Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon (15 page)

Up to now Correa's sharp memory had proven to be of great service, recalling the best approaches, anchorages, and springs or rivers of fresh water. But from this point until they reached uncharted waters, the captain-general and his navigators relied heavily on the maps that had been drafted by Ulloa and compiled by Castillo.

Making a brief landing fifty miles up the coast at Bahia Santa Ana, they rejoiced at the sight of an abundance of trees again. Here the whales were blessedly much fewer in number, but there was no shortage of other marine life. Thousands of sea lions basking on the rocky shore and swimming at its edge raised such a riotous barking chorus that human discourse was difficult. Again, Cabrillo chose not to loiter. They reached Puerto Fondo with the intention of leaving the following day, but shortly after departing at dawn they were met head-on by forceful winds that refused to relent. After struggling against them for three additional days, the fleet was driven back to their previous anchorage. At the first easing of the blow, they sailed on.

With similar determination to reach uncharted waters, Cabrillo allowed the fleet to stay no longer than the winds demanded at San Pedro Vincula, San Esteban, Isla de Cedros, Puerto de Santa Clara, Puerto de Mal Abrigo, Isla de San Bernardo, or Punta del Engaño, all visited earlier by Ulloa and his crew. Though a careful watch was kept at each of these landings, Indians were seen only at Puerto de Santa Clara, and those four fled at once to a distant place where they could not be spotted again.

The hunger Cabrillo felt to reach their first unknown, unseen, untrodden land was building in all of the men. When the sails were lifted and the ships eased away from Punta del Engaño, the final landing named by those of another fleet, many eager voices arose with the sails. “Onward, onward!” they cried. “To the heart of California!” Pilot San Remón stood tall beside his captain-general and breathed in a huge breath, his teeth gleaming at the open sea. It was clear to Cabrillo that it took a significant effort from his young pilot to refrain from committing a breach of protocol by joining the men in their wild cheering. San Remón, however, did allow himself to burst forth with, “We stand at the last point on our map, sir! The last point! Ahead, everything is new.”

Cabrillo was not untouched by the contagious exhilaration exhibited on his decks, but his relative age and war experience helped soften the tugging at his nerves. He smiled broadly and said, “Yes, pilot, new to us as well as our country.”

Mercifully, they didn't have to endure an extended wait before the opportunity to land arose. Unlike Ulloa, they rounded Punta del Engaño without difficulty, and just twenty-seven miles beyond it the hearts of everyone aboard pounded anxiously as they glided ever-closer and entered an uncharted harbor. Once clear of the mouth, the port seemed to form an irregular horseshoe dominated in the center by a large brown hill. Scrubby trees and bushes thickly covered the rising, curving edges of the land. The eastern arm of the bay appeared to offer the best prospect for a river, and Cabrillo directed the ships in that direction. Within minutes, their anchors rested securely upon the seafloor.

Despite the eagerness of his men and himself, Cabrillo remained cautious. In the deepening dusk he could see no movement of any kind, but the low growing greenery could hide many warriors. He forbade anyone from going ashore other than a few well-armed soldiers assigned to search for needed firewood and water. No more would be permitted to land until daylight provided a better sense of the dangers that might await them.

The midnight watch was exceptionally alert, and this attentiveness brought Pilot San Remón to Cabrillo's cabin and bedside just before the hour of one to awaken his commander.

“Captain-General,” he said, “the lookouts have spotted at least one campfire. I would not have disturbed your rest, sir, but for the order to inform you at the first sign of natives.”

Clearing his throat and trying to sharpen his sight in the dimly lit cabin, Cabrillo asked, “Did you see the fire, pilot?”

“No, sir, only two lookouts. After they called out, no one saw it again.”

“How far from shore?”

“The range of an arquebus shot, Captain-General.”

“Very good, pilot. Double the lookouts and keep me informed of any other sighting.”

“I will, sir.”

He left Cabrillo to ponder the possibility of encountering natives at this newly discovered location, and growing speculation gradually swept all grogginess from his mind and body. Less than an hour later he gave up all attempts to return to sleep, dressed, and went on deck to stand along with the men of the second and third night watch and await the sun's arrival. When the light finally appeared, it shown down on a land that revealed no evidence of ever having supported human life, by neither smoke stream, structure, nor footprint.

Still taking every precaution, Cabrillo ordered three boats to be filled with soldiers and two of the war dogs, and these launches were sent ashore to establish a protective loop around the beach. When a sailor returned to the captain-general with word that all was ready, Cabrillo dismissed the messenger from his cabin and looked thoughtfully over at his slave. After a moment, he said, “Well, Manuel, here we are on the verge of making history. Are you ready?”

Manuel's pride shone on his big-boned face. “Ready as a man can be, sir.”

“You may want to say a prayer that we hold onto our lives while we make our mark here.”

“I will do that, sir.”

Cabrillo, followed by Manuel and together with his officers, priests, and scribe, headed toward shore. Leaping from his boat as it scraped the beach, he took his first steps into the unknown territory.

Because the day was one of such importance, all who landed wore their best ceremonial dress and all were impressively armed. The officers had donned their finest shirts, sleeveless doublets, and loose-fitting breeches that ended above the knee. Plumed velvet hats adorned the heads of Captains Correa and Ferrelo and Pilot San Remón, but Cabrillo had chosen to wear the conquistador helmet that had twice saved his life in battle. Paulo had polished his master's metal chest plate to a high shine, and it flashed brilliantly in the early sunlight.

All followed Cabrillo as he hiked up a slight rise to a spot large enough for twenty men to gather. When everyone stood waiting expectantly, the captain-general said with impressive volume and precision, “I, Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo, on this twenty-second day of August in the year of Our Lord fifteen hundred forty-two, do claim this land located at the latitude of 31 1/2° upon the western coast of California in the name of Charles our king and emperor, and on behalf of Don Antonio de Mendoza as governor of New Spain. This place will henceforth be called Puerto de la Posesión, and I stand ready to defend the claim now made with my sword and my life.”

The captain-general moved to a nearby shrub, cut two limbs, and took a leather strap from the pouch at his belt to form a three-foot high cross. He then collected several skull-sized stones and braced the cross upright in the sand. Taking a cup that Paulo had brought ashore for this purpose, Cabrillo strode to the water's edge to fill it and returned to his small monument. As he dripped the water in a circle around stones that supported the cross, he said, “I place a cross upon this new land as a sign that it is now a possession of our homeland, and that we will hold it in the name of Our Father, and His Son, and the Holy Spirit.” At a gesture from Cabrillo, Father Gamboa stepped forward and offered a prayer of thanksgiving, and this concluded the ceremony.

As his men drifted down the hill, Cabrillo remained behind. He wanted a few moments of solitude to take in the full substance of this landing and so he had even Manuel leave him, under orders to help unload the horses. Staring down at the small cross, Cabrillo listened to the calls and songs of the birds that seemed to be harshly discussing the arrival of the strangers. He lifted his head and slowly scanned the country all around him. The breeze was gentle, the sun glaring, the greens and blues brilliant, the dark recesses beneath the trees ominous. In the uncommon solitude of his small hilltop, Cabrillo began to wonder if the lookouts had truly spotted a fire the night before. Were there really people here? If so, what must they be thinking, planning as they watch from their hiding places? What weapons did they possess, and were they prone to using them out of fear? Mulling these questions, he grudgingly surrendered his privacy and let his feet take him down to join his crews.

Though the evidence of a recent native presence was slim, he kept the sentries watchful. He also sent the captain, pilot, and gunner of
La Victoria
back to their ship to safeguard the command of at least one vessel, as well as to see that the swivel and great guns were kept aimed at their landing place.

The
San Miguel
was in bad need of caulking, for which she must be brought ashore, and several sails ought to be spread and mended. He had his scouts make a wider search of the area while the horses were landed, and since nothing threatening presented itself he gave the command to have the
San Miguel
unloaded and hauled onto the beach. A few hours later she was resting on her side in the sand and workmen were busy scraping her exposed belly.

Only then did the captain-general set out to explore with Shipmaster Uribe, Manuel, Mateo, half of his soldiers, and one war dog. Manuel carried Cabrillo's crossbow and writing instruments and walked closely enough to keep them within his master's reach. Cabrillo's sword of many years swung at his side. His mood matched that of the men, tense and vigilant as they heightened their senses to pick up any hint of an ambush.

Following the bank of a river, Cabrillo led them deeper and deeper inland until they veered away from the water and began climbing the rise of a hill. At its top they halted to search for any human sign, and discovered that the river had broadened into a three-branched lake. Cabrillo's eyes were tracing the southern edge of the lake as the rest of his men came up through the brush behind him. Suddenly he stiffened, then dropped into a low crouch and sharply signaled for his cohorts to do the same. Silently pointing with his arm, his intense gaze also marked a group of six men fishing from the lakeshore not fifty yards away. But their movements had caught the attention of one of the Indians who was already backing away and fearfully gesturing to the others.

Cabrillo whispered, “Sergeant Major Vargas, Laca, Sanchez, and Manuel come with me. Master Uribe, remain here with the others. Lázaro, do
not
release that dog.”

Slowly, his arms held open, Cabrillo stood up.

The fishermen froze.

Cabrillo and his chosen men advanced carefully with arms held open to show they were empty. Their own weapons hung from belts and shoulder straps but they could still see none carried by the natives. The captain-general began to use his hands to communicate that he had gifts for them, but he could see that they were preparing to flee. The only thing that seemed to have held them this long, in mesmerized terror and awe, was the sight of the large black man walking a step behind and to the left of Cabrillo. When the soldiers narrowed the distance between them to little more than twenty paces, even the spectacle of Manuel was not enough to keep them from bolting toward cover, and Cabrillo shouted, “Catch one of them!”

They raced after the slowest man, gaining on him steadily until Manuel was near enough to leap forward, catch the Indian by the shoulders and roll him to the ground. The other fishermen let out a sympathetic cry for their friend but kept running. As they disappeared into the trees, Cabrillo called out, “All right, Master Uribe, come ahead.”

“Gently,” said Cabrillo, as the Indian was lifted to a sitting position and surrounded by him and his four men, who were quickly joined by Master Uribe and the others. Seeing the horror on the captive's face melt into an expression of fateful acceptance, Cabrillo said in a calm voice, “Disengage your weapons and sit down, men. Keep the dog on watch outside the circle, Lázaro. We are going to trade.”

When the men had settled around him, Cabrillo crossed his legs and eyed the Indian in a frank but cordial manner. The fisherman was impressive in stature if not in costume. Although he was perhaps a decade older than Cabrillo he was tall and strongly built, but he wore not a thread of clothing. His long hair hung loose and tangled around a well-shaped skull and raw-boned face. Cabrillo took a moment to mentally scan the different tribes he had encountered during his career, many of whom had later become allies. The thought touched him that in dress and carriage their captive was wholly unlike the proud Aztecs who had followed Montezuma. This Indian, however, was a fisherman and must hold a humbler status among his people than any fighting man. It was probable that his tribe, just like the Aztecs and Maya, had a separate warrior class to protect and distinguish them. Then again, perhaps, just perhaps, these natives felt no need for warriors or the embellishments of war.

Glancing at his slave, he said, “Manuel, give me your knife.”

Manuel withdrew the blade from his belt and handed it to Cabrillo, who offered it with reassuring words and nods to the Indian. Almost unwilling to believe that the knife was being offered as a gift rather than used as the instrument of his death, the fisherman very gingerly reached out and accepted the blade. His eyes diffidently sought Manuel's and he made a sign that Cabrillo presumed to be an expression of gratitude. After a moment's consideration, Cabrillo opened the casing that held his crossbow darts, extracted one, and handed it to their captive. The Indian accepted this new gift with enough courage to examine it briefly, momentarily meet Cabrillo's gaze, and then repeat his previous hand gesture.

Wishing their Indian interpreter were with them now, Cabrillo made several attempts to explain who they were. He then tried to discover a few details about the natives, such as their number and the location of their village. The fisherman replied distinctly and gestured fluidly, yet almost nothing was understood between them.