Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon (9 page)

Anticipation greatly lengthened a night that offered no sympathy to ease Cabrillo's restless tossings and mutterings, leaving the fleet's commander to waken with a start and open his eyes on the day of departure hindered by a headache and a foul mood. He had finally fallen asleep only two hours earlier, cursing his luck at being forced to endure Father Lezcano's unreadable motives and blatant audacity during the voyage. But worse than this, he'd dreamed of Beatriz with another man, and the man had been an Aztec warrior. He now sighed as he rubbed his temples and wondered for the hundredth time,
Why am I cursed with such dreams?

He rolled over in his bunk and sat up, planting his bare feet on the deck. Momentarily remaining quite still, he listened to the rustlings, bumpings, and mutterings of the ship and her crew. Nothing sounded amiss. He said a quick prayer, asking that all would go well today, June 27, 1542. He wondered if this would be a day that men would find worthy of remembering. Fortune, fate, and the sweat of them all would decide.

Pushing himself off his bunk, he stepped to his small desk, examined the tip of his quill, dipped it several times in his inkpot, blotted the excess lightly onto a rag, and began to write his wife a letter. While his quill danced, telling of Lezcano's arrival, of the fleet's final preparations, and of his devotion to her, Cabrillo heard the commotion forward and below increase as the chickens, the horses, and a cow were being boarded. All still sounded as if procedures were flowing smoothly, so he continued to employ his quill and paper to express his dedication to his wife and children. He wrote not a word about his disturbing dream.

By the time he'd finished his letter, he felt better. He was tilting the page to slide the ink-drying sand into its tin when a knock sounded at his door.

“Yes?”

Paulo, Cabrillo's personal servant of several years, opened the door and bowed. “Captain-General, Father Gamboa has sent me to tell you that he and Father Lezcano will be ready to hear confessions soon, about an hour before Mass is to begin.”

Paulo was a Spaniard whose slightness of stature had been compensated for by a wiry strength of body and unmovable force of will that even the sailors had come to respect. He was bristly by nature, and his prickliness reached its height whenever he witnessed dishonorable manners displayed in his master's presence. Such an occurrence was only slightly less tolerable than any event that interfered with providing the proper appearance and comforts for Cabrillo. These were Paulo's areas of expertise, and his territorialism could be fierce. On most days he endured a lesser but always nagging frustration that sprang from his master's evident lack of dependency on his valet even after so long an association. Cabrillo seemed to accept his solicitations to avoid displeasing a willing servant rather than in acknowledgment of a needed service. At times Paulo almost suspected that Cabrillo would have relished returning to the privacy and freedom he'd known before his successes had been acknowledged and rewarded. Such a thought was not to be borne for long, however, and it was soon tucked away in his mind.

“With nearly a hundred of us to be heard,” said Cabrillo, “we will have to be quick with our confessing. Very well, Paulo, get my dress clothes together and we'll head to town. While I may, I am going to wash ashore one last time.”

Pleased as always to attend to Cabrillo's wardrobe, Paulo gathered what was requested with a brisk, attentive airiness. In moments all was ready.

They left the ship in a launch that landed them speedily, but before Cabrillo could head for the inn and a bath Lázaro de Cárdenas met him at the shoreline. This soldier had fought at Cabrillo's side in many campaigns, and he now held the respected and often feared position as handler of the war dogs. It was highly unusual to see Lázaro wearing a concerned expression, but this morning he looked like a mother who had misplaced a favorite child. A large gray-brown mastiff with a white belly and a bandaged left front paw stood beside him, tense and watchful. As Cabrillo neared them the dog danced and pulled against his leash in attempt to welcome his master, but Lázaro yanked him back sharply and shouted a command that the dog obeyed by sitting and keeping still.

“Greetings, Captain-General,” said Lázaro, holding the leash tightly.

Less than pleased, Cabrillo asked, “Lázaro, what brings you two here?”

“I came with reluctance, sir. I know you prefer that the dogs be kept away from the men, but his paw is corrupted, sir. I thought you would want to see it before he is brought aboard. The surgeon says it will not heal completely for at least a week.”

The dog whined for Cabrillo's attention, but he had been trained to understand that this would gain him nothing unless he complied with Lázaro's handling. He waited for any signal of release.

“Very well, show me.”

Lázaro commanded, “Hold!” but with his master so near the dog did not obey until Cabrillo repeated the word.

They bent down and Lázaro removed the bandage. Cabrillo shoved the dog's licking mouth aside, examined the swollen and seeping paw, and said, “He will have to remain behind, Lázaro. Now, there is no need to look so glum. You will have the other three to oversee.”

“But, Captain-General, only three dogs? The viceroy sent us more than twice that number. If we should find lands where the natives are dangerous...”

“If so, we have adequate armaments at our disposal. As you well know, the dogs are my last choice as a weapon.”

“Yes, Captain-General,” he said, his downcast eyes clearly indicating his unsatisfied preference.

“Lázaro, I know that you have heard the name of Nuño de Guzman.”

“As have we all, sir. A godless man. Bishop Zumárraga was right to have him arrested and shipped back to Spain. Few men lament his rotting in prison.”

“Then you have not forgotten the crimes he committed with his dogs. And you can be certain the Indians will not soon forget how their people were fed to his beasts for sport. Even those who fought against my commanders and me have valid reasons for their hatred for our war dogs, as do many who fought beside us and became accidental victims. I took pains to have these dogs trained to bring down a man without slaying him, but you well know how capable they are of killing. I pray that will not be necessary on this voyage. One fewer dog may reduce our chances of bloody misfortune. Understand me, Lázaro, I will not have my name recalled in the same breath as Guzman's.”

“No, sir. Of course not.”

“Three dogs only. Leave him here.” Over the years Cabrillo had learned to hide his own discomfort around the war dogs, even from the dogs. It was an uneasiness born less from fear than dreaded memories. He had been only ten years old and under the command of Pánfilo de Narváez when he had first seen the animals used in the gory massacres through Cuba. He had long hoped he would forget that horror or at least outgrow his aversion to the brutal, sacrilegious efficiency of the huge dogs, but those old unrelenting images returned again and again to torment him, especially at night.

Cabrillo motioned Paulo forward, and they hurried to the inn where a tub was already waiting. He slowly sank into the water and settled there up to his chin with a smile that stretched his cheeks. He let the near-scalding heat soak into his muscles for several long moments and then began to soap his body from crown to toe. When he could find no patch of skin that had not been rubbed at least three times, he stood and left the tub with pitiful reluctance. For once he showed great patience as Paulo dressed and shaved him before he joined his men heading toward the chapel.

Once there, the sailors and soldiers formed two lines according to rank, and when their turns came they stepped behind the two large screens of woven palms that served as partitions for the confessionals. Cabrillo noted that the expressions of the waiting men ranged from reflective, to resigned, to downright rebellious, but every Christian was there except the few left to guard the ships, and they too would be given a chance to confess their sins before anchors were weighed.

The only slave permitted to stand in line was notable, even to those unaware of his status as the captain-general's prized property, due to his powerful six-foot three-inch frame and the blackness of his skin. He had been a gift to Cabrillo from his old commander, Alvarado, and he still bore Alvarado's brand on his right forearm. Several years ago, after this slave had saved Cabrillo's life by deflecting a Mayan war club with his shield, Cabrillo had offered him his freedom. But the man had asked instead to be baptized. The wish had been granted, and he now was called by his Christian name, Manuel, and was privileged to participate in all Christian rites.

Standing first in the confessional line, Cabrillo did not have long to wait before Father Gamboa beckoned. He acted as an example to his men by keeping his confession brief. So brief, in fact, that when he came to the end of his short list of sins, Father Gamboa paused and then encouraged, “Is there anything else, Captain-General?”

A decidedly firm, “No, Father,” was the only response.

Father Gamboa possessed the tact to push the matter no further before hearing Cabrillo's prayer of contrition, pronouncing the captain-general's assigned penance, and, with God's blessings, absolving him of his misdeeds. Cabrillo stepped from behind the screen and bowed Captain Ferrelo toward the waiting priest.

After the confession line had dwindled away and, presumably, the penances had been sincerely offered, Mass began. The scripture Father Gamboa chose on this propitious morning was John 6:16. He read of when the disciples had tried to cross the lake toward Capernaum but were caught by a storm three miles from shore. As the storm raged, darkness fell and they began to fear greatly for their lives. Suddenly they spotted Jesus walking toward them upon the surface of the water. When Jesus reached them and they took him into their boat, the winds and waters immediately calmed, and the men soon reached the safety of the shore.

“The message is clear,” said the priest. “We have only to accept Our Lord into our lives and let him guide us, and we too will be saved. We must hold this lesson within our hearts as we face the challenges ahead on this great voyage.” Father Gamboa bowed his head and asked God to keep their conduct holy and their bodies and minds in good health.

Throughout the service Cabrillo had furtively kept his eyes on Lezcano. He had to admit that the man seemed pious enough. Time, however, would reveal his true character.

When the rite was concluded, Cabrillo ordered his officers to gather the men at the water's edge. Before joining them there he momentarily led Father Gamboa aside, and said in a voice meant for no other ears, “Father, I must ask you to tell me your impressions of Father Lezcano.”

The small, gentle priest smiled and answered with, “He gives every sign of being devout and hard-working. Do you have concerns about him, Captain-General?”

Unwilling to disclose his brief but turbulent prior contact with Lezcano, Cabrillo hedged, “He is very young.”

“True, sir, but I am only nine years his senior. I believe he will learn quickly.”

“Do you sense any rebellion in his nature?”

There was a slight hesitation, and then the tolerant smile reappeared. “Is there not a touch of rebellion in all young men, sir?”

“In all seriousness, Father, I must ask whether you perceive the potential for treachery in him?”

Surprised, Father Gamboa said, “Captain-General Cabrillo, you are a just man. Is it right to suspect such a thing after so short an acquaintance?”

At this Cabrillo was tempted to tell him everything but ultimately shook his head. “The men are waiting, Father. I hope my suspicions are groundless. I only ask that you watch him closely, and come to me if there is any difficulty.”

Father Gamboa's face clouded but before he could question Cabrillo further, his commander turned away and hurried to join his officers.

As the wind played with the beaching foam and the morning sun flared to its brightest glow, Captain Ferrelo stood to his right, Correa to his left, and Cabrillo gave strength to his voice. “Men, this is a day to lock in our memories. You all know our goals, but I will state them again to strengthen our resolve to see them attained. We set out to explore and claim the coast of California all the way to the shores of Asia. Along our way, we shall seek to locate the Strait of Anián. Once we reach the San Lázaro or the Molucca Islands we will aid Captain-General Villalobos in his trade efforts, and then return home with our holds filled and our routes proven.

“Whether we will find only wastelands as we voyage, or we discover places such as the Seven Cities of Gold, only God now knows. There is much, however, that we can do to improve our outcome. Each man who gives the full measure of his strength and determination to achieve what we now set out to do increases his chance of survival and reward. Such high efforts must be maintained throughout every challenge the sea and sky may deliver. And on land we must always offer welcoming relations with the Indians we come across,
regardless
of your past encounters with any natives.”

At these last words Cabrillo did not miss the slight shifting and muttering that ensued, and he said with an icy bite that left none doubting his seriousness, “Any man who jeopardizes the success of this voyage by not heeding my words will meet a punishment both swift and severe.” Silence and stillness instantly followed. He held them there for two breaths.

As he continued, his expression and voice warmed. “I am confident that in the weeks and months to come you will show me, and our viceroy, and our king, the depth of your courage and honor.” He scanned the bodies and faces before him, taking in the staunchness of his battle-scared soldiers and seamen. Some wore an eye patch or stood upon a pegged leg. Others displayed the unmarred body and bare cheeks of shining youth. The Indian allies who accompanied them stood erect and calm, their expressions implying an acceptance of whatever came.