Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon (24 page)

Spurred by the friendly bartering, and perhaps by the clandestine purloining of a few smaller goods, the native men's sense of comfort with the newcomers soon grew to a level that allowed their women to approach and move freely among them. Initially gladdened by the trust this new development represented, Cabrillo's own comfort became less and less as the intermingling evolved from observing into touching. The women wore nothing more than short, two-piece skirts of woven plants or animal skins. Their hair hung long and loose except where bangs had been cut short above dark brown eyes. A few women bore tattoos similar to those of their men in the shapes of chevrons or wavy lines that ended in arrowheads. Most of the feminine bodies were athletically fine, and this supple attractiveness was proving impossible to ignore.

Within minutes of the interweaving of sexes Cabrillo's sailors began to exhibit a willingness to spread the offspring of Spain among the island maidens with even more enthusiasm than they had extended goodwill to their men, and this eagerness was far from being overlooked by the braves. No one had yet been lured into the bushes, but that could soon change.

Cabrillo noticed that Father Lezcano, with his long dark robe, shaven crown, and manifest good looks, was attracting almost as much attention from the females as Manuel. Although Father Lezcano was trying to maintain a hard-fought forbearance, the women were becoming increasingly curious about the body hidden beneath his robe. As questing hands began to reach for his most intriguing parts Father Lezcano backed away, motioning that he was a holy man and that such activity was forbidden to him. The women did not, or chose not, to understand. One young woman who seemed to be asking something of him with great earnestness now took such a tight hold of his rope belt that he was having difficulty disengaging her. It was clear that his attempts to politely separate himself from her clutches were growing more and more desperate. Highly amusing as it was to see the young priest in such a predicament, Cabrillo took pity on him. Besides, things had gone quite far enough among his crew.

“Father Lezcano,” he suddenly ordered in a voice authoritative enough to quell the enthusiasm of both the women and his sailors. “It is time to return to the ships.” He stood, bowed and signaled farewell to the old chief, walked over to his priest, presented the woman clinging to him a small hawk's bell, clasped Father Lezcano by the elbow the moment the gift was accepted by the distracted recipient, and steered his priest and crew back toward the boats. Vargas and a couple of soldiers discreetly covered their less than refined retreat, but the Indians showed no sign of anger or intent to pursue them.

Halfway to the ship Father Lezcano mastered his embarrassment sufficiently to mutter under his breath, “I thank you, Captain-General.”

Just as quietly, Cabrillo responded with exaggerated seriousness, “I can only sympathize with you, Father. A priest who is irresistible to women carries a heavy burden indeed.”

Father Lezcano detected the teasing note in these words and the grin that played at the edge of Cabrillo's mouth. He shook his head and said with as much forbearance as he could gather, “You can have no appreciation for just how heavy, sir.”

A sputter of laughter escaped Cabrillo, which he quickly cut off, but he couldn't help adding, “We had better head back toward the mainland. With luck, the women there will be less tempted by your particular charms.”

Chapter 12

W
OCHA
'
S GREETING

“Armed men approaching in a canoe, Captain-General,” Uribe announced as he entered the relative dimness of the steerage compartment.

C
abrillo lifted his eyes from the route chart atop the binnacle. “Thank you, Master Uribe. I will be at the railing in a moment.” He finished his postings carefully but quickly and strode to the waist of the ship.

He had had little opportunity to admire the bay they were entering, but the great clouds of smoke that hung above the landscape made it clear that others had found it lovely well before their arrival. He had anticipated interaction with the natives, and now he could see the first visitors coming toward him. These five seemed very little afraid as they paddled up to the ship, and despite their weapons they gave no outward sign of threat. As if to confirm this impression, they lowered their bows and arrows to the bottom of their canoe.

As their craft was being secured to the
San Salvador's
side, Cabrillo noted that the craft was slightly shorter than the one that had come to the ship off San Salvador Island the day before. To Cabrillo's eye, the natives were quite comparable in appearance to the features and dress of the islanders.

“Help them aboard,” he ordered.

The first Indian climbed the lower rungs of the ladder and then hesitated, as if having second thoughts about entering the belly of this floating fortress, but two sailors took hold of his arms and lifted him onto the deck with one mighty heave. The other four followed with noticeably more grace, and the group was soon swaying with the roll of the main deck and looking around for a leader with which to deal. Cabrillo and Father Lezcano approached and addressed them as ambassadors. As had happened with each new Indian encounter, the natives began by signing the story that was now anticipated, that there were men like the strangers roaming inland. This time, however, the story held a significant variation. Cabrillo and Father Lezcano exchanged glances, “Will you please ask him again, Father, where the men were?”

Father Lezcano obeyed, and the leader of the natives signed, “In the lands of the north.”

“North?” Cabrillo said more to himself than to anyone else and turned his head in that direction, considering this possibility as his brow furrowed with concern.

More questions were posed but nothing more specific about their claim could be learned. Anticipating many more such visits during their short stay in this harbor, Cabrillo did not attempt to prolong this one. After gifts had been offered and accepted, the Indians reboarded their canoe and turned away from the flagship.

As the officers watched the craft glide swiftly toward the beach, Cabrillo said softly to Pilot Remón and Master Uribe, “Perhaps each new group tells us of the other bearded men merely to gain reassurance that we bear no ill intentions, but I can not help suspecting that they do so to tempt us away from their land to search them out. It is a clever trick. Although the tale may be just such an enticement, if these men to the north
are
real, who might they be? We should have been told if any Spaniards had been sent, by sea or on foot, ahead of us. And if they left Mexico after we did there is very little chance they have outdistanced us.”

“Perhaps they are Portuguese, sir,” asked Master Uribe, “or the English?”

“Yes, either one. Whoever it is, if indeed it is anyone, we must be prepared to face enemy guns as well as hostile arrows.”

“Yes, sir.”

Cabrillo's attention drifted upward and was captured by the eastern skies. “By heaven, look at that smoke. It mars these valleys. Doubtless our priests will wish to name this place after a saint, but there is one way to express its appearance. We shall call it Baia de los Fumos.”

“Very fitting, sir.”

“I hope such smoke does not dog us all the way up this coast to China. When we leave tomorrow, let us hope it does not follow.”

Hugging the coastline and taking care to chart its every contour, the morning allowed Cabrillo to record a shore that swept sharply westward, then to the north, and finally arced northeastward into a huge bay. It was so enticing a harbor that Cabrillo put down his quill and allowed himself to become as enamored as his crew. The breeze had whisked much of the smoke far to the east, refreshing air and men alike. After a moment of pure appreciation, he said with a sigh to his pilot, “If there has ever been an Eden-like place upon which the fable of Calafia was founded, it is surely here.”

The light was already dwindling by the time their ships had come to rest within the bay's entrance, but Cabrillo could still discern groves of trees clustering along every feature of the land, greenery beyond description lushly intensifying the valleys and flatlands. He could also see and hear that they were not alone. A sizeable village lay not far down the beach, but no one appeared in the open nearby and no canoe approached the ships. Anxious to discover who lived in so blessed a land, Cabrillo intended to direct the fleet up the harbor in the first light of morning. That night, for a change, he slept in deep peace.

Very early his curiosity was rewarded when the settlement opened up before his approaching ships, made up of large round houses that rivaled many of the impressive Indian dwellings Cabrillo had known in Mexico. He ordered their anchors lowered before the village, which lay within the embrace of a broad valley. The appearance of their ships caused an immediate stirring among the local population, but it was obvious from the lack of panic that their arrival had been anticipated. These people looked anything but unnerved.

As sails were still being furled, Cabrillo began to count the number of plank canoes sliding into the water. Five, ten, fifteen, with more and more coming, and each canoe carried ten to thirteen determined looking men. Although no weapon had been raised Cabrillo was wary of the simultaneous approach of so many natives. “Sergeant-major, have our soldiers armed and standing by. Master gunner, ready the swivel guns. Slow and easy as we go. Make no show of battle.” Pilot San Remón, Master Uribe, and Father Lezcano came up to the captain-general, and Cabrillo cast them a look that said, “Brace yourselves.”

The Indians paddled straight and fast toward the ships and, as they neared, Cabrillo accurately guessed them to be a nation of people he had never seen. When the first canoe reached the
San Salvador
he addressed the natives in a tone both friendly and commanding. “We welcome you, men of California!” The lead canoe slowed ten feet from the ship, and its fellow crafts drew up and held to a similar distance. Nearly two hundred pairs of cautious, intelligent, inquiring eyes gazed up at him.

Keeping his own glance locked on the oldest man in the first canoe, the one wearing a cape of fox fur intricately decorated with shells, Cabrillo said to his priest, “Father, please translate for us.” To the chief, he said, “We greet you in peace. We come from far south to meet the people of this land. We wish to trade as friends.”

The old Indian he had addressed, whether official leader or not, responded to Cabrillo with great dignity. He said through signs that his people had heard of their coming from their neighbors, but months before they had learned that people of his kind had arrived at a large river that runs north to south and can be reached by a seven days' journey eastward.

Cabrillo said aside to his pilot, “The river that Ulloa charted, possibly.”

Beckoning the man in the fox cape to the outer edge of the ship's railing, Cabrillo selected from the chest of trade goods a metal bell the size of a fist and a flat yellow glass bead suspended from a blue ribbon. These he handed into aged hands, along with signals of goodwill.

The native received them appreciatively, and without delay the captain-general had either small hawk's bells or beads distributed to each man in his canoe. These minor gifts produced such smiles and exclamations of delight that Cabrillo offered a silent prayer of thanks that the fleet had brought along so great a supply.

Before the canoes turned back toward the beach the natives invited their visitors by voice and gesture to follow in their wakes. Glancing ashore and noting the hundreds of villagers gathered, Master Uribe said, “They could wipe out a landing party in a blink, sir.”

“Indeed, but they give no indication of aggression.” With a hint of a smile, Cabrillo settled the matter by saying, “I had better leave my gunners in the hands of the best shipmaster on this sea. Keep us well covered.”

“I shall do just that, sir, but please take care.”

Ordering a launch from both the
San Miguel
and
La Victoria
to accompany him ashore, adding the restriction that their captains remain with their ships, Cabrillo, Vargas, Manuel, Father Lezcano, and six soldiers boarded their boat and pushed off.

Amid a great crowd of milling natives, Cabrillo waded ashore where Vargas and his soldiers quickly enclosed him in a protective ring. “Keep your weapons low and your hearts calm, men,” commanded Cabrillo, his own heart pumping at a slightly elevated rhythm. Parting the fence-like lines of men one after another, he walked toward an Indian he had not yet seen but whose bearing, dress, and company proclaimed him to be eminent. As Cabrillo neared to take the measure of this chieftain, the word that came foremost to his mind was, “striking.” His handsomely distinguished, beardless face was framed by a dense mane of hair as white as milk except the very ends where it darkened to the color of ash. Whatever advancement of age was implied by the whiteness of his hair was completely absent from the taught muscles and skin of his belly, arms, and legs. A small flint knife with a wooden handle inlaid with mother-of-pearl was secured horizontally by a thin, beaded thong against his scalp. A brilliant array of black, copper, white, and red feathers fanned out like a peacock's display from the back of his head. He wore a cape of white fur, tied at the throat and open across the chest, which hung to his ankles. A loincloth painted with geometric images reached nearly to his knees. Simple sandals constructed of hemp-like fibers protected his feet. Coming to a halt in the sand, Cabrillo's concentration rose higher and momentarily fell upon the tiniest shells of pink, orange, and white that had been intricately woven into a breastwork that adorned the chief's chest. When the captain-general's gaze lifted he saw full lips pursed in deep concentration and eyes that stared back intently from beneath thick, black brows: eyes that reflected a sharp and discriminating intelligence.