Columbus and Other Heroes of American Discovery

by N. D'Anvers

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.