CHAPTER II.

The Settlement of Don Tristram de Luna at Santa Maria—His Explorations—

Abandonment of the Settlement—The First Pensacola.

Nearly twenty years passed away after Maldonado’s visit to Ochus before

Europeans again looked upon its shores.

In 1556, the viceroy of Mexico, and the bishop of Cuba united in a

memorial to the Emperor Charles V. representing Florida as an inviting

field for conquest and religious work. Imperial sanction having been

secured, an expedition was organized under the command of Don Tristram

de Luna to effect the triple objects of bringing gold into the emperor’s

treasury, extending his dominions, and enlarging the bounds of the

spiritual kingdom by winning souls to the church. For the first two

enterprises one thousand five hundred soldiers were provided, and for

the last a host of ecclesiastics, friars, and other spiritual teachers.

Puerta d’ Anchusi was selected as the place of the projected settlement,

the base from which the cross and the sword were to advance to their

respective conquests.

Accordingly, on the fourteenth day of August, 1559, de Luna’s fleet cast

anchor within the harbor, which he named Santa Maria; the same year in

which the monarch who authorized the expedition died, the month, and

nearly the day on which he, a living man, was engaged in the paradoxical

farce of participating in his own funeral ceremonies in the monastery of

Yusté.

The population of two thousand souls, which the fleet brought, with the

required supplies of every kind, having been landed, the work of

settlement began. Of the place where the settlement was made there

exists no historic information, and we are left to the inference that

the local advantages which afterwards induced d’ Arriola to select what

is now called Barrancas as the site of his town, governed the selection

of de Luna’s, unless tradition enables us to identify the spot, as a

future page will endeavor to do.

The destruction of the fleet by a hurricane within a week after its

arrival threw a shadow over the infant settlement, aggravating the

natural discontent incident to all colonizations, resulting from the

contrast between the stern realities of experience and of expectations

colored by the imagination of the colonist. Against that discontent,

ever on the increase, de Luna manfully and successfully struggled until

1562; and thus it was, that for two years and more there existed a town

of about two thousand inhabitants on the shores of Pensacola Bay, which

antedated by four years St. Augustine, the oldest town of the United

States.

Don Tristram de Luna sent expeditions into the interior, and finally led

one in person. In these journeys the priest and the friar joined, and

daily in a tabernacle of tree boughs the holy offices of the Catholic

faith were performed, the morning chant and the evening hymn breaking

the silence and awakening the echoes of the primeval forest.

Where they actually went, and how far north, it is impossible to say,

owing to our inability to identify the sites of villages, rivers, and

other land marks mentioned in the narratives of their journeys. The

presumption is strong, however, that they took, and followed northward

the Indian trail, on the ridge beginning at Pensacola Bay, forming the

water shed between the Perdido and Escambia rivers, and beyond their

headwaters uniting with the elevated country which throws off its

springs and creeks eastward to the Chattahoochee and westward to the

Alabama and Tallapoosa rivers. It continued northerly to the Tennessee

river; a lateral trail diverging to where the city of Montgomery now

stands, and thence to the site of Wetumpka; and still another leading to

what is now Grey’s Ferry on the Tallapoosa.

That trail, according to tradition, was the one by which the Indians,

from the earliest times, passed between the Coosa country and the sea,

the one followed in later times by the Indian traders on their

pack-ponies, and the line of march of General Jackson in his invasion of

Florida in 1814.

That it was regarded and used as their guiding thread by de Luna’s

expeditions in penetrating the unknown country north of Santa Maria they

sought to explore, is evidenced by two facts. They came to a large river

which, instead of crossing, they followed its course, undoubtedly by the

ridge, and, therefore, not far from the trail. They also came to or

crossed the line of de Soto’s march, which he had made ten years

previously, as following the trail they would be compelled to do and

found amongst the Indians a vivid recollection of the destruction and

rapine of their people by white men, which they assigned as the cause of

the then sparsity of population, and the abandonment of clearings

formerly under cultivation.

So impressed was de Luna with the fertility and other attractive

features of the beautiful region of Central Alabama, which he explored,

that he determined to plant a colony there. But in that design he was

eventually thwarted by the discontent and insubordination of his

followers, the most of whom, from the first, seem to have had no other

object in view than to break up the settlement, and to terminate their

insupportable exile by returning to Mexico.

There were amongst those composing the expedition two elements which

proved fatal to its success. The gold-greedy soon found that the pine

barrens of Florida, and the fertile valleys of Alabama were not the

eldorado of which they had dreamed. To the friar, the spiritual outlook

was not more promising, the Indians he encountered being more ready to

scalp their would-be spiritual guide than to open their ears to his

teachings.

Ostensibly, to procure supplies for the colony, two friars sailed for

Havana and thence to Vera Cruz, to make known its necessities to the

Viceroy of Mexico, and solicit the required succor. But, as soon as they

could reach his ear they endeavored to persuade him of the futility of

the expedition, and the unpromising character of the country as a field

for colonization.

At first, his heart being in the enterprise, he was loathe to listen to

reports so inconsistent with the glowing accounts which had prompted the

expedition and enlisted his zealous support; but, at last, an impression

was made upon him, and an inquiry resolved upon.

But the viceroyal investigation was forestalled by the visit to Santa

Maria of Don Angel de Villafana, whom the Viceroy of Cuba had appointed

governor of that, at that time undefined region called Florida, who

permitted the dissatisfied colonists to embark in his vessels, and

abandon the, to them, hateful country in which they had passed two

miserable years.

Don Tristram de Luna, with a few followers only, remained, with the

fixed resolution to maintain the settlement, provided he could secure

the approbation and assistance of the Viceroy. But an application for

that purpose, accompanied by representations of the inviting character

of the interior for settlement, was met by a prompt recall of de Luna

and an order for the abandonment of the enterprise.

Don Tristram, against whom history makes no accusations of cruelty or

bloodshed during his expeditions into the interior, or his stay at Santa

Maria, and who, animated by the spirit of legitimate colonization,

sought only to found a new settlement, invites respect, if not

admiration, as a character distinct and apart from the gold-seeking

cut-throat adventurers that Spain sent in shoals to the Gulf shores

during the sixteenth century. Sympathy with him in his trials and regret

at his failure, induce the reflection that, perhaps, had he been

burdened with fewer gold-seekers and only one-twentieth of the

ecclesiastics who encumbered and leavened the colony with discontent,

his settlement might have proved permanent.

The local results of de Luna’s expedition were fixing, for a time, the

name of Santa Maria upon the Bay, and permanently stamping upon its

shores the name Pensacola; and here narration must be suspended to

determine the origin of the latter.

Roberts says, the name was “that of an Indian tribe inhabiting round the

bay but which was destroyed.” Mr. Fairbanks tells us it was “a name

derived from the locality having been, formerly, that of the town of a

tribe of Indians called Pencacolas, which had been entirely exterminated

in conflicts with neighboring tribes.”

The first objection to this assigned origin of the name is, that it is

evidently not Indian, such names in West Florida invariably terminating

with a double e, as for examples, Apalachee, Choctawhatchee, Uchee,

Ochusee, Escambee, Ochesee, Chattahoochee. The “cola” added to

Apalachee, and “ia” substituted in Escambia for ee, indicate the

difference between the terminations of Indian and Spanish names.

Again, amongst savages, we should expect to find in the name of a place

an indication of a natural object, the name being expressive of the

object, and hence as lasting. But, that the accident of an encampment of

savages upon a locality should stamp that locality with their tribal

name, as a designation that should survive not only the encampment, but

the very existence of the tribe, is incredible. An extinct tribe would

in a generation or two cease to have a place in the traditions of

surviving tribes, because their extinction would be only an ordinary

event amongst American savages.

The termination being Spanish, and no natural object existing suggestive

of the name, we naturally turn our search to a vocabulary of Spanish

names, historical and geographical.

Perched upon a rock springing 240 feet high from the Mediterranean shore

of Spain, connected with the mainland by a narrow strip of sand, is the

fortified little seaport of Peniscola. Substitute “a” for “i,” transpose

“s” and we have the name for the original of which we seek. The seaports

of Spain furnished the great body of Spanish adventurers to America in

the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries; and what more likely than that

some native of the little town crowning with its vine-clad cottages the

huge rock that looks out upon the “midland ocean,” should have sought to

honor his home by fixing its name upon a spot in the new world?

When and by whom the name was affixed to our shores is an interesting

inquiry. Neither Roberts, nor Fairbanks, nor any other authority,

informs us. It comes into history with the advent of d’ Arriola, whose

settlement will be the subject of a future page.

Three hypotheses furnish as many answers to the question: it was

original with Arriola to the extent at least of a new application of a

Spanish name; or he found the place already named in some chart or

document now lost to us; or already fixed by an Indian tradition,

according to Roberts and Fairbanks.

The first hypothesis requires no comment. The second rests upon the

existence of a fact of which we can procure no evidence. The third is a

tradition founded upon, or involving, a Spanish name.

Very extraordinary events or striking objects only are the subjects of

the traditions of savage tribes; and what event can be imagined more

extraordinary and impressive to the savage mind than to be brought

suddenly in contact, for the first time, with the white man under all

the circumstances and conditions of de Luna’s settlement? It was one not

likely to pass out of tradition in the lapse of one hundred and

thirty-three years, for two long lives only would be required for its

transmission. The settlers would be, in Indian terminology, a tribe;

their departure would be an extinction; and vanity would at last

attribute its ending to the prowess of the Red man.

A name that identifies a locality and forms a feature of a purely Indian

tradition, having no reference to or connection whatever with the white

man, must be an Indian name. Here, however, the name under discussion is

a Spanish and not an Indian name. The conclusion is, therefore,

irresistible, that as the name is Spanish the tradition relates to

Spaniards, and that the former is a Spanish designation of the locality

of the people to whom it relates.

The settlement of de Luna was the only Spanish settlement with which the

Indians could have come in contact before Arriola’s. That settlement,

therefore, must be the subject of the Indian tradition, and the Spanish

name Pensacola must have been its name.

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Historical Sketches of Colonial Florida · 第 2 / 23 章