Cortés, who considered himself the legitimate adelantado of the north, tried to cut in on Mendoza’s plans to exploit the Vaca discoveries. Rebuffed, he defied the Viceroy by dispatching three ships under a kinsman, Francisco de Ulloa—one of the vessels soon foundered—to search for a sea opening to the lands of Cíbola. Finding himself locked in a gulf, Ulloa retreated along the eastern edge of the 800-mile-long peninsula that we call Baja California, rounded its tip and continued north to within 130 miles or so of the present U.S.-Mexico border. No inlets. His ships battered by adverse winds and his men wracked by scurvy, he returned to Mexico, only to be murdered, it is said, by one of his sailors.
The only man remaining who could have saved Cortés’s dimming star was his old captain, Pedro de Alvarado, then governor of Guatemala. Dreaming of still more wealth in the sea, Alvarado, too, had built a pair of shipyards on the Pacific coast and had put Juan Rodríguez Cabrillo in charge of creating vessels out of materials dragged overland by Indians from the Atlantic. In 1538 Alvarado went to Spain and returned with 300 volunteers and a license to conquer any islands he found in the South Seas. By then he commanded 13 vessels, several of which had been built by Cabrillo. In the fleet were three galleons of 200 tons each, one of which, the San Salvador was owned and piloted by Cabrillo; seven ships of 100 tons, and three lesser brigantines. If Alvarado had thrown in with Cortés ... but prudence dictated that he consult first with Mendoza, who had already invested some money in the building of the armada. So he took the fleet north to the port of Colima, due west of Mexico City and left it at anchor there, under Cabrillo’s watchful eye, while he went inland to dicker with the Viceroy.
In the end Mendoza and Alvarado agreed to share equally in the expenses and profits of a double venture: they would send some ships west to the Philippines and some north to Cíbola and then on to a strait called Anian, which supposedly sliced through the upper latitudes of the continent. The arrangements, which ignored Cortés’s claims, sent the aging conquistador hurrying to Spain in 1540 in search of justice, as he defined justice. He never returned.
Alvarado had no opportunity to exploit the newly opened field. When an Indian revolt broke out in provinces of Jalisco and Michacán, the viceroy called on Alvarado to bring in his volunteers as reinforcements. During an engagement in the summer of 1541, a horse lost its footing on a steep hillside, rolled down and crushed Alvarado to death.
Navigation was still in its infancy in Cabrillo’s day. Mariners sailed by “dead” reckoning, a method of figuring location by multiplying time by estimated speed over a given course. The main instruments were the compass, the hourglass, and the astrolabe. None of these devices was exact, and charts and mathematical tables were often inaccurate. Hence mariners sailed as much by instinct as by science. Skill often meant the difference between a successful voyage and wreck.
Onerous problems followed. Alvarado’s estate had to be put in order; ships had to be refitted; the chaos of an earthquake at Santiago, Guatemala, headquarters of Cabrillo’s holdings, had to be confronted. In due time Mendoza acquired control of the fleet, including the use of Cabrillo’s San Salvador, and in 1542 launched the major explorations previously agreed on. Ruy Lopéz de Villalobos took ships to the Philippines. On June 27 of that same year Cabrillo headed north with three vessels: San Salvador, which he captained; Victoria, commanded by pilot Bartolomé Ferrer (a pilot ranked just below a captain and was far more than a mere guide); and San Miguel, a small brigantine used as a launch and service vessel. It was commanded by Antonio Correa, an experienced shipmaster. More than 200 persons were crowded aboard the three vessels.[6]
Because both Ulloa and Alarcón had reported that the Sea of Cortés was a gulf, Cabrillo made no effort to follow the mainland north, but led his ships directly toward the tip of the peninsula, calling it California without comment, as though the name was already in current use. For nearly three months they sailed along Baja’s outer coast, bordered much of the way by “high, naked, and rugged mountains.” Because they were looking for a river entrance to the interior and for a strait leading to the Atlantic, they sailed as close to land as they dared, constantly tacking in order to defeat the contrary winds and the Pacific’s erratic currents.
About August 20 they passed the most northerly point (Punta del Engaño) reached by Ulloa. A little farther on, where the land was flat, they beached the vessels to make some necessary repairs and, while exploring the neighborhood, found a camp of Indian fishermen. The native leaders, their bodies decorated with slashes of white paint, came on board, looked over the sailors and soldiers and indicated “they had seen other men like them who had beards and had brought dogs, ballestas [crossbows] and swords.” Since there was no mention of horses, the strangers probably had come from ships. Ulloa’s men of 1539? Hernando de Alarcón’s of 1540? Or a later party, for there had been talk of Alarcón’s returning for another venture inland. Mystified, Cabrillo entrusted the Indians with a letter for the bearded ones.