South America

by W. H. Koebel

This method of keeping Spanish America as the close property of the Crown was one which grew more and more difficult to preserve as time went on. In the first place the authorities had merely to cope with the foreign seamen and the fleets of adventurous traders who were determined, at all costs, to win their share of financial profit from these golden shores. After a while, with the growing population of the Continent, a new situation asserted itself, and the influence of the colonists themselves had to be considered.

In order that the full financial profit, as it was then understood, of the colonies should continue to be passed on to Spain, it was essential that the colonists should continue a negligible factor. The permanence of this state of affairs could only be affected in one way: it was necessary that no equipment such as would provide independence of thought or action should be allowed to be at their service. Books, of course, were considered as one of the most mischievous potential engines of the kind. The Spaniards determined that none of the learning of their country should pass into the colonies. A certain number of volumes were permitted to cross the sea, it is true, but these were of the species that might be readily understood by a child of a few summers, and were ridiculously inadequate to the most ordinary intellect of adults in civilized regions. These themselves were subjected first of all to a close inspection on the part of the Inquisition in Spain. After this they had to pass the Board of Censors appointed by the Council of the Indies. Even here the precautions did not end, for on their arrival in the colony they were once again inspected as a safeguard, lest any secular matter or work of fiction should by any chance be overlooked and suffered to remain.

In short, the policy by which the motherland endeavoured to retain for her own benefit the riches of her colonies was undoubtedly one of the most benighted ever conceived by a European nation. It amounted to nothing less than a consistent checking and deadening of the intelligence of her sons oversea in order that their atrophied senses should fail to detect the true manner in which they were being shorn of their property and privileges.

On the other hand, in conformity with the same theory, superstition was encouraged to an extraordinary degree. The Royal Seal, when it arrived from Spain, was greeted as though it were a symbol of Deity, and the royal audience would chant an oath to obey it as implicitly as though it were a command of God. Every conceivable care was taken to foster this frame of mind throughout the colonies, and, since the intellectual occupations were religiously kept to themselves by the officials, it is not astonishing to find how far this method succeeded, and for how long it continued. Thus, even as late as 1809, when a portrait of King Ferdinand arrived at Coquimbo, the oil-painting was received with the honours accorded to a symbol of Deity. A special road was made for it from Coquimbo to La Serena, the capital of the province. This task occupied many days. Volunteer citizens filled up the holes, made wooden culverts, and, in fact, acted as enthusiastic road repairers, in order that the portrait might suffer no discomfort. When it was judged that the highway was sufficiently repaired, the portrait set out upon its astonishing journey. It was surrounded by cushions and placed in a flower-filled carriage. The inhabitants kneeled as the picture passed, and when it had been placed in the cathedral, salvos of artillery sounded, and the people shouted in delirious joy. The occasion, moreover, was marked by a fête which lasted three days.

All this, however, is anticipating by some centuries the period under review. In the first instance, largely owing to the ignorance concerning the New World which prevailed in other parts of Europe—which ignorance had been greatly fostered by Spain—the Spaniards succeeded in retaining the undisputed possession of their portion of the Continent for nearly three-quarters of a century. Then came the first of the maritime swallows, which made many dismal summers for the Court of Spain. In 1565 Drake voyaged to the Guianas on the Spanish Main. He was followed by Hawkins, Raleigh, and a host of others, including the Dutch navigators.

These hardy seamen, it must be said, had in the first instance proceeded to the Continent with the idea of engaging in legitimate trade. In justice to the many desperate acts which the majority subsequently committed, it must be remembered that in the case of the early collisions, they only let loose their guns when they found themselves attacked by the Spanish authorities in the distant ports, or intercepted on the high seas by the guardian fleets of Spain.

An experience or two of the kind sufficed to rouse the hot blood of the seamen. Knowing now that they were braving the anger of the King of Spain, they determined to continue in this undaunted, even, if necessary, "to synge his bearde," as, indeed, was accomplished on one notable occasion. So they continued their voyages to these ostensibly closed coasts of South America and the general run of the territories known at the time as the West Indies. Frequently they found riches in the venture, sometimes disaster and death. The former proved an incentive to these breathless voyages, with which no dread of the latter fate could interfere.

It would be as well to refer briefly to the careers in South America of a certain number of the most notable of these early adventurers. One of the first was Sir John Hawkins, who set out in 1562 with three ships: the Salomon, the Swallow, and the Jonas. Having touched at Teneriffe, he then landed at Sierra Leone, "where by the sworde and other means" he obtained some 300 negroes. He shaped his course to the west, and sailed with his cargo to the Spanish Indies.