“Nobody must take me away from you to keep me from being hungry,” said gentle Cleeta, hiding her face in her mother’s lap.
“If I were Chinigchinich,” said Payuchi, “I would not let so many people die, just because they needed a little more rain. I would not be that kind of a god.”
“Hush, my child,” said the mother, sternly. “He will hear and punish you. If it is our fate, we must bend to it.”
Chapter III. — “The Secret of the Strait”
Cabrillo
One afternoon in September, in the year 1542, two broad, clumsy ships, each with the flag of Spain flying above her many sails, were beating their way up the coast of southern California. All day the vessels had been wallowing in the choppy seas, driven about by contrary winds. At last the prow of the leading ship was turned toward shore, where there seemed to be an opening that might lead to a good harbor. At the bow of the ship stood the master of the expedition, the tanned, keen-faced captain, Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo. He was earnestly watching the land before him, which was still some distance away.
“Come hither, Juan,” he called to a sturdy lad, about sixteen, who, with an Indian boy, brought from Mexico as interpreter, was also eagerly looking landward. “Your eyes should be better than mine. Think you there is a harbor beyond that point?”
“It surely seems so to me, sir,” answered the boy; “and Pepe, whose eyes, you know, are keener than ours, says that he can plainly see the entrance.”