Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon (10 page)

Cabrillo felt his chest suddenly swell with pride and affection. He raised his arm and pointed to the northwest. “Out there lies the unknown, and I would rather face it with you than with any other crew in the world. Our time has come, men. Are we ready?”

The shout of a hundred voices confirmed the eagerness of a hundred hearts.

“Then, men of the
San Salvador
,
La Victoria
, and
San Miguel
, say one last farewell to this land and board your ships!”

Chapter 5

T
ESTING THE SHEETS

O
verhead, clinging to ratlines with their feet, Cabrillo's sailors released the ties along the yardarms and the canvas surfaces unfurled with a blending “
whoosh.
” Deckhands on all three ships hauled with gusto, as a stiff possessive wind billowed the spotless sails. The fleet glided proudly forward while men secured the dripping anchors to the bows. Captain-General Cabrillo signaled with a nod to Pilot San Remón, who lifted his face, drew air from deep within his lungs, and shouted, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, we ask for a splendid voyage and a safe return!”

Onshore a small but lusty crowd let loose a high-spirited cheer. When the breeze caught the answering roar from the ships, it blew it toward the northwest, away from Santiago. Even so, Cabrillo imagined their farewells somehow carrying all the way to Beatriz. She would be on her knees this Tuesday morning, praying for their safety. It took much willpower to turn his thoughts from her and his sons, as well as Lucia and his daughters, and to allow the concerns of the fleet to possess him. For now, he belonged to these men and these vessels.

He turned his gaze ahead and studied the responses of his fine flagship under the handling of his chosen men. Although they had made short trial runs to train the newer crewmembers, Cabrillo sorely missed the seasoned hands who had sailed with him to Peru but had been killed by the earthquake. Brief hesitations and slight errors were occurring on the decks below that those men would never have made. Watching his frustrated boatswain bark corrections at the men working the lines in this stiff breeze, his shouts occasionally emphasized by the snap of a stiffly knotted rope across a pair of shoulders, Cabrillo assured himself that they would learn quickly. They had no choice. In a few short days their bellies would stiffen to the rocking of the ship and their hands would toughen with each tug on the lines. Despite the disparity in their languages of Castilian, two Indian dialects, Basque, Galician, and Catalonian, they would soon discover how to be sixty men working with the will of one. In the meantime, the older hands would often preempt the boatswain by yelling at the sailors deemed slow or inept, and the younger men would jump to their tasks a little more spryly, dodging the occasional fist whenever possible. The twenty-four soldiers aboard had been given enough instruction to make them useful at the lines if the need arose, but for now they stood aside and left the duties of departure to the seamen.

At the last moment prior to boarding, Cabrillo had changed his mind about having Father Lezcano sail aboard the
San Miguel
. Better to have the young monk on the
San Salvador
where he could watch him closely, he decided. Both priests on board the flagship were absolute novices when it came to the workings of a tall ship but, so far, both seemed willing to follow the dictates of their captain-general as well as their God.

In spite of the rawness of the newcomers, the ship's officers already had made the three shifts familiar with their assignments. Rotating every four hours, each seaman was designated specific duties in the fore, mid, or aft sections of the ship. Shipmaster Uribe commanded the decks from the hours of twelve to four, day and night. Their pilot took control of the watches from four to eight. Although Cabrillo's active dominion theoretically ran from the hours of eight and twelve, his word was always final and he spent most daylight and many nighttime hours on deck.

Manuel was never far from his side. He stood close by at the moment, staring out at the sea ahead and swaying with the stern deck, a black guardian of the man who owned him.

To Cabrillo there was little interest in the section of nearly treeless coastline along which they were sailing. Others had studied and claimed these shores, and this land was at least somewhat settled. Before long he altered their course slightly westward and let his gaze leave the coast in answer to the beckoning ocean.

Thoughtfully, he asked Manuel, “How does it feel to be at sea again?”

“Steadier than the first time, sir.”

A glance at his slave revealed a slight droopiness of the eyes and slackness of the mouth that were unusual to Manuel while on land. “Ah, I remember,” said Cabrillo. “We began to wonder if you would ever see Peru. Thankfully, your stomach behaved much better on the return voyage.”

“Now I wish to see California, sir. That will keep me well.”

A couple of loud thumps came to them from below their feet. “It sounds like Paulo may need some help in my cabin.”

With a respectful bow Manuel headed for the stairs, careful to find secure handholds along the way. Cabrillo glanced astern at the closely trailing
La Victoria
, and then at the
San Miguel
. The bergantine sailed with her oars at rest, allowing her crew comparative ease as they adjusted to their new lives upon the waves. As Captain Correa prowled her decks, Cabrillo occasionally caught sight of him or heard one of his bellowed orders. The captain-general's attention swung again to
La Victoria
, and his eyes met those of Captain Ferrelo. Ferrelo bowed from the railing of his quarterdeck in a manner that expressed thanks for this chance to command under sail. Cabrillo returned the bow, understanding all too well.

He was not a man who hungered for the sea, aching to set foot aboard another ship from the very moment he returned ashore. When home Cabrillo found fulfillment and happiness, and his ships were almost forgotten. But each time he made his way back to the ocean's realm and stood upon an upper stern deck, he was swallowed anew by the sensations that possessed him only here.

The unconquerable enormity of the sea never failed to expand his heart and mind. It drew from him an untamed, boundless spirit that the land never could. In times past its beauty and power had come together in a way that had shouted, “Take all of this deep within and rejoice at the glory laid before you!” Yet on other occasions it had murmured, “Beware, for I can crush you and your ship whenever I please.” Hearing these whisperings, his daring had risen to defy them, and God had chosen to see him through the sea's mighty trials. After each terrible storm the magnanimity of the ocean had emerged and calmly reclaimed his welcoming soul.

Even the longing he currently suffered for his family could not diminish the countering amplification of himself that the sea both bestowed and demanded. More fully with each mile that separated him from the harbor, he surrendered to the familiar, undeniable pull.

The
San Salvador
had settled well into her canvas sheets and was making good time when Mateo approached Cabrillo, lost his balance, and almost stumbled into him. His captain-general caught him under the arms and yanked him upright.

“Please forgive me, sir,” the boy gasped weakly, his eyes glassy as he fought to keep a waving nausea down. He gulped a few breaths before trying again. “Paulo sent me to ask, to ask what...” He swallowed hard.

Taking pity on the boy, Cabrillo grasped his shoulders and turned him to face the bow as he stepped him to the leeward railing. Knowing he would do his nephew no favors by showing him unwarranted leniency in front of the other men, he kept his voice firm as he said, “I told you, Mateo, keep your gaze ahead. Hold onto the rail and inhale deeply. Paulo's question can wait.”

Mateo tried to obey but it was too late. Clapping a hand hard to his mouth until he'd leaned over the side, his gut heaved upward in wave after wave until it had emptied its contents overboard. Pale and sweating, his eyes working to focus, Mateo returned to his commander accompanied by the chuckles of several crewmembers.

“Now, Mateo” said Cabrillo, “concentrate on where the sky embraces the sea. Imagine there is an island of gold awaiting you there.”

After several minutes had passed a little of the color returned to Mateo's face and he began to breathe more evenly. At last he muttered thoughtfully, “If you do not mind, sir, I will imagine a horse swimming far ahead of us. I would rather have a horse than a whole island of gold.”

“Well said, young man. Then dream of a herd of horses, but you will have to wait to own them for some time. You are a sailor at present so stop looking at me and keep your eyes on the horizon.”

“Yes, sir, but I was to ask about your choice of wine for dinner.”

“Tell Paulo he may choose the wine,” he said, “and tell him you are to be relieved of your cabin duties for the time being.”

Never were Mateo's next words spoken with more sincerity. “Oh, thank you, sir! Am I to return to the stern deck after I deliver your message?”

“You may report to Pilot San Remón, with my request that he instruct you in the mechanics of reckoning latitude and longitude. A seaman must have the skills to estimate the position of his ship.”

“Yes, sir. I thank you, sir.” With this, the boy left to make his way to the captain-general's cabin, and Cabrillo was able to solitarily enjoy his ship and the vast waters upon which she sailed. Such periods never lasted long, however, and the flowing consistency with which a ship captain is visited while on deck soon brought Pilot San Remón to his side.

Even if the pilot's face had been able to hide something of his present exhilaration, his voice could not when he said, “Captain-General, with a wind such as this we could sail to Asia in a month!”

“As you are quite aware, pilot, such a wind seldom presents itself for two days running. Still, it is a fine sign.” Cabrillo observed that the pilot carried his logbook and astrolabe case, housing the precious instrument that would help them compute their rising latitudes as they ventured farther north of the equator. “Have you seen Mateo? He was to come to you.”

“He did, sir. He will help make the reckoning at the turning of the glass. I believe he is staring at the sand at the moment, hoping it will fall a little more quickly under his scrutiny.”

The men smiled, recalling the days when they were just as eager for an opportunity to prove themselves. “I will have him read the astrolabe at noon, sir, and begin to teach him the calculations. He is bright enough to learn them.”

“Diego said it was very hard on his mother, his leaving with us.”

“Is it ever easy for mothers, sir?”

“Perhaps not, but an Indian mother has even less power than most over the life of her son.”

Knowing of Cabrillo's half-blood daughters, San Remón treaded softly around this subject. “Mateo is fortunate to be the son of your brother-in-law, sir. He will find his place in the world.”

With the turning of the sand glass imminent, Cabrillo said, “Here comes your pupil, pilot.” Mateo was quickly moved into position with the astrolabe held in readiness, when from the deck below the oldest of the ship's cabin boys sang out, “The hour of fourteen is upon us. God has granted safe passage thus far. May He give us fair sailing ahead.” Mustering impressive volume, many men joined him to end with, “Ahhh-mennn.”

Mateo's lesson began at the first utterance of this announcement by his raising the astrolabe and adjusting the arm to mark the sun's position at its zenith.

Lingering close by but giving no outward sign of interest, Cabrillo surreptitiously witnessed Mateo's instruction with satisfaction. He noticed that Mateo seemed to have forgotten his seasickness while focusing his mind to something new. As the pilot explained the basics of their method, the lad took in every word with an expression of almost painful seriousness. Afterward, he asked few but appropriate questions. As San Remón was replacing the astrolabe in its wooden box, he said to the boy just loudly enough for Cabrillo to hear, “Although I bear the title of pilot for our ship, Mateo, our captain-general is recognized as the finest pilot in Mexico.”

Cabrillo glanced at him with a raised eyebrow.

“It is quite common knowledge,” the pilot went on. “Why, I have seen Captain-General Cabrillo study the sea and wind for only an instant, and somehow their shades and movements, and perhaps even their smells enable him to discern the speed of the ship. It is a wonder indeed.”

Mateo turned an enthralled gaze upon Cabrillo. “Sir, can you tell us our speed at this moment?”

With a pointed glance at his pilot, Cabrillo said, “Pilot San Remón greatly overstates my ability, Mateo.”

Unruffled, San Remón asked, “Please, sir, will you do us the honor of giving an estimate of our speed? For the boy's education?”

Cabrillo sighed resignedly as he gazed up at the sails and beyond to the sky. He moved to the railing to stare first at the waves breaking from the port bow, then walked over to starboard, and finally strode to the center of the stern rail and eyed the wake of the ship. What other observations had been taken into consideration Mateo could only guess before his uncle squinted at the sails once again and said, “Very well, I believe she is sailing at no less than seven knots. Perhaps a bit more.”

“Thank you, sir,” said the pilot and the boy in unison.

Now it was their turn. On San Remón's command Mateo tossed the log chip, a rectangular piece of wood tied to a thin but sturdy line, over the stern railing, and counted the evenly spaced knots as they spun from the ship's line reel and cleared the rail. The pilot, holding the thirty-second sandglass, called a halt just as the top half of the glass emptied. Mateo grabbed the line, studied the length from his hand to the nearest knot, and announced the count with amazed pleasure, “Seven and a quarter, sir!” Their pilot didn't bother hiding a smug smile as he entered this reckoning into his log next to the figure recorded a half-hour earlier. Cabrillo ignored the smile entirely.