have hitherto been describing people and tribes that have completely vanished. We have peered into the mysterious past and sought as best we could to conjure back the scenes of many years ago. The line between the known and the unknown, between the historic and prehistoric, is not far removed from us in the new world. Not yet four centuries have passed since the veil was lifted, and America, with her savage tribes of the North, and her rude civilization of the South, was revealed to the wondering eyes of Europe. But with a knowledge of this new land came also wondrous stories of wealth, and in consequence an army of adventurers were soon on her shores. Then follows a short period of war and conquest. The Indian race could not withstand the whites. European civilization, transplanted to America, has thriven. But whatever advance the native tribes have made since the discovery, has been by reason of contact with the whites.
There was no single birthplace of American culture. Advance took place wherever the climate was mild and the soil fertile, and thus an abundant supply of food could be obtained. One such locality was the valley of the San Juan, in what is now the southwestern part of the United States. It is quite allowable to suppose that here the mild climate and bountiful soil suggested agriculture, and with a knowledge of this, rude though it was, a beginning was made in a culture which subsequently excited the admiration of the Spaniards. However that may be, we know this section contains abundant ruins of former inhabitants. And yet again we find in this same country the remnants of this former people, doubtless living much the same sort of life as did their forefathers. American scholars, with the best of reason, think this section affords the best vantage ground from which to study the question of native American culture. It presents us not only with ruins of past greatness, but in the inhabited pueblos, gives us a picture of primitive times, and invites us, by a careful study of their institutions, to become acquainted with primitive society.
Travelers and explorers describe the scenery of the Pueblo country as a very peculiar one. It is bleak without being absolutely barren. The great mountain chains form picturesque profiles, which in a measure compensate for the lack of vegetation. No country on the face of the globe bears such testimony to the power of running water to wear away the surface. The rivers commenced by wearing down great cañons. They occur here on a grand scale. The cañon of the Colorado River, having a length of two hundred miles, and through the whole, nearly vertical walls of rock, three to six thousand feet in height. Nearly all the tributary streams of the Colorado empty into it by means of gorges nearly as profound. What is true of the Colorado is true, though in a lesser degree of the Rio Grande and of the Pecos, as only portions of these streams are cañon-born. But, besides digging out these cañons, the entire surface of the country has in places been removed to the depth of several hundred feet, leaving large extent of table-lands, called mesas, with generally steep, or even precipitous, sides, standing isolated here and there.
Though thus bearing evidence of more extended rainfall, and of the action of water in the past, it is essentially an arid country now. Most of the minor water-courses laid down on the map are dry half of the year, or have but scattered pools of water; so a description of the surface of the country would tell us of deep river valleys, in many cases narrow and running through rocky beds, in which case we call them cañons; in other cases very wide, but having generally precipitous sides; the country often mountainous and great stretches of table-land, but generally dry and desolate, except in the immediate vicinity of rivers. The river valleys themselves are generally very fertile.
Such is the country where we are to investigate native American culture. The history of the country since its first occupation by the Spaniards is not devoid of interest. It did not take the Indians of Mexico long to learn that what the Spaniards most prized was gold, and that the surest way to curry favor with them was to relate to them exaggerated stories of wonderful wealth to be gained in distant provinces. About 1530 the viceroy of New Spain (Mexico) learned from an Indian slave of seven great cities somewhere to the north; and of their wealth it was said they had streets exclusively occupied by workers in gold and silver.
Though expeditions to the northern provinces of Mexico speedily dispelled the illusions in regard to them, the wonderful story of the Seven Cities flitted further north. Six years later these stories were invested with new life by the arrival in Mexico of Cabeza De Vaca and three companions. The story of their remarkable wanderings reads like an extract from a work of fiction. They were members of the unfortunate Spanish expeditions to the coast of Florida in 1528. After the shipwreck and final overthrow of the expedition, these four men had wandered from somewhere on the coast of the Gulf of Mexico, first north, and then west, passing through, probably, portions of Texas and New Mexico, until finally they were so fortunate as to meet with their own countrymen near Culiacan, in Mexico. The story they had to tell fell on willing ears. They stated to the viceroy that they had carefully observed the country through which they had passed, and had been told of great and powerful cities containing houses of four and five stories, with the usual accompaniments of great wealth.
The next incident was the journey of three Franciscan friars and a negro (who, by the way, had been with De Vaca in his wanderings), sent out by the Governor Coronado, with orders to return and report to him all they could learn by personal observation of the Seven Cities. This expedition did not accomplish much. Arriving near Cibola (the Spanish name for the country of the Seven Cities), they sent the negro on ahead to gain the good will of the Indians. Instead of this, he was killed by them. On hearing which, the monks contented themselves with gazing on the pueblo (which they describe as “more considerable than Mexico”) from a safe distance, and then hurriedly returned to Culiacan. They gave Coronado a most glowing account of all they had discovered.