He then turned to the boys. “Now, her children will also be baptized,” he said, and at Taya’s signal the boys knelt down beside her and followed her quiet example as the priest performed the rite twice more. He named the boys Marcos and Lucas, after the two disciples.
When the rite had concluded, Father Gamboa gestured for them to stand, smiled, and kept his eyes on Taya as he said loudly to the crowd, “By the blessings they have just received, all darkness has been removed from Sarah, whom you call Taya, and her sons. From this day forward they will be welcomed and honored among you. They will be taught many things, and they will show you the love of God by their kindness and goodness. In this way they will bring new light to your people.”
Cabrillo had been watching Taya intently, had seen the tears form as she comprehended the priest’s words, had sensed the depth of her elation that such things could be true, and he was moved by the desperation of her belief. When Father Gamboa saw the same emotions light her young face, his words dwindled. She smiled tenderly at the two priests, and her radiant face freed Father Gamboa’s tongue enough to say, “May God always protect you, Sarah.”
As the Chumash looked on uncertainly Taya took Father Gamboa’s hand, then Father Lezcano’s, and held them briefly to each cheek. She turned a gaze of profound appreciation toward Cabrillo, but before he could approach where she stood Matipuyaut strode forward and lightly took hold of her shoulders, studying her face as if for the first time. He glanced from the priests to Cabrillo, and back to his daughter, and gradually allowed his skepticism to be replaced by relieved acceptance. When he at last embraced her, his two small grandsons tentatively wrapped their arms around his legs. Soft exhales rose from the onlookers, and soon Taya and her boys were being hugged and greeted by many villagers. A few of the more daring sailors inched closer and would have joined in the clutching if Vargas hadn’t growled them back to where they belonged.
Throughout the ritual Kipomo had kept a slight distance, and as the crowd made its way down the hillside he drew closer to and lingered at the base of the cross. When he was at last alone he reached out and touched the wood, gazed up at the sky, and softly sang a waving chant that was carried away by the wind. Glancing back up the hill, Father Lezcano saw the shaman’s actions but could only guess his prayer’s intentions.
It turned out that Cabrillo was among the last to offer his good wishes to Taya, and these congratulations were cut short by her father requesting his company. So he left her with a bow and walked with Matipuyaut toward the feasting grounds.
Well over an hour earlier Cabrillo had given the order for a dozen of his men to fish for the meal that was to follow the ceremonies. From all reports and from what he’d seen, no sooner had the sailors begun to set their hooks and cast their nets than some of the local men had pushed their canoes into the water and impressed the men of the fleet by displaying great skill in their own food-gathering techniques. Now, as the crowd made its way to a designated area of the beach, the smell of fish roasting on fire-heated rocks buried beneath the sand enticed the gatherers into close quarters to await the servers. Knowing it would be foolish to rely too heavily on so young and unproven an accord, the officers and boatswains locked attentive eyes upon their own men as well as the islanders and skillfully restricted the mingling between the two groups.
Not surprisingly, the horses were a powerful attraction to the natives, yet Cabrillo’s men kept their equestrian treasures well guarded by strictly following the order to allow no more than two Indians at a time to approach and pet them. Young Mateo had been given the esteemed responsibility of helping watch over Viento, and this he did with the gravest dedication. When the feasting began and increased in liveliness as the few musicians of the fleet brought out their pipes and strings, Cabrillo’s desire to check on Viento and the other horses grew. Promising to return shortly, he parted from Matipuyaut and made his way to the two crudely fashioned horse pens his men had hastily thrown together using little more than driftwood and boulders. It was beside Viento’s pen that Taya and her twins found him, but before the first word could be exchanged between them, Father Lezcano appeared at his commander’s side.
Taya turned a tender expression toward the priest, her appreciation to him and Father Gamboa still evident, but when she again faced Cabrillo she revealed an even stronger emotion. With hands and voice, she said, “You have given me and my sons a new life, a life with goodness. My people will love them now. What can I do to please you, Cabrillo?”
“Learn about our God from Father Lezcano,” he replied. “Teach your sons and your people.”
“This I will do,” she promised and took a step closer. “Is there nothing more?”
With her so close, so undeniably and overpoweringly appealing, Cabrillo needed a breath before saying, “Nothing more.” Her gaze fell in disappointment, so he hurried to add, “Today is for you and your sons, to bring you peace and happiness. Do what will bring you joy.”
Before she could relay what might have made her happy, one of her boys tugged on her hand, shyly pointed to the horses, and asked, “Can we touch them, mother?”
Cabrillo chuckled at the child’s wish, one he too would have made to capture the uniqueness of this day. “Yes, you shall all touch them.”
He led the family to Luna’s side and, with Mateo attending to her, held the boys up one at a time to pet her neck. Taya’s hand joined theirs, and at the first touch she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent and feel of this extraordinary animal. When her eyes opened they turned their glow upon Cabrillo. He smiled and asked, “Would you like to sit on her?”
Taya paused and asked, “Is she a mother?”
“She has delivered three young ones.”
Finding comfort in this answer, reassured by the kindred nature of their positions, Taya moved to stand before the mare, looked into her eyes, and silently and respectfully asked permission. Only then did she say, “Yes.”
Luna was led outside the corral, and it took little effort for Cabrillo to lift Taya’s lithe form up and set her upon the smooth back. At this connection with the horse’s body, Taya said, “So strong,” in hushed wonder and held very still. Her sons, now shifting from side to side with excitement, were picked up, placed behind their mother, and each was shown how to wrap his arms around the waist in front of him. A small group of the feasters, all but forgotten by those near the mare, raised an approving buzz at the sight of their newly reclaimed family seated atop the horse. Cabrillo took the reins from Mateo as Taya and her boys clung tightly to their holds, and he walked the mare in a small oval with his nephew strolling at Luna’s side. The exhilarated grins of the riders conveyed their feelings better than any words, and few who looked on could keep from smiling themselves. One lap of the oval was followed by three more and, as the riders grew more accustomed to the experience, each circuit was enjoyed more than the one before it.
As Cabrillo led them back toward the pen for the last time, a Chumash youth trotted up a little too close to Luna’s rear, and she shot a hind foot out in his direction. Before any warning could have saved him from an injurious kick, the boy leaped agilely out of her range and saved himself from anything worse than a few moments of embarrassment amid the laughter from those near the scene. The mare had sidled slightly to recover from the kick but, again to Cabrillo’s relief, Taya and her sons managed to hang on without mishap and seemingly without much effort. Mateo stared from the three riders to Cabrillo in astonishment, saying, “Why, sir, they ride almost as good as caballeros, and they have never ridden before.”
Taya understood Mateo’s tone and expression if not his words, and she sat a little taller upon the horse.
Sooner than they would have wished, Cabrillo brought the mare to the corral railing and Taya and her boys were lifted to the sand. All three thanked the mare with words and pats, and they left the pen walking at Cabrillo’s side. When they reached Father Lezcano, the captain-general said, “I must talk with Matipuyaut, Father
. Will you remain with this family and begin their instruction?”
“Gladly, sir.”
Cabrillo bowed to Taya and went in search of his host.
In minutes the two commanders were sitting upon a long woven mat where Matipuyaut continued to give every indication that his ride aboard Viento had planted the fertile seeds of trust between them. They took their time as they talked and ate, relishing the bounty of the island, and the chief accepted with mixed reactions the samples of spices Cabrillo had had brought from the ship. When Matipuyaut peeled a roasted gulls egg and allowed Cabrillo to sprinkle it with a touch of black pepper, he took a bite and his face puckered with aversion. At his first taste of crushed cloves, however, he rolled it around on his tongue and nodded in fascinated approval. As if the food were unlocking reserves of promise seldom made available to a visitor, each new flavor seemed to increase Matipuyaut’s comfort with Cabrillo. Even so, he remained sharply observant of every strange nuance being revealed.
When they’d finished their extensive meal, the two leaders called forth their trade goods and began to barter. Prices had more or less been established the day before and, again utilizing Father Lezcano’s interpreting skills, the exchanges proceeded smoothly. When the trading of material goods concluded, information again became the chosen item of exchange. The ship’s scribe sat not far from Cabrillo’s elbow, recording what passed between the men just as he’d recorded the flow of trade goods. Captain Ferrelo, who had been allowed ashore to join them temporarily, sat beside Father Lezcano and attended closely to all that was signed and said.
Though the chief knew of no location where significant amounts of gold could be found, he had heard many times of a great river far up the mainland coast. He explained that neither he nor his islanders had traveled as far as this river. Since it was obvious to Cabrillo that these Chumash were men of the sea he questioned the chief at length about the winds and the tides that he might encounter as he sailed toward China. Captain Ferrelo was also encouraged to question the chief, and he did so at such a rate that the scribe could barely keep his quill scribbling fast enough to record the details of their discussion. The captain-general occasionally took a moment to scan what had been written and to add a note or two of his own.
All too soon for his liking, Cabrillo realized that the hour had come for his landing party to return to the ships. He knew that the men still aboard needed a respite as badly as his horses had, and it was nearly time for the next watch to be relieved. Even the crew of the San Miguel, prior criminals and ruffians though they were, had been well behaved enough lately to earn a few hours away from their habitual confines. So Cabrillo bid farewell to Matipuyaut and was among the first of the feasted sailors to be rowed from the island, leaving Father Lezcano behind to act as one of the interpreters, to teach Taya, and to help the grooms watch over the horses. Captain Ferrelo followed his commander’s example and soon reboarded La Victoria, leaving the shore parties under the command of Pilot San Remón, Vargas, and other thoughtfully chosen officers until Captain Correa could land.
Standing at the taffrail of his upper stern deck, Cabrillo gazed beyond the mouth of the harbor at the sky and the sea as he listened to a singing wind. How long? How long will it blow? This morning had done much to initiate ties with the islanders and heighten the promise of a relatively calm stay, but remaining here kept them away from their goal. They needed to conquer the coast with all haste, and haste was being denied them. Curse this devilish wind!
Then, there was the girl. She could too easily become an excuse to loiter here. Cabrillo was honest enough with himself to admit his attraction, and to know it should not be allowed to develop into more than that. And what about his men? They had been allowed ashore but ordered under threats of the harshest penalties to remain on the beach and within sight of the ships. And they had been strictly forbidden from interacting with the island’s women. Their long restrained sexual hunger must be kept from igniting and resulting in actions that extended well beyond the hospitable offerings of the Chumash leader, or beyond the tolerance of the fleet’s commander. Cabrillo and the other officers accepted the challenge of maintaining a balance between allowing their men enough freedom to remain hard-working and loyal yet restricting the opportunities that might entice disobedience. Beyond the fleet’s leaders, the Chumash men of this island were powerfully built and vigilantly watchful, adding another influential deterrent to philandering.
Turning back toward shore, Cabrillo watched the outwardly peaceful scene of his men eating amongst the natives. Vargas and his guards stood in relaxed poses around the gathering, as did several Chumash warriors. So far, so good, but it might take little to stir contention.
As if to taunt him, a strong breeze found its way into the harbor and ruffled his long, curly hair. Yes, I feel you, but you will not last forever.
Three days aged into four and then seven, and Cabrillo began to pace the deck even when not on watch; his patience with the wind now all but spent. Two days earlier, just after most of them had celebrated Mass ashore, one of the usually well-behaved hands of La Victoria had been sent in chains to the San Miguel for a thankfully interrupted tryst with one of the Indian woman. Apologies, assurances, and trade goods were offered in an attempt to soothe the islanders, particularly the woman’s husband, but these atonements proved to be only moderately effectively. Since then, shore leaves had been severely restricted, and Cabrillo knew that the innocent sailors felt their unearned confinements acutely. He and his officers kept them busy cleaning, repairing, and stocking, but the restlessness was growing.
He had also minimized his own visits to the island and had allowed Taya and her boys to come to the ship only once, and Father Lezcano was always with them. Matipuyaut came to each of the ships once and to the San Salvador twice, observing and questioning the purpose and workings of guns, riggings, cooking devices, nautical tools, and armaments until he was satisfied at last. Or so Cabrillo thought.
On the last visit, just as Matipuyaut was about to retake his canoe, Master Uribe sent a man aloft to grease the mainmast. The chief fastened his gaze on the sailor scaling the rigging with the agility of a spider climbing its webbing and proclaimed, “I wish to climb up.”
Cabrillo’s heart sank. Though he didn’t surrender without a gallant effort, no amount of cajoling or persuading could change Matipuyaut’s mind without offense. The determined chief even refused to wear a safety line. The only consolation allowed Cabrillo, and upon this he insisted, was that two sailors would accompany Matipuyaut as he climbed. Silently praying as he watched the first and every other grasp and foothold, the captain-general’s stomach knotted but he managed to keep his face blank. When Matipuyaut made it to the crow’s nest successfully more than a few sailors breathed sighs of relief. Cabrillo waited with hard fought patience for what he considered a gracious allotment of time and then invited the chief to rejoin him on deck, but it took a great deal more coaxing to convince the chief to finally leave his lofty vantage point and descend. When the chief once again planted his feet upon the San Salvador’s solid planking, Cabrillo ushered him politely to his canoe, immediately went to his cabin, filled and lifted a goblet of sherry to acknowledge the chief’s survival, and kept his door closed for fifteen minutes of rare and much needed quiet that he shared only with his glass.
During the early evening of the seventh day in Isla de Posesión’s harbor, Father Lezcano found Cabrillo and his pilot with their heads bent over several charts. He waited for a pause in their calculations and suppositions and then asked, “Do you intend to go ashore tomorrow, sir? If so, I would like to go along.”
“Of course, Father. Tomorrow,” he sighed broodingly. “We will have been anchored here twice as long as at any stop of our voyage.” He glanced at the priest. “Can you offer a special prayer, something that will remind God of our need?”
“I have been praying most fervently, sir,” he said gently, “in six languages. Perhaps if you and I were to pray together for a
while...?”
“Willingly. Say, some of Ignacio’s prayers might be best. He is a Basque, is he not? He must have sympathies for men of the sea. There just might be something in his words that yield a little extra grace for us sailors.”
Father Lezcano did not waste his breath muttering warnings about such a presumption. “Possibly so, sir. I brought his writings with me.”
“Very well. Pilot, if you do not mind us continuing with the charts later...?”
“Of course not, sir.”
Just as Pilot San Remón was about to withdraw, Cabrillo added pointedly, “Another voice surely would do no harm, eh, Father?” With little choice and no real reluctance, San Remón unloaded the rolled charts he’d just collected and went down on his knees between his commander and his priest. Their heads bowed low and Father Lezcano started reading aloud from the book in his hands. Later, they uttered together words of devotion that each had learned as young children. After the last prayers had been recited, Cabrillo rose and went to command his watch with a hopeful heart.
Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon Page 25
