The Faceless Conquistadors

Portrait of Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca, treasurer of the Narváez expedition (Source unknown)

Many of the stories about the 16^th-century Spanish conquests in the New World—often eye-witness accounts by men who took part in the expeditions—are filled with colorful, larger-than-life characters whom you can picture playing their roles. An exception is the account of the Narváez expedition written by one of the four survivors, Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca. His report to the King, a synthesis of the survivors’ testimonies, is a remarkably detailed and readable record of their eight-year experience. It’s also one of the great adventure stories of all time. And yet, the story is curiously lacking in the kind of details that would flesh out the characters as real human beings. Their roles and actions are described clearly enough, but what were their opinions of different events and how did those sometimes shape their behavior? Their leader, Narváez, was one of the most mercurial characters in history, but in CdV’s account, we rarely see what makes him tick or how the men react to his decisions.

Two exceptions to that occur at the beginning and end of the expedition, and both concern boats. The first case involves a disagreement between CdV and Narváez about when to launch the expedition into the interior of Florida. CdV argued that the whole force should stay with their ships until they found the right harbor and established a base there. Narváez, true to character, was impatient to head inland with 300 men and take a chance on meeting the ships at another harbor later. He offered CdV the option to remain with the sailors and women on the ships, knowing that would be a dishonorable choice for the treasurer of the expedition. From that argument, you get the sense of their different temperaments that might lead to further disagreements ahead.

In the second case months later, the expedition’s five hand-made boats full of starving, desperate men had been scattered by a storm off the Mississippi delta. Two of the boats carrying CdV and Narváez happened to reunite at sea, and they discussed what to do next. CdV proposed that they travel together for mutual support, even though Narváez’s boat with stronger men could row and sail faster. But Narváez declined to tow them, saying that he was determined to reach land as soon as possible, with or without the others. His policy was essentially “every man for himself”—a final abdication of his leadership that was already in question. The two men never saw each other again.

Perhaps the major turning point of the expedition had occurred earlier, when they first reached the coast at St. Marks and camped at the “Bay of Horses.” There, they agreed to keep the force together, decided to build five boats, and sail westward toward Mexico rather than retreat to Cuba. But CdV says little about how those momentous decisions were made, what the main characters in the story felt about them or how they reacted. Even a comment here and there on their personalities would have made them seem more real. That’s what I tried to do in Alien Coast by presenting stages of the story from the imagined viewpoints of different characters. They definitely would have had their own opinions about their leader and his decisions. But in his official report to the King, Cabeza de Vaca wanted to play it safe—or maybe he was just not an empathetic man by nature.

Narváez and the Natives

Cigar card from the History of Cuba, Geographico Universal, 1920 (Print Collector, Getty Images)

What sort of approval or license from King Carlos did Pánfilo de Narváez need and obtain in order to invade and conquer La Florida for Spain? First, all the conquistadors conquered new lands on behalf of the King who, in this case, was also the Holy Roman Emperor. He was entitiled to a “royal fifth” of all wealth generated from the new territory. In his application for the King’s charter, Narváez said the main purposes of his self-funded conquest were to trade with the natives and convert them to Christianity. He also requested appointment as governor (gobernador), governor-general (adelantado) and captain-general of the La Florida territory. And, like all conquistadors of that time, he wanted the authority to enslave natives who were rebellious or already slaves of other natives. In their response to his petition, the King’s Council of the Indies ordered that colonization, not trade, should be his main objective, and they required Narváez to build at least two towns, each with a hundred colonists, and two forts as well. Implied in that was the requirement that he successfully manage and govern the native populations surrounding those settlements. The Council also included in the Narváez charter (as in others) a rather lengthy requirement to treat native populations justly so as to make them peaceful and willing Christians. An incident in Narváez’s past did not bode well for that result.

  In 1502, a young Bartolomé de las Casas came with his father to the New World to participate in Nicolás de Ovando’s conquest of Hispaniola (now the Dominican Republic). He soon became a land and slave owner, before returning to Spain in 1506 to become a Dominican friar. Yet he still defended a benevolent form of slavery when he participated in the conquest of Cuba in 1513, led by Narváez serving under Governor Diego Velásquez. But during that time, he became appalled by the needless violence and cruelty practiced by the Spaniards against native people who weren't even slaves.

In one infamous event, about 100 soldiers of Narváez, accompanied by 1000 friendly Taino Indians who were helping to carry baggage and prepare food, were suddenly attacked by a Spanish soldier for no apparent reason. Las Casas watched in horror as others joined in the slaughter. Before it was over, perhaps 3,000 Indians were killed or maimed. Narváez did nothing to stop it then or punish the soldiers later.

Not long after that “Caonao massacre” (pictured above), Las Casas convinced a number of native chiefs, against their better judgment, to meet with Narváez, assuring them of their safety. Narváez threw them in chains and threatened to burn them alive. Las Casas somehow managed to talk him out of it, but after that the friar became a strong critic of Spanish brutality and advocated against all forced labor and slavery of native peoples. Still, Narváez’s ruthless methods were popular with the Governor, who rewarded him with marriage to his cousin Mariá de Valenzuela and title to rich plantations near Havana.

Much later, in his expedition to La Florida, Narváez’s behavior toward native people showed little sign of improvement. Unlike Cortés, who always contrived to cultivate and reward Indian allies (against other hostile Indians), Narváez tried to control native tribes he encountered solely by intimidation and cruelty. Given his exploitive and heartless attitude toward natives, hostile or not, it’s difficult to imagine him becoming a successful founder and governor of Spanish settlements, even if his expedition had not ended in disaster.

A Fateful Decision

Route of the Narváez Expedition in 1527-28 (Expedition Cabeza de Vaca Karte, Wikimedia Commons)

As I’ve have already noted above (In the Narváez Story, What If…?), when the

expedition’s five boats and 251 survivors were ready to depart the Bay of Horses campsite on October 2, 1528 (modern Gregorian date), Narváez and his officers had a major decision to make. This phase of the expedition was fruitless, and they would need to regroup and resupply before trying again somewhere else in La Florida. The problem was, they weren’t sure of their location along that coast or where they could best hope to reconnect with their ships. The first outline map of the Gulf of Mexico drawn by Captain Alonso Álvarez de Pineda in 1519 portrayed the northern Gulf Coast at about half its actual length of some 1,300 miles by boat from St. Marks, Florida to Panuco, Mexico. Furthermore, the expedition had over-estimated their westward progress by land, suggesting that, at the Bay of Horses, they might already be approaching the halfway point toward Mexico. It was also reassuring that the coastline tended westward there. (The map above illustrates these relative distances.)

The question now was, should they continue going west or return southeastward to the landing site near Tampa Bay (about 200 miles by water), where they would most likely find their ships waiting or looking for them? If the ships were not there, they could always hope to continue south for another 400 miles or so to Cuba. The latter route would be the safer choice since the coastal features and distances were somewhat known. After all, they were inexperienced sailors embarking on a dangerous sea voyage in overloaded, hand-made boats.But according to Cabeza de Vaca’s account, there doesn’t seem to have been any serious debate about these options at the Bay of Horses. In the prior situation at the landing site near Tampa Bay, CdV had argued with Narváez about the wisdom of leaving the ships behind with no definite plan to reconnect with them at another port. But in this more desperate situation, he seems oddly silent about the decision to continue westward toward Mexico, even with uncertainties about the distance, the coastline, and the prospect of colder, stormier weather just ahead. Quite possibly they all believed—wanted to believe—that they were nearly halfway to Panuco in Mexico, and it would seem shameful to admit failure by retreating to the landing site or to Cuba. Given his earlier capture by Cortés at the battle of Cempoala in 1520, Narváez’s reputation was already tainted by that defeat. But in going on to Mexico he could at least claim the honor of having traversed most of La Florida and competed a major expedition objective. Perhaps that argument convinced his men as well.

It was a fateful decision that would condemn all but four of them to death.