Gulf Coast Perilous for Cabeza de Vaca

The Journal is publishing a series of history articles to commemorate the settlement of New Mexico by Juan de Oñate in 1598. This one begins the story of Alvar Nuñez Cabeza de Vaca, who roamed what would become the southern United States in the 1520s and 1530s.

By Miguel Encinias
For the Journal
During the 1530s, when Alvar Nuñez Cabeza de Vaca roamed the Southwest, the frontier of New Spain was about 600 miles south of the present-day U.S.-Mexico border, and New Mexico's day was still half a century or so away.
But to begin looking at Cabeza de Vaca, step back in time a little more than 300 years.
In 1212 a drama was beginning to unfold in Spain at Las Navas de Tolosa, in the Sierra Morena south of La Mancha, which would have a link to the founding of New Mexico.
In July of that year, a local peasant, Martin Alhaja, offered to mark a mountain pass for the Christian army, which planned a surprise attack on the opposing Moorish force. Alhaja said he would place the skull of a cow to indicate the way.
The Spanish victory that ensued was crucial in the centuries-long struggle to regain control of the Iberian peninsula. Alhaja was rewarded by King Sancho with the noble title of Cabeza de Vaca, the head of a cow.
Centuries later, circa 1490, Alvar Nuñez was born in Jerez de la Frontera, Spain, to Francisco de Vera and Teresa Cabeza de Vaca.
Alvar's grandfather, Pedro de Vera, was the conquerer of the Canary Islands, but the young man chose to be known by his mother's name.
Early in life he decided on a military career, and saw action in Italy and against the French in Navarra.
In 1527, he joined the Spanish expedition to establish a colony in Florida led by Panfilo de Narvaez. Narvaez was the man who a few years earlier had lost a battle and an eye while trying to arrest Hernán Cortés in the midst of his odyssey to Mexico.
Narvaez's small fleet of five ships and 600 men left San Lucar de Barrameda on June 7, arriving at Santo Domingo on Sept. 17, where they took on provisions and horses. From there they sailed to Santiago de Cuba to recruit men to replace those who had deserted.
On Feb. 21, 1528, after a hurricane had destroyed several ships on Cuba and killed 60 men, the star-crossed expedition finally set sail for Florida with four ships, 400 men and 80 horses.
The small fleet put into a bay, probably Sarasota, on April 14. Exploring up the coast, they came upon a much better bay, later named Tampa.
Narvaez decided to leave the ships and plunge inland in search of a city they had heard about called Apalachen.
Cabeza de Vaca protested, but the headstrong commander persisted, leaving behind skeleton crews and the wives of six or seven man.
This overland expedition force of 300 men and 40 horses travelled 15 days without encountering a single human or finding anything edible. After 30 days of slogging through forests and swamps, Narvaez's force came within sight of Apalachen, near the Apalachicola River.
After 25 days and several skirmishes with the natives, the governor decided to return to the gulf by following the river to its mouth. But the group was unable to find the ships that had been left behind.
Between Aug. 4 and Sept. 20, 1528, the group constructed five barges of logs tied together with horse tails, and caulked with palmetto husks and pine pitch. Sails were made of clothing, and oars from junipers.
By the time the expedition embarked on the fragile craft on Sept. 22, its members had eaten all of the horses, and there now were only 242 men.
Near present-day Pensacola they encountered the first natives who were willing to supply them with fresh water and cooked fish. But these natives later attacked them and killed three men.
The next day, the weary and hungry sailors entered what probably was Mobile Bay. Two days later, they made it to the mouth of the Mississippi River, which while providing fresh water drove them out to sea, where they encountered a storm.
After the storm three barges remained. They became separated, and the people on board lost sight of each other.
After the barges were reunited, Narvaez refused to wait for the other barges, which were moving more slowly than his, and proclaimed that it now was every man for himself.
Narvaez continued on, but the other two barges -- captained by Cabeza de Vaca and a Captain Penalosa -- stayed together and continued heading westward along the coast. They still hoped to find New Spain.
Most of the men were sick, but provisions allowed each man to eat only one handful of raw corn a day.
The two barges were separated in another storm, and Cabeza de Vaca pushed on with his moribund crew until the break of day, Nov. 6.
That morning the barge was thrown onto land by a large wave. This was -- based on the description given -- Galveston Island and was inhabited by friendly Indians.
The next day the Spaniards attempted to set out to sea, but another big wave capsized and sank their barge. In addition to losing three men, they now had lost their barge and everything else they had.
The Indians who came upon the nearly naked, half-starved survivors lamented for half an hour, then agreed to take the few men who remained alive into their homes. They left to make arrangements, then came back and escorted the Spaniards from bonfire to bonfire to help them keep warm.
They also told them about other Spaniards on the island.
They turned out to be survivors of the other barge, which included Andres Dorantes, a Captain Castillo and a crew of 48 men. Their raft had capsized, too, and they managed to salvage it, only to lose it while making repairs.
The fates of all the barges now was known, except for the governor's. Narvaez's barge had not been seen since the separation at sea.
All of the known barge survivors decided to spend the winter on the island, except four men who were sent south to see if they could reach Panuco on the eastern coast of New Spain, near modern Tampico, Mexico.
The weather turned cold and food became very scarce. Some of the Spaniards resorted to cannibalism when one of them died. The natives suffered also, but for them it was an annual occurrence.
Roots were no longer available, and fish became very scarce. Spaniard and Indian alike survived mainly on oysters.
The natives, who were very gentle and generous people, not only with each other but with the strangers as well, made life bearable.
NEXT: Misery and miracles

Miguel Encinias is an Albuquerque historian. His novel "Two Lives for Oñate" is scheduled for publication on Nov. 1 by the University of New Mexico Press.