Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon (6 page)

“Captain-General Cabrillo has told me that an Augustinian friar by the name of Izar Gamboa has arrived in Navidad to sail with you,” Villalobos said, “but you are still waiting for your second priest. The viceroy has instructed me to tell you that he personally selected your other priest, who should arrive within the week.”

Hearing this news, Cabrillo, Ferrelo, and even Correa kept their expressions composed, but they were all gripped by the same suspicion: anyone personally selected by the viceroy, who happened to be a part-owner in the fleet, would keep a watchful eye and report back on any activities that might have harmed potential profits.

“Now, gentlemen,” said Villalobos, “the following rules concern your intended route, so please draw near enough to gain a clear view of Domingo del Castillo's new map.”

As the men at the ends of the table moved in to hover over those seated closer to the map, Villalobos unrolled the chart and weighted down its sides with the platter and bowl. “As you can see,” he said, “Señor Castillo has done an admirable job of combining charts from the voyages of Captains Ulloa, Alarcón, and Bolaños. He has drawn their entire routes, of course, but he did not neglect the details of the western coast of the California peninsula up to Cabo del Engaño, here, where Captain Ulloa landed two years ago. Unfortunately Captain Ulloa's untimely death has robbed you of his unrecorded insights, which might have been most valuable. Captain Alarcón, as you know, could have shed little light on what you will face since he traveled only on the eastern side of the peninsula. Luck has, however, allowed us the presence of Captain Bolaños who will be good enough to describe his experiences.”

They took their time over the map, questioning and speculating, with Captain Bolaños frequently and Captain Correa occasionally sharing their memories of their earlier voyage. At last Captain-General Villalobos said, “Let us now turn, gentlemen, to Viceroy Mendoza's remaining instructions.”

The listed mandates made it unmistakable that Cabrillo and his men were to maintain welcoming but wary relations with Indians. In lands inhabited by friendly natives, the expedition was to keep records of their speech, their beliefs and customs, dwellings, crops, consumable game, fresh water supplies, and anything else that would enlighten the prospect of establishing a Spanish settlement in the area.

After a brief discussion delving into these matters, Villalobos went on, “The viceroy strongly wishes a constant watch to be kept for any sign of the Coronado expedition. The reports he has received indicate that Captain Coronado has traveled far into the heart of the northern lands, and he has met with great resistance from the natives. It is conceivable that he will be forced or inclined to head to the western coast at some point. If so, he could well use your aid. Without definite word of him, however, you are not to divert from your orders to conduct a search. His Royal Majesty's goal of locating the cities of Cibola may prove to be more easily obtained through your route than Coronado's. To our king, the gold to be found in Cibola is no mere legend, and he desires it for Spain.

“In addition to this, I cannot state strongly enough how anxious His Majesty and the viceroy are to discover the location of the Strait of Anián. If you are able to find the waterway that traverses the lands of New Spain from the Pacific Ocean to the Atlantic, you will have done much to prevent the English and Dutch from claiming that passage as their own. The importance of this discovery to Spain is immeasurable.”

The conversation moved on to analyzing Cabrillo's quest to reach Asia by his northwestern route. Again their discussion broadened and contracted until some concerns had been offered possible solutions, but the vast majority of their questions hung in the air as little more than food for insatiable supposition. After nearly three hours, Villalobos and Cabrillo agreed that it was time to conclude the meeting.

Rolling the official papers and map, and handing them to Cabrillo, Villalobos said, “I will pray daily, Captain-General, that nothing will prevent us from a timely meeting in the Asian Sea. With God's blessing, the waters around the Molucca or Lázaro islands will be empty of Portuguese war ships, and we will be able to trade without conflict.”

“Yes, may we be granted that favor,” said Cabrillo.

Tilting his head toward Cabrillo's officers, Villalobos said, “It is gratifying to know that you have fine pilots to assist in recording the winds and currents, as do I. When your charts and notes are added to mine, they should be most helpful in establishing a westward passage to Asia as well as an eastward route of return. As our good Señor Urdaneta can confirm, a means of safe homecoming has escaped us for far too long.”

Standing up with Villalobos, Cabrillo said, “I thank you, Captain-General, for conveying the viceroy's orders to my officers. Do you still plan an immediate return to Mexico City?”

“Those are my instructions,” he said, his expression communicating that even a cousin must be obeyed if he wears the mantle of Mexico's viceroy.

“Then I wish you the greatest success on your own voyage, and I look forward with much pleasure to seeing you again in the land of spices.”

“You and your spices,” Villalobos said with a smile. “I have heard that your personal servant has learned to be a magician with them.”

“I admit that enjoying good food is a vice I have a dreadful time eradicating,” said Cabrillo without a hint of shame, and both men chuckled.

Addressing his own men more soberly, Cabrillo said, “You may return to the ships, gentlemen. I will remain a little longer, if Señor Urdaneta will be kind enough to speak with me further.”

“With pleasure,” said Urdaneta as Cabrillo's men bowed and took their leave.

Before departing, Villalobos gave Cabrillo a rueful look and admitted, “In a way, I envy you, Captain-General. You will sail into the complete unknown, with the possibility of discoveries almost beyond imaginings. My own voyage, following a route already traveled by others,” he cast his gaze upon Urdaneta, “will likely yield stories that sound tame when heard after yours.”

“I trust that both voyages will hold opportunities for few wild tales, sir.”

Offering words of farewell, Villalobos clasped Cabrillo's hand and bowed, as did Captain Bolaños in turn, and the two men left the tavern.

When only he and Urdaneta remained in the room, Cabrillo called for the serving woman, ordered that their wine cups be refilled, and settled once more on the bench. He picked an olive from the bowl and tossed it into his mouth. “Well, Andrés, how on God's good earth have you avoided the viceroy's attempts to convince you to sail with Villalobos? Surely, he has tried many times.”

The thin, ruddy-skinned man sitting across the table let amusement enter eyes as wise as those of any owl as he fingered the edge of his thick beard. Both the beard and his shoulder-length hair were heavily streaked with gray, though he had yet to reach the age of thirty-five. “Yes, there have been quite a few opportunities to accept. I was only able to avoid his entreaties by matching my determination against his persistence,” he said. “I can be very hard-headed.”

“You simply outlasted him?” Cabrillo asked, then spat the olive pit into the seldom-used fireplace.

Urdaneta smiled gently. “That, and I promised to compile the results of both voyages.”

Cabrillo laughed. “I thought it must be something like that. You are such a rarity, my friend: a Spaniard who has seen the Moluccas and lived to tell about them. The viceroy will certainly keep after you to sail again, probably long after his cousin's ships have left port. There will always be another fleet.”

“Undoubtedly, Juan, but I must correct you again on a point you seem determined to forget. I am a Basque, not a Spaniard. As you too are by now quite aware, we are known for our tenacity.”

Cabrillo said with mock severity, “You are a citizen of the king's realm. Being Basque is a mere technicality.”

“Not to a Basque.”

“I know, I know,” Cabrillo said, smiling broadly now. “Because your people are talented sailors you all think you can claim your coastal seas right along with the fish. And you believe you have as much right to your mountains as the oaks that give birth to your ships.”

“Is that not natural? They
are
our seas, our mountains after living there for thousands of years.”

“Forgive me, Andrés, but His Majesty is not likely to agree that you are entitled to more authority over that piece of the world than he is.”

Now Urdaneta let his own grin widen a little with each word. “It takes more than a king to convince a Basque he is wrong on this subject.”

“Ha, and many other subjects! But you are far from alone in the possession of such leanings.” Cabrillo became thoughtful as he picked up another olive, and he said, “I have asked you before about the generalities of your travels, but since those events were dreadful for you and the other survivors I have not pushed to learn more. Would you mind telling me now?”

Urdaneta kept his eyes on Cabrillo's face for several moments, his thoughts drifting back. “Yes, perhaps the time is right. As the months pass, it becomes less difficult to speak of the voyage. Even so, it was an experience I could never survive a second time. Never. What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

He took a deep breath and began, his lids half-closing in reflective contemplation. “When I was seventeen I signed up to sail with the Loaísa expedition as the assistant to our ship's scribe. Quite soon, old though I was, I became Juan Sebastian de Elcano's cabin boy. Just as most young men, I was familiar with the fame of the man who had completed Magellan's voyage, but I did not meet him until a week before departure. My admiration for that man quickly grew into a great fondness.” Cabrillo merely nodded, encouraging Urdaneta to continue.

“He had an extraordinary ability to accurately read the character of a man, and this made him a very skillful leader. With him as the fleet's pilot-major and captain over all six of the flagship's consort vessels, things went well enough as we crossed the Atlantic and descended the coast of South America. Captain Elcano led us through Magellan's strait, which many thought impossible once we were there, fighting for every mile against its treacheries. We did reach the Pacific Ocean, however, but only after scurvy had claimed Captain-General Loaísa's life. Captain Elcano became our commander, though he was also beginning to show signs of illness. Not long afterward, to my horror and grief, he grew too weak to stand.”

Urdaneta raised his eyes to Cabrillo, and they still reflected the pain of that loss. “I acted as a witness when he signed his will. By then, he barely had strength enough to lift the quill. He had already suffered through scurvy during his voyage with Magellan, and he had no more reserve to defeat it. I was with him at the very last. That cursed disease took him from us when we needed him so badly, even more badly than we knew at the time.”

Cabrillo pushed Urdaneta's cup closer to his elbow, encouraging him to drink. His friend wrapped a hand around the vessel but did not lift it from the table as he went on. “Scurvy ruthlessly killed many more men and badly weakened those of us who dared to hold onto our lives. All the while we tried to hold off starvation with nothing more than spoiled food and tainted drinking water, and there was very little of either. When the storms hit, those endless storms, we had no choice but to work the pumps night and day in order to remain afloat. Many more men died laboring at those pumps. When they fell, we merely rolled their bodies aside, stepped into their places, and kept pumping. Ship after ship went down despite our pitiful efforts; their men sinking under the waves without the strength even to scream.”

At these words, these terrible memories, Urdaneta's head lowered for a moment. When it lifted slowly he seemed to notice the cup in his hand, and he took a couple of swallows of wine. Setting the cup down and bracing himself with a deep breath, his tongue forced the words from his mouth. “Only one of our seven ships reached the Moluccas, and I shall always wonder why ours alone was spared. And yet, once there, rather than finding the rest and pure food we longed and prayed for, we few survivors were captured by the Portuguese.

“I was their prisoner for seven years before I was finally able to escape. Seven eternal years. Please do not ask me to describe how they treated us, Juan. That, I cannot do. Not yet.”

He paused for another drink. “Afterward, for several more years I sailed at length around those islands in boats too small for the Portuguese to bother. I learned the Malay language and I traded. In the end, six years ago now, I managed to return to Lisbon aboard a Portuguese ship. I slipped away from them again and got back into Spain in February of 1537. Shortly following my return, I met your old commander, Alvarado. Did he tell you that it took him over a year to convince me to face the sea again, so I could accompany him back to Mexico?” His expression became poignant as he said, “And then Alvarado allowed himself to be killed by rebellious natives.”

He met Cabrillo's sympathetic gaze. “Well, Juan, that is my story.”

“I thank you for telling me. Andrés, I was wrong to tease you about the tenacity of your people. You needed every bit of it to endure those trials, and no small amount of courage.” After a pause, he said without accusation, “You must hate the Portuguese.”

“
Those
Portuguese, yes, at least I did for many years. Now I try to forgive even them.”

Cabrillo paused and then said, “What would you think if I told you I had some Portuguese blood myself?”

“That is not a very well kept a secret, my friend. I have known for some time. But I learned long ago that a man's nationality does not dictate his integrity, or his choices. There are doubtless as many fine Portuguese as Spaniards and as many wicked Spaniards as Portuguese.”