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.