As the Spaniards emerged from a scattering of junipers onto a flat plain, they saw, hardly half a mile away, a low spur protruding from a line of hills. On top of the spur was a city of sorts. Blank tan walls rose three and, in places, four stories high. Clusters of people on top. Cornfields and squat houses at the base of the spur. “There are,” Casteñada wrote in disgust, “haciendas in New Spain which make a better appearance at a distance.” And he added, “Such were the curses that some hurled at Fray Marcos that I pray God may protect him from them.”
Points of view. Modern archeologists have discovered data about the Pueblo (Anasazi) Indians that were unknown to the Spaniards. For one thing, population in general was declining in the 16th century, but towns were growing because survivors were congregating in them, perhaps as a defense against raiding nomads. One major population center was the six, not seven, pueblos of the area now known as the Zuñi reservation, then called Cíbola. (No single “city” had that name; that was just another misunderstanding of Marcos.) The town of Háwikuh lay farthest to the southwest and hence dominated the ancient trade trails leading from the entire Pueblo country to Mexico, the Gulf Coast, and those parts of Southern California bordering on the Pacific. Háwikuh, accordingly—and all Cíbola—seemed important to the inhabitants of a considerable area, a notion Marcos had picked up and relayed to his superiors, as we have seen.
The Spaniards, however, had not come looking for dealers in hides, feathers, and imported sea shells. In spite of doubts and warnings that must have troubled them along the way, it was still impossible for them to adjust in one stunning moment to this thunderclap of reality. They went on doing what they probably would have done if the army of the Grand Khan had advanced to meet them. Cavalrymen made sure their saddle girths were tight, footmen readied their weapons, which had not been well cared for during the march, and together they moved toward the Indians, whose leaders drew magic lines of corn-meal on the ground and blew angrily on conch shell trumpets. With bows and war clubs they gestured for the invaders to leave. No women or children were in sight, and the numbers of warriors indicated that the neighboring towns had sent reinforcements. None seemed awed by the sight of horses.
Dutifully the Spaniards went through the ritual of the requerimiento. Cárdenas, a few cavalrymen, a notary, an interpreter, and two priests approached the Indians. The interpreter read a proclamation stating that God’s representative, the Pope, had awarded this part of the world to the monarchs of Spain. All who submitted to his majesty’s authority and also accepted Christianity with its promises of salvation would be embraced as friends. Those who did not would be treated as enemies.
The answer was a shower of arrows that did no harm. Coronado next went forward, holding out gifts as a sign of peace. Mistaking the offering for timidity, the Indians rushed forward. The invaders countered with a charge. Evidently the horses did inspire terror then, for the Indians broke and fled. Some were downed on the plain, but most gained the town and climbed onto the flat roofs, where they continued their gestures of defiance.
To Pecos and Beyond
Marching from Cíbola to Pecos, Alvarado’s soldiers saw Puebloland in the morningtide of its history, a time of prosperity and relative peace. Village after village welcomed the Spaniards. At Acoma, built on a mesa, “the natives ... came down to meet us peacefully” and gave the Spaniards supplies for their journey. In Tiguex province, they met Indians “more devoted to agriculture than to war” who gave them food, cloth, and skins. At the huge pueblo of Braba (present Taos), more hospitality. Cicuyé (Pecos), their destination, greeted Alvarado with drums and flutes and plied the soldiers with clothing and turquoise (but the women kept hidden). The record is clear that when the intruders came peacefully, first encounters were not always hostile.
Perhaps there was no gold in the town, but there was food and the Spaniards were half-starved. Coronado deployed horsemen entirely around the town to prevent anyone’s escaping while he himself dismounted and led an attack on foot up the slope toward the pueblo’s single narrow, twisting entry. Clad in gilded armor that attracted attention (and must have been clumsy to run in), he was straightway knocked senseless by a huge stone. Two officers shielded his body while he was dragged to safety.
Advantage of position was with the defenders, and the Spaniards, we are told, were in bad shape. The strings of the crossbows, rotted by the sun, snapped when cranked tight. The arquebusers were too weak from hunger and heat to join the onslaught. Yet no one was killed and only a dozen were hurt. Within less than an hour the town surrendered, an outcome difficult to understand unless the defenders hurled their missiles so wildly that none took effect, whereupon they gave up, terrified by the enemy’s relentless momentum and flashing swords, a weapon they had never before encountered.