Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon

by Christine Echeverria Bender

  Before Cabrillo could form a response, the young man on the chief’s left slowly crouched down and withdrew a spear from the sand at his feet.

  Sensing responding movements in his own men, Cabrillo halted any activity behind him by commanding distinctly, “Do not move.”

  The chief stilled his son with a slight jerk of his hand, and the young man warily returned the wooden spear to the ground.

  For several breaths the tension stretched tight as a straining muscle. Then the island leader took a single step forward and signed, “Have you joined with our enemies to war against us?”

  “No.” Cabrillo signed for himself, his gesture conveying vehement denial.

  “Why have you come here?”

  “My ships must wait in the harbor until the wind lessens.”

  The chief considered this and then asked, “What do you want of us while you are here?”

  Cabrillo released a breath he hadn’t meant to hold. “We will trade for food and water.”

  After pausing again, the chief asked, “How long will you stay?”

  “A few days, only until the wind changes. We bring many gifts and goods to trade.” Acting on instinct, Cabrillo added, “While we are here we will help protect you from your enemies.”

  “Your men will help protect us?”

  “Yes, if you will share this harbor.”

  Perhaps because they perceived a reduction in the misgivings of their leader, discontented mutterings began to rise from his warriors. He silenced them by raising his hand and sweeping it in a wide arc above their heads. When the only thing still rumbling was the wind, the chief announced gravely, “I am called Matipuyaut.”

  Cabrillo bowed, repeated the name, and said, “I am called Cabrillo.”

  “Your name is known to me.” The Indian leader eyed him as he reached his decision. “If you do not bring war to our island, Cabrillo, you may take shelter here.”

  Again Cabrillo bowed, this time with gratitude.

  Many of Matipuyaut’s men glowered with displeasure but he ignored them and let his glance wander to Manuel. With a note of admiration, he said, “We have also heard of your black man who possesses great...” Here, Father Lezcano faltered as he attempted to translate as precisely as he dared, “...potency. Now that my eyes have seen him, it is easier to believe what the storytellers said of his abilities.” The speculating gazes of the warriors rested a little too heavily on Manuel for his comfort.

  In a voice that warned even as it sought understanding, Matipuyaut said, “So that my people do not fear your coming, your men should stay on the water tonight. At sunrise I will come to talk with you again.”

  “My men will sleep on the ships, Matipuyaut,” Cabrillo promised. Before turning away, he unfastened a silver clasp in the shape of an encircled cross from the neck of his cape. He strode smoothly forward until he had closed half the space to Matipuyaut and held out a hand bearing his brooch.

  The chief’s pensive expression told Cabrillo he understood that by accepting the gift he would be taking his first step into a new trade relationship. He would also be answering something akin to a diplomatic dare. The slightest flicker of what might have been amusement illuminated the chief’s face.

  Signaling for his men to remain where they were, Matipuyaut walked up to the bearded man from the sea and solemnly received his offering. The clasp transferred from one strong hand to the other, and as their eyes met again Cabrillo sensed that he and the chief had gained a slight but valuable understanding of the other’s tenuous position as the leader of his people.

  Gently, Cabrillo and his men withdrew. They returned to his ship bone-tired and grateful for having been granted even a short reprieve from their long day’s labors against the elements. Later that evening as the captain-general wandered the stern deck he noticed how unrelentingly Vargas stared at the beach. His sergeant major didn’t give up his surveillance until the last of the Indians had climbed the hill that led to their village and disappeared from his sight.

  Chapter 16

  TAYA

  Throughout the night the wind showed no willingness to relent, and with the breaking of day the seamen renewed their gratitude for the harbor that kept them shielded from its probing reach. As light spread, Cabrillo stood upon his habitual plank at the railing, the detachment of men chosen and the launch standing by. He waited only for the island chief’s entourage just now emerging from the protection of the dune and walking to the open beach. Wasting no more time, he took to his boat, now carrying no fewer armaments but many more trade goods. The two captains again remained aboard their respective ships, with their guns made ready for action.

  Even before setting foot ashore Cabrillo sensed a lightening of tensions among the islanders, and it continued to ease reassuringly as the two leaders came together for their first attempts at communication and trade. Within minutes most of the natives were kneeling or sitting in the sand near Cabrillo and Father Lezcano, watching with fascination as goods were brought from the chest and bargaining advanced in rounds. Though both men did a fairly admirable job of concealing it, Cabrillo soon realized that he was enjoying the bartering session as much as Matipuyaut. As promises of fresh water, seal meat, and fish, and immediately delivered furs, stone bowls, and tools piled up for the captain-general, the contents of his large chest steadily dwindled away.

  Glancing from the empty chest at last, he saw a fleeting look of desire cross Matipuyaut’s face. He looked again at the wooden box, momentarily confused, and then smiled for the first time since their dealings started. He signed to the chief, “The chest is for you,” and handed it to him.

  At this boon, the chief broke out a smile of his own.

  Perhaps the most powerful breakthrough came an hour or so after the official trading had ended. They had spoken of other tribes, friendly and otherwise, and Matipuyaut had asked many questions about Cabrillo’s people, his voyage, and his home far away. The subject had turned to weaponry when Cabrillo was suddenly inspired to present Matipuyaut with an unplanned but well-chosen gift. From his own belt, the captain-general withdrew an eight-inch knife along with its own small leather scabbard. When he passed it to Matipuyaut with a gesture asking him to accept it, the chief let out an, “Auhh,” and raised appreciative eyes. But almost immediately his lips pursed thoughtfully, and Cabrillo guessed that he was puzzling over how best to repay such a gift. After a moment or two his features cleared and he said, “Chief Cabrillo, come to my village, to my house. You may bring,” he scanned the gathered sailors and raised six fingers, “six men.”

  Cabrillo stared lingeringly at the thirty or so braves near Matipuyaut and then said, “Ten men.”

  Matipuyaut agreed.

  This settled, Cabrillo offered a bow and momentarily left the chief to speak with his officers. It was almost noon and the maintenance on the ships must commence at once. Giving the necessary orders, he sent a few men back to their respective ships to set things in motion. He then returned to Matipuyaut, who led him toward the path that meandered up to the village, trailed by Manuel, Vargas, four of his soldiers carrying crossbows against their backs, and two additional men with short swords swaying from their belts and long bows and quivers resting between their shoulder blades. The slim remainder of the landing party was to remain on the beach and watch over the returning launches. All of the native warriors had by now retrieved their shallowly buried spears and fallen in behind Cabrillo’s guard.

  Just beyond the elongated sand dune the trail turned sharply to the right and began to rise, passing a rocky cistern fed by a cascade that sang in crystallized tones as they climbed. Listening to the sweet music, Cabrillo wondered how many such water sources existed on the island, giving life as well as pleasure to those who drew near. The harsher sounds of saws and hammers reached him from the ships, and these too were comforting.

  By the time they’d scaled the precipitous path to a point high above the source of the small waterfall, Cabrillo was sweating heavily and trying to
restrain the volume of his breathing. He felt like ages had passed since he’d last trekked uphill. Glancing ahead and then back he saw that his fellow sailors were panting and sweating as profusely as he, but the Indians, even the older Matipuyaut, seemed no more taxed by the climb than a sea lion would be by a dip in the waves.

  When the path finally leveled out and the aching in his leg muscles eased, Cabrillo heard one of his rowers mutter between gulps of air, “Sailors was never meant to scale hills steep as this. Give me rigging, any day.” A quick snarl from Vargas silenced the speaker.

  Now that they’d reached open ground the Indians spread out around the visitors, watchful and wary. Ahead Cabrillo could see that the single village he’d imagined, just as with the islands, was in reality two smaller ones. As they drew near the more substantial of these and the warriors gathered tighter around them, Cabrillo noticed Vargas’ growing uneasiness. His sergeant major finally mumbled, “I do not like it, sir. Too many of them.”

  Just as softly, Cabrillo said, “We are beyond help now. Breathe easy and keep moving.”

  Matipuyaut led the group up to the most sizeable of the thatched, dome-shaped houses, and ushered Cabrillo and his men through its rectangular entrance. At least a dozen pairs of eyes, belonging to women and children who’d obviously been warned of their arrival and quickly shifted to the outside wall, stared with varying degrees of fear at the guests. One small boy whimpered but was instantly hushed.

  The chief motioned Cabrillo’s delegation to be seated and then issued brief orders to his wives. Two of the women eased behind the men and out of the house to fulfill the chief’s errand. In an effort to avoid offending his host by taking too direct an interest in his family, Cabrillo turned his concentration toward the nonhuman contents of the home.

  The interior must have measured fifty feet in diameter and was arranged around a central cooking fire with a smoke hole positioned high above it. Tightly woven mats as well as sea lion and otter skins covered the floors. The arcing wall was framed with whalebones and driftwood, and against it twenty or so raised beds were spaced evenly apart and covered with various furs. On either side of the largest bed, which undoubtedly belonged to Matipuyaut, large woven screens hung suspended from the ceiling to form a semi-private chamber. Baskets of many sizes and shapes, finely decorated with dark geometric patterns, rested near the beds or hung from the poles supporting the walls. A sizeable stone cooking bowl, stacks of abalone and stone bowls, and several other implements were stacked on a raised stone slab near the fire. Also resting beside the firestone was a huge oblong mortar that cradled its grinding pestle.

  The undisputable head of this household seated himself upon furs as his two sons and several of his men settled around him. He paused and watched Cabrillo in a relaxed manner that communicated his intention to await something. After several moments had crawled by Cabrillo was about to speak when a short Chumash man in elaborate body paint and head feathers entered and took a place beside the chief, which Matipuyaut’s son politely relinquished. The newcomer piercingly gazed upon the leader of the strangers as if attempting to extract hidden motives. His scrutiny then turned upon Father Lezcano, who disarmed him with a sudden and ostensibly innocent smile.

  Matipuyaut introduced the man by saying with respect, “This is our alchuklash, our shaman. He is called Kipomo.”

  Cabrillo offered his own name and that of his priest and received only a speculative glare in return.

  The chief then drew out a stone pipe measuring four inches in length and three-quarters in diameter, tapered and fluted at one end. With ceremonial gravity the chief filled the pipe with a mixture of tobacco and a plant unfamiliar to Cabrillo. A glance from Matipuyaut toward one of his wives brought her to the fire where she lit a twig, and then demurely brought it to the chief. He kindled the pipe and offered the stem to the captain-general.

  Although Cabrillo had smoked tobacco after his young arrival in Mexico, and once or twice since then, he’d never been won over by the activity. Tobacco made his throat burn and the smell was not overly pleasant. Worst of all it dulled his sense of taste, which he valued high enough to protect. Now, caught in the hospitality of a host upon whom his ships’ sanctuary depended, he accepted the pipe with as much grace as he could marshal. Nodding at the chief in gratitude, he put the pipe to his lips and inhaled a mouthful of smoke that tasted markedly more pungent than any previously known to his tongue. There was an unusual bitterness and sweetness mixed with the tobacco flavor, and the combination scratched at the back of his gullet so roughly it elicited one short, quickly swallowed cough. He cleared his throat to ease the tickle, took a second, smaller puff with more success, and handed the pipe back to Matipuyaut. The chief passed it to Kipomo, who inhaled languorously, and then conveyed the pipe to Matipuyaut’s sons. Whatever ingredients the smoke contained, they hit Cabrillo’s empty stomach like a hot stone in a cooking pot and set off a burst of hunger. He shifted noisily to muffle his grumbling stomach.

  The sudden sound of muttering from his men and a sharp intake of breath from Father Lezcano made Cabrillo dart a glance in the same direction that his men were staring. Just inside the doorway stood three young women, naked except for their short two-piece skirts and adornments. Most gazes were pinned to the female closest to the entrance, and Cabrillo understood why.

  An astuteness, a potency was there, which by itself would have set her apart from her peers. But she also possessed a heightened beauty in her proud face and body. She stood with her chin held high and her eyes aimed directly, perhaps challengingly at Matipuyaut rather than shyly at the floor. She appeared to be a few years older than the others, and her mature breasts and hips made the same features of the other two girls look disappointingly unripe. Her hair hung loose and shining to just below her thin belt. Her legs were flawlessly sculpted. Cabrillo’s gaze rose from her feet and settled upon the woven chords of a necklace that came together between her collarbones to suspend a single strand, and upon this thread small birds carved from abalone shells trailed down between her full breasts and shimmered against the richness of her skin.

  At the sight of her, no restraint dictated by diplomacy could hide the angry glare that darkened Matipuyaut’s face or the distaste that pinched Kipomo’s. The chief barked a reprimand at the older women who’d been sent out at the chief’s bidding only to return with a highly disagreeable choice. The offending wife tried to apologize but Matipuyaut had already aimed his displeasure back at the younger woman. One biting word that Cabrillo did not comprehend was snapped at her, but she did not move. A staring battle, his fiery, the girl’s defiant, lasted only a moment before the chief seemed to recall his duty to his visitors. He calmed his features somewhat and ventured to recapture a less stormy frame of mind.

  Father Lezcano interpreted aloud, although by now Cabrillo could understand the Indian signs nearly as well as his priest as Matipuyaut explained, “These women have been brought here to serve Chief Cabrillo during his stay with us. To show my appreciation for his fine weapon, he may choose one or all of them.”

  “Good Matipuyaut,” Cabrillo tried with great solemnity but little hope, “my knife was given in friendship. It is not my wish to deprive you of your women. I have a woman, a wife in my land.”

  Matipuyaut considered this before asking, “Is your land far away?”

  “Yes, far,” Cabrillo responded honestly before recognizing his own entrapment.

  “A woman who is far away can not care for her man. These women are not my wives so you do not deprive me of them. Just as the knife, they are given in friendship. They are young and strong, and will serve you well. They are the finest gifts I have to offer, Chief Cabrillo.”

  There it was, the potential for affronting his host’s honor and authority, a generous offer set like a snare by which a single misstep could entangle them all. Cabrillo cursed inwardly, dreading what trouble such an arrangement, for the second time, might encourage among his men. They’d been without women for too man
y months. Trying to conceive some way to keep from wronging either Matipuyaut or his own men, Cabrillo eyed the women. As he sought a solution, he realized that Father Lezcano hadn’t attempted to interfere this time. Perhaps he could be of some help, even if only to give Cabrillo more time to think.

  “Father Lezcano, please ask Matipuyaut to tell me something about the women.”

  A bit stiffly the priest complied, and the chief seemed unperturbed as he gestured toward the young girls, “These two were born to families of our nobles who belong to the Brotherhood-of-the-Canoes. They are hard workers and have been trained to be faithful and modest.”

  “And this one?” Cabrillo asked, referring to the woman who Matipuyaut was clearly trying to avoid mentioning.

  Another scowl appeared as he paused, and then admitted to the surprise of the sailors, “This is one of my daughters, but she is a bad woman. She has brought shame to her people. She is unworthy of Chief Cabrillo and should not have come.”

  Fascinated anew, Cabrillo’s men began muttering amongst themselves until Vargas hushed them with one quietly hissed, “Silence, you swine!”

  Even under the burden of insults and gawking, the girl neither spoke nor moved any part of her body except her eyes, and these now locked on Cabrillo. They were probing, measuring.

  Cabrillo asked, “How has she shamed her people?”

  Matipuyaut declared without hesitation, “She is the mother of two children in one birth.” The heads of the other females in the room lowered, but not that of the guilty woman. Kipomo glared his condemnation as the chief went on. “Such a curse can be forgiven if one child or both are killed before their first breaths are drawn, but this woman and her husband refused to honor our ways. They even refused to obey the command of Kipomo. By sparing their offspring, they risked the welfare of all of our people. Three years have now passed and both children still live, so the curse still lives. It has already taken the life of her husband. For the last year she has cared for her unlucky children alone.”