Narváez vs. De Soto

The conquistador Hernando de Soto (Library of Congress)

In terms of accomplishing its avowed mission, the Narváez expedition was largely a failure. In contrast, the Hernando de Soto expedition to La Florida 11 years later was a much more successful exploration of that vast territory, even though it also failed to enrich the survivors. What accounts for the difference in outcomes? Was it leadership? Planning? Resources? Among other factors, those three best explain the difference. Both expeditions were launched near Tampa Bay and made the same inland trek to Apalache, where they controlled the hostile population more effectively. After a rendevous with their supply ships, De Soto’s party continued exploring for another 3,000 miles or so across the southeastern U.S., before some 300 survivors—about half of the expedition—built boats near the mouth of the Mississippi River and sailed westward along the coast to Mexico.

Both Narváez and De Soto were physically imposing men but not equally competent leaders. Narváez had led Spanish soldiers in the conquest of Cuba, where the native Taíno were generally a peaceful, agrarian people.  They resisted the Spanish, but were no real match for them militarily. The real test of Narváez’s leadership came in 1520, when he was sent by the governor of Cuba to arrest Hernán Cortés and replace him as the legitimate conquerer of Mexico. But the wily Cortés, through a combination of guile, bribery, and audacity, and with a fourth as many men, turned the tables on Narváez and took control of his army, making Narváez his prisoner for two years or so.

In comparison, Hernando de Soto had gained more hard-core military experience in the New World. He came to Central America as a teenager and soon made his reputation as a fighter and leader, taking part in the conquest of Veragua (now Nicaragua, Costa Rica and Panama). He later joined forces with the Pizarro brothers in the conquest of the Inca Empire in Peru. That lucrative conquest and his later marriage into the powerful Bobadilla and Peñalosa families made him even wealthier. In 1537, the king appointed him adelantado (conqueror) of La Florida—given that Narváez had vanished—and governor of Cuba. Only months later, De Soto learned that four men had survived the Narváez expedition. Its treasurer Cabeza de Vaca described their grueling experience in the wilderness but also talked up the potential for rich discoveries in that vast and varied landscape.

The story inspired De Soto to mount his own expedition, which he launched by way of Cuba to its landing near Tampa Bay in May 1539. His force consisted of about 700 men, many of them loyal Peru veterans, kinsmen, and fellow Extremadurans from Spain. He landed with nine ships and an army better equipped, provisioned, and staffed with skilled personnel, compared with that of Narváez. De Soto was more prudent in establishing a base there for resupplying the expedition by sea. Also, he had the good luck to aquire an interpreter and guide, a Spaniard capured by Indians from the Narváez troops. Finally, it’s clear that De Soto was more adroit than Narváez in leading his army effectively and managing their interactions with native peoples thoughout the long march though unfamiliar cultures and terrains. The expedition’s success and survival was a testament to his strong leadership, even after his death toward the end.

The slave, Estevanico: silent survivor

Painting of Estevanico by Granger. Image included in accordance with Title 17 U.S.C. Section 107.

Only four of the 300 conquistadores who landed near Tampa Bay in 1528 survived to reach Mexico eight years later. One of them was a Moor, Estevanico (or Estebanico), described in Cabeza de Vaca’s account as the slave of Captain Andrés Dorantes (another survivor). Although Estevanico is mentioned 13 times in the account, it is never from his own point of view. Nonetheless, he appears to have played an important role in their survival, primarily as someone with a talent for communicating with native peoples by signs or in their languages. In one instance, the others send him forward alone to establish contact with a new tribe. Perhaps the natives were also intrigued by his North African appearance as distinct from most of the Spaniards and other Europeans in the expedition. Estevanico was originally from “Azamor” (Azemmour?), Morocco on the Atlantic Coast. Along with his other talents, he might also have had boating experience, though he apparently couldn’t swim. In other ways he was apparently a very resourceful and durable individual.

Once the four survivors had been rescued in Mexico, they prepared a joint report on their grueling experience. Despite his lower status, Estevanico must have provided valuable, if unacknowledged, input. At least his abilities were recognized by the Viceroy Mendoza of Mexico, who “purchased” him from Andrés Dorantes. Two years later, he became a guide on the expedition of Francisco Vázquez de Coronado to further explore the southwest in search of the mythical, golden Seven Cities of Cíbola. Acting as an advance scout, Estevanico was killed by natives of Cíbola under somewhat obscure circumstances.

Laila Lalami has written an award-winning novel, The Moor’s Account, which is an imagined memoir of Estevanico, portrayed as a remarkable storyteller.

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.