Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon (27 page)

Between bites and drinks, the captain-general questioned Wocha further about the surrounding land and people. Wocha responded freely, sharing that many Chumash villages such as his lined the shores to the north. He described the terrain, flora, and fauna that they could expect to find. Tantalizingly, he spoke of the great river to the far north, and Cabrillo prayed that it was actually the mouth of the strait that ran all the way to the Atlantic Ocean, not a mere river.

Having noticed a small nugget that served as a decorative plug in one of Wocha's ears, Cabrillo now asked about the location of any gold in the vicinity.

The chief explained thoughtfully, “My people trade for small pieces of the sun stone but it has little value. It is too soft to make a good knife. Others bring it here from far inland.”

This explanation held no real surprise, since very little gold had been seen among Wocha's people.

As the table was being cleared the discussion turned to the topic that evidently most fascinated Wocha. “Tell me more about your one God,” he signed. “What are his powers? Why does he wish you to place the cross on the beach? How are men chosen to serve him?”

Fathers Gamboa and Lezcano gladly spent some time answering these and other questions about their faith, providing Wocha with a great deal to contemplate. As the lamp wicks shortened with the evening, Cabrillo drew their conversation to a close. “We have much work tomorrow, Wocha.”

The chief asked, “Do you need help with your work, Cabrillo?”

“With the trading, Wocha. We must gather all that is needed so that our ships may leave in two days. Also, you have seen our horses. I wish to bring them ashore, but they must only be handled by my men. Can this be done?”

Wocha said, “My people will only watch. They will not touch your animals.” He then looked up at Manuel, who had been among those silently waiting on them. “I have heard that many children may be born to mark the coming of your people. I hope their skin will be the color of the night sky.”

Manuel had the grace to remain soundless as he studied the walls of the chamber. When Cabrillo shifted his gaze and noticed the reddening of Mateo's sun bronzed cheeks, he realized that even the boy had understood what Manuel had been up to ashore.

The captain-general rose from his seat and parted cordially from his guests, and after they'd left Mateo was allowed to fall asleep in the corner. Only Manuel, Father Lezcano, and Cabrillo lingered to talk awhile longer.

“I offer my congratulations on such a successful evening, sir,” said Father Lezcano.

“Successful? In many respects, yes, but I doubt Governor Mendoza would deem it so. What of the Seven Cities of Gold? How far must we sail before we hear corroborative word of it? And yet, if the river Wocha described to us is the Strait of Anián, its discovery might prove more valuable than mountains of gold.”

Cabrillo toyed with the burgundy liquor in his glass, swirling it gently and watching the play of the lamplight within and around it. He took a sip and said to Father Lezcano, “Your interpreting skills are improving greatly, my dear priest. I find myself hoping we meet many more of these Indians along our way.”

“Simply because of my interpreting talents, sir?”

Cabrillo smiled, saying, “The abundance of their generosity is very welcome as well. And I appreciate their obvious intelligence.”

“They do possess that, sir, but some of their ways are incomprehensible to me. I have been wondering, when we first met Wocha, when you declined accepting one of his women and he offered you the youth instead, you seemed little shocked by his proposal. Was I mistaken?”

“No, Father, I was not surprised. I have read about this custom before. Hernando de Alarcón's reports were quite explicit on the subject, which he observed in a village along the Colorado River.”

“It must be widespread if it extends so far.”

“Evidently so. According to Alarcón, the son of the village chief was one of four men chosen to serve his people by offering himself carnally. These few men were strictly forbidden from having sex with women but had to make themselves available to every marriageable young man of the area. They received no payment but were welcome to take whatever they needed for survival from any house in the village. When one of them died, the next male child born was named as his successor and reared for that specific role. This custom is evidently meant to secure the virginity of their unmarried women, and it may succeed to some extent.”

Father Lezcano harrumphed and said, “Their goal is set at a disgraceful price, sir.”

“Not to them. Perhaps this tradition so astonishes our own people because it is carried out very openly. And yet, we cannot deny that sexual interactions have occurred between some men of the sea and of our land too, for that matter, since time began.”

“But, sir, such activity can not be condoned.”

“Trysts of any kind can cause trouble on a ship, and the law in this case is clear. Our faith and our society denounce such a practice, but to these people it is useful, even admirable.”

Father Lezcano shook his head and tactfully turned the topic back to the language of the Chumash before a knock sounded at the door.

“Enter,” said Cabrillo.

Pilot San Remón closed the door behind him, bowed, and said reluctantly, “Captain-General, a man was just caught sleeping on watch.”

Cabrillo's chest sank an inch, but he asked with resignation. “Who was it?”

“Young Battista, sir.”

“Curse him, he is a good man.”

“Yes, sir, and he has been working like a mule lately. He was exhausted, sir.”

“You know as well as I, and as well as he, that the punishment is firmly set for a man who sleeps at his post, even while at anchor-watch in a friendly port.”

“I do know it, sir. It is my hope that some flexibility may lie only in the length of his punishment. A man is usually assigned to the bergantine's oars for a month, but in this case...”

Sighing heavily, Cabrillo said, “There can be no exceptions, pilot, not for anyone.”

Pilot San Remón accepted this judgment with a solemn yet acquiescing bow. “He will be rowed to the
San Miguel
at once, Captain-General.” He turned to depart.

“Pilot,” Cabrillo said, halting him at the door. “I will not be opposed to Captain Correa being discretely encouraged to spare the lash and the chains on his newest crewmember.”

An expression of restrained gratitude and relief accompanied another bow as Pilot San Remón left the cabin to deliver this unusually light sentence.

At dawn, however, the men of the
San Salvador
found themselves ruing Battista's absence and their own added workload due to his assignment to the
San Miguel
. Cabrillo pushed himself as hard as his men, taking little time to rest as he oversaw the final preparations of repair and departure. It didn't help matters that the day turned unseasonably hot, making every exertion more draining. Two men passed out under the dehydrating sun, causing Cabrillo to order water delivered to each man in a timely manner. The sun did not relent until it settled low in its resting place, and the fading light offered the most relief the men had known in days. In Cabrillo's cabin it was almost too hot to eat, and he picked at his food with little interest.

When the evening hour of eight was called out, Cabrillo climbed to the stern deck looking almost as limp as his men. “Get some sleep, pilot,” he said to the young officer he relieved, and there was no hesitation in following this command. Cabrillo gazed down upon Mateo standing at the waist of the ship, chatting now and then with Father Lezcano and scanning the water between the island and the railing. He had toiled without complaint right along with the men today. He was a fine boy, a boy to take pride in.

As the darkness deepened and a cooling breeze began to stir, Cabrillo blessed the feel of its breath upon his skin. What a peaceful night, he thought, as serene and gentle as it had been punishingly hot just hours before. As he mused about Wocha and his people, their land and their village, he turned to face the stern rail and let his glance skim his other two ships.

At the sound of a loud splash off the starboard side of the
San Salvador
he hurried to that railing and peered over. Someone had gone overboard and was splashing and sputtering below. He was about to issue an order to those now rushing to investigate, but he saw that Father Lezcano was already lowering the rope ladder. Cabrillo reached the priest as a coughing Mateo grabbed the bottom rung and began to climb. At his captain-general's interrogating stare, Father Lezcano said, “The boy was leaning over the side to check the anchor line, sir. He lost his hold and fell. All is well now, sir.”

Cabrillo studied his priest for a moment, then muttered, “Please remain with me, Father. You other men, back to your posts.”

As they shuffled away Mateo threw his leg over the railing and landed before Cabrillo looking almost as shamefaced as he was wet. In an undertone not meant for the ears of the rest of the crew, Cabrillo said, “Father Lezcano told me you were leaning over the railing and lost your hold, Mateo.” The lad couldn't quite meet his uncle's eyes. This was answer enough. Rather than pressing him further, Cabrillo addressed the priest. “Strange, Father, that a boy would investigate an anchor line at such a time of night and from such a poor angle.” He shifted his concentrated gaze from one to the other. “It is fortunate indeed that Mateo is a good swimmer, otherwise such an accident could have proved fatal,” he said, his tongue lingering slightly on the word “accident”.

Father Lezcano said in a very low tone, “I am certain the boy will be more careful in the future, Captain-General.”

“He had better,” said Cabrillo, his expression driving home the point. “It is time both of you returned to your watch.” He turned aside and made his way back to the stern deck.

Neither Mateo nor Father Lezcano uttered a word for a quarter of an hour. Then Mateo edged closer and whispered, “Thank you, Father. I promise it shall never happen again.”

“It must not, Mateo. If you ever feel sleep taking you again, remember tonight. Think of the slap of that water, and if that is not enough, think of the oars you could have been chained to.”

“Before God, I will, Father. With all my soul I will.”

Chapter 14

C
HANGE IN THE
A
IR

T
here was barely enough early light to see where to take a step, but this didn't keep Cabrillo from having all hands rousted to prepare for departure. The flurry of activity brought scores of Chumash to the beach and drew Wocha and his small native contingency to the flagship. Cabrillo welcomed and thanked him sincerely for his kindnesses during their stay.

Placing a hand on the captain-general's shoulder, Wocha said, “Chief Cabrillo will stay in my heart until I see him again. We will share stories of this visit for many, many seasons.”

“I hope to return, Wocha, but that is in the hands of God.”

“It will please me greatly if your God brings you back. If you come again, will you teach me to make the talking marks on skins? This is powerful magic.”

“I will teach you, Wocha.”

“It would not offend your god?”

“No,” Cabrillo said with a slow smile, “you are one of his people.”

“Then I will look to the western skies each day and watch for your great canoes.”

They embraced in farewell, and the Chumash chief returned to shore with his men.

Overhead, enough sail unfurled to catch the breeze and ease the ships from their anchorage, and Cabrillo's eyes left the activities onboard to seek the shore one last time. Wocha and his people raised their hands in salute. The simple gesture seemed to imply a tribute of honor yet also a sense of sadness at this separation and a yearning to meet again. Cabrillo lifted his own arms, returning these sentiments. The figures slowly diminished and, as the fleet angled out of the harbor and eased northward, were taken from his view.

Although Wocha had told Cabrillo that the two westward islands closest to his village were uninhabited, the captain-general set out toward them in order to better record their locations and features. As they sailed closer, the first of these showed itself to be an elongated stretch of rock where only patchy and meager plant life maintained a hold. Taking in the desolate coastline, Cabrillo decided a landing party wasn't needed to confirm an absence of fresh water and people, and he found little reason to drop anchors. As they headed north around the eastward point of land a nearly flat-topped projection momentarily snagged his attention. Nature had sliced this section of rock away from the main body of the island and carved out an arch that reminded Cabrillo of a monstrous shark, its upper jaw raised high above the water to await an unsuspecting ship.

The sea and weather permitted them to cross a short stretch of water and reach the second and far larger island without difficulty. Cabrillo could see little to imply that this land mass was more habitable than the one they'd just left. The afternoon was aging as they sailed along its curvy northern coast, which he estimated to extend a total of at least twenty miles, and he was quickly concluding that it was time to reverse their course and head northeast across the channel when, rounding an arcing point in the shoreline, the inverted v-shaped mouth of a cave appeared. The men muttered and pointed excitedly, and the temptation to investigate quickly grew too powerful to resist. Upon his orders men scurried to their positions at the lines and brought the ships to rest.

Cabrillo found his shipmaster at the foremast and said, “Bring a number of lamps, Master Uribe. That cavern looks dark as midnight.”

The officers of the other ships demonstrated their eagerness to reach the depths of the grotto by casting their boats into the water almost as quickly as the men of the flagship. Once down, their rowers brought their own boats tightly behind Cabrillo's launch.