Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon (36 page)

An impulse seized Cabrillo to offer her something special, and the choice seemed obvious. Quietly, he gave the order to bring it from his cabin, and as he and Luhui waited he told himself that his carpenter could craft another chair without much trouble, not one so ornate perhaps, but perfectly adequate. When the chair appeared, he said to Luhui, “Take this gift, as a sign of my friendship.”

The old woman, delighted beyond words, embraced Cabrillo with withered but surprisingly strong arms. Her eyes were wet when she released him and turned away, and she proudly signaled for her escort to bring the chair along. As her craft pushed off from the flagship, she gestured a renewed invitation for him to come ashore.

Late that afternoon Cabrillo accepted her summons with anticipation. He and his entourage made their way ashore and paused at the corner of the village square, where he and Father Lezcano gazed up at tall poles anchoring the fence that surrounded the central area. Each pole bore a variety of painted animals and astrological symbols. The captain-general found them fascinating, and he mused aloud, “What do you suppose they mean?”

Father Lezcano had shifted his attention to several fifteen-inch stone markers planted evenly along the outside of the enclosure. “The poles, sir? They may represent pagan sentinels of some kind. But these stones, now, I wonder if they serve as grave markers.” They
were allowed no more time for speculation when several of Luhui's
lieutenants appeared from around the corner and led them to her house.

Inside this roomy Chumash structure they feasted on fresh clams, ground-baked maguey, hazelnuts, and acorn mush cakes. Cabrillo found this last dish to be so tasty that he decided he must trade for a few barrels of ground acorns before the fleet's departure. Luhui, surrounded by her family and trusted guards, ate sparingly but entertained all with colorful tales of the revelry that had taken place the previous night aboard the ship.

After the meal, Luhui announced to her guests, “This is a special day, and our ancestors must not be left out. A ceremony to honor them will soon begin. Cabrillo, just as we were allowed to join you as you spoke to your god, you and your men may join us today.”

Cabrillo sensed that such an invitation was very infrequently made to strangers, and he was touched by the old woman's trust. He signaled his acceptance in a manner that he hoped conveyed his appreciation, and they soon joined a procession of hundreds of villagers to gather around what had been confirmed to be their cemetery. He saw that most of the locals carried arm-length canes with divided ends, the purpose of which Cabrillo could not guess. When he and his men were motioned to their places near a slight mound on the outside of the fence, one of these canes was placed in his hand, which heightened his curiosity.

Luhui waited for her new chair to be positioned on the raised earthen platform before taking up her position. She then motioned Cabrillo, his captains, and Fathers Gamboa and Lezcano to draw closer to her side.

The evening had turned so warm that the natives had left their clothing behind. Instead of furs, the Chumash of both sexes had covered their bodies with light dyes that circled and zigzagged the mounds and planes of their tawny forms, highlighting every feature. The provocative setting and inhabitants couldn't help but captivate Cabrillo, his priests, officers, soldiers, and sailors.

Now, two men and two women, evidently previously selected for the honor of dancing this evening, stepped from the crowd and faced one another. Each elaborately ornamented dancer stood tall and grave, and each held handfuls of brightly hued feathers. Moving to the music of bone flutes, they began to dance around the enclosure. The purpose of the long sticks became clear as the villagers began to strike them against the fence, the ground, or another cane, creating a rattling rhythm that matched each step of the unified dancers. Cabrillo replicated their beating motions with his own cane as all of the villagers, including Luhui, lifted eyes skyward and began to sing words that neither Cabrillo nor Father Lezcano could follow distinctly.

The two young couples danced like precisely mirrored waves, their bodies swaying as their arms lifted, bending as they lowered, and always to the tempo commanded by the canes and flutes. The intensity of their steps and gestures increased each time they neared one of the poles that dominated the fence line, giving dramatic recognition to these markers. Cabrillo found it hypnotizing, this flowing, pounding, chanting around him, the beautiful youthful bodies flowing before him, and he was glad to be witnessing it all. This, he would never forget.

The dancers didn't slow their steps until the entire enclosure had been circled, and then Luhui raised her arms and the music suddenly stilled. The dancers disappeared as quietly and deferentially as they had arrived, and with the withdrawal of the performers, the villagers also began to disperse.

Intending to return to his ship, Cabrillo turned to Luhui and bowed his thanks. She accepted them graciously, but when the captain-general wished her goodnight and started walking toward the beach, Luhui called for her guards and issued a few quick commands. They carefully lifted her in the chair and fell into step behind Cabrillo.

Glancing back, Father Lezcano said, “Uh, sir, you may have a cabin guest again tonight.”

Cabrillo halted in his tracks, and when Luhui's litter came up, he said with feigned regret, “Luhui, my ships will depart with the rising of the sun. The night for us will be a short one.”

“Since you are leaving,” she said, “it is good that I will spend this last night near you.”

Cabrillo held rigidly still as he bit his tongue, then bowed stiffly and continued walking, fortunately unaware of the bemused faces of Father Lezcano and his officers.

Aboard the peaceful
San Salvador
, Luhui slept the dark hours away in dreamless comfort upon Cabrillo's bunk while the captain-general tossed wakefully throughout the night.

Especially early the next morning Cabrillo at last met Luhui to bid her farewell, and as he did so he realized that during these past few days he'd grown genuinely fond of the aged Chumash leader. She parted from him with genuine warmth, saying, “You are a good man, Cabrillo, and a good leader.” When her canoe landed she disembarked along with her much-loved chair, turned, and waved back at him. Many of her villagers joined in this salutation.

As anchors rose from the water, canoes arrived with a parting gift of three more barrels of prized and painstakingly prepared acorn flour, and her emissaries refused to accept anything in exchange. As the ships eased away, she remained on the beach, surrounded by her people. Raising her voice she called out, “Come back soon, Chief Cabrillo. I will dance again.”

“If our God allows it, I will come!” he shouted, and watched for some time as her petite figure grew ever smaller.

Over the next few days the breeze was so light that their sails could extract very few miles, and Cabrillo began to fear that they'd be forced to return much sooner than he'd hoped. But when the fleet finally rounded Cabo de Galera for the second time and Luhui's lands vanished from his sight, he found himself shaking his head and smiling at the many memories she had created. He would enjoy telling Beatriz and his sons all about her. He and his family had been apart for nearly four and a half months now. During that length of time his letter writing had grown less frequent, and today he felt a sense of loss as he recognized that she held his thoughts less regularly, less intensely with each passing day. It was strange, he thought, how a man could come to long for his family more but need them less.

As he reflected anew on the lateness of the season and the unknown but seemingly endless distance that lay before him, he had no choice but to remember that it would be many, many more months before he and his wife could hold each other again. For now he must be content to be enfolded only by his good ship.

Chapter 19

E
LEMENTAL FURY

C
abrillo lifted his face to the sun and closed his eyes, relishing what he suspected would be one of the last fair days before winter's grayness prevailed over the brilliance of autumn. During the past chilly nights his men had taken advantage of the heavier clothing they'd fashioned at Cabo de las Sardinas, and in another few hours they would most likely break out their jackets again, but for now they absorbed the benevolent warmth wearing nothing more than their linen shirts and breeches.

Just yesterday they'd retaken their northernmost latitude, the location they'd been forced to retreat from on All Saints' Day, and they'd made excellent progress since daybreak. The fifty miles or so had delivered them into a vastly wilder region than the lands to the south, with the coastline growing progressively rougher and the Indian villages dwindling until they disappeared entirely. High mountains that challenged the ocean for dominance had overtaken the lush beaches and harbors. Cabrillo had allowed Father Gamboa to name the mountains they'd been skirting, and the good priest had dubbed them the Sierra de San Martin range. When a little farther on these peaks ended before a small cape, it too was named after that saint, and Cabrillo was tempted to investigate what lay beyond its rocky coastal hills. Instead he pushed on while the weather demonstrated so favorable a mood.

Early twilight found him conversing with his pilot and his shipmaster at the stern railing. Somewhat doubtfully, he said, “38° north. I would feel better about our calculation if the only clouds of the day had not blocked the sun at noon. Perhaps we are not far off, however, and it is fitting that we recognize reaching something of a milestone. A thousand miles, gentlemen. A thousand miles along a coast previously unknown to our world.” He gazed overhead at a small flock of passing gulls and said musingly, “And, if we could spread wings and fly due east from here, we would not miss Seville by many leagues to the north or south.”

“Seville,” muttered Master Uribe softly, “how different a place from this, how tame in comparison.”

One by one they turned toward the rocky shore and wordlessly contrasted what they saw to the Spanish city they had known.

Shrugging off any inclination toward homesickness as he watched the waves crash and spray against the craggy cliffs dotted with trees, Cabrillo smiled and said, “It is magnificent in its wildness, is it not?”

“Indeed it is, sir,” said his pilot.

“We have not yet found cities of gold or the Strait of Anián, but we have been blessed to look upon such lands as these.”

“Not many men have, sir,” said Pilot San Remón.

“And surely China can not lie far ahead.”

“Surely not, sir,” said his pilot, and Master Uribe nodded in agreement. “Perhaps tomorrow will give us some indication that we are close.”

“Yes, pray we are granted a friendly omen. We shall remain under sail again tonight.” When he went to his bunk after midnight, his faith helped calm his mind and quiet his dreams. Less than four hours passed before a sudden lurching of his ship, rising of the winds, and tromping of hurried feet woke him. Manuel was at his door in moments, holding a glowing lamp and declaring, “It is not bad yet, sir, but it's coming on fast.”

Though it took only moments for Cabrillo to reach the main deck, Pilot San Remón had already called all hands to action and ordered the furling of most sails and the shortening of the foretopsail. One glance showed Cabrillo that the officers of the other two ships were responding just as readily to the danger at hand. The grumbling clouds suddenly loosed their rain so thickly that it stole the air from Cabrillo's lungs, and he gulped a breath before shouting over the first crack of thunder to his sailors, “Quickly, men!” To his shipmaster, he ordered, “No more than three feet of sail on our foremast, Master Uribe.”

In seconds the decks were so drenched that they challenged every foot questing a hold, upending men as they bulled forward to reach the lines or rigging. They fought to gain and maintain their duty stations, where they hauled, tied, or furled with single-minded purpose. Their efforts soon relieved the straining, flapping canvas, and left a foretopsail the width of a table runner to drive the ship before the vicious southwest wind.

As the
San Salvador
mounted a huge swell Cabrillo spun around and squinted through the punishing rain to see the
San Miguel's
hands battling to keep her close. He had to look a greater distance out to find
La Victoria
, and his heart fell. Despite the efforts of her crew, the heavier ship was lagging farther and farther behind the fleet.
Stay with us, Bartolomé
, he silently urged her captain before his own ship again seized his attention.

The waves were growing higher and more erratic and now conspired with the rain and wind by crashing over Cabrillo's decks, chilling him and his men to their bones and knocking many about while mighty gusts buffeted them from above. The captain-general shouted, “Secure lifelines!” and these soon cinched waists and anchored working bodies to cleats, yardarms, and masts. Furled sails snapped and clawed to loosen their tethers and sailors leapt to retie the few that succeeded.

As the ship rolled and pitched, Cabrillo heard the increasingly frightened screams of his horses. To Manuel, swaying at his side, he bellowed over the storm's howl, “See to Viento and Seguro!” Manuel nodded, slogged his way to the hatch, and disappeared.

Grabbing tightly to a handhold with each swinging step, Cabrillo directed himself to steerage. There, the swaying lantern cast an arcing ghostly glow over four men straining to control the whipstaff. Heaved by the current's assault on the rudder, the whipstaff tossed the men back and forth as if they were bags of grain. The forehead of one man bore a five-inch gash that had bloodied his collar and shoulder, and the eyelid of another had swollen almost shut. “Achabal! Lachiondo!” Cabrillo yelled to the nearest strong hands. “The tie-downs!” A pair of thick ropes appeared and each was quickly slipped around the whipstaff and into the grooved canals that encircled it. The captain-general took an instant to regauge the direction of the ship and the behavior of the wind and waves, and then grabbed onto the line several feet from the staff. Two men clasped the rope behind him as three others hurried to take up the other side. “Bring her a point to starboard, men.” At these words the seamen braced feet, tightened their grips, and pulled. Weary as they were, those who'd already been contending with the whipstaff added their muscles to the heaving sailors. They all clenched and leaned and strained in a contest against the bucking staff while the last man on each line drew it tighter and tighter beneath the point of a wooden cleat, restricting its violent swaying by degrees. When the staff had been forced upright, quivering and groaning, Cabrillo said, “Tie her off and ease your holds.” When the ends were snug the men gradually released their grasps and stood back panting as they stared at the humming lines. The oiled hemp vibrated so ominously that Cabrillo feared it was only a matter of time before its chords or his whipstaff burst.