The next work that comes under our notice is in some respects the most remarkable in Spanish Historical Literature. When the eminent critic and historian Prescott awarded to Antonio de Solis the honor of being the first Spanish writer who treated history as an art, not a science, and first appreciated the indissoluble bond that should ever connect it to poetry and belles-lettres, he certainly overlooked the prior claims of Garcias Laso or Garcilasso de la Vega. Born in Cusco in the year 1539,[9] claiming by his mother the regal blood of the Incas, and by his father that of the old Spanish nobility, he received a liberal education both in Peru and Spain. With a mind refined by retirement, an imagination attuned by a love of poetry and the drama, and with a vein of delicate humor, he was eminently qualified to enter into the spirit of an undertaking like De Soto’s. His Conquest of Florida[10] is a true historical drama, whose catastrophe proves it a tragedy. He is said to lack the purity of Mariana, and not to equal De Solis in severely artistic arrangement; but in grace and fascination of style, in gorgeous and vivid picturing, and in originality of diction—for unlike his cotemporaries, La Vega modelled his ideas on no Procustean bed of classical authorship—he is superior to either. None can arise from the perusal of his work without agreeing with Southey, that it is “one of the most delightful in the Spanish language.” But when we descend to the matter of facts and figures, and critically compare this with the other narratives, we find the Inca always gives the highest number, always makes the array more imposing, the battle more furious, the victory more glorious, and the defeat more disastrous than either. We meet with fair and gentle princesses, with noble Indian braves, with mighty deeds of prowess, and tales of peril, strange and rare. Yet he strenuously avers his own accuracy, gives with care his authorities, and vindicates their veracity. What then were these? First and most important were his conversations with a noble Spaniard who had accompanied De Soto as a volunteer. His name does not appear, but so thorough was his information and so unquestioned his character, that when the Council Royal of the Indies wished to inquire about the expedition, they summoned him in preference to all others. What he related verbally, the Inca wrote down, and gradually moulded into a narrative form. This was already completed when two written memoirs fell into his hands. Both were short, inelegant, and obscure, the productions of two private soldiers, Alonso de Carmona and Juan Coles, and only served to settle with more accuracy a few particulars. Though the narrative published at Elvas had been out nearly half a century before La Vega’s work appeared, yet he had evidently never seen it; a piece of oversight less wonderful in the sixteenth century than in these index and catalogue days. They differ much, and although most historians prefer the less ambitious statements of the Portuguese, the Inca has not been left without defenders.
Chief among these, and very favorably known to American readers, is Theodore Irving.[11] When this writer was pursuing his studies at Madrid, he came across La Vega’s Historia. Intensely interested by the facts, and the happy diction in which they were set forth, he undertook a free translation; but subsequently meeting with the other narratives, modified his plan somewhat, aiming to retain the beauties of the one, without ignoring the more moderate versions of the others. In the preface and appendix to his History of Florida, he defends the veracity of the Inca, and exhibits throughout an evident leaning toward his ampler estimates. His composition is eminently chaste and pleasing, and La Vega may be considered fortunate in having obtained so congenial an admirer. Entering fully into the spirit of the age, thoroughly versed in the Spanish character and language, and with such able command of his native tongue, it is to be regretted that the duties of his position have prevented Mr. Irving from further labors in that field for which he has shown himself so well qualified.
Many attempts have been made to trace De Soto’s route. Those of Homans, Charlevoix, Guillaume de l’Isle and other early writers were foiled by their want of correct geographical knowledge.[12] Not till the present century was anything definite established. The naturalist Nuttall[13] who had personally examined the regions along and west of the Mississippi, and Williams[14] who had a similar topographical acquaintance with the peninsula of Florida, did much toward determining either extremity of his course, while the philological researches of Albert Gallatin on the Choktah confederacy[15] threw much light on the intermediate portion. Dr. McCulloh,[16] whose indefatigable labors in the field of American archæology deserve the highest praise, combined the labors of his predecessors and mapped out the march with much accuracy. Since the publication of his work, Dr. J. W. Monette,[17] Col. Albert J. Pickett,[18] Alexander Meek,[19] Theodore Irving,[20] Charles Guyarre,[21] L. A. Wilmer,[22] and others have bestowed more or less attention to the question. A very excellent resumé of most of their labors, with an accompanying map, is given by Rye in his introduction to the Hackluyt Society’s edition of the Portuguese Gentleman’s Narrative, who also adds a tabular comparison of the statements of this and La Vega’s account.
From the failure of De Soto’s expedition to the settlement of the French at the mouth of the St. John’s, no very active measures were taken by the Spanish government in regard to Florida.
A vain attempt was made in 1549 by some zealous Dominicans to obtain a footing on the Gulf coast. A record of their voyage, written probably by Juan de Araña, captain of the vessel, is preserved;[23] it is a confused account, of little value.
The Compte-Rendu of Guido de las Bazares,[24] who explored Apalache Bay (Bahia de Miruelo) in 1559, to which is appended an epitome of the voyage of Angel de Villafañe to the coasts of South Carolina in 1561, and a letter from the viceroy of New Spain[25] relating to the voyage of Tristan de Arellano to Pensacola Bay (Santa Maria de Galve), are of value in verifying certain important dates in the geographical history of our country; and as they indicate, contrary to the assertion of a distinguished living historian,[26] that the Spaniards had not wholly forgotten that land, “the avenues to which death seemed to guard.”
Much more valuable than any of these is the memoir of Hernando D’Escalante Fontanedo.[27] This writer gives the following account of himself: born of Spanish parents in the town of Carthagena in 1538, at the age of thirteen he was sent to Spain to receive his education, but suffering shipwreck off the Florida coast, was spared and brought up among the natives, living with various tribes till his thirtieth year. He adds that in the same ship with him were Don Martin de Guzman, Hernando de Andino, deputy from Popayan, Alonso de Mesa, and Juan Otis de Zarate. Now at least one of these, the last mentioned, was never shipwrecked at any time on Florida, and in the very year of the alleged occurrence (1551) was appointed captain in a cavalry regiment in Peru, where he remained for a number of years;[28] nor do I know the slightest collateral authority for believing that either of the others suffered such a casuality. He asserts, moreover, that after his return to Spain he sought the post of interpreter under Aviles, then planning his attack on the Huguenots. But as this occurred in 1565, how could he have spent from his thirteenth to his thirtieth year, beginning with 1551, a prisoner among the Indians? In spite of these contradictions, there remains enough to make his memoir of great worth. He boasts that he could speak four Indian tongues, that there were only two with which he was not familiar, and calls attention to what has since been termed their “polysynthetic” structure. Thus he mentions that the phrase se-le-te-ga, go and see if any one is at the look-out, is compounded partially of tejihue, look-out; “but in speaking,” he observes, “the Floridians abridge their words more than we do.” Though he did not obtain the post of interpreter, he accompanied the expedition of Aviles, and takes credit to himself for having preserved it from the traitorous designs of his successful rival: “If I and a mulatto,” he says, “had not hindred him, all of us would have been killed. Pedro Menendez would not have died at Santander, but in Florida, where there is neither river nor bay unknown to me.” For this service they received no reward, and he complains: “As for us, we have not received any pay, and have returned with broken health; we have gained very little therefore in going to Florida, where we received no advancement.” Muñoz appended the following note to this memoir: “Excellent account, though of a man unaccustomed to writing, which is the cause of the numerous meaningless passages it contains.” Ternaux-Compans adds: “Without finding, as Muñoz, this account excellent, I thought it best to insert it here as containing valuable notices of the geography of Florida. It is often unintelligible; and notwithstanding all the pains I have