An estimated 3,000 battles wracked the Iberian Peninsula between AD 711,
when Moors from Africa invaded what became Spain, and 1492, when they
were finally expelled. Nor were battles against the Moors the only ones.
The Christian leaders of the peninsula’s several principalities fought
each other and their recalcitrant nobles in a constant quest for power,
until finally Ferdinand and Isabella welded together, by marriage, all
the units except Portugal.
Centralization of power in the hands of national governments was one of
the characteristics that marked the slow emergence in Europe of what
history calls the modern world. The reasons are manifold. A central
government supported by a rising middle class of merchants and bankers
was able to create big armies of professional soldiers and equip them
with newly introduced gunpowder, a capability quite beyond the reach of
the old feudal nobles. Concurrently, the new governments consolidated
economic power, partly through nationwide taxation. New industries were
encouraged. Feelings of nationalism swelled; people took pride in
considering themselves Spaniards rather than just Castillians.
International trade assumed new importance, especially trade with the
Orient, whose extraordinary wealth had been revealed by the adventures
of the Venetian family of Polo as recounted by Marco, the youngest of
the group. Land caravans to the fabled East were difficult, however, and
limited by interruptions and tributes imposed by Moslem middlemen. So
why not travel to the Orient by water, either by circling the southern
tip of Africa or sailing due west across the Atlantic?
The most logical place in Europe for starting the endeavor was the
Iberian Peninsula, which dipped down toward Africa and all but closed
off the western end of the Mediterranean Sea. The exploration of Africa
was launched during the middle of the 15th century by Prince Henry the
Navigator of tiny Portugal. His success and that of the Portuguese
rulers who followed him was so astounding that Ferdinand and Isabella at
last agreed to support Columbus in a competitive transatlantic attempt.
The point is vital. Spain’s feudal nobles probably could not have
financed the expedition; the central government of newly unified Spain
did.
[Illustration: Prince Henry of Portugal (1394-1460). His attempts at
reaching the Indies by outflanking Africa earned for him the title
of Navigator, though he himself never went on exploring voyages. His
headquarter at Sagres on the western-most promontory of Portugal was
a gathering place for cosmographers, astronomers, chartmakers, and
ship-builders. Their work inaugurated in the 15th century the great
age of discovery that Spain continued in the next century.]
Columbus took the risk because he believed, as had the ancient Greeks,
that the circumference of the world was much smaller than it actually
was. He also believed, as had Marco Polo, that Asia extended farther
east than it does. When he found land at approximately the longitude
that he expected to, he assumed joyfully that he was close to Cathay
(China) and the islands of India. From that misapprehension comes, of
course, the name West Indies for the islands of the Caribbean and
Indians for their inhabitants, a term that quickly spread throughout the
hemisphere.
The islands and the eastern coasts of Central America and the
northwestern part of South America that he and Amerigo Vespucci (hence
the name America) skirted on separate expeditions during the following
decade were disappointing—no teeming cities crowned with exotic
architecture, no kings and queens dressed in flowing silk and laden with
precious gems, no warehouses bulging with expensive spices. To a less
energetic nation than Spain, the failure of expectations might have
ended further activity. But emerging Spain saw opportunities in the
wilderness. Some gold could be taken from the placer mines on the island
of Hispaniola. Plantations worked by enslaved Indians could be developed
on Cuba and Puerto Rico. Those Indians—all Indians—had a greater
attraction than just as laborers, however. Alone of all European
nations, Spain was committed to incorporating the native Americans into
the empire as loyal, taxpaying subjects. Priests accompanied exploring
expeditions. After the _entradas_ were completed, missionaries settled
among the tribes and began the civilizing process, as civilization was
defined by the conquerors.
The Spaniards saw themselves as particularly fitted for carrying out
this God-given program. Eight centuries of war against the Moors had
brought a strong sense of unity to the peninsula’s extraordinary mix of
bloodlines—descendants of ancient Greeks, Romans, Carthegenians, and
Celts as well as indigenous Iberians. Contests with Muslims and attacks
on Jews through the Inquisition (Jews were also expelled from Spain in
1492) had spread a crusading religious fervor throughout the nation.
Many a Spaniard felt in his bones what was in fact the truth: Spain was
poised in the 16th century for a great leap forward that would, for a
time, make her the dominant power in Europe. Supreme confidence
generated in many Spaniards a pride that unfriendly nations such as
England regarded as arrogance.
One side effect of all this was the creation of a large class of
professional soldiers who scorned all other callings. Success in battle
brought them a living of sorts; victors, for example, could force
Muslims to work patches of ground for them. A man could become an
_hidalgo_, entitled to use the word _Don_ in front of his name and pass
it on, generation after generation, to his sons. The first-born of these
families picked up the nation’s plums. They were appointed to
prestigious places in the army, the church, or the royal bureaucracy.
For the rest there was little but their swords and a readiness for
adventure.
The New World opened new opportunities for these younger sons and their
followers. They could join small private armies that went, with the
monarch’s permission, into the Americas to spread the gospel among the
“heathens” while simultaneously looting the defeated Indians’
storehouses of treasure and taking their lands. Prime examples of this
grasping for treasure are furnished by some of the _conquistadores_ who
hailed from the harsh, barren lands of the Extremadura region of
Castile—names that still ring triumphantly throughout most of the New
World: Hernán Cortés, Vasco Nuñez de Balboa, the brothers Pizarro, and
Hernando de Soto.
[Illustration: Christopher Columbus, whose 1492 voyage opened a new
world to Europeans. Though many artists have attempted portraits of
Columbus, none were from life. This portrait is a copy of a painting
done in 1525.]
[Illustration: After the First Voyage, the Spanish monarchs granted
to Columbus and his descendents this coat of arms. It signified his
new place in the nobility. The gold castle and purple lion linked
him to the sovereigns. The golden islands in the sea proclaimed his
discoveries. The anchors were emblems of his rank as admiral.]
The crown gave little except permission and titles—_adelantado_ (“he who
leads the way”) and governor—to men such as these. But if the risks were
great, so too at times were the rewards. As already indicated, there
might be riches to divide after the king had taken his 20 percent share.
There were plantations to be founded and tended by Indians who gave
their labor, however willingly, in exchange for being taught the ways of
Christians. The size of each man’s share in these gains depended partly
on his initial investment in the expedition. Money wasn’t all. The
contribution could be—and this was a crucial point—energy, ability,
intense patriotism, religious zeal, and often ruthlessness.
Each man took with him to the New World what he had. Apparently there
were few full suits of armor, though Francisco Vásquez de Coronado did
possess one that was handsomely gilded to look like the gold he was
searching for.
Partial suits—coats of mail made of small, interlinked rings of metal or
cuirasses of plate armor that protected the wearer’s front and
sides—were more numerous. Most cuirasses were made with a ridge running
down the front and curved in such a way that a lance point striking the
metal would, it was hoped, glance off without penetrating. It was hoped,
too, that arrows would be similarly deflected. The chronicles tell,
however, of Indian bows driving arrows entirely through plate armor and
of cane arrows splintering on striking chain mail. The needle-sharp
pieces then passed through the metal rings, inflicting puncture wounds
that festered. Jackets made of quilted padding or even of tough bullhide
were probably as effective against arrows as metal.
[Illustration: Priests accompanied most expeditions of discovery.
Like their countrymen, most clergy were poorly equipped to
understand and tolerate the new societies they encountered in
America. One clergyman who rose far above his time and place was
Bartolomé de las Casas, who spoke out against abuse of the Indians
but met with great opposition from vested interests.]
Footmen, who constituted the greater part of every New World expedition,
carried pikes or halberds, crossbows or arquebuses, and sometimes maces
or battle axes. A crossbow, whose string was pulled tight by a crank,
propelled iron darts with great force and accuracy from grooves in the
weapon’s stock. An arquebus was a primitive musket about 3 feet in
length but lacked accuracy at distances greater than 75 yards or so.
Indians, it turned out, could shoot several arrows in the time the
handler of a crossbow or arquebus could fire once.
Cavalrymen, the elite of the force, were armed with lances, swords for
slashing, and daggers. Long lances were generally couched against the
rider’s body, as in tournaments or charges against similarly equipped
European adversaries. A lance driven through an Indian’s body, however,
would sometimes hang up and pull the rider from his saddle. Accordingly,
shorter weapons held in an upraised hand were preferred in the New
World. They could be hurled or held and directed at the enemy’s face—an
enemy on foot, for the native Americans did not yet have horses.
The _conquistadores_ were as superb horsemen as the world has seen.
Their animals were loved and pampered. During the early years in the
Americas they were relatively rare and expensive (few survived the
tempestuous sea journey from Europe to become breeding stock), and just
the sight of them terrified Indians. The fearful impact of a cavalry
charge, lances flying or thrusting, swords slashing, and wardogs
sometimes racing beside the horses, goes far to explain how small groups
of Spaniards were able to triumph over great numerical odds. Pedro de
Casteñada, one of the historians of the Coronado expedition, put it
thus: “after God, we owed the victory to the horses.”
Desperation also played a part. The adventurers often found themselves
hundreds of miles from any possibility of help. Stamina in the face of
hunger and hardship, courage and energy in opposition to attack and fear
were the basic elements of salvation. Of necessity the men adopted
whatever methods promised to carry them to their goals. Religious
fanaticism was another motive. To Cortés’s men, the Aztecs, who
regularly offered human sacrifices to a heathen god, were an abomination
and deserved to be annihilated, or at least enslaved, if they did not
accept the Christian salvation held out to them. This attitude carried
over, in somewhat lesser degree, to all Indians, even though Spain’s
rulers constantly exhorted gentleness, and missionaries went with every
major group to offer heaven to souls lost in darkness. That is, if
Indians had souls, which many Europeans of the time sincerely doubted.
Finally, every _conquistador_ was stirred to action by his own
credulity. The Church had brought him up to believe implicitly in
miracles. A large part of his education consisted of peopling the
unknown world with marvels and monsters. A favorite tale, though by no
means the only one, dealt with seven Catholic bishops and their
congregations who fled from the invading Moors to the island of Antilia.
There they burned their ships and diligently built seven glorious
cities, for naturally Christian settlements would be more dazzling than
pagan ones. _Mas allá_: there is more beyond. A wondrous dream,
Spanish-style. It carried, in succession, Pánfilo Narváez, Hernando de
Soto, Francisco Vásquez de Coronado, and Juan Rodríguez Cabrillo into
what became the United States. There reality at last took command.