Chapter VII

EARLY EXPLORATIONS IN CALIFORNIA, NEW MEXICO, AND ARIZONA.

HAVING traced the course of early discovery from the most southerly point of Florida to the mouths of the Mississippi on the west, and up the Atlantic coast to the 60th parallel of north latitude, from the Gulf of St. Lawrence to the central table-lands of North America in Minnesota and down the Father of Waters to the sea, we will complete our survey of the work done in the first two centuries after the discovery of Columbus by turning to the South-west, which from the first presented special difficulties to the explorers, on account of the rugged nature of its scenery and the persistent hostility of its inhabitants.

From Mexico went forth the first authenticated expeditions for the exploration of the districts now forming the south-western states of North America, and to the restless ambition of Cortes may be traced much of the hatred of the white man which still distinguishes the Apaches, Pueblos, Shoshones, and other aboriginal tribes of New Mexico, Arizona, and California.

As early as 1530, the conqueror of Mexico, anxious to retrieve his waning greatness by new discoveries to the northward, sent forth two brigantines, under Diego de Hurtado, to explore the coast above the 25th parallel of north latitude. These first vessels were wrecked, and their commander lost; but, nothing daunted, Cortes at once equipped two others to take their place, which put to sea in 1534, under two captains, named Grijalva and Mendoza. The former is supposed to have reached the northern portion of the Gulf of California, but the latter was murdered by his pilot, Ximenes, who afterward landed on the coast of California, where he and many of his men ♦were killed by the natives. The survivors returned to Mexico with wonderful stories of their adventures and the wealth of the districts visited, which so inflamed the imagination of Cortes, that he soon afterward himself started for the North with three well-manned vessels.

♦ ‘where’ replaced with ‘were’

Illustration: FERDINAND CORTES.

A disastrous result ensued. Two of the ships were wrecked, and when about to prosecute his voyage in the third, Cortes was recalled to Mexico by a rebellion which had broken out in his absence. A little later, however, a certain Francisco de Ulloa, who had been throughout the companion of Cortes, spent a year in cruising about the Gulf of California, and discovered it to terminate in N. lat. 32°, in a bay resembling the Adriatic, to which he gave the name of the Sea of Cortes.

In 1537, a new impulse was given to the flagging interest of the Spanish in the unknown districts to the north by the arrival at the Mexican capital of our old acquaintance, Alvaro Nunez, fresh from his wonderful experiences in Florida. His stories of his adventures, and, still more, his repetition of the rumors of gold in plenty somewhere on the north of the Gulf of Mexico, led to the sending forth in the following year of a monk named Fra Marco da Nizza, with orders to find out “what there was in the extensive regions beyond Mexico.”

Starting from Culiacan, then the most northern Spanish settlement in Mexico, Da Nizza, accompanied by several Spaniards and a few Indian guides, made his painful way, first through plains already desolated by the incursions of his fellow-countrymen, and thence into the territory now called Arizona, on the borders of which he was met by some natives of California, who told him falsely, as it turned out, that their home was on an island, and that its shores were washed by waters abounding in pearls.

Encouraged by this intelligence, Da Nizza passed on till he came to the encampment of a tribe of Indians who had never seen a white man, but who received him courteously, informing him that forty days’ journey to the north, on the other side of lofty mountains, there existed a vast plain full of cities inhabited by a people whose wealth far exceeded their own. Passing on in search of this new El Dorado, the Father was presently met by some Indians from the plain in question, who confirmed all that he had already been told, and, pointing to some gold ornaments he carried with him, assured him that their land abounded in similar objects. Cevola, or Cibola, was the nearest and largest of their cities. It contained lofty stone houses, large places, etc.; in a word, it seemed likely to be a second Tenotchitlan; and, after a consultation with his companions, Da Nizza resolved to send one of them, Stefano Dorantes, on in advance, with an escort of three hundred Indians, to announce his own approach, hoping thus to enhance the _eclat_ of his own entry with a view to obtaining a larger tribute for his employer.

The first part only of this programme was carried out. As Da Nizza was approaching the capital, a few days after his envoy had left him, he was met by an Indian, who told him that, on entering the city in all the pomp of ringing bells and waving plumes, Dorantes and his escort were seized by the people, stripped of all they possessed, and flung into prison. On their attempting to escape, they were shot down by arrows, and but few lived to tell the tale.

Resolved, in spite of the awful fate of Dorantes, not to return to Mexico without seeing Cibola, Da Nizza now disguised himself, and, accompanied by two attendants as brave as himself, he succeeded in approaching near enough to the scene of the massacre to be convinced that there had been no exaggeration in the reports of the wealth of the people of the plain. Secretly setting up a little cross as a witness of his visit, and a sign that the country henceforth belonged to Spain, Da Nizza now retraced his steps, narrowly escaping death at the hands of the Indians whose comrades had formed part of his unlucky escort, but finally arriving safely at Culiacan, there to arouse a perfect fever of enthusiasm by his account of all he had seen and heard.

Illustration: CITY OF MEXICO.

Two years later, a costly expedition to Cibola, consisting of some two thousand adventurers, was fitted out by Mendoza, the Viceroy, who had superseded Cortes in the supreme command in Mexico. This expedition was divided into two parts, one of which, under Fernando di Alarchon, proceeded up the coast in well equipped vessels, while the other, under Vasquez de Coronado, proceeded overland by the same route as that taken by Da Nizza.

Sailing up the Vermilion Sea, or the Sea of Cortes, as the Gulf of California was then called, Alarchon presently came to the mouth of a large river, probably the Colorado, flowing into the head of the gulf in N. lat. 32° 10′. Entering the river, the Spanish were soon brought to a stand-still by the appearance on its banks of numbers of well-armed natives, who, with threatening gestures, forbade the intruders to advance further into their country.

Making conciliatory signs, however, Alarchon was able to open a parley, and an old man came forth from among the gesticulating crowds, stepped into the water, and presented Alarchon with a staff. This, it appeared, answered to the calumet of the inland tribes, and, accepting it with an embrace to the donor, Alarchon gave its bearer some rosaries, which were eagerly carried ashore, though their spiritual significance is scarcely likely to have been appreciated.

A good understanding having been thus established between the natives and their guests, the white men were allowed to proceed up the river. Some little distance from its mouth, the explorers met an Indian who knew the language of some of the native escort, and by this means intelligible communications were opened with the people. As their brethren had done in the South, the Spaniards gave out that they were the Children of the Sun, sent by the life-giving Deity to rule over the natives of Arizona. Asked how it was they had so long delayed their coming, and, having come, could not speak the language of their subjects, they replied in an evasive yet reassuring manner. In due course a second Indian joined the party, who not only knew all about Cibola, but had even heard of Da Nizza’s expedition. From him Alarchon learned that he was but ten days’ journey from the great city, and he tried to persuade some of his companions to cross the country and communicate with Coronado, who must by this time have been within easy reach. No one could, however, be induced to make the venture, and Alarchon――somewhat rashly, as it seems to us――resolved to turn back. Sailing down the river, he returned to Mexico, having accomplished next to nothing.

Meanwhile, Coronado had bravely led his troops over the rugged mountainous districts of the north of Mexico, and in spite of much murmuring on their part on account of the hardships endured by the way, he had brought them safely to the plain of the Seven Cities. Here, on the very eve of success, he was met by a large force of armed Cibolans, who rejected all his efforts at conciliation. In the battle which ensued, the Spaniards were finally victorious, and the city of Cibola was taken; but Coronado was dangerously wounded in the assault, and the long hoped-for plunder was nowhere to be found. Cibola was but a large village, situated on a lofty and bleak plain, yielding plenty of grass, maize, and pebbles of rock crystal, but no gold, silver, or precious stones.

As soon as he could travel, Coronado, disguising his disappointment as best he could, took possession of Cibola in the name of his Catholic Majesty of Spain, and collected information on all sides as to the nature of the country beyond the plain of the cities. Learning that a great town called Quivira existed somewhere on the coast, he led his men to a distance of about 300 leagues through a level and somewhat barren country, finally arriving at the town in question, which turned out to be really large and wealthy, though its riches consisted in a fine breed of cattle, not in the precious metals and minerals for which the Spaniards had hoped.

Feeling that he had now accomplished something, Coronado then led his forces back to Mexico. As usual, very exaggerated reports were circulated by his followers as to what they had seen and done; and though its site has never yet been ascertained, Quivira was the goal of many a future expedition.

The next hero to attempt to penetrate to the North-west was Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo, a Portuguese mariner, sent out in 1542 by the indefatigable Mendoza. After rounding the modern Cape St. Lucas, Cabrillo sailed along the coast of California as far as N. lat. 40° 30′, where he saw two lofty snow-clad mountains, between which projected the now well-known modern headland to which he gave the name of Cape Mendocino, in honor of his employer. Sailing on beyond Cape Mendocino, Cabrillo was compelled, four degrees further north, to turn back, on account of the extreme cold. He arrived in Mexico in the spring of 1543, after ten months’ absence, his voyage justly entitling him to be called the discoverer of Northern California, though that honor is usually claimed for our fellow-countryman, Sir Francis Drake, who, thirty-six years later, touched at Point de los Reyes, and, in ignorance of his predecessor’s work, took possession of the country he thought he had discovered in the name of Queen Elizabeth, christening it New Albion.

In 1596, Mendoza’s successor, Conde de Monterey, sent an expedition consisting of three vessels, under Sebastian Viscaino, to California, with a view to opening friendly relations with the natives. Crossing the lower portion of the Gulf of California, and rounding Cape St. Lucas, as Cabrillo had done before him, Viscaino soon came to a good harbor, which he named first St. Sebastian and then La Paz. After taking possession of the country for the King of Spain, by firing cannons and hoisting standards, the explorer allowed four Franciscan friars to admit such of the natives as were willing to the Holy Catholic Church, the simple people gazing with wondering admiration at the unintelligible ceremonies performed on their behalf. This double conquest made for the State and Church of his sovereign, Viscaino continued his voyage up the north-eastern coast; but a misunderstanding with the natives, and the failure of his provisions, compelled him shortly to return to Mexico. In 1602, however, he started again, this time at the head of a thoroughly well-organized expedition; and after a flying visit to the converts at La Paz, he sailed leisurely up the coast of California, discovering the harbor of San Diego (N. lat. 32° 47′) on the 10th November, and the Bay of Monterey (N. lat. 36° 33′), so named after the Viceroy, on the 16th December.

At Monterey, the expedition received an unfortunate check by the breaking out of scurvy among the crew of the fleet. The terrible symptoms of this disease, the cause and cure of which were then alike unknown, so appalled the Spaniards, that all but a few entreated to be taken back to Mexico. Their request was granted, one vessel alone, the _Capitana_, under Viscaino himself, prosecuting the voyage. A miserable remnant of those who had been stricken with the now only too familiar seamen’s complaint were landed on the Mexican shores, and when for many months no tidings came of the _Capitana_, it was supposed that she was lost with all on board. Very different, however, had been her experience from that of her consorts. Viscaino took his vessel far away to the north, discovering in N. lat. 42° 51′ yet another great headland, to which he gave the name of Cape Blanco, and some miles beyond it again the mouth of a mighty river, supposed to have been the Columbia, and to have been identical with the fabulous Strait of Anian, by which, tradition says, the Dutch had penetrated from the northern to the southern sea.

Unable, from want of provisions, to penetrate further northward, or to ascend the newly-discovered river, the successful explorer now retraced his course, arriving at the island of Mazatlan, off the north-western coast of Mexico, with his men in good health, though much reduced by famine. Refreshed by the hospitality of the friendly people of Mazatlan, Viscaino and his men now hastened to report themselves to the Viceroy, and to beg for permission to make yet another trip at the leader’s own expense.

Incredible as it may appear, this request was refused; and though, many years afterward, Viscaino was asked to lead another expedition, the delay proved fatal, for the gallant explorer died on the eve of setting sail.

With the death of Viscaino the first chapter of discovery in the south-west of North America may be said to have been closed. The next well-authenticated voyage up the western coast was that in which a Greek pilot named Juan de Fuca took part, and from whom Mr. Lok, an Englishman much interested in geographical discovery, obtained an account of his adventures many years after they took place. According to De Fuca, he made a voyage in 1592 through the long-sought Straits of Anian, situated between the 47th and 48th parallels of north latitude, beyond which his vessel entered the North Sea. That a voyage was made in this direction, though not with this result, seems proved by the exact correspondence of Queen Charlotte’s Sound, between Vancouver Island and the mainland, with De Fuca’s description of the channel turning, now west, now north-west. For the North Sea read the North Pacific, and the experience of many a future mariner is anticipated. The naming of the straits dividing the southern portion of Vancouver Island from what is now Washington Territory after De Fuca is a conclusive expression of the verdict of geographers on the matter.

Another voyage from the South was that of Admiral de Fonte, who is thought by some authorities to have penetrated as far north as the 53d degree, where his vessel was in great danger, owing to the multitude of islands impeding its progress. Captain Barnardo, the second in command to De Fonte, carefully explored the winding of this archipelago, while De Fonte entered a large river leading into a vast lake also dotted with islands, in a bay of which he found an English ship lying at anchor, the first, according to the Indians, ever seen in these high latitudes.

On the latter portion of this story great doubt has been thrown; but again we are almost compelled to accept the truth of a visit having been paid to the labyrinth of islands, channels, etc., now bearing the names of Graham, Moresby, and other modern explorers, from the correspondence between their appearance and the description of his archipelago given by De Fonte.

Leaving the work of Behring, Spangberg, Meares, Vancouver, Kotzebue, and other successors of De Fuca and De Fonte in the hyperborean regions, we return to the Spanish in the South, to find our next hero of discovery in an old Jesuit priest named Eusebius Francis Kino, who, in 1658, went forth alone from his Mexican monastery to try and win over the wild tribes of the North to the faith of which he was a minister. With no weapon but the cross, and no food but such as he was able to beg by the way, the father pressed on through the present province of Sonora till he came to a river supposed to have been the Santa Cruz. Following its course, he entered Arizona, and arrived at the junction of the Santa Cruz with the Gila, which in its turn joins the Colorado some miles above its mouth.

Crossing the Gila, Kino ascended its northern bank, and came to a country which he characterizes as the most wonderful ever seen by the eye of man. Its people, who were “kind, generous, and hospitable,” dwelt in well-built villages clustering on the banks of streams, and employed their time in the manufacture of a kind of cotton cloth and of very beautiful feather-work. They were also skillful picture-writers, and on the walls of their public buildings was preserved a pictorial record of their history. Mines of gold and silver――which they understood how to work with considerable skill, though they set but small value on the ore when excavated――promised to yield a splendid return to the emigrant, while immense flocks of sheep and herds of cattle constituted another source of almost inexhaustible wealth.

Worshiping the sun as the one supreme God, these simple yet intelligent natives kept a fire ever burning on their altars in his honor. With its undying flame they connected their own prosperity, and they therefore showed little readiness to substitute for it any less material guarantee of well-being. Father Kino made few converts to the belief in the spiritual God, whose altar is the heart, and whose chief purifying agent is adversity; and, passing on among the fire-worshipers, he trod his weary way in a north-westerly direction till he came to the so-called Fire Mountain, supposed to have been the San Francisco Mountain. Here he altered his course for the East, and after a long tramp through the forest, he reached the head-waters of the Mimbres, the course of which he followed till its waters suddenly sunk away in the earth, a phenomenon often since commented upon by modern travelers.

Many months were spent by the missionary in the wild districts on either side of the eccentric Mimbres, with little or no result so far as his main object was concerned, the native tribes being then, as now, peculiarly averse to the reception of religious teaching. Finding it useless to remain longer among them, our hero therefore at last resolved to return to Mexico, and there obtain recruits for the further prosecution of missionary work in the more hospitable Arizona. After no less than seven years of fruitless effort, he at last accomplished his purpose, and toward the end of 1670 we find him starting with three other Jesuits for the Gila, on the banks of which he established a mission for the conversion of the Yaquis in 1672. Between that date and 1679, no less than five missions were founded among these and others of the New Mexican tribes, the Pueblos, Opotoes, etc., themselves aiding in erecting the beautiful buildings, the ruins of which, especially that of San Xavier del Bac, in the beautiful Santa Cruz valley, still bear witness to the religious zeal and architectural skill of these early teachers in the West.

Had the Jesuit Fathers been content with the gradual but sure growth of their influence in fair Arizona and New Mexico, the conclusion of our story might have been different. As it was, however, their eagerness to extend their spiritual influence, and――alas, that we should have to say it!――to appropriate for the use of their order the gold and silver abounding in the mountains on the north of their new homes, led to the sending out of expeditions beyond the limits occupied by the tribes friendly to their interests. The wrath of the terrible Apaches, dwelling in the now desolated plains and mountain fastnesses on the north-west, was aroused; and in 1680 they swept down upon the Spanish settlements in such numbers as to carry all before them, compelling the missionaries to flee for their lives into Mexico. Again and again they returned with the same result, until at last the missions were finally abandoned, having wrought nothing but evil to those for whose benefit they were primarily established.

After the expulsion of the Jesuits by the Apaches, the districts to the north-west of Mexico were for many years left unvisited by any Europeans, with the exception of a few venturesome miners, who, working at the risk of their lives in the north of the present province of Arizona, won for it its name, originally Arizuma, or the silver-bearing country. To atone for this pause in inland exploration, however, the coasts of both Upper and Lower California became thoroughly well known to Spanish pearl-fishers, who were followed, as the French _coureurs de bois_ had been in the North, by Roman Catholic missionaries, eager to be the first Christian teachers to win the ears of the natives. In the course of about half a century, many missions had been established in Lower California; and though, owing to the law forbidding priests to marry, no permanent root was taken in the country by them, and no homes gathered about their chapels, they paved the way for the advent of the settler, and exercised a refining influence, alike on the wild Spanish fishermen and the fierce and degraded Californian Indians.

The beginning of the 18th century witnessed the first chapter of the thrilling drama of the fall of the Jesuits from the lofty position they had held throughout the world for two centuries. Expelled from Portugal in 1759, and from France in 1764, they flocked to Spain, hoping to find a refuge in the first home of their order. They were disappointed. In 1767, the edict for their banishment, alike from the mother country and her colonies, was issued by Charles III. of Spain, and the Jesuits both at home and abroad found themselves involved in one common ruin.

Rallying as best they could from the blow which deprived them of all their property, and exiled them from the land of their adoption, those members of the disgraced order who had settled in Lower California resolved to begin a new crusade in the north of the same country.

Under the leadership of Father Junipero Serra, appointed president of all the missions to be established in Upper California, the Fathers went forth to set up the cross among the Ahwashtes, Altahmos, Romanans, Klamaths, Modoes, Shastas, Eurocs, and others of the almost countless tribes forming the two great families of the Central and Northern Californians.

Dividing into two parties, the first expedition started for Northern California by land in 1768. The first division, under Captain Rivera of Moncado, after a terrible journey across country, arrived at the site of the present San Diego (N. lat. 32° 47′, W. long. 117° 8′) on the 14th of May, 1768, and there founded the first settlement of white men in Upper California. The second party, under Father Junipero himself, arrived at the new colony on the 1st of July, and the first North Californian convert was baptized on the 16th of December of the same year.

Early in January, 1769, a second detachment of Jesuits started in three vessels――the _San Carlos_, the _San Antonio_, and the _San José_――to reach San Diego by sea. The first arrived on the 1st May, having lost all her crew, except two or three officers, from scurvy and famine; the second put into port at San Diego on the 10th April, with eight men missing; and the third was never again heard of.

Illustration: THE GOLDEN GATE, SAN FRANCISCO.

After a rest of a few weeks, the survivors of the unfortunate fleet, their numbers augmented by a party of emigrants from Sonora and an escort of Lower Californian Indians, started, under the command of Don Gaspar de ♦Portola, who had been appointed military governor of the new country, for the North, intending to find the Bay of Monterey, and there found a second branch of the mission. The pioneers failed to find Monterey, but on the 25th October, 1769, they discovered the now famous harbor of San Francisco, justly named the gem of the Pacific, its Golden Gate, the outlet connecting it with the ocean, forming the entry to the finest seaport on the western seaboard of America. Land-locked as it was, the noble bay had escaped the notice of previous explorers, and even now its great importance seems scarcely to have been recognized. Naming it San Francisco, after the titular saint of the Jesuits, Portola led his party back to San Diego, and for six long years the site of the present capital of California was left to the undisturbed possession of the natives.

♦ ‘Portala’ replaced with ‘Portola’

Illustration: CITY HALL, SAN FRANCISCO. (1885.)

For sixty years after their first arrival at San Diego the Jesuits carried all before them in Upper California, and when the overthrow of the Spanish dominion in Mexico――which has been characterized as the death-blow of the mission system――took place in 1822, their settlements along the coast numbered as many as twenty-one. As in Lower California, however, the exclusiveness of the missionaries was fatal to the growth of permanent settlements: the emigration of Europeans to the districts belonging to them was discouraged; no inland colonies were founded; and, after living for years in an almost patriarchal state, more than 18,000 Indians owning no authority but theirs, the Fathers were deprived, by act of the Mexican Congress, of their plantations, and forbidden to employ the Indians to work for them. As a result, they were compelled, one by one, to abandon the country for which they had done so much. During the latter years of their sway, many speculators and trappers had, in spite of their opposition, penetrated into their territories, and the first seeds had been sown of many a now thriving community; but, before we relate the adventures of those travelers whose exploits entitle them to rank among our heroes, we must go back a couple of centuries to trace the further course of exploration in the Eastern States.