“We cannot be foiled in our work by this fool,” Quesada shouted, knowing that there could be no turning back. And he ran Elorriaga through with a dagger, again and again, four times in all, until Elorriaga, bleeding profusely, collapsed. Quesada assumed Elorriaga was dead, but the loyal master was still alive, though perhaps he would have been better off if he had died on the spot; instead, he lingered for three and a half months until he finally died from the wounds he received that night at Quesada’s hand.
As the two struggled, Quesada’s guard took Hernández hostage, and suddenly the ship was without officers. The bewildered crew, without anyone to give them orders and fearing for their lives, gave up their arms to the mutineers. One of their number, Antonio de Coca, the fleet’s accountant, actually joined the insurgents, who stored the confiscated weapons in his cabin. The first phase of the mutiny had gone off as planned.
Pigafetta, normally a thorough chronicler of the voyage, offers little guidance to the mutiny. In this case, he was close, too close, to Magellan to be helpful. As a Magellan loyalist, he resisted the temptation to hear or repeat any ill concerning his beloved captain. He eloquently presented the Magellanic myth of the great and wise explorer, but at the same time he turned a blind eye to the scandals and mutinies surrounding Magellan throughout the voyage. In his one cursory mention of the drama at Port Saint Julian, Pigafetta even confuses the names of the principal actors. The chronicler, who could be extremely precise when he wished, likely got around to mentioning the mutiny only after the voyage, when he felt safe enough to discuss the bloody deeds happening all around him.
The mutineers in control of San Antonio swiftly converted her into a battleship. Elcano, the Basque mariner, took command and immediately ordered the imprisonment of two Portuguese who appeared loyal to Magellan, Antonio Fernandes and Gonçalo Rodrigues, as well as a Castilian, Diego Díaz. The mutineers, led by Antonio de Coca and Luis de Molino, Quesada’s servant, raided the ship’s stores, filling their hungry bellies with bread and wine, anything they could lay their hands on, and they endeared themselves to their followers by allowing them to partake of the forbidden food. Father Valderrama, preoccupied with administering last rites to Elorriaga, watched all and vowed to report the evil deeds to Magellan, if he ever got the chance. Meanwhile, Elcano ordered firearms to be prepared; the arquebuses and crossbows—powerful, state-of-the-art weapons—were broken out. Anyone attempting to approach the renegade ship would face a barrage of lethal arrows and muzzles belching fire.
Within hours the mutiny spread like a contagion to two other ships, Victoria, whose captain, Luis de Mendoza, had resented Magellan from the day they left Sanlúcar de Barrameda, and to Concepción. It was only a matter of time until Cartagena, Quesada, and their supporters came after Magellan himself. Only Santiago, under the command of Juan Serrano, a Castilian, remained neutral. Quesada, for the moment, decided to leave Santiago alone; it was a decision that would later haunt the mutineers.
The sun rose over Port Saint Julian on April 2 to reveal a scene of deceptive calm. The five ships of the Armada de Molucca rode quietly at anchor, their crew members sleeping off the previous night’s excesses. For the moment, the Captain General remained secure in his stronghold, Trinidad. As a test of loyalty, he dispatched a longboat to San Antonio, where Quesada and Elcano held sway, to bring sailors ashore to fetch fresh water. As Trinidad’s longboat approached, the mutineers waved the sailors away and declared that San Antonio was no longer under the command of Mesquita or Magellan. She now belonged to the mutineer Gaspar Quesada.
When the longboat brought this disturbing news back to Magellan, he realized he faced a grave problem, but he remained oblivious to the full extent of the mutiny. He believed he had to contend with only one rebellious ship, not three, until he sent the longboat to poll the other ships and determine their loyalty. From his stronghold aboard San Antonio, Quesada replied, “For the King and for myself,” and Victoria and Concepción followed suit.
To make his point, Quesada audaciously sent a list of demands by longboat to the flagship. Quesada believed, with good reason, that he had Magellan boxed in, and he tried to force the Captain General to yield to the mutineers. In writing, Quesada declared that he was now in charge of the fleet, and he intended to end the harsh treatment Magellan had inflicted on the officers and crew. He would feed them better, he would not endanger their lives needlessly, and he would return to Spain. If Magellan acceded to these demands, said Quesada, the mutineers would yield control of the armada to him.
To Magellan, these demands were outrageous. To comply meant ignominy in Spain, disgrace in Portugal, years in a prison cell, and even death. Under these circumstances, he might have been expected to launch a full-scale attack on San Antonio, but for once Magellan restrained his need to assert his authority. He sent back word that he would be pleased to hear them out—aboard the flagship, of course. The mutineers were hesitant to leave their base. Who knew what awaited them aboard Trinidad? They replied that they would meet him only aboard San Antonio. To their astonishment, Magellan agreed.
Having lulled Quesada and his followers into a sense of false security, Magellan quietly went on the offensive. By any objective measure, he operated at an enormous disadvantage. The mutineers controlled three out of the fleet’s five ships and most of the captains and the crews. They had popular sentiment on their side and weapons to back up their demands. In his diminished position, Magellan did not attempt to meet force with force; instead, he sought to dismantle their revolt piece by piece, without placing himself in more peril than he already was.
He began his attempt to recover his fleet by claiming the longboat carrying Quesada’s communiqué. With this equipment in hand, he turned his attention to recapturing at least one ship, and then he would go after the others. He decided not to attempt to reclaim San Antonio, where the mutineers were deeply entrenched, but Victoria, where support for the rebels might be softer, and where he would be most likely to summon support.
Victoria became the key to the whole plan, and to get her back, he resorted to a ruse. He filled the captured longboat with five carefully selected sailors and instructed them to appear sympathetic to the mutineers, at least at a distance. But beneath their loose clothing they carried weapons, which they intended to use. Their ranks included Gonzalo Gómez de Espinosa, the master-at-arms, which automatically lent authority to their mission. Magellan gave the men a letter addressed to Luis de Mendoza, Victoria’s captain, ordering him to surrender immediately aboard the flagship. If Mendoza resisted, they were to kill him.
As soon as the longboat moved out of sight to begin its mission, the Captain General sent a second skiff into the water, filled with fifteen loyal members of the flagship’s crew under the command of Duarte Barbosa, Magellan’s brother-in-law.
When the first longboat pulled up to Victoria, Mendoza allowed the party to board his ship. De Mafra, the best eyewitness to the unfolding mutiny, relates, “Mendoza, a daring man when it came to evil deeds but too rash to take advice, told them to come aboard and give him the letter, which he set about reading in a careless manner, and not as befits a man involved in such a serious business.” According to other witnesses, Mendoza responded to the letter with mockery and laughter, crumpled the orders into a ball, and carelessly tossed it overboard. At that, Espinosa, the military officer, grabbed Mendoza by the beard, violently shook his head, and plunged a dagger into this throat, as another soldier stabbed him in the head. Spurting blood, Victoria’s captain slumped to the deck, lifeless.