Run on, caravel,
Run down the parallel,
And we’ll strike land.
As we cleared the bay and watched the towering Chair of Paita slowly diminish in the distance, a school of whales appeared and sported between the ships. One huge bull, twice the size of the Santa Ysabel, dived beneath her stern, and we held our breaths for fear he might rise suddenly to the surface and strike us as we sailed three cables’ lengths ahead. He roared up, spouting a vast column of spray, and Father Juan tried to appease his wrath by making the sign of the cross at him, and chanting: ‘O ye whales, bless ye the Lord!’, while the Chief Pilot, sensible of our danger, dissuaded Manuel Lopez the Captain of Artillery from firing a gun at the malicious monster, as his wife urged him to do. The whale followed us for a matter of two leagues after his companions had made off northward, and we sighted no other during all the time we were at sea; they are uncommon in these latitudes, preferring cold water to warm.
For the remainder of that day we were all in good spirits. The fair breeze that had carried us up the coast was still blowing; but on our voyage to Paita we had sailed north of the parallel along which it was intended to run; and now steering south-west, we had the wind abeam and made far slower progress.
At the General’s order the ship’s company had fasted since midnight, and mass was now celebrated; we were all much affected by the solemnity of the occasion—wondering what might lie before us, and musing on our families and friends whom we might never see again. The Vicar preached an eloquent sermon, the gist of which I entered in my journal while it was still fresh in my mind. He said that the purpose of our expedition was to implant the Faith in the isles of the South Sea; that whatever worldly glory or advantage might accrue to us in the single performance of this task was only adventitious. Thus harvesters who reaped a field might chance upon a hare lurking in the patch that remained in the middle, and kill it with a lucky sickle-cast; likewise, the warrior Saint George, riding forth from Lebanon one day to preach the gospel to the infidels, chanced to encounter a fierce dragon which he pierced with his trusty lance, as a by-blow of his missionary zeal.
He then told us a story, for the truth of which he vouched, how at Tumbes—not many leagues hence, where Pizarro landed and the first place, after Panama, that our people settled on the mainland—a priest went ashore, crucifix in hand, while ten thousand Indians stood gaping. As he set foot on the beach, two great lions issued from the woods and when he laid the cross gently on their backs they at once fell down and worshipped it. Moreover, two great tigers following them did the same, and by this sign gave the Indians knowledge of the excellency of our Christian faith, which they thereupon embraced one and all.
‘This priest,’ he continued, ‘was a man of more than ordinary holiness, so much so that he kept his eyes always fixed on the sky, as if the better to behold God’s glory; and thus he avoided looking at the women of that coast who went about naked. My brethren, faith to work miracles with the help of God—as in the matter of the lions and tigers—depends upon the strictest avoidance of carnal temptation. One day, the queen of a neighbouring tribe came to entice this saintly priest. She was uncommonly white-skinned, with hair like tow, so that you might have taken her for a German, and of most voluptuous shape. She approached him stark naked, except for the jewels about her neck and wrists, and said to him: “Father, I am a queen and have come to greet you. Do you like what you perceive?” Gazing up at the sky, he answered innocently: “Daughter, I like it well enough.” Said she: “I am all for your enjoyment, if you would accept my love.” The holy man trembled and bade her be gone, saying that his love was for God alone and so should hers be also; but she would not listen, and amorously wound her limbs about him. Then, still looking heavenwards, he perceived a prodigious great striped serpent in a tree and, as he cast the temptress off, it reached down and twined its coils around her waist, and made to strangle her. Yet by God’s infinite mercy, she repented of her sins in good time to pour out a sincere confession of evil-living, though the monster had already half engulfed her, and died sweetly in the Faith.’
From this instructive tale it was but a step to the temptations that might befall us on our long and tedious journey, owing to the presence in the ships of many feather-headed females. ‘I have heard it said,’ Father Juan went on, with a shake of his bony forefinger, ‘that the rhythmic rolling of a ship, once the stomach has accustomed itself to the motion, exercises a diabolical spell upon women, stimulating and inflaming their lechery; which is the reason why the heathen of old pictured their Goddess of Lust as emerging from the sea-foam. Now, the love of a man for a woman, my sons, is a thing that is natural; but none should look upon a woman save with the eyes of a brother, unless she be wedded to him with the blessing of the Church. For your souls’ sake, therefore, beware lest you stumble and perish!
‘As the blessed Saint Augustine writes: “If bodies please you, praise God and turn your love for them back upon your Maker, lest by enjoyment of such things as please you, you cause displeasure…. Stand by Him, and you shall be at rest. Whither go you in rough ways? Whither, I say? The good that you love is from Hell and can become good and pleasant only by His mediation. Since anything created by Him that is not loved as He designs is not rightly loved, rightly it will turn bitter in your mouths if you taste of it otherwise.” Therefore, my sons, flee from the deadly sin of fornication, and from the still deadlier sin of adultery! If your flesh be proud, abase it by abstinence; be sparing with meat and wine; for the Seven Vices dance in a ring together and Lechery holds her sweetheart Gluttony by the right hand.’
He spoke much more in the same strain, to which the younger soldiers listened devoutly, but the veterans with ill-concealed impatience. The cook-room fires were burning fiercely behind their windbreaks and the large copper cauldrons already seethed with a rich stew of Lima beans, cabbage, onions, salt beef and green bacon. Juan de Buitrago said to me, sniffing the air hungrily: ‘The proverb is right:
“All good stews
Have bacon cast in;
All good sermons,
Saint Augustine.”
But, upon my word, it would need a saint to practise abstinence on an occasion like this, and if Gluttony is indeed Lechery’s sweetheart, there will be many a deadly sin committed before the pages call out the middle watch.’
He had hit the mark: by nightfall there was not a sober soldier or sailor to be found in the whole galleon, and many naughty sights were seen; yet a pleasant humour reigned, and not a sword or knife was drawn. The officers feasted harmoniously at the common table under the quarter-deck awning. The Colonel was too soused to appear and his faction had decided to keep the peace unless their beards were pulled. Amicable toasts were exchanged, and Don Alvaro beamed upon us, making salty little jests; yet he hardly wetted his lips with the good wine, and ate no more than a crust of bread and a few olives.
As we sat at dessert, with doublets unfastened, in a happy mood, we were preached a second sermon, this time by the General. It concerned our dealings with the natives, to whom we came not as conquerors, but as ambassadors of Christ; not as takers, but as givers. ‘Firmness tempered by kindness must be our rule. Let those lovely isles not suffer the fate of the West Indies,’ he said, ‘where, though the Cross has been firmly planted, innocent error has given place to cultivated vice. Alas, that this should have been inculcated by professed Christians who came among the Indians with fire-arms, whips and filthy lusts! I have heard it estimated by a sea-captain, that of the thirty million Indians inhabiting those islands when Columbus discovered them a century ago, a bare three million survive today—baptized indeed, but still uninstructed in Holy Doctrine, racked by disease and groaning under the lash. Let us show forbearance towards the islanders, even though we see them perform deeds of horror; let us remember that they are benighted in ignorance and that we, as men of enlightenment, have come to disperse this darkness for them.
‘I remember well on my last voyage, at a place
called Baso where our brigantine was building: we were hearing mass one morning, when the guards saw eight large canoes approaching, full of Indians hideously painted, with bows and lances. The sergeant made his report to me in a whisper; I crossed myself and retired, leaving the congregation on their knees. As the visitors entered the harbour, one of the guards would have discharged his arquebus at their Chieftain, who stood in the prow of the first canoe, brandishing his spear of palmrib and ebony, but I seized the piece from him, and went down to the water’s edge. The Indians hailed me as “Taurique,” which in their language means “King,” and invited me to enter the Chieftain’s canoe; but I declined, and mass being over, I withdrew under a canopy where I took my seat in invitation to a parley.
‘The canoes lined up a short distance from the beach, and the Chieftain displayed a joint of meat and some roots, crying: “Nalea! Nalea!”, which is to say: “Eat! Eat!” Looking closer at the gifts, we were horror-stricken to see that the joint was the quarter of a boy, with a delicate arm and small hand! Presently an Indian dived from the canoe and left the gifts floating close to the shore, for one of us to retrieve. My negro fetched them from the water—did you not, Myn?—and when he was beyond range of their arrows, the guards asked leave to fire on the bloodthirsty cannibals; but I refused. “These people,” I said, “do not yet know good from evil.” To which my Colonel, Don Hernando Enriquez, replied: “Your Excellency, these people know it well enough, because they hunt their victims in neighbouring islands, rather than eat their own kinsfolk.” The captains supported him in this, but “Christian brethren,” I said, “that they abstain from eating their own families argues a certain mildness and love in them which can be turned to advantage. Before we make war on the savages, we should show them that they ought not to perform these iniquities; and until they have been thus instructed any harm that we do them will fall upon our conscience.”
‘I ordered a pit to be dug in the sight of the Indians, and Myn took up the joint—did you not, Myn?—and displayed it to them and laid it gently in the hole, while we averted our faces and made signs of disgust. They were surprised and cried in injured tones: “teo nalea!”, “not eat,” beat their drums and paddled away. But we had taught them that the eating of human flesh is loathsome to Christians.’
Doña Mariana, who had sipped a deal of Malmsey, made merry at the General’s expense, and Doña Ysabel encouraged her with furtive nods and winks. ‘Aha, brother-in-law,’ she said, ‘now I know why you fear to fatten yourself, and hold back from these excellent dishes: lest when you go in that habit among the Indians to teach them their Creed and Paternoster, they may not be led into temptation. But have a care! When the cunning rogues learn how sweet your tongue is and how tender your heart, they may cut them both out, and toast them on skewers for their infants to suck.’
Her brothers took up the jest, discussing who among those present would taste best if, provisions failing, we were forced to feed upon one another. Don Diego, the wildest of the three, cast me a wolfish glance, and said: ‘Andrés Serrano yonder would roast crisp and cut tender enough, I swear!’
‘You are right,’ said Doña Mariana. ‘Come, little Andrés, let me feel your ribs to learn how much fat they carry.’ She reached over, thrust her hand under my shirt, and pinched me I squealed for mercy.
‘Hey, brothers!’ she called. ‘Why wait until provisions fail? This pigling is now at his best, and it would be a pity to eat him lean.’
They trussed me and made as if to carry me off to the cook-room, Doña Mariana crying that I was to be spitted clean and basted well.
Don Alvaro, meanwhile, showed displeasure that his own family were making mock of his words, and retired almost at once, leaving them to drink without restraint and to preach further sermons on very different texts. The Chief Pilot was the next to rise, pleading press of work, and at his instance Miguel Llano released me; but not before Don Luis and Don Diego had fattened me well, forcing me at the sword-point to swallow a great lump of figs and a trencher of bean porridge (which, they swore, went to make the best bacon) and swill a quantity of small beer; while Doña Mariana stuffed sugar plums into my already crammed mouth and nearly choked me. She then staggered off to the binnacle, where she rallied Pedro Fernandez for wearing so sour a look on a festival night. She snatched off his bonnet and declared that he would not have it back until he either changed his mood or justified it. Then he spoke of the grief that he felt, in sailing without news from his wife; and told her that when the order came to overhaul the frigate, he had sent a message to his brother-in-law at Lima, enquiring after her health; but no reply had come. The tender-hearted Doña Mariana gave back his bonnet and dropped a maudlin tear in sympathy.
The Chief Pilot was a man of serious nature; he spent an hour every day at prayer, but denied himself sleep rather than take time from his watches. He never diced or played cards, and was as regular in his habits as the pocket-dial he carried, constantly inspecting the ship to see that all was well, and reproving laziness or irregularity wherever he found it. I well remember his anger one morning when he discovered that some soldiers had driven nails into the foremast for the rigging up of a tent. Yet he went gently enough to Don Lorenzo with his complaint, telling him that even a small wound in the pine was liable to split it and allow rot to enter; then when a gale blew and the mast bent like a withy, snap! it would go where it had been weakened and leave us at the mercy of the waves. The Captain promised to punish the soldiers severely, as well as others who had been cutting wood from the upper works of the ship for frying their pancakes over.
Because the tent had been designed as their gaming house, the soldiers grumbled that the Chief Pilot had made the nail-hole an excuse for spoiling sport. When he became aware of their ill-humour, he asked a certain Sergeant Gallardo: ‘If I took your sword and used it as a spit, would you be pleased?’
‘I should be angered beyond measure, Pilot,’ the Sergeant answered. ‘Heat takes the temper from a sword: it might fail me in the hour of need, and lose me my life.’
Pedro Fernandez then said: ‘Yet I care for this mast as you do for your sword; and were it to snap in the hour of need, not only I, but all of us might lose our lives.’
The Barretos respected the Chief Pilot’s skill and courage, though despising him for his low birth and laughing at his religious fervour; for my part, the better I came to know him, the more I admired him. He agreed with the General and the Vicar as to the purpose of our expedition and the spirit of Catholic love needed for its success and, though not having voyaged to the South Seas before, he was nevertheless a sailor of long experience: he had circumnavigated Africa six times, twice on a voyage to Timor and four times on the Goa run, besides often crossing the Atlantic. It was his conclusion that the Isles of Solomon are the outposts of a southern continent, the land of Austrialia, as he fancifully called it in honour of the House of Austria, which must be of enormous size to counterbalance the Continents of the Northern hemisphere; otherwise, he told me, the earth would tip up and plunge to ruin. Austrialia must nourish many million souls, all ripe for conversion, and our settlement there would be the crowning achievement of a splendid century. Though the beginnings had been unpropitious, he hoped that God might yet turn the obdurate hearts in the flotilla to an awareness of His love and to mutual reconciliation, and thereafter inspire them to pass on to the Indians the sweet and wonderful news of mankind’s redemption through the blood of Jesus Christ.
I did not contradict him; but during these last two months I had overheard so much unchristian talk from the soldiers and settlers, that I feared such a change of heart would be a greater miracle, almost, than that of the lions and tigers. They saw themselves already as great landlords, wearing silk clothes, ruffs and plumed hats, living at ease on their estates, while the Indians sweated in the fields and yielded them their pretty daughters to be honourably deflowered before marriage, as in Peru. ‘We shall have to fight for our pleasures, friends!’ they would say, slapping arquebus
or sword-hilt. ‘Pizarro’s men landed in Peru with no titles of honour and no other advantage than their skill at arms; but it was this skill that made them rich, and will make us even richer, as gold is more precious than silver.’
The entries in my journal became fewer as we sailed farther, and increasingly concerned with the weather and Church festivals. We were ten days out of Paita, and the winds were still those of Peru, which at this season blow mainly from the south-east. Our course was W.S.W. and we ran a bare fifteen leagues a day. The ships were no longer followed by gulls or boobies, and we had sighted our last sail on the second day out. Corpus Christi was celebrated in fine style, with a candled procession around the ship, which was dressed with flags and coloured streamers; afterwards the soldiers performed a sword dance, and the pages another in the Sevillian style to honour the Most Holy Sacrament. The sailors worked and slept, the troops lounged on deck, playing at cards and getting in everyone’s way; the settlers’ children chased each other up and down the rigging, while their mothers sat, each with her gossip, mending clothes or making stockings wherever they could find shade. Trolling for albacores was a sport favoured by the officers, and one morning Don Luis caught two of large size; but most of the time they had nothing better to do than gamble, drink, sing songs and catches, and play tricks on one another. The supervision of their men they left to the sergeants.
The Colonel had not left his cabin: drinking too much aqua vitae and eating too little food had thrown him into a trembling delirium; he slept badly and was wakened by the illusion that his bunk harboured scorpions. He no longer recognized his comrades and grew frenzied; making a deal of noise, even at night, when absolute silence was the rule, lest a man should fall overboard and his appeal for help pass unheard. The General, at Doña Ysabel’s insistence, had him gagged and bound; and when at last he sank into a deep sleep and then came to himself, he was so weakened that his legs would not obey him. However, he had no recollection of either the gagging or the scorpions; and the Chaplain, who was his sick-nurse, had thrown into the sea what remained of his aqua vitae, two whole gallons of it, so that there should be no relapse. He was slow to regain his health, but took kindly to Father Antonio, who humoured him in his whims and treated him with consideration. It came out that the good Father had served with him in the Low Countries, and now they lived their battles over again and grew as thick as thieves; so that the Barreto brothers conceived a suspicion of the Chaplain and reckoned him among the Colonel’s faction, which was far from the truth. Don Diego circulated lying and wicked tales about him, of which the following may serve as an example. Father Antonio, playing at dice with the Colonel one Sunday, was called away to say mass in the frigate; and while administering the Holy Sacrament to an old woman, inadvertently gave her the dice in place of the Host. She, chumbling the bone in her toothless gums, cried out: ‘Father, you have erred. Instead of Jesus’s sweet body, you have given me God the Father, it is so old and tough.’
The Islands of Unwisdom Page 11
