THE BATTLE IN THE SKY CITY
_Hand to hand and foot to foot_
_Nothing there save death, was mute._
_Strike, and thrust, and flash, and cry_
_For quarter or for victory_
_Mingle there with the volleying thunder._
—BYRON, _Siege of Corinth_.
There are few figures in the early history of this country so gallant
or so picturesque as that of Juan de Oñate, son of Cristóbal Oñate,
the man who discovered the rich mines of Nueva Galicia, thereby laying
the foundation of one of the first fortunes of North America. The son,
Juan, added lustre to the name by his marriage with the houses both of
Montezuma and of Cortés, so it is scarcely to be wondered at that the
viceroy Velasco chose him from the crowd of hungry applicants to be the
leader of a fresh expedition to the new province.
Oñate was accompanied by three others whose names and fortunes are
fitted to thrill those to whom the real human hero is a figure more
full of true romance than the characters of fiction. These were the two
nephews of Oñate, Juan de Zaldívar, _maestro de Campo_; Vicente Zaldívar,
_sarjento-mayor_; and Captain Gaspar de Villagrá, _procurador-general_.
Villagrá proved himself not only valiant in arms but a poet of no mean
rank. Eleven years after the event, Villagrá published in Seville a
rhymed account of the whole of the first Oñate expedition. When Bancroft
consulted it in 1877, as a mere literary curiosity, he found instead “A
complete narrative of remarkable historic accuracy ...” and he adds, “Of
all the territories of America, New Mexico alone may point to a poem as
the original authority for its early annals.”
[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF TITLE-PAGE OF VILLAGRÁ’S RHYMED HISTORY OF
NEW MEXICO]
Don Gaspar begins his epic in true Virgilian manner:
Of arms I sing and of the man heroic:
The being, valor, prudence, and high effort
Of him whose endless, never-tiring patience
Over an ocean of annoyance stretching
Despite the fangs of foul, envenomed envy
Brave deeds of prowess ever is achieving:
Of those brave men of Spain, conquistadores
Who, in the Western India nobly striving
And searching out all of the world yet hidden
Still onward press their glorious achievements
By their strong arms and deeds of daring valor
In strife of arms and hardships as enduring
As, with rude pen, worthy of being honored.[52]
Bancroft regrets that the petition and contract granted to Oñate by the
viceroy Velasco were unattainable.[53] Since his writing they have been
discovered.[54] His contract to colonize New Mexico was made in 1595.
Oñate agreed to supply at his own cost not only two hundred men, but all
their equipment, and the live-stock, merchandise, and provisions for the
support of the colony for a year. They started forth with eighty-three
wagons, seven thousand head of stock, and one hundred and thirty
persons. In return for this, besides emoluments of land and titles,
free from crown taxation, Oñate was to be governor, _adelantado_, and
captain-general of the province. He asked the government also for the
support of six friars with proper church furnishings, and likewise full
instructions concerning the conversion of the Indians, and the tributes
he had the right to exact from them.
A change of viceroys brought about most annoying delays—even a leisurely
investigation into Oñate’s fitness for the task. There seem to have been
no limits to the official obstacles put in his path, including false
calumnies whose refutation was not easily established. But, according to
Villagrá,[55] the general never for one moment dreamed of relinquishing
his enterprise.
Finally, on January 26, 1598, nearly three years after the first award of
the contract, Oñate actually started north from Santa Barbara. In four
days he reached the Conchos River. Here the unwelcome _visitador_[56]
was finally got rid of, and Fray Alonso Martínez with ten Franciscans
was assigned as the religious aid of the pioneers. Oñate’s own equipment
almost staggers the imagination in its elaborate and complete detail.
“The lucky-starred Vicente” Zaldívar opened up a new and shorter highway
from Mexico to the Rio Grande, straight to “El Paso,”[57] and here on the
last day of April, 1598, Oñate took formal possession of New Mexico and
“all the adjoining provinces” for God, the King of Spain, and himself,
with even more than the usual grandiloquent ceremonial deemed essential
for such an event. In addition to the customary religious service, a
comic drama written by Captain Farfán was enacted. The theme chosen
depicted a conflict between Christians and Moors, in which, through the
aid of Santiago, the Christians were victorious. El Paso is therefore the
original home of European drama in the Southwest.
One of the duties given Oñate was to capture any wanderers he might find
of the unauthorized exploring ventures that had left New Spain during
the preceding years, and by good fortune he did secure two men, left by
Castaño, who understood three languages—Aztec, Spanish, and one of the
New Mexican tongues. Later, a more valuable aid was the Indian Jusephe,
who had been with Humaña and whom Oñate found with the Picuris tribe.
With these men as interpreters he could proceed more successfully. The
next thing was to force the submission and obedience of the natives.
Beyond El Paso short excursions were made, to explore or to secure
maize for food. Crossing the river, Oñate went ahead of the lumbering
caravan to “pacify the land”—taking sixty of his men with him. By the
twenty-fifth of June the company reached Puaray, where the friars were
given lodgings in a newly painted room. Imagine their astonishment next
morning when they faced upon the walls sketches which fresh paint had
failed to obliterate and which they recognized as portraits of Friars
López and Rodríguez, martyred seventeen years before.
In a _kiva_ ceremony at Santo Domingo, the chiefs of thirty-five
tribes knelt to kiss the hands of Oñate and of Padre Martínez. Thus an
“erstwhile free and sovereign people” became subjects of Philip III of
Spain and converts to Holy Roman Church.
They reached the pueblo of Caypa on July 11th, and here Oñate made his
headquarters until the spring of 1599, but changed the name to San Juan
de los Caballeros, to celebrate the knightly company who had successfully
achieved their task. In the words of Villagrá,
... at the end of all our toils,
And labors with alternate weal and woe,
We were at length approaching full of joy
A graceful pueblo beautifully laid
Out, and to which the name was given of
“San Juan,” by many “de los Caballe-
Ros,” to recall the mem’ry of those who
First hoisted high, in these new lands
And regions vast, the bloody Ensign on
Which Christ was, for the weal of all Mankind, upraised.[58]
At San Juan, in the province of New Mexico, there was founded therefore
the second permanent colony in what is now the United States, nine years
before Jamestown and more than twenty years before Plymouth.
Not all was made serene and easy for the conquerors, and because the
ground was not paved with silver, many of the frontiersmen became
turbulent; others deserted, making their escape on stolen horses. To
capture such, Captain Marquéz and Villagrá were sent in hot pursuit.
While they were absent, Oñate, accompanied by Father Martínez and a
suitable escort, went forth to visit the more western pueblos in order to
receive their formal submission. As his representative at San Juan, Don
Juan Zaldívar was appointed commandant of the troops and governor of the
colony, but with orders to hand over this control to his brother Vicente
so soon as the latter should return from the buffalo plains.
Meanwhile Oñate himself visited, among other places, the Peñol of Ácoma,
where he was received with much apparent cordiality, and was given
“maize, water and turkeys.” According to the usual custom, surrender
and fealty to the rule of the lieutenants of the Spanish monarch was
demanded of the natives. Although up to this time few hints are given
of any hostility from the Indians, Oñate was far too wary to risk
surprise, and forbade his men to separate from each other while on the
mesa. The cacique, Zutucapán, whom we may picture to ourselves a man of
intelligence, crafty enough to mask his intent behind keen, penetrating
eyes, came forward to offer the white lord the supreme honor within his
gift: Would the señor descend to their holy of holies, the subterranean
_Kiva_ in the rock? There he would receive signal proofs of the desire of
the Ácomas to become worthy subjects of this all-great sovereign. Oñate,
closely surrounded by his men, very probably looked down the hatchway
from which tall, mast-like poles of the entrance ladder protruded. Was
it the silent darkness of the great hole, or did some prophetic warning
of danger hold him back? At all events, with courteous disclaimers he
refused the honor and went his way, all unaware, it would appear, how
narrowly he had escaped death from savages waiting at the ladder’s foot
to give him short shrift.
Villagrá, upon reaching San Juan, found Oñate gone to Zuñi, there to
await Zaldívar and the thirty soldiers with whom he hoped to realize his
dream of reaching the western sea. Consequently he hastened on unattended
to report to the general his success in bringing back the deserters
from the army. Like his chief, Villagrá was met at Ácoma with friendly
entreaty by Zutucapán, who, however, was something too persistent in
his questioning, so that the Spanish captain took alarm and apparently
did not leave his mount. Assuring the cacique that he was merely the
_avant-courier_ of a very large Spanish force hastening to join the
general, he managed, though pursued, to escape.
Toward nightfall, man and beast faltered with exhaustion. Throwing
himself on the bare ground, Villagrá slept, but awakened while it still
was dark to find himself covered by a blanket of snow. The day must not
betray him. Mounting his tired horse, he started forward. Only a short
distance farther on both fell into a deep pit prepared by the Ácomas
for unwary strangers, well screened by brush and now also hidden by the
falling snow. Half stunned, Villagrá crawled out, but his horse was
dead. For four days thereafter Villagrá tells us he staggered on, with
a favorite dog for sole companion, foodless and waterless, since the
snow had ceased and only the arid earth was visible. At length he laid
himself down to die, when by rare good fortune he was discovered by some
of Oñate’s men searching for lost horses. Carried to camp, and nursed
to health again, he played his heroic part only a little later in the
assault and capture of the great Sky City. By so narrow a margin has
posterity inherited his priceless history of the great adventure.
Don Vicente de Zaldívar, having arrived at San Juan, took over the
command of the colony as ordered. On the 18th of November, his brother
Don Juan started for his western journey, with thirty soldiers, to
join Oñate at Zuñi. Meanwhile the bitter disappointment of Zutucapán,
foiled by Oñate and again by Villagrá, had had time to ferment into more
diabolical designs against the next coming of white usurpers of the
land. As Zaldívar approached Ácoma, he was met by the cacique and his
confederates in friendliest guise. They seem not only to have urged the
Spaniards to visit their sky city but to have promised ample provisions
for the further journey. Quite unsuspicious of the evil in their hearts,
Don Juan with sixteen companions went up the steep footway in the rocks.
The others remained below with the horses. Still off-guard, Don Juan
allowed his men to separate on the mesa-top, beguiled by plausible
invitations to one or another point of interest.
And now we see the stage set for the tragic sequel. Bare rocky floor.
Grim eyeless blocks of building. An illimitable sky, grey and pitiless.
On one side a horde of fierce barbarians consumed by primeval passion
to resist the entry of an alien force. On the other, a handful of
white soldiers, who though armed can make no concerted defence because
they have foolishly drawn apart from one another. There is no path of
escape, no possible signal for help to those below. Suddenly a hideous
war-cry rends the air, and every Spaniard is assailed by mad savages
with war-clubs or is pierced with arrows. From house-tops huge stones
are hurled. Brave and alert, the Spaniards sell their lives dearly in a
terrible hand-to-hand struggle. Don Juan and Zutucapán meet in mortal
combat and the valiant officer falls beneath the blow of a massive
war-club. Swift and short we may believe the onset, till, breathless, the
few Spaniards still alive succeed in getting together. Wounded, but not
beyond effort, Captain Tobar and four of the soldiers, pushing and being
pushed, finally reach the edge of the abrupt cliffs at the same moment.
With a last desperate effort, and we may think by common though unspoken
consent, they determine to die by throwing themselves over the precipice,
since to die seems all that is left them. By what even then was deemed
a miracle, only one of the five was killed in that fearful jump of one
hundred and fifty feet. It is supposed that they must have landed on the
sand that is heaped at certain places against the base of the cliffs. At
all events, the other four were rescued by their companions below, and,
probably because of the fear still felt by the Indians for horses, the
camp was left unmolested by the victorious savages long enough for the
Spaniards to regain some strength; being under the overhanging rocks they
were safe from missiles thrown from above.
[Illustration: THE FORTRESS HOUSE OF ÁCOMA
_Fr. O’Sullivan_]
But fear lest this treachery of the Ácomas was only the prelude to a
general uprising of all the pueblos made the Spaniards decide to break
camp at once. Separating into small bands of three or four men, they went
by different routes, some to warn Oñate of his peril, and others over
the arid miles to San Juan, to provide such defence as was possible there
for the women and children.
The scheme succeeded, and by the end of the year 1598 all the Spaniards
in New Mexico were assembled at San Juan. Oñate, waiting at Zuñi for
Zaldívar, had become anxious, and had retraced his path so far as a camp
called El Agua de la Peña. There he was met by Bernabé de las Casas,[59]
“who with six companions had come with the sad news of the occurrence at
Ácoma, and of the death of Don Juan de Zaldívar with other captains and
soldiers.”[60]
A serious problem now faced Oñate. The Indians could not go unpunished,
nor must the plan of punishment fail—for should it do so, New Mexico
would have to be abandoned. Other pueblos, watching to see the result
of the revolt of what was considered by them an impregnable fortress of
their race, would certainly rise in unison, and there would result a war,
possibly one of extermination. There were available but two hundred white
men—whereas in Ácoma there were not less than three hundred warriors,
and some additional Navajos. Moreover, Oñate could use only a fraction
of his own force, because the other pueblos would assuredly rise if the
settlements of Spaniards should be left unprotected.
But war was inevitable, and Oñate showed shrewdness in first getting
opinions from the padres as to what constitutes a justifiable war, so
that he would be supported against all censure of viceroy and monarch
should his desperate case prove also a ruined one.
The reply of the _comisario_ and other priests is set forth in long
detail and is of eminent worth.[61] It seemed but just and fair that
the brother of the slain Zaldívar should lead the avengers of the
massacre—and to Vicente de Zaldívar therefore was given the command.
With him was Farfán, and another was the soldier-poet Villagrá, whose
rhymed history of the siege and capture of the redoubtable rock is the
basis of our information.[62] Oñate made the men a moving address of
farewell, cautioning them against an over-zealous spirit of revenge, and
recommending that they should all be confessed and receive the Communion
before they started on their perilous task. Only one man, not named,
refused, and so did not go.
Vicente and the dauntless _comisario_, Father Alonso Martínez, with a
band of seven captains and seventy soldiers, left San Juan January 12,
1599, and on the twenty-first arrived at Ácoma. They were greeted from
afar by the exultant savages, dancing stark naked on their cliff, while
their medicine men, hideously painted, beat the drums and hurled curses
and incantations upon the besiegers, and all the inhabitants joined in
shrieking insults.
Zaldívar came as near as he dared, and the notary through an interpreter
named Tomás, according to a prescribed and usual formula, thrice summoned
the Ácomas to surrender. Instead of meek obedience came a shower of
stones and arrows. The savages, certain of their own security, had even
rejected the counsel of some of their own men to remove the women and
children, and now howled defiance at the Spaniards.
As horses, nervous and high-spirited
Champ foaming bits, pawing the air and shattering hard rocks
Into a thousand pieces beneath their stamping hoofs,
So these proud savages all eager for the fray
Begin the dance at once. Gaily at first,
Then their blood inflamed by beat and rhythm
With feverish spirit, most swift movements made,
Tearing out gray hairs in frenzy of excitement,
While with a thousand lightning leaps
They crushed the rocks with their strong feet
And spurred themselves to greater heat with cries
So loud and terrifying that the hellish clamor
Seemed like the lamentations of the souls
Of all the injured ones of earth,—
Not till the dawn did their wild dancing cease.[63]
While the hideous din of a war dance filled the night with sound, the
little band of courageous men encamped below the mesa and planned their
coming fight for supremacy.
Next morning, January 22, 1599, just two months after the massacre, with
their war-cry of “Santiago! Santiago!” the small force of only sixty
soldiers began the assault upon the fortress. They were met from above by
a rain of arrows and stones that did their deadly work. But this was only
a feint on the part of the Spaniards. During the previous night, under
protection of the darkness and the clamor of the war dance on the mesa,
the Spaniards had sent twelve men, chosen for their skill, with the one
and only cannon in their possession, to make their way up the southern
mesa. These men had crept stealthily around under the precipices and,
though hampered by heavy armor, had successfully reached a great outlying
ledge of rock on the uninhabited cliff of Ácoma, from which the other was
separated by a narrow but fearful chasm. This they determined to bridge,
and it took heroic effort.
Small pines which grew above the great precipices on the south had
been cut. With superhuman effort they were dragged down, and across a
troughlike valley, and then again up the perpendicular ledges to where
the twelve men were perched with their cannon. All this was done in the
night of the twenty-second. When the grey dawn came over the silent
landscape on the twenty-third, all but a dozen, left to guard the horses,
had joined their comrades, who were screened by pinnacles of rock from
the sight of the Indians. Here, according to Villagrá,[64] Father
Martínez offered the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. Engelhardt[65] adds,
“It was the first time that the holy Mysteries were celebrated on the
lofty peñol of Ácoma. During this Holy Mass, all the Spaniards received
Holy Communion: doubtless many supposed it was their Viaticum.” Then the
_comisario_ addressed the little band, adjuring them, while defending
Church and King, to be chary of wantonness in killing.
At a given moment the Spaniards chosen for casting a log to bridge the
chasm rushed forth, and luckily for them lodged its further end beyond
the gulf. To keep a footing on that crazy log in the face of stones and
arrows was no ordinary test of poise and daring. Unhappily, one man
caught the rope and pulled the log after him. With yells of triumph the
Indians fell upon the forlornly stranded group, when instantly an officer
(who was Villagrá himself) flew out from the crowd of his fellows on the
other side of the abyss and from its edge sprang into the air, clearing
the space, and landing, seized the log and thrust it back, so that it was
securely caught. Over it came pouring the Spanish soldiers.
Now the mesa top was again the scene of awful struggle and carnage—a
hand-to-hand, merciless fight with knives and clubs and arrows of
the savages, against the sword blades and gunstocks of the trained
Spaniards.[66] Neither side gave way though bleeding and trampled and
stunned, they fell to rise, or fell to die. But after a time the Indians
seem to have thought these were perhaps no mortal foes, and they
retreated into their fortress-like houses.
Having caught their breath, the besiegers at once began a fresh attack,
house by house. Into the narrow _calles_ they dragged the cannon, and the
adobe walls crumbled as the stone balls fell upon them. Soon fire ran
from house to house and the pueblo was doomed. But not until noontime
of January 24 did the Indians yield. Then their old men sued for mercy,
and Zaldívar at once ordered his men to cease. In fact, the Indians were
persuaded they had been defeated by supernatural power, and after the
surrender “they inquired for that valiant rider with the grey beard who
on a brisk white steed and accompanied by a handsome queen was helping
the Spaniards.”[67] The Spaniards, themselves hardly less given to
superstition, now believed that their patron, Santiago, assisted by the
Virgin, must have hovered, unseen, above them and brought them victory.
Thus ended the breathless, savage fight of a brave race for home and
children, a fight accompanied by a heroism and a disregard of personal
danger and injury such as few men have ever shown. Five hundred Indians
lay dead, and not a living Spaniard but carried his scars of that fateful
time to his death. According to Villagrá, the aged chieftain, Chumpo, who
had counselled before the battle that the women and children should be
removed from the Crag, was permitted to descend and settle in the plain.
The pity of it! Treachery had met its master, but we can hardly wonder
that bitter hatred was engendered between the races, for in addition
to death and fire and desolation, Zaldívar carried away eight of the
Ácoma girls to be educated by the nuns in Mexico. Was his idea that of
hostages to peace, or did he delude himself with the plea of Christian
“civilization”?[68]
AS TOLD BY AN EYE WITNESS
Dr. Bolton has generously given permission to include here his own
translation, as yet unpublished, taken from the “Itinerary from the Mines
of Caxco,” by an anonymous diarist of the Oñate expedition to New Mexico,
1596 to 1598. This diary wonderfully confirms the accuracy of Villagrá’s
rhymed history, and supplements it in various details, the most valuable
of which is the list, not given elsewhere, of names of those men killed
or wounded in the affray. The diarist’s account is as follows:
_November 4th._—Captain Marquéz came from the Land of Peace
(Mexico), and from Puaray he followed the Governor toward Ácoma.
_November 18th._—On Wednesday, at midday, November 18, the
_Maestro de Campo_ (Juan de Zaldívar) set out from the South
Sea, following the Governor.
_December 4th._—On December 4th he was killed at Ácoma by the
Indians of that fortress which is the best stronghold in all
the conquered country. With him were killed Captain Diego
Nuñez, Captain Felipe Escalante, Ensign Pereyra, Arauxo, Joan
Camacho, Martín Ramírez, Juan de Legura, Pedro Robledo, Martín
de Riveras, Sebastian Rodríguez, and two servants: a mulatto
of Damiero and an Indian. They wounded León Zapata, Juan de
Olague, and Cavanillas, and twice stoned the royal _alguacil_.
_December 5th._—On the 5th the _alguacil_ set out with three
companions to report the matter to the Governor, who was in the
province Zuñi and Mohoqui. He lost his way and returned on the
6th.
_7th._—On the 7th, Bernabé de las Casas set out with six
companions to make the same report and deliver it to him
ten leagues beyond Ácoma. This alone saved the men whom his
Lordship had with him and who were returning to Ácoma with full
confidence in them, and ignorant of the atrocities which had
been committed by the Indians.
_21st._—On the 21st, after having received this information,
the Señor Governor returned to this pueblo of San Juan, where
the main body of his camp and our Father Commissary now are.
_January 12th._—On the 12th the Sergeant Major, with title of
Lieutenant Governor and Commander of the companies, set out
with seventy companions to punish the natives of Ácoma.
_21st._—On the 21st, the feast of Señora Santa Ynez, the said
Sergeant Major arrived with his soldiers, and with the carts
and artillery, to besiege Ácoma, whose inhabitants they found
prepared for war. They received our men by shooting arrows
and other missiles at them, and with many insults. They
appeared with some arms of the Christians whom they had killed
there; and they would not consent to the demands made by them
according to the instructions of his Lordship (Oñate).
_22d._—Therefore, on Friday, the feast of Señor San Vicente,
at four in the afternoon, all having confessed and made their
peace with God, a feigned assault was made on one side of the
rocks of Ácoma. When the people of the rock ran thither, the
Spaniards went up on the other side. With brave efforts they
captured the first small crag and other rocks and boulders,
and finally came face to face with the enemy. They held their
ground that day and night with great diligence and watchfulness.
_23d._—On the next day, which was the feast of Señor San
Ildefonso, as soon as it was daybreak, they began a pitched
battle which lasted until after four in the afternoon. It was
miraculous that so great a number of the enemy were killed
without the loss of any of ours; and that the air was extremely
favorable, for it was so cold that the arquebuses did not
become heated, although the firing was continuous throughout
the entire time. It was all the more miraculous considering the
small number—less than fifty—who were on top of the rock, for
the balance who made up the total of the seventy who went to
this war, guarded the base of the rock on horseback, so that
on the top of the rock there were ten of the enemy to each
Spaniard. On this day the Indians of Ácoma saw an apparition of
Santiago or of San Pablo. Lorenzo Salado met with an accident
because of his carelessness in making the ascent.
_24th._—On this day the 23d they surrendered, although the
Spaniards did not enter the pueblo until Sunday the 24th, when
they established a camp in one of the plazas. Then they began
to capture the Indians, some of whom entrenched themselves in
the _estufas_ (_kivas_) and underground passages of the rock,
which was all undermined in every direction. Most of them were
punished and killed by fire and bloodshed, and the pueblo was
completely laid waste and burned.[69]