THE SEVEN CITIES.
The planisphere which Martin Dehaim constructed in the year 1492 for the
Portuguese service contained, among other features, an island of Antilia
west of the Cape de Verde group, with a note relating that at the time
of the conquest of Spain by the Arabs a Portuguese archbishop and a
number of Christians had fled to that island and founded seven cities
upon it. The story is still more plainly marked on the map of Johannes
Ruysch--_Universalior Cogniti Orbis Tabula_, A.D. 1508. The legend of
the seven cities thus appears, like the myth of the Amazons, to have
been known in Europe previous to the landing of Columbus. After the
successive discoveries of the islands of the West Indian group in the
last years of the fifteenth century “Antilia” (_ante insula_) ceased to
designate a proper and special part of the land. The name of Antilles
remained, and was applied to the whole chain of islands that separate
the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean Sea from the Atlantic Ocean. The
seven cities also passed into complete oblivion till they were brought
again into a kind of indefinite recollection about the year 1530 by the
expedition of Nuño de Guzman. It is uncertain when, how, or where Guzman
heard of the “_siete cibdadis_.” The anonymous author of the “_Primua
Relacion_” speaks of them in connection with that campaign as if he had
already heard the story in Mexico; while other contemporary writers say
nothing of them, but mention a large river that emptied into the
Southern Sea, which the inhabitants had barred with an iron chain.
Neither the seven cities nor the broad river with its barrier chain were
found by Cebreros and Alcáraz.
It is proper, therefore, to inquire whether, or to what extent, a story
concerning the seven cities existed among the natives of Mexico before
the arrival of the Europeans. But such an inquiry should be prefaced by
this statement of general fact: Wherever it is possible to follow the
development of popular legends in groups of men not acquainted with
writing, but who have been taught to transmit these stories by verbal
tradition from generation to generation, we are surprised at finding
that the legend has been preserved with careful fidelity through
centuries, and that any novelty or change which has been introduced into
it must always be ascribed to foreign influence. Such influence is not
necessarily to be attributed to an extra-continental contact; but where
such a contact takes place--and where, as everywhere in America, one
group of the human race is suddenly caused to live with another of whom
it is so far in advance in established historical foundations and
knowledge, and in the means of perpetuating the remembrance of them, as
the Europeans of the sixteenth century were then in advance of the
American aborigines all over the continent without exception; and where
this living in contact is at the same time combined with the exercise of
a religious influence by the superior race on the other--then a
reconstruction of the legends is inevitable. It is expressed first in
efforts to adapt the mythology of the inferior people to that of the
higher; and as mythology and history are closely interwoven, a partial
insinuation of the sagas, stories, and legends of the superior people
into those of the others can hardly be avoided.
Great care is therefore necessary to extract the real kernel of the
Indian traditions, in Mexico for instance, from the investing shell of
the legends of the sixteenth century. The subject has been treated till
now not only with little critical care as to this point, but for the
most part without any critical sense. Everything has been accepted as
pure coin which, since the subjection of the Mexican tribes by Cortés,
has been called Indian historical tradition. Only superficial
consideration has been given to the time, place, and manner of the
origin of the Indian paintings and other documents. It has not been
considered, in using them as historical authorities, that the Codex
Mendocino, the Codex Vaticanus, and the Codex Telleriano Ramensis were
painted by Indians in the middle and second half of the sixteenth
century, by order of the Spanish viceroy and Don Martin Enriquez, as
illustrations of the local traditions which were collected at the time
by a commission in the name of the Crown. No inquiry has been made into
the extent to which those paintings agree with the earliest declarations
of the natives, which were made and recorded not more than ten years
after the institution of Spanish rule. The Church also, as well as the
Spanish Government, made earnest efforts a short time after the conquest
to collect the historical legends and stories of the Indians. About the
middle of the sixteenth century a statement was introduced into the
publications concerning these traditions, that the Nahuatl tribes of
Mexico believed that they had originated out of seven caves. The Codex
Mendocino had nothing about this, and it was not composed much before
1549. Later writers made seven tribes out of the seven caves, and
finally seven towns or cities. We have already seen that Nuño de Guzman
had heard or knew of the story of the seven cities about 1530; and the
supposition therefore seems not unauthorized that the seven caves of the
Mexican tradition, as they were conceived and represented after the
discovery of New Mexico, were an interpolation of the European legend
into the Indian recollections of their history.
In 1531 the bishop of San Domingo assumed control of the government in
Mexico as president of the Royal Law Court. No further advance of
importance was made in the discoveries in the northwest, and the
settlement of San Miguel de Culiacan in Sinaloa was held as the extreme
post in that direction whence occasional excursions to the north were
attempted. In the meantime Nuño de Guzman was removed from the scene and
called to answer for his misdemeanors before the Spanish courts.
Melchior Diaz commanded in Culiacan as _capitan_ and _alcalde mayor_,
and Diego de Alcáraz was at the head of an advanced post which was
pushed out between Culiacan and the borders of the present Sonora. Some
of the men of this reconnoitring party, when about eighty miles north of
Culiacan, met in the last days of March, 1536, a strange spectacle. A
man, nearly naked, with long tangled hair and beard, accompanied by
eleven Indians and a negro, came to them, and spoke to them in Spanish,
with warm emotion, expressing great joy that after eight years of
wandering he had at last been permitted to meet white men, and Spanish
countrymen. He bore the outer traces of great physical suffering, and
spoke in so excited a manner that the other Spaniards at first regarded
him and listened to him with suspicion. He gave his name as Alvar Nuñez
Cabeza de Vaca, and that of the negro who was with him was Estévanico.
Two other Spaniards, Alonzo del Castillo Maldonado and Andrés Dorantes,
were a day’s journey back, in company with a number of Indians who had
followed them from the north.
When the Spaniards had recovered from their surprise, they took the
new-comers to Diego de Alcáraz, who immediately sent three of his men
with fifty Indians to search for the other Spaniards. His purpose,
however, was not so much to deliver his countrymen as to find provisions
and gold. For this object he kept back the Indians who had come with
Maldonado and Dorantes, removed the latter from them, and finally put
the four, including Cabeza de Vaca and the negro, under arrest. The
Indians escaped by flight; and the prisoners, after having been abused
in various ways, were delivered on May 1st to the commander, Melchior
Diaz, at Culiacan, who gave them an honorable reception, and to whom
they were permitted to relate the wonderful history of their adventures.
This story of the wanderings of Cabeza de Vaca and his companions is
indeed a wonder-tale, and is hardly matched in thrilling incident by
anything of the kind of the sixteenth century. De Vaca has himself
written it out in the book “_Naufragios de Alvar Nuñez Cabeza de Vaca y
Relacion de la Jornada que hizo á la Florida con el Adelantado Pámfilo
de Narvaez_,” which was printed at Valladolid in 1555. Having been
composed from recollection and not on the basis of notes of any kind,
the book is obscure in its geographical data. Many of the details are
erroneously set forth, and the glowing fancies excited by the
contemplation of the author’s terrible sufferings and privations are in
many cases obviously detrimental to historical truth. The substance of
the story is true, and gives a vivid picture of the fortunes of Cabeza
de Vaca and his companions.
An expedition was organized in 1527 under the command of Pámfilo de
Narvaez, the former rival of Cortés, whom he had attacked and captured
in 1520 at Cempohual, to explore the peninsula of Florida, concerning
the wealth of which extremely vague and therefore exaggerated accounts
were in circulation. Five vessels, with six hundred men, left San Lúcar
de Barrameda in Spain on June 17th. Cabeza de Vaca was treasurer of the
enterprise. Rarely has any campaign of conquest met with such a series
of consecutive disasters as befell this unhappy expedition of the
“Armada of Pámfilo de Narvaez.” One of the vessels went down in a squall
during the stay of the fleet at the island of Cuba. The flotilla could
not leave Havana till February, 1528, and it was so hindered by storms
and head-winds that it did not reach the coast of Florida till
Maundy-Thursday of that year. It anchored in a bay on the shore of
which was an Indian village. The men were landed, and it was decided,
against the advice of Cabeza de Vaca, to leave the ships and march
inland. The unfortunate march began on May 1, 1528, with three hundred
men and forty horses.[64] Amidst great difficulties, without provisions,
they went northward through marshy woods and morasses, and across broad
rivers, at no very great distance from the seashore. Till the 17th of
June they found only a single Indian village (on May 16th). Then some
Indians met them from whom they learned that they were near the
settlement of Apalache, of which they were in search, concerning the
wealth of which fabulous reports had found their way to the Spanish
Antilles. They suffered a bitter disappointment when, on June 24th, they
came in sight of the desired place. Forty Indian huts constituted the
whole village. They were now in northern Florida, on the Suwanee River.
At Apalache serious hostilities began with the natives, who daily
harassed the weary and famishing Spaniards and killed some of their men.
After a halt there of twenty-five days, Narvaez decided to go westward.
It is not necessary to go further into the melancholy details of the
march of this expedition. Once in the swamps and bayous that extended
along the coast of Alabama, and perhaps Louisiana, no escape was to be
hoped for. An attempt to build rafts and sail upon them across the gulf
to the Mexican coast resulted in the drowning of a part of the men. The
rest, cast back upon the shore without food and without water, fell
victims to the hostility of the natives, to hunger, and to the winter,
which came upon them. Only four survived, viz., Cabeza de Vaca, Castillo
Maldonado, Dorantes, and the negro Estévanico. The vessels which had
been left in the Bay of Santa Cruz, Florida, went to pieces in the
storm, and their crews perished.
The subsequent adventures of the four survivors may be described very
briefly. Buffeted from one Indian tribe to another, often cruelly
treated, participating in the privations to which their savage masters
were exposed by their miserable way of living, they arrived in
northwestern Mexico, as we have already seen, in the year 1536.
Two facts are officially and indubitably established: that Cabeza de
Vaca and his companions were members of the expedition of Pámfilo de
Narvaez, which went from Spain in 1527 to Cuba, and in the following
year from Cuba to Florida and there vanished; and that they appeared
again in the year 1536, in a naked and almost savage condition, in the
company of Indians, in the present state of Sinaloa. It is therefore
evident that they had wandered during an interval of eight years across
the North American continent from east to west, from the peninsula of
Florida to the Gulf of California.
It is almost impossible to determine the course they took, or probably
took. They remained for a long time with the tribes which periodically
inhabited the marshy regions of the Mississippi Delta, and were then
conducted westward. The fact is of importance that the _tuna_, or fruit
of the great leaf-cactus (_opuntia_), constituted a principal food
resource during the whole time. This indicates that the first year was
mostly spent in the southern parts of the present United States; and the
description of the country, as well as the fact that the mesquite tree
is mentioned, are evidence that they passed through the present State of
Texas. Their course was generally westward, and it may be very clearly
inferred from that that they at all events crossed the Rio Grande.
At a considerable distance beyond that river they found permanent
dwellings, the inhabitants of which planted beans, melons, and maize. In
this part of their wanderings they heard of an animal which Cabeza de
Vaca called a cow. It has been concluded from this that the wanderers
entered New Mexico and saw there the American bison or buffalo. I cannot
agree with this opinion. The _casas de asiento_ were much too far west
to be identified with the pueblos. The Pimas of southern Sonora, their
northern neighbors the Opatas, and several tribes of the Sierra Madre,
lived in permanent houses of clay and stone; and if Cabeza de Vaca and
his companions had seen the large, many-storied houses of New Mexico
they would not have omitted to describe their remarkable stairlike
structure. The dress of the inhabitants of these “permanent dwellings”
also agrees rather with the costume of Sonora and Chihuahua than with
the recognized dress of the Pueblo Indians. By the word “cow” Cabeza de
Vaca probably meant to speak of the hides he saw rather than to describe
the animal itself. The untanned hide of the large brown deer (_cervus
canadensis_) is but little smaller than that of a cow; and a description
of the striking figure of the bison would not have been wanting in the
“_Naufragios_” if Cabeza de Vaca had actually seen the “hump-backed
cow,” as the older Spanish writers called it. It is possible that he
heard of the buffalo and perhaps saw some of the robes, but it is not
certain; for, in the verbal explanations which he gave at Madrid in 1547
to the historian Gonzalo Fernandez de Oviedo y Valdés, he spoke only of
“three kinds of deer, one of which was as large as an ox,” but said
nothing of “cows.”
The fact that the Spaniards constantly wandered toward the “setting
sun,” and that from Texas, and that they did not cross the great
waterless plains of that state, excludes the supposition that they
entered New Mexico and that the “permanent dwellings” meant the pueblos
of the Rio Grande. Further decisive is the declaration that the
inhabitants of those permanent houses obtained green stones (turquoise
or calcite) in exchange for parrot feathers. There are no species of
parrots in New Mexico and Arizona, but the Sierra Madre is the habitat
of the large green sittich, the feathers of which I have often seen in
the possession of the Pueblo Indians, who had bought them in Sonora. The
southern Pimas and the Opatas of Sonora used parrot feathers as
decorations in their dances till the middle of the last century; and I
have surveyed numerous ruins of the clay and stone houses of the Opatas
in the Sierra Madre which, now a solemn, silent wilderness, is covered
with lofty pine woods in which the loquacious green sittich flit in the
early morning from limb to limb. The Indians of whom Cabeza de Vaca
speaks bought the turquoises far in the north, and they told of many
great houses in which the people there lived. These statements may refer
to New Mexico and Arizona; for turquoises are found in the neighborhood
of Santa Fé, where they are called “cerillos,” as well as not far from
Zuñi, and in southern New Mexico, at no great distance from the present
Silver City.
With the stories of permanent settlements, of natives clothed in cotton,
and of turquoises found in the far north, which Cabeza de Vaca and his
companions told their countrymen, were associated speculations
concerning great metallic riches in the northern regions. The wanderers
brought no definite statements on this subject, nor could they present
visible evidence in the shape of mineral specimens of the existence of
the metals; but the thirst for the precious metals was quite as intense
in the sixteenth century as in the nineteenth, and the credulity of the
gold-seekers of that time was not less ready than that of the
“prospectors” of to-day. It could, however, have hardly been greater. As
soon, therefore, as Melchior Diaz heard the marvellous story of the
new-comers, he sent an account of it, not to Guzman, but to Mexico, to
Don Antonio de Mendoza, who had arrived there in the year 1554 as the
first viceroy of New Spain, and had superseded the provisional
government of the bishop of Santo Domingo. Cabeza de Vaca and his
companions were invited to Mexico, were well received there, and with
the exception of the negro and Maldonado, who remained in Mexico, were
sent to Spain. The subsequent fortunes of Cabeza de Vaca are of no
further interest in connection with the purpose of this sketch, and we
need only say that his adventurous career did not terminate with his
wanderings in North America, but that other sufferings as great but of
different character awaited him in South America and in Spain, and
misfortune pursued him till the end of his life.
Stories like those which came to Mexico through Cabeza de Vaca could not
fail to direct the attention of the government to the northwest. Nuño de
Guzman was succeeded as provisional governor of New Galicia[65] by the
licentiate Diego Perez de la Torre, and when he died, in 1538, his place
was taken by a young noble of Salamanca, Francisco Vasquez Coronado, who
had married the daughter of the former treasurer, Alonzo de Estrada. As
royal visitador he had already travelled over a large part of Mexico,
and enjoyed in a high degree the confidence of the viceroy. Young and
energetic, disposed, according to the fashion of the time, toward a
knight’s career, he was a most suitable person to direct the further
progress of the exploration of the northwest.
The stories of Cabeza de Vaca appear still to have been received with
some distrust. Without wholly rejecting them, people hesitated to follow
the first impulse, which would prompt them to send an expedition to the
north at once. Antonio de Mendoza was a sagacious, quiet, careful
statesman, and he preferred to reconnoitre before taking decisive steps.
In his reconnoissance he received the assistance of the Church.
Among the Franciscan monks in Mexico was a Sardinian brother named
Marcus, who, having been born in Nice, was known as Fray Marcos de
Nizza. As he figures in history under this designation, I shall continue
to call him Fray Marcos. His real name and the date of his birth are
still unknown. He came to America in the year 1551 in the service of his
order and went to Peru, whence he proceeded with Pedro de Alvarado to
Guatemala, and finally to Mexico. He had distinguished himself by his
intelligence, capacity, and devotion, and was respected by the brethren
of his order. Fray Antonio de Ciudad Rodrigo, father provincial in
Mexico, proposed in the interest of the mission to detail one or more
Franciscan monks on the contemplated reconnoissance. It is not
improbable that Fray Marcos voluntarily offered himself for the service.
His long experience among the natives especially fitted him for the
work; and, whether by his own free will or out of obedience and a sense
of duty to his order, he undertook the arduous and dangerous task.
A few historians, among whom are Torquemada and Arricivita, suppose that
a preliminary expedition was sent out in 1538, in which, according to
some, Fray Marcos did, according to others did not, take part. We have
no official reports of such an expedition, and it is possible that these
accounts originated in a mistake. The instructions which Don Antonio de
Mendoza sent to Fray Marcos, and the receipt of which he acknowledged
from New Galicia on November 25, 1538, do not agree with the supposition
of such a preliminary reconnoissance. In those instructions the monk is
advised to insist upon good treatment of the Indians by the Spaniards
of Sinaloa, to protect them against every attempt to reduce them to
slavery, and to promise them all support and help in the name of the
Crown. He was then ordered to proceed into the interior with all
possible precautions, carefully to observe land and people, to avoid all
personal danger, and should he find himself on the coast of the
“Southern Sea”[66] he was to bury written reports at the foot of a tree
distinguished by its size, and to cut a cross in the bark of the tree,
so that in case a ship was sent along the coast, its crew might know how
to identify it by that mark. Finally Estévanico, the negro who had made
the perilous journey with Cabeza de Vaca from Florida to the coast of
the Pacific Ocean, was assigned to him as leader and attendant; and in
case any of the Indians who had come with those men and their companions
to Sinaloa could be of use to him, Francisco Vasquez Coronado, the new
governor of Culiacan, was instructed to engage them to accompany Fray
Marcos and the negro. The negro was to be subordinate to the monk in
every point.
The zealous Franciscan left San Miguel de Culiacan on Friday, March 7,
1539. Besides Estévanico and several Indians, a brother of the order,
Fray Onorato, accompanied him. Their route was northward, toward the
present state of Sonora. The Indians who went with them belonged to the
southern branch of the great Pima tribe. They had, as we have already
said, followed Cabeza de Vaca, Castillo, Maldonado, and Dorantes from
central and southern Sonora to Sinaloa, and a part of them had remained
there and founded a village on the Rio Petatlan. Probably in this
village, certainly on that river, Fray Onorato became so ill that it was
necessary, after three days’ delay, to leave him. The party kept as
nearly as possible to the coast of the Pacific Ocean, leaving the
villages on the Yaqui to their right. A halt was made at Bacapa, and the
monk sent the negro forward, with directions to go fifty or sixty
leagues (from 135 to 162 miles) north, and send him from time to time
news of whatever he saw and heard. The more favorable the reports the
larger should be the cross on the piece of white wood which the negro
was to send with each despatch of an Indian messenger.
Bacapa appears on the map that Father Joseph Stöcklein, S. J., published
in the _Neuen Weltblatt_ in 1728, which is based on the journey of the
famous Jesuit missionary P. Eusebius Kühne (Eusebio Kino), as St.
Ludovicus de Bacapa, and is located in Arizona, west of Tucson--Fray
Marcos himself gives the distance from the coast as forty leagues, or
108 miles. He arrived there before Easter of 1539. Bacapa could not
therefore have lain so far north as Father Kühne’s map represents it,
but must at farthest have been in the northern part of the southern half
of Sonora, near the present Matape. In this case it was probably a Pima
settlement, as the name denotes.[67] Four days after the negro departed
the monk received a first message from him through Indians, who brought
a cross the height of a man. The Indians told “such wonderful things of
his discoveries,” Fray Marcos says, “that I would not believe them
unless I saw the things myself.... The Indian told me that it was thirty
days’ journey from the place where Estévanico was to the first city of
the country, which was called Cibola.... He affirmed and maintained that
this first province contained seven very large cities which were all
subject to one lord. In them were large houses of stone and mortar, the
smallest of which were one story high with a terrace, and there were
besides two-and three-storied buildings. The chief’s house was of four
stories. There were many decorations at the entrance of the principal
houses, and turquoises, which were very plentiful in the country. The
people of these cities were very well clothed.” Notwithstanding these
reports, Fray Marcos was in no hurry to go away from Bacapa. He seems
not to have placed an absolute trust in the negro, and waited for the
return of the Indians who had gone by his command to the coast (of the
Gulf of California). They came back bringing with them natives of the
seashore. These belonged, no doubt, to the Seris, a wild tribe who still
live on the islands of the Gulf of California. On the same day men came
into Bacapa from the east, Indians whose faces, breasts, and arms were
painted. They confirmed the stories that the negro’s messengers had
brought. Fray Marcos de Nizza hesitated no longer. He started away two
days after Easter, following the track of his dark-skinned guide, in
search of the “seven cities of Cibola.”
The name of Cibola was thus known away in the interior of Sonora. Whence
was it derived? From what Indian language was it borrowed? These are
questions with which till recently only my eminent friend F. H. Cushing,
and, to a small extent, I myself have been engaged. How far our
investigations are of definite value can hardly be determined as yet,
for the languages of Sonora are still very little known. They are
reduced, if we exclude the Apache idiom, to three large groups. In the
south is the Cahita or Yaqui language, which includes the Mayo; in the
west the Seri; and in the centre, north, and east the Pima-Opata, which
is divided into two principal branches--the Pima and the Joyl-raua or
Opata. The Eudeve and Jova appear to be dialects of the Opata. At Bacapa
Fray Marcos was among the Pimas; Estévanico, a few days’ journey north,
was either among the Pimas, the Seris, or the Opatas, for those three
tribes met in the vicinity of Ures. The word Cibola might therefore
belong to one of the languages or dialects of northern Sonora and the
districts north and northeast of it. Its home need not be sought south
of there.
Both the Pima and the Opata languages have names of places which
somewhat resemble the word Cibola. East of the little village of
Huachinera, at the western foot of the Sierra Madre, the Yaqui River
emerges from a dark gorge and turns thence to the northwest, to irrigate
the narrow, fertile valley of Baserac and Babispe. At the place where
the river leaves the gorge, to turn a little later upon its northern
course, lie some ruins of former villages of the Opatas, concerning the
fate of which definite traditions exist. Not far from the mouth of the
gorge is Batesopa; farther west are Baquigopa, then Cobora, and lastly
Quitamac. When in April, 1884, I passed through this wilderness with my
intelligent guide, Spiridion Lucero, to explore the ruins, exposed to
constant danger of our lives from the swarms of Apaches around us, we
came, after twice fording the Yaqui, to a rock around which led an
extremely perilous, dizzy path, fully a hundred feet above the raging
stream. The Opata Indians call this critical spot “Ci-vo-ná-ro-co,” or
the rock which one goes around. A distant resemblance can be recognized
between this name and Cibola, or, as it was sometimes written in the
sixteenth century, “Cevola” and “Civona”; and the ruins of Batesopa
opposite the dangerous cliff, as well as those of Baquigopa west of it,
point to the former existence of villages of considerable extent.[68]
The language of the Pimas is divided into several dialects. Besides the
southern and northern Pima, there are the Pápago and the now extinct
Sobaypuri dialects. In the idiom of the northern Pimas, the ruins on the
southern bank of the Rio Gila in Arizona, generally known as Casa Grande
(in distinction from Casas Grandes in Chihuahua), are called
“Civano-qi,” the house of the Civano. The traditions as I heard them on
the spot relate that in the times before the coming of the Spaniards the
Pimas lived on the banks of the middle Gila, between Riverside and
Phenix, in Arizona, in permanent houses, which were grouped into small
villages. No common bond connected the different villages, except in
those cases where small settlements gathered around a larger neighboring
one. Such tribe centers existed at Florence, Casa Grande, Zacaton, and
Casa Blanca on the Gila, and at Mesa City and Tempe on the lower Rio
Salada. The best known of these is the ruin of Casa Grande.
Thirty days’ journey north of Ures carries the pedestrian to the other
side of the Gila River. In ten days he can easily reach the present
southern boundary of Arizona, and following the course of the little Rio
San Pedro, he can in five or six days more be at San Carlos on the Gila.
But the old Pima villages around Casa Grande lie a hundred miles in a
straight line west of San Carlos, and it would be hard to keep in this
straight line, for the mountains south of the Gila as far as Riverside
are high, wild, broken, and poorly watered. The estimate of thirty days’
journey might therefore possibly fit Casa Grande. The first description
of Cibola which Estévanico’s Indians gave the monk is, however, more
important. It does not apply to the stairlike style of building of the
pueblos, but to such architecture as I found at Casa Grande, and
everywhere in the ruins on the Gila, Salado, and Rio Verde. The
principal building at Casa Grande, still standing, is indeed not of
stone, but of coarse adobe; but three stories are still plainly visible,
while smaller, one-storied houses are scattered around it. The
supposition is therefore not to be absolutely rejected, that the
accounts concerning Cibola current in Sinaloa were a recollection of the
former Pima settlement of Civano-qi, eighty miles northwest of Tucson,
on the Gila River, the ruins of which are now known by the name of Casa
Grande--the great house.
Settlements of similar architectural character existed in Sonora in the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and belonged likewise to the Pima,
or, as it was sometimes called, the Névome tribe. The Jesuit missionary
Padre Andrés Pérez de Ribas wrote of them in 1645: “Their houses were
better and more solidly built than those of the other nations, for the
walls consisted of large air-dried brick of clay, with flat roofs and
balconies. They built some [of these houses] much larger, and with
loop-holes, in order to take refuge in them as in a fortress in case of
a hostile attack, and to defend themselves with bows and arrows.” The
principal building of Casa Grande seems to have been a place of refuge
of this kind.
Whilst it appears probable and even certain that these “permanent
houses” of the Pimas in Sonora, and not the great communal structures of
the New Mexican pueblos, were what Cabeza de Vaca had seen in his
wanderings, it is still doubtful to what extent an indefinite
recollection of their former settlement of Civano-qi may have made the
southern Pimas the originators of the story of Cibola. It is to be
remarked, however, that according to the reports which Estévanico sent
to the priest, Cibola designated a still existing Indian settlement, and
not a ruin, as Casa Grande undoubtedly was at that time. I have taken
much pains to determine on the spot which of the numerous settlements
of the Opatas, Sobaypuris, and Pimas, of which the ruins are still
visible, may have been inhabited and relatively prosperous in the
sixteenth century, and have found that (except the villages of the
southern Pimas already mentioned, which are not, however, in question
here) not one of these so-called pueblos corresponds to what is known to
us of Cibola. It therefore seems useless to look for Cibola anywhere
south of the Rio Gila or on that stream; but only north of it, either in
the present Arizona or the present New Mexico, can we expect to find
such a clue in language and tradition as shall lead with any certainty
to a definite locality.
There is no doubt that the whole extensive region between the course of
the Gila in the south, its sources in the east and the present San
Carlos in the west, with the northern half of New Mexico and Arizona,
was controlled in the sixteenth century by a single linguistic
stock--that of what are called the “Apaches.” I say controlled, for the
Apaches had no fixed abodes then more than they have now, and they
roamed through the whole wild chaos of mountains, by their incursions
excluding other tribes from the country. Most of their little huts of
branches, sometimes plastered with mud, were set up along the streams,
but they only stayed in one place so long as no occasion, however
frivolous, prompted them to move their camp to some safer or more
favorable place. The Apaches therefore furnish nothing to support us in
localizing Cibola among them, and I know of no place-name in their
language that can be connected with it. Farther east, along the course
of the Rio Grande in New Mexico, are the pueblos of the Piros; these,
too, aside from their distant situation, give no clue. The region,
clothed with magnificent fir-trees, between the Gila and the Rio
Colorado Chiquito (the Little Colorado) in western Arizona, the noble
mountain landscape of the Sierra Blanca, the wild and precipitous rocks
of the Escudilla and Sierra del Dátil, the still sparsely populated
hunting-grounds between the Rio Grande and the Rito Quemado--were
uninhabited, and only the Apaches and their northern relatives, the
present Navajos, swept through them from time to time on hunting and
predatory expeditions.
An undulating, often bare, highland begins in the northern part of the
Escudilla, the average height of which is 6000 feet above the sea. One
may wander for days at a time on the mesas, as if in a large garden of
low, spreading junipers. At rare intervals a valley cuts through the
uniform level, the borders of which sometimes present picturesque rocks
of inconsiderable height. This region is bounded on the north by the
valley of the western Rio Puerco. In the east it passes through the
continental watershed of what is called the “Atlantic and Pacific
Divide” into the more broken heights of San Estévan de Acoma to the
Cerros Mohinos, not far from the Rio Grande. In the west it flattens
out, without losing in height, into the treeless district of the Little
Colorado. This desert country, visited by the summer’s heat and the
winter’s cold, situated in New Mexico and on the borders of Arizona, is
penetrated by a small river which rises in the Atlantic and Pacific
Divide, flows generally from east to west, and unites in Arizona with
the Rio Puerco. This stream flows at first through a narrow and
exceedingly fertile valley. About thirty miles from the borders of
Arizona it widens into a sandy and treeless but productive intervale.
This intervale, which is hardly fifteen miles long and nowhere more than
twelve miles wide, is watered only by the muddy brook. An isolated
table-mountain rises on the southeast side over the edge of the
intervale to a perpendicular height of 1026 feet above its level. The
rocks everywhere hang wall-like over the valley, or swell out at the
foot over the river; and only a few dizzy paths lead to the summit.
Similar colossal rocks tower upon the north side, far above the rest of
the valley’s edge. This plain, with the little sand-burdened river that
bears its name, is the plain of Zuñi.
I can never forget my first view of this plain from a distance, nor the
entrance into it. I had left the provisional station of Bennett’s late
in the morning, alone, on foot, without arms, to go thirty miles to Zuñi
on a strange road through a wholly uninhabited country, which was only
occasionally traversed by Navajo Indians. Till four o’clock in the
afternoon I passed through the apparently endless plateau, on which the
sandy trail was visible only from one juniper bush to another, and
seemed to lead around each one. From the few elevations only the next
rise could be seen; no mountain ranges enlivened the horizon, for thick
clouds covered the sky; it was in February, and a snow-storm might come
on at any moment. About four o’clock in the afternoon I reached an
ascent on the summit of which rested a little light. In the southeast
rose gigantic masses of red sandstone menacingly high above the
dark-green wood. These were the mesas of Zuñi. The sun broke out of the
clouds and its beams in a little while changed the distant colossi into
glowing pillars of fire; the sky was then covered again, and instead of
the dreaded snow-storm there came on a shower, with distant thunder in
the west. Beyond the light pine woods encompassed me; the eatable piñon
(_Pinus edulis_) overshadowed the dwarf forms of the junipers. It began
to grow dark, and the frequent thunder-claps were sounding nearer. When
I came out of the wood the plain of Zuñi lay before me in a sombre
half-light; sand-whirls were driving through it and veiled the lofty
mesa; I stood at the foot of the northern table-mountain, which rose
sheer a full thousand feet. A flash of lightning ran through the sky and
struck the rocks below, and an icy gust brought a shower of hailstones.
The lightning flashes were numerously repeated and always struck the
same peak--a phenomenon with which the Indians are well acquainted, and
which occurs in every thunder-storm. A shower of hail followed without
rain, and then it became calm and dark. Distant lightning reminded us of
the storm that had passed, but the sky was still clouded and extreme
darkness covered the plain. I could not see the way. Then the eastern
horizon brightened up with the light of the rising moon without the
clouds breaking, and I could perceive the outlines of the rock mass in
front of me, in the direction of which the village of Zuñi lay. At last
the moon came out, and the stars shone in the zenith. A procession of
clouds was floating in front of me, over the top of a dark, low hill.
That hill was Zuñi, where I afterward spent weeks of instructive
research in the house and the company of Mr. Cushing.
The name of Zuñi does not belong to the language of the tribe that bears
it, but to the Queres idiom of the valley of the Rio Grande. The pueblo
is named “Halona,” and the Zuñi Indians call themselves “A-shiui.”[69]
They call the land they occupy “Shiuano,” a name the analogy of which
with Cibola should not be overlooked.[70] It is therefore not strange
that the general direction in which Estévanico went, and in which the
monk followed at a regular distance behind him, was north.
Unfortunately the single report which Fray Marcos, the only scribe in
his party, wrote is unsatisfactory, or deficient in geographical data.
No conclusions can be drawn from it in respect to the character of the
country or to the number of rivers, the volume of water in them or their
course. Equally indefinite are his statements concerning the
inhabitants. The zealous Franciscan seems to have been animated by only
one thought--that of finding the seven cities of Cibola. The farther he
advanced, the more he heard of them, and the more definite were the
accounts. Besides the Indians of Sonora, probably Pimas, by whom he was
accompanied, men of the northern tribes joined him as he proceeded on
his journey. It is still, however, possible that he continued entirely
within the territory of the Pimas; for the Indians of Bacapa, who belong
to the southern Pima tribe, served him everywhere as interpreters.[71]
Only short distances separated them from their tribal relatives, who
were known under the name of the Pápagos (Pápap Ootam), and then[72]
formed the lowest, the most miserable, branch of the great linguistic
group. Fray Marcos crossed the southeast corner of the “Papagueréa” and
turned toward the northeast, where he successively met the Sobaypuris
and, on the Gila, the Ootam (men) or northern Pimas. He was everywhere
received in a friendly manner. Estévanico kept sending back the cross
signs, as had been agreed upon, and thus fortified the zeal of the
enthusiastic monk. The stories of the natives set forth the glories of
Cibola in ever more brilliant colors. Then he heard names of places
suggestive of grandeur: they spoke, for instance, of the “province” of
Totonteac; of a “city” of Ahacus, which was one of the seven cities; of
a “kingdom” of Hacus in the vicinity of Cibola, and of another “kingdom”
called Marata. They told of green stones that adorned the doorposts of
the houses of Cibola, of houses several stories high, of skins that came
from a large animal of the cow-kind with curly hair. And the negro sent
him back not only crosses for his encouragement, but also verbal
accounts that confirmed all that the Indians had given the Franciscan to
understand by signs and words.
The negro also travelled in company. During his wanderings with Cabeza
de Vaca he had obtained a clapper or gourd-rattle, like those which are
used by most of the Indian tribes in their religious rites and in
working their cures. He carried this with him, and thereby acquired for
himself the dignity and fame of a medicine-man. But Estévanico seems to
have made an unwise use of the advantage which this prestige gave him.
Besides requiring from the natives more provisions than he needed, he
sought greedily for precious metals and green stones, and abused the
superstitious Indians because they had not enough of them to satisfy his
avarice. He seems also to have made requisitions upon the highest and
most precious possession of the people, their women. Yet he obtained
leaders and guides everywhere, and when Fray Marcos had reached the
interior of Arizona, the black was far ahead of him with a numerous
retinue.
All that can be definitely gathered from the scanty ethnographic
information which the monk has left is, that even tribes that spoke the
same language were separated from one another by uninhabited tracts.
When he had crossed the Gila there lay before him a wide, depopulated
district which he calls a desert (_desierto_). This word should be
understood, however, not in the sense of a dry, barren region, but
simply of a country without inhabitants. On the other side of this land,
forsaken or neglected by men, far in the north, lay Cibola. The
missionary entered upon the passage of that desert region with a
numerous company, and it was midsummer when the Indians of his retinue
at last assured him that only a few days’ journey separated him from the
long-sought spot. Then natives met him who flocked around him trembling
and distressed, with all the evidences of great trouble. Their scanty
clothing was torn, and they appeared to be starved and exhausted by long
flight. They were men who had been with Estévanico, and brought bad
news.
The negro had arrived at Cibola a little while before, and had behaved
there in his peculiar reckless manner. So much, and no more, was
disclosed in the confused expressions which Fray Marcos obtained from
his agitated and frightened informants. Some of them had soon perceived
that their presence was not welcome to the inhabitants of the place, and
had concealed themselves in the vicinity. Others remained with the
black. Trustworthy details of what occurred afterward are wanting, for
the catastrophe appears to have taken place in the interior of the
village, or, as the story has it, “the city.” The fugitives, who were
still in hiding, one day saw a number of persons coming out of the
place. They recognized those of their company who had remained behind,
as fleeing, and pursued by the people. The negro Estévanico, however,
was not among them; the people of Cibola had killed him, notwithstanding
his medicine rattle. The fugitives succeeded in escaping, and eventually
in finding the hiding-place of their companions. Then they all took to
flight, for the people were searching the vicinity for them. They now
implored the priest not to make any further effort to approach Cibola.
Estévanico had been killed, and the inhabitants were in great
excitement. Only rapid flight could deliver them all, for the braves of
Cibola were already on their track.
After nearly reaching his aim, having come almost to the threshold of
the place so long sought with so much toil and anticipation, Fray Marcos
de Nizza could now feel the force of the warning,
Back, thou canst serve thy friend no more.
Then save thine own life.
The trial was a severe one to Fray Marcos. Yet suddenly and unexpectedly
as it had come, he came as quickly to a decision. His object was to
reconnoiter; the instructions enjoined him to learn as much as he could,
but in doing so to expose himself as little to danger as possible. He
questioned the fugitives searchingly concerning what they had seen in
Cibola, and they confirmed all that he had previously heard of it. They
told him that the place where Estévanico was killed was only one of the
seven cities of Cibola, and was not the most populous one. The priest
concluded from their accounts and expressions that even to go to the
place would be attended with great risk to life. He would have to give
up his missionary work temporarily, for a martyr’s death would under
such circumstances be fruitless. Yet it seemed possible to him to steal
carefully into the vicinity and cast a glance from some favorable point
into the region of his hopes and desires, in order to be satisfied by
seeing for himself, even if it were only from a distance, of the truth
or untruth of the accounts that had been brought to him. By this method
he hoped properly to perform his duty to the Spanish authorities, and at
the same time, if he succeeded in executing the attempt without harm, to
gain some knowledge of the land and be prepared to carry out the work of
conversion if he should return at some later time and with better
opportunity.
Attempts have been made in later times to fasten a charge of cowardice
upon Fray Marcos because he did not give himself blindly up to death by
taking the risk of going among the excited people of Cibola. Catholic
missionaries have set examples of heroic devotion in many other places,
and have with their blood fertilized the earth, to the securing in later
times of rich spiritual harvests to the Church. The reproach is in this
case undeserved and unjust. As the instructions of Don Antonio de
Mendoza show, the Franciscan’s position was ambiguous, and his purpose
was rather to prepare than to complete. Obviously nothing was to be
gained by a heroic sacrifice of his life, while everything, the whole
object of his journey, might have been defeated by it. If this object
was to be secured, he must before everything else spare his life in
order to return to Mexico and make new attempts thence.
The censure is especially unfair in view of the effort which the priest
resolved to make before he began his retreat to Mexico. That the attempt
to steal up into the vicinity of Cibola was attended with great
difficulties and considerable danger is attested by the opposition of
the men of his company, otherwise so obedient, when he asked them to
assist him. He eventually succeeded in persuading a few to go with him,
but the majority held back. The party went upon the precarious way with
extreme caution, and at last reached a hill whence they looked down into
a valley in which lay several villages, the houses of which were
unusually large, of several stories, and apparently built of clay and
stone. The village nearest to them was pointed out as the one in which
the negro had been killed. It seemed to be “as large as the City of
Mexico,” and men could be clearly seen in it who appeared to be dressed
in cotton. Rejoicing in these discoveries, and at now being able to make
a report to the viceroy of what he had observed, Fray Marcos started on
his return. He first, however, set up a wooden cross on the spot from
which he had seen Cibola. It was intended to be an evidence to the
natives of his having been there without their knowledge, and at the
same time a notice that he would at some time return.
The retreat during the first few days naturally took the character of a
carefully guarded flight. But the fugitives soon felt safe, and with
less caution, and accordingly greater speed, they went toward the south
without meeting any further obstacles. The monk arrived at Culiacan on
September 2, 1539, and shortly afterward sent the viceroy the report to
which we are indebted for our knowledge of his journey and for the first
authentic account of New Mexico.
Few documents of Spanish origin concerning America have been exposed to
a sharper and more severe criticism than the “_Descubrimiento de las
siete Ciudades_” of Fray Marcos de Nizza. It has been condemned for
defectiveness and superficiality, and charges of exaggeration and
untruth have been made against it. A one-sided and inadequate
investigation has also caused doubt to be cast upon the declaration that
he saw Cibola. The fact has not been without effect in the inquiry that
no one has ever succeeded in finding among the Indian tribes of New
Mexico a tradition, myth, or story, even in a distorted form, containing
a reminiscence of the march, presence, or fate of the negro Estévanico
or of the Franciscan. Both, the black and the monk, were prominent
figures, well fitted to leave deep traces in the memories of the
natives. This total disappearance of all recollections of these two
personages has also, perhaps unawares, moved other more meritorious
inquirers to look for Cibola in the ruins of long extinct pueblos.
In the year 1880 Frank Hamilton Cushing, commissioned by the Bureau of
Ethnology at Washington, went to the pueblo of Zuñi, in order, for the
first time in the annals of science, to subject a tribe of men who stood
on a lower plane of civilization than ours to a thorough study by
completely identifying himself temporarily with their condition. The
distinguished young student was even more successful than he had hoped
to be in accomplishing his difficult and somewhat dangerous task.
Through becoming a Zuñi by all the forms of their law he made himself
thoroughly acquainted with the past and present of the tribe, and has,
by his discovery of the esoteric bond among the Indians for religious
purposes, made the most important contribution of recent times to our
knowledge of primitive peoples, as well as to the history of polytheism.
In the course of his laborious researches, which occupied him and his
devoted wife and prevented their permanent return to civilization till
1884, Mr. Cushing collected a valuable store of historical legends and
folk-stories. Most unselfishly he permitted me to draw from his
collection, and whatever these sketches contain of linguistic
explanations, traditions, customs, and usages from the circle of the
Zuñi is of his acquisition; and I more gladly use it because it gives me
the opportunity to acknowledge with hearty thanks the eminent merit of
their collector.
There are associated with the whole region of Zuñi a mass of tales and
household stories of a religious and historical nature and of a more or
less contemplative character. Many of these stories, transmitted through
the esoteric union with exact fidelity during hundreds of years, reflect
the influence which the surroundings have imperceptibly exercised in a
powerful degree upon human thought and feeling. The treeless, sandy
plains, the low heights of the borders covered with junipers, stand in
impressive contrast to the few isolated table-mountains which rise
perpendicularly here and there like gigantic towers. Many of the tales
rest upon historical foundations, and the history is clothed as with the
drapery of a wonderful landscape. The high mesa of Zuñi, called in the
language of the tribe “To-yo-a-la-na,” or Thunder-mountain, is four
miles at the northern end, six miles at the southern end, from the
pueblo; then it bends around to the east and turns back to the north.
The red sandstone rocks rise nearly everywhere perpendicularly from the
plain. The summit is a plateau, overgrown with junipers, piñons, and
cactus, and with scanty grass. On it are the ruins of six small pueblos.
This group of ruins has been christened “Old Zuñi,” but erroneously, for
the aggregated villages were built after 1680 and deserted about 1705,
when the tribe of Zuñi, which had fled to the rocks before the Navajos
and from fear of the Spaniards, returned of its own accord to the valley
where its pueblo now stands. But several ruins of old towns lie at the
foot of the mesa, concerning which very definite historical traditions
still exist. “Ma-tza-ki,” once an important place, is in the northwest,
and “O’aquima” in the south. The rocks there form a niche which is
filled to the height of about one hundred and fifty feet with steep,
partly barren heaps of _débris_. Imposing cliffs menacingly overlook
these hills, but the rock-wall in the background of the niche rises
less perpendicularly, although inaccessibly smooth, to the plateau of
the summit. At the foot of the hill is permanent water, to which extend
the scattered individual fields of the Zuñi Indians.
On the crests of these hills, imbedded as it were in the niche, stand
the ruins of “Heshota O’aquima,” a former village of the Zuñi. It was a
pueblo of moderate importance in 1599, but was wholly deserted after the
insurrection of 1680, and fell into ruins. The population may be
estimated, from the appearance of the ruins, to have been equal to about
half that of Zuñi, which was 1608 in 1880. Difficult to assail, easily
defended against an enemy who had no artillery or long-range guns,
provided with water and a fertile soil, O’aquima had an exceptionally
protected situation. The village could be seen only from the southern,
southwestern, and southeastern sides; on every other side it was
enclosed and hidden by the rocks.
The Zuñis definitely informed Mr. Cushing, after he had become an adept
by initiation into the esoteric fraternity of warriors, that a “black
Mexican” had once come to O’aquima and had been hospitably received
there. He, however, very soon incurred mortal hatred by his rude
behavior toward the women and girls of the pueblo, on account of which
the men at last killed him. A short time after that the first white
Mexicans, as the Indians call all white men whose mother-tongue is
Spanish, came to the country and overcame the natives in war. This tale
is of indubitable authenticity, and of evident significance. It proves
what I have only intimated above, that Cibola represented the present
country and tribe of Zuñi. It is also of great importance in its bearing
upon the truth of the statements of Fray Marcos. The hill from which he,
coming from the southwest, looked at Cibola, could have been nowhere but
on the southern border of the plain of Zuñi; and it is only from that
side that the pueblo of O’aquima can be seen, while it is possible to
approach it thence unremarked to within two miles, and to observe
everything plainly. There, too, the remains of a wooden cross were
visible till a few years ago. It has been supposed that this was the
cross which the monk erected; considering the dry atmosphere of the
region, the supposition, even if it is not probable, is not to be wholly
rejected.
The charge of exaggeration and distortion which has been made against
the “_Descubrimiento de las siete Ciudades_” is based chiefly upon two
points--on the comparison of Cibola or O’aquima with the City of Mexico,
and on the statement that the people of Cibola were accustomed to adorn
their houses with green stones, or turquoises.
Besides the fact that every New Mexican pueblo appears larger and more
imposing from a distance than it really is on account of the peculiar
structure of its houses, we should bear in mind that the priest’s
comparison was not with the earlier Indian pueblo of Tenochtitlan that
was destroyed by Cortés, or, still less, with the present City of
Mexico, but with the new Spanish town as Fray Marcos knew it in the year
1539. It is very doubtful whether it had a thousand inhabitants then,
and the houses they lived in were all grouped, for the sake of
security, in the vicinity of the present Zócalo. The comparison,
therefore, instead of being exaggerated, seems to have been fitting and
correct. As to the decoration of the doorposts with turquoises, Mr.
Cushing has found that a custom formerly prevailed, in Zuñi at least, of
decorating the openings in the roof through which the inmates of the
house went down into the rooms and chambers with green stones, among
which kalaite, or turquoise, carbonate of copper, or malachite, and
phosphate of copper, etc., were occasionally introduced. The monk was
therefore correctly informed concerning this matter, and repeated truly
what had been told him.
Efforts have been made for a long time in vain to localize the names
which Fray Marcos heard of what were styled “kingdoms,” “provinces,” and
“cities” in the vicinity of Cibola. Mr. Cushing has succeeded in
explaining the names of “Marata” and “Totonteac.” Although they are
distorted, they both belong to the language of the Zuñi, and denote
directions, rather than particular regions. “Ahacus,” on the other hand,
is one of the seven cities--Ha-ui-cu or Aguas calientes--situated
fifteen miles southwest of Zuñi, and deserted since the year 1679.
“Hacus,” finally, which Fray Marcos called a kingdom in distinction from
the others, is a tribe independent of Zuñi, that of Acoma, the real name
of which is A-co, and which the Zuñi, according to Cushing, call
Ha-cu-quä.
The return of the priest, his remarkable experiences, and the stories
which he brought from the far north attracted the highest degree of
attention from the officers and people of Mexico. Nobody doubted the
truth of the statements of Fray Marcos. He had not found gold and
silver, but he had discovered settled tribes and a fertile country. The
notion of great wealth in metals readily associated itself with these
two elements, and it was not difficult to obtain help in men and means
for the organization of a campaign on a larger scale into those regions.
Don Antonio de Mendoza therefore did not hesitate, after the discovery
had been made and the way pointed out, to proceed to conquest. For this
he found a ready and willing instrument in Francisco Vasquez Coronado.