Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon (47 page)

The Chumash had also seen Cabrillo land, seen him slip, and now watched him draw fearlessly toward them. One of their leaders raised an arm and his men lowered their bows. Many infuriated warriors, however, kept their arrows nocked and ready.

When Cabrillo reached Correa, he ordered, “Get every man to the ships, Captain.”

Correa's eyes fell to the captain-general's leg, but he held his tongue and moved at once to obey.

As his men eased away, Cabrillo had Manuel and Father Lezcano lower their holds on him to around his waist so he had use of his arms to communicate. Pale and sweating as he fought the pain, he faced the warriors and said, “Warriors, I wish to speak with you.”

Their evident leader, a man Cabrillo knew only by sight, stepped forward. “That man,” the native said, pointing to Gaspar, “he has defiled one of our married women, and the others have abused young women not given to them. We must have more than words.”

“I understand your anger. I too am angry at these crimes. The men who have wronged your women will be punished.”

This evoked stony expressions and grumblings of doubt, and the Chumash leader said, “Give them to us. We will punish them.”

Cabrillo shifted slightly, and Manuel and Father Lezcano steadied him as he fought to keep his mind clear of the wisps of gray and sparks of silver that began to cloud his vision. He gulped a breath and said, “I ask you to come to the great ship and watch their punishment. You will see by what we do to them that they will not harm your women again. Nor will any of our other men.”

The natives seemed to waver in their determination, but as Correa's crewmen began loading Gaspar and the others into the boat, bows swung in their direction and the island sub-chief took a step in their direction.

Intent on preventing bloodshed, Cabrillo called out, “Hold the boats, Captain Correa.”

When even more Indians lifted their bows, and Cabrillo sensed that they would not be robbed of an immediate revenge, he decided to give it to them but only in the form of one man. He turned to Father Lezcano and said softly. “Go with Captain Correa, Father.”

“I will not leave you, sir.”

He firmed his tone and commanded. “I order you to go.” Father Lezcano looked straight ahead and stood like a statue, his grip even tighter around his commander's waist, Cabrillo said in a low and urgent voice. “If you care for me, go now!”

His friend's gaze returned to him, holding tenderness more overpowering than his strength. “
Because
I care, I will not.”

Glancing at Manuel and then Vargas, Cabrillo could see that they would obey this particular command no more willingly than Father Lezcano had. Against the growing agony of his leg, he stiffened his back and called out to the sub-chief, “I ask the brave Chumash to come and see these men punished for their wrongs. I ask them to take the word of one who has never lied to you.”

Once more their leader hesitated. At last he scowled and said and signed a single word to Cabrillo, “When?”

“Today, when the sun is highest. I ask that Matipuyaut and his sons come also.”

The slightest of nods from the warriors brought the bows down, some very grudgingly.

Vargas could no longer remain still. “Now, sir, we must return you to the
San Salvador
.”

Manuel and Father Lezcano were already bending down to lift Cabrillo, but he said through gritted teeth, “Not yet, please. Not until the rest of the men are away.”

They knew no argument would supercede this wish, so Father Lezcano prayed as Vargas ordered his guards to move off ahead of them, and all boats but Cabrillo's to push off.

This time, the warriors made no moves to stop the departing sailors, and after moments had passed with the slowness of decades, all three launches were rowing toward their ships.

Manuel and Father Lezcano slowly moved away from the clustered warriors. As they drew closer to the boat, which Correa's men had moved to within easier reach, Viento whinnied loud and long from where Mateo had staked him within the corral. Cabrillo looked that way and saw Mateo at the gate. “My nephew,” he said before his voice faded away, and Vargas called out for the boy to join them.

The next time Cabrillo lifted his head, it was to gaze at his beloved horse, but it was now Father Lezcano's turn to insist. He gave Manuel a look, and they crossed the final distance to shoreline. When the captain-general tried to protest, the priest said, “There can be no more delays, sir. Not even for him.”

“But, he knows...”

“I will come back for him, sir, for all of them. The Chumash will not harm your horses.”

His bearers waded into the water and lifted him to the boat. As diligently as they tried, they could not keep from causing further misery as they loaded him, and he was panting heavily as the boat began to pull away. Through the curtain of pain he heard Viento call again. He told himself, and sincerely believed, that the natives honored the horses too highly to hurt them, but at this parting, this abandoning, he felt anguish strong enough to rival his physical pain.

Seeing his injured master being rowed away with Manuel and Mateo was too much for Viento to remain where he was. He bugled fiercely, lunged against his staked rope until it pulled free, and knocked the top railing off the fence as he leaped to freedom. With Seguro close behind Viento raced toward the water, the mares neighing and circling their separate and still intact coral in panic. Their equine cries brought the native grooms hurrying in the direction of the enclosure to calm them. Viento hit the water at a gallop, stumbled against the waves until he found his swimming legs and churned after Cabrillo's boat, his rope trailing behind. Seguro, more cautious but just as determined, came after him. Cabrillo watched them worriedly, but could see that their powerful legs and the relatively calm sea would allow them to reach the ship with little trouble. They would soon be harnessed by their best swimmers and hauled aboard.

A dreadful silence held his crew as Cabrillo was carefully lifted to his flagship. Captains Correa and Ferrelo were also there to meet him. All continued to hold their mouths tightly in check except young Mateo, who let out a single sob. Paulo quickly took the boy aside and assigned him a list of duties that would keep him busy for hours.

Once Cabrillo had been settled on his bunk, he spotted Captain Correa among the throng and said to him, “Return to your ship, Captain, and set the punishment for your men. It will be carried out on the
San Salvador
at noon. Several islanders will be here to witness it.” He took a steadying breath, and said, “Captain Ferrelo, will you see to the mares. Bring them to
La Victoria
as soon as you deem it safe. Afterward, please return to me.”

Both captains bowed and left him.

At Dr. Fuentes' insistence the crowded cabin was cleared of everyone else but Pilot San Remón, Master Uribe, Paulo, Manuel, and Father Lezcano. The physician leaned over Cabrillo and asked, “Will you drink some brandy, sir?”

“Not yet.”

Every eye moved to Cabrillo's leg as the doctor took a serrated knife from his chest and began to cut away the boot. As Dr. Fuentes eased the sliced footwear from the leg, blood spilled onto the bunk and decking, and he was forced to call upon every year he'd practiced medicine, every unwelcome diagnosis he'd had to make, in order to conceal his reaction from the patient. His effort to keep his face blank was wasted, however, since Cabrillo and every other soul in that chamber could see the damage for themselves. A couple of inches above the ankle the splintered shinbone protruded from the torn muscle and skin in three places. The unsupported foot would have twisted unnaturally inward if the doctor had not held it steady, quickly grabbed a roll of linen bandages, and braced it in place.

Standing back in the corner Paulo grew ashen and slid slowly into an awkward sitting position on the floor. For a moment, no one else moved. It was Cabrillo who spoke first, “What can you do, doctor?”

Dr. Fuentes said, “There are two choices, sir. I can reset the leg...”

“How?”

The physician was unable to evade a slight pause. “I can open the area around the break and move the bone sections into their proper placement, and then I would bind the muscles and skin around the bone.”

“Or?”

“Or I can remove the leg, sir.”

“Which do you recommend?”

“The chance of festering will be less if I take the leg, Captain-General.”

Cabrillo closed his eyes for a moment, then, to the surprise of all except Manuel, he said, “I believe my left arm is also broken, just below the shoulder. Will you examine it now, doctor?”

Dr. Fuentes and Manuel removed Cabrillo's coat and shirt with great care, and it was now easy to see that his arm was already swollen and reddening. After the doctor had gently probed and maneuvered the elbow and shoulder, he concluded, “I can not tell with certainty, sir. It may indeed be broken or just badly bruised.”

“And if it is broken?”

“It would be best to splint it, sir.”

“Is there a chance it will fester also?”

After another unwilling hesitation, he said, “Yes, sir, a chance.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

“Sir, I should operate as soon as possible. The longer the wound remains open, the more blood will be lost and the greater the chance of corruption.”

To his pilot, Cabrillo asked, “How long until noon?”

“About two hours, sir.”

Cabrillo could hear horses' hooves upon the deck below, a reassuring sound. “If I choose to keep the leg, Dr. Fuentes, how long will the surgery take?”

“Sir, it would be preferable to—”

“How long?”

“The pain must first be dulled by spirits, sir, and then the surgery itself could take an hour or more.” He couldn't keep from adding, “Amputation would be quicker, sir.”

“And afterward I would be intoxicated or unconscious,” Cabrillo muttered. “Then, doctor, wrap the leg to slow the flow of blood. The rest must wait until the Chumash have left.”

“But, sir—” said the doctor, Father Lezcano, and Pilot San Remón almost at once.

Cabrillo weakly waved their concerns away with his right hand. “I have witnessed scores of surgeries, and I have seen men recover from worse injuries than these. Since it will be much more difficult to lead this fleet to Asia with only one leg, you must try to save the injured one. You may operate immediately after the punishment concludes.” He kept to himself the awareness that he could die during any form of surgery, and this he could not risk until the Chumash had seen justice carried out, and his fleet was out of danger.

Dr. Fuentes bowed his head in submission and began to set out the wrappings and bindings he would need.

“You have been studying the cures of the Indians, doctor. I ask you to consider their methods of healing as well as ours.”

“Yes, Captain-General.”

Now Cabrillo, his words slowing at last under the weight of his torment, he said, “Manuel, I will take a glass of sherry while Dr. Fuentes gathers his supplies.”

As the doctor studied the leg wound closely, Captain Ferrelo appeared at the cabin door and reported, “Viento and Seguro are safely aboard, sir. The mares are being transported now. There was no trouble bringing them off the island.”

“Very good, Captain, very good.” The first gulps of sherry were already warming his limbs but had done little to reduce the pain, and even the smallest movements made by Dr. Fuentes as he wiped the blood from around the wound required a clamping of Cabrillo's jaws to keep him from moaning. When the doctor reached for more bandages, Cabrillo said, “Master Uribe, Pilot San Remón, please prepare the ship for our visitors. The rest of you, I would like a moment alone with Captain Ferrelo.” Dr. Fuentes was about to protest, but Cabrillo added, “Only a moment, doctor, and then you may finish.”

When the door closed behind them, Captain Ferrelo faced Cabrillo squarely, forced himself to study the broken leg, and said, “I can guess why you wish to speak with me, sir. You want me to take command of the fleet in the event your death appears imminent. Do not ask me, sir. I have never disobeyed one of your orders, but I will refuse to accept your death or take command until I see the saints come down from heaven to carry you off.”

Cabrillo could almost smile. “Heaven, eh? And the look of this leg does not discourage you?”

“As you told the doctor, sir, I have seen worse. Men without your strength and purpose have lived with little more than a limp after such a hurt. You survived the wounds you suffered while fighting with Cortés, and many battles since then. This is just one more.”

“Very well, Bartolomé,” he said, his tone heavy with affection, “I will do my best not to die. I hate to think of the fright you would endure if a horde of saints appeared on deck to carry me off. Now, attend to your duties and let my doctor return to his bandaging.”

Chapter 25

A
PRAYER WITH
F
ATHER
L
EZCANO

A
fter Captain Ferrelo departed, Dr. Fuentes did his best to stanch the blood still seeping from Cabrillo's elevated leg. With Manuel's help he padded it well with linen and wrapped it in several layers of bandages. When he'd finished, however, he could rally little faith that his ministrations would impede the flow for long. Cabrillo lay back and rested for a while, but then neither blood nor pain could stop him from calling Manuel to help him up and appearing on deck when Matipuyaut and his large party of warriors boarded the
San Salvador
. Although Father Lezcano, Dr. Fuentes, and Manuel remained watchfully at hand, Cabrillo had lost too much blood to trust his ability to brace himself upright for long, and he sat pale but relatively alert in his wooden chair. His stomach had managed to keep down the sherry, and he was hoping the liquor would help him endure his wounds until the punishments had been carried out.