he had allowed Mateo to remain in his cabin and help tend to Manuel. In the cooling, still night air the boy looked up and said with quiet earnestness, “Captain-General, I am very happy you did not have Father Lezcano punished a second time.”

  Cabrillo tried to lift his concentration from Manuel, and said through puffy lips that made his words less distinct, “A second time?”

  “He didn’t tell me, sir. Not a word, but I was there, in Santiago, when you first met Father Lezcano and—”

  “Ah, yes. So you were.”

  “Now, he... he is so good to Viento and the other horses, sir.” His words trailed away, and then he muttered, “I wanted to tell you of his kindness to them.”

  “You need not be concerned for our young priest, Mateo. I harbor no ill will toward him.”

  “Even after he—forgive me, sir, but after he struck you?”

  “I was wrong to berate him as I did, Mateo. I was tired, and I was worried about Manuel and frightened for Viento, but I was wrong to take these things out on another. Father Lezcano, perhaps with God’s own help, has shown me that a man should recognize his mistakes even while being punished for them.”

  Amazed, Mateo said, “But you are Captain-Genera
l, sir.”

  “Is a captain-general allowed no mistakes?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. Ever so many as you like.”

  Cabrillo smiled with his eyes. “No, Mateo, I should be allowed no more than other men. Someday you may become an officer yourself, or lead men in other ways. If you or anyone else wishes to be worthy of leadership, he too must strive to face his wrongs honestly and learn from them.”

  Mateo’s brows furrowed deeply as he considered these words, and his mind found a special berth within his memory where he could tuck them away, a place from which he could easily retrieve them in the years ahead. He lifted a smile up to his uncle.

  After resting peacefully for a little while and drinking some weak wine that Cabrillo held to his dry lips, Manuel felt strong enough to turn his head and eye his master’s swollen mouth and purple-green jaw with perplexity.

  In answer to this quizzical gaze, the captain-general cleared his throat and explained with wondrous specifics that he’d gone riding that afternoon and a cursed snake had spooked Viento. Before he could rein Viento in, Cabrillo had been carried into the forest where he collided with a tree branch that slammed into his mouth and knocked him flat on the ground. Thankfully, Father Lezcano and Mateo had come to his assistance and they’d tracked Viento down together before the spooked stallion could do anything worse than cut his shoulder, which was doing fine now.

  Foggy as his mind was, Manuel found it a highly curious tale, considering the horse and rider involved, and he puzzled on it hazily as he drifted into an undisturbed sleep.

  Throughout and after the telling of Cabrillo’s imaginary account, Mateo sat listening from the corner of the cabin, as silent and still as a hare burrowed beneath the shadow of an eagle.

  Chapter 9

  ATTACK

  The strength of Manuel and the two other sickened men returned steadily as the fleet maneuvered mile after well-earned mile against a capricious breeze. And by the time they made a landing at a place they named Cabo de la Cruz, Cabrillo dared to breathe a sigh that celebrated the end of this relatively mild rampage of fever. Since this newest site offered no extraordinary enticements and since no Indians could be spotted, the captain-general decided not to tarry here. On the morning of their departure, Cabrillo stood on the foredeck as the cape slid away behind them and said to his pilot, “I wonder how long the nature of the land, both its fruitfulness and beauty, will continue to improve as we advance northward. See, there, how the beaches are giving way to occasional bluffs of reddish soil, and the trees are becoming wonderfully large, with some groves so thick they hide whatever lies within them. I keep thinking of the giant driftwood we found on Isla San Agustin. How I would love to walk in that forest.”

  “As would I, sir. But, do you imagine that the animals living there are as extraordinarily large as those trees?”

  Cabrillo smiled. “If so, we had better hope they dislike the taste of red meat.”

  As they stood leaning on bent elbows atop the railing, absorbed in their conversation, both men suddenly caught sight of movement up the coastline a moment before their lookout shouted, “Indians in boats, Captain-General! Heading ashore a quarter-league ahead, sir!”

  There were seven canoes now being drawn from the sea and far onto the beach, each craft large enough to carry only two men. Cabrillo watched the Indians as his ships quickly drew nearer, and the natives stared back, their bodies tight with apprehension. They did not flee, but neither did they attempt to set their canoes back in the water.

  “Shall we approach them, sir?” asked Pilot San Remón.

  Cabrillo observed them a moment longer, then shook his head. “No, pilot, regrettably. Not in this unpredictable wind. We must sail on.”

  The men of each culture continued to lock gazes until they’d completely lost sight of one another, and Cabrillo’s curiosity about these people nagged at him as the fleet nosed ahead.

  Not more than fifteen miles out of Cabo de la Cruz, though it felt more like ninety against the wind’s bullying, they passed an island too small to coax them nearer and headed for a significantly larger, more promising harbor that beckoned from the mainland just beyond. They turned to the east and soon, lowering the sounding weights continuously and finding more than adequate depths, entered the mouth of a wide port that seemed to draw them in like an embrace. As always, they approached the anchorage site with care but saw nothing to cause concern. On the contrary, this harbor brought delight to the hearts of every man and boy who looked up from his tasks long enough to take in his surroundings.

  They furled their sails, and at the northeast edge of the bay the command was given to release their anchors. With three crashing splashes the heavy iron weights hit the water, and their ships came to rest. The men readied their decks in high anticipation of going ashore, and even as hands moved and muscles strained the crews let their eyes devour this protected spot in quick, hungry bites.

  Cabrillo’s flat, oversized cap shaded his eyes as they skimmed the features of the beach and hills, his face breaking into a smile. With a deep-throated rumble of satisfaction, he said to San Remón, “I do like the look of that land, pilot. In fact, this place reminds me just a little of Spain. Look at those trees,” he said, pointing to a specific grove. “They resemble the floss-silk trees of home. And the colors blooming, have you ever seen such variety? This soil seems able to produce every imaginable form of vegetation. My fingers are itching to record them all.” He paused, his eyes still absorbing, and then said, “I wonder what breathing life awaits us here.”

  Since no natives were visible Cabrillo had two launches quickly lowered, and he was among the first group of his men to head toward shore. Within the hour most of the rest of the crews had also landed and arrangements were already underway for the captain-general to officially claim the new port. While waiting for a felled tree to be shaped into a cross, and with soldiers forming a moving ring around them, Cabrillo hiked with Father Lezcano, Father Gamboa, Mateo, and Manuel up the slope of a hill overlooking the site chosen for the ceremony. He paused at a height of about sixty feet and turned to survey their port. A mild breeze cooled them where they stood gazing over the sun-kissed sea and coast. Cabrillo’s eyes were shining when he said, “Such a perfect day. It makes the heart swell, does it not?”

  All agreed, the priests giving praise to God.

  After several moments Cabrillo drew his attention closer in to share a conspiratorial glance with Father Lezcano, and then asked his cabin boy, “Do you know what saint’s feast arrives on Sunday, Mateo?”

  “Why no, sir. I do not even know what day this is today.”

  “It is Monday, the seventeenth of September, and you should know that in four days it will be the feast of the apostle San Mateo.” The boy’s face lit up and Cabrillo satisfied his hopes by saying, “Fathers Gamboa and Lezcano believe it would only be right to name this harbor after him.”

  “Truly, sir? It will be called San Mateo?”

  “Truly, and you must remember everything about it so you can tell your family its characteristics when we return home.”

  “Oh, I will, sir!”

  “Now, off with you. The ceremony is about to begin.”

  The rite of possession varied little from those that had come before, but anyone who happened to glance at Mateo during the ritual could read from his glowing face that this particular occasion would be recalled many times over the course of his life.

  With the final words spoken and the cross resting securely on the very spot where Cabrillo had stood not long before, he sent the water gatherers out on their search and had the horses brought ashore. Upon the scouting party’s successful return he allowed himself the pleasure of gathering a small company together intent on striking a different path from which to investigate the interior. As armaments and small packs were being lifted to shoulders Manuel approached his commander and asked, “Captain-General, will you allow me to come with you?”

  Cabrillo could see that the thought of being le
ft behind was painful to his former slave and newest sailor, but he said, “Less than a week ago you lay at death’s gate, Manuel.”

  “Yes, sir, but it would make me stronger to walk awhile.”

  “I have noticed over the last few days,” Cabrillo said, considering, “that you have been eating enough for two men. You have gained back a little of the flesh the fever stole. Perhaps it would do you good to stretch your legs a bit. Very well, but carry nothing heavier than a shield, and if you start to tire return to camp at once.”

  “At once, sir,” Manuel promised, letting his expression reveal how heartbreaking it would be to hold him to such a vow. Cabrillo cast him a glare affirming his intention to do just that, and then let it pass to set the party in motion.

  They had advanced perhaps a mile and a half northeastward when Manuel slowly crouched down ahead of Cabrillo and said with hushed excitement, “Captain-General, strange animals straight ahead.”

  They all hunched lower as word was passed back along the line, and they inched forward to scan the grassy savanna until they’d each spied the alien creatures. “Vargas,” Cabrillo called softly over his shoulder to the sergeant-major, known for his keen far-sightedness, “can you guess what they are?”

  “From this distance, sir, they look something like the long-necked sheep of Peru, except for those dark, pronged horns.”

  “Yes, and their different coloring.” To Cabrillo, the gleaming white of their rumps and bellies handsomely set off their rich tan backs and black throats and noses. “Come, we must get closer.”

  Creeping nearer, however, was not quite as readily accomplished as he had hoped. The moment the men stepped into the open the herd of at least a hundred animals skittered several yards farther away and continued to show a frustrating talent for maintaining a distance of just beyond crossbow range. After several more increasingly exasperating attempts to reduce the expanse between them, Cabrillo said, “Perhaps we can approach them with more success from horseback.”