Great River. Paul Horgan

of soldiers left to guard them. They looked like toys. The men on the rock turned and went into the town, guided by a chief, Zutucapan, who was all courtesy. Food, their needs, he indicated, would be taken care of at various houses, there, there, and there—and Zaldívar sent soldiers separately to the places indicated.

      And as soon as they were separated, the soldiers were lost. A fearsome cry sounded over the stone plateau. It came from Zutucapan crying for battle. The Indians began to gather in menace. Zaldívar yelled with warning and encouragement to those few men remaining by him. They sprang their swords (“… the tempering will be good…”) and Zaldívar called out asking if they should retire to the plain below and later inflict punishment for treachery. One soldier objected. He said he would be glad to take on the Indian mob alone, and after he had disposed of it, see that the soldiers could then in their own good time leave the rock. There was a dead moment of wonder and indecision. It was a fateful pause. The Indians poured out of their housetops and streets and closed in. Zaldívar keeping the peace cried to his men to take aim but hold fire. But the Indians flew arrows, lances and even their wooden clubs at Zaldívar’s small band, and the soldiers at his order fired. In another moment the fight was joined. Over a thousand Indians broke upon the soldiers in wild combat.

      It lasted three hours.

      Zaldívar was prodigious. His men fell wounded and dead and three jumped from the cliff and were killed and all fought who could in hand-to-hand combat, and one soldier with his belly ripped open as he died cut his enemy’s body awide with his dagger so that the two men fell with their entrails mingling. Zaldívar fell three times only to rise and fight, until he fell forever, when the Indians stormed upon him and destroyed him obscenely. There were five soldiers left on top then, and seeing that Zaldívar was dead and mutilated they battled their way to the edge of the island and jumped out into the air, whether to live or die they didn’t know.

      One died striking rocks as he fell. The other four landed hundreds of feet below in long sand drifts against the base of the island. From the camp came the guard who had remained with the horses, and three soldiers who had already escaped from the rock. They revived the four who had jumped and all hurried to the camp. They made quick decisions. The survivors were divided into three parties, one to hurry westward to inform the Governor; one to take advice to the isolated fathers in their lonely missions to return with speed to the capital; and one to ride hard to San Juan de Nuevo Mexico to tell the colony.

      Vicente de Zaldívar was in command at San Juan. He received the names of those killed at Ácoma. He went to the families and told them and comforted them. He ordered Requiem Masses for the faithful departed. The colony on the river was in mortal danger, and all knew it.

      Presently came home the soldiers who had left Ácoma to overtake the Governor. They had not been able to find his trail. It was of the first importance that he hear immediately what had happened. Vicente de Zaldívar sent a new detachment to find him at all costs. They rode out immediately heavily armed. Nobody knew if the revolt would spread. The garrison at San Juan lived at the alert waiting for the Governor.

      He arrived four days before Christmas with his troops, including Pérez de Villagrá. The Governor already had the news. The soldiers from the capital told how they had met him returning from his western explorations in a pleased frame of mind. In spite of having had reason to suspect disloyalty if not treachery at Ácoma on his way west in November, he had planned to spend the night there homeward bound. But the messengers with their awful news had saved him. In the open land by his camp they gave him a description of the massacre, for some of them had been there. He listened on horseback. When they were done, he dismounted and went to his knees and prayed aloud. Then in grief he walked to his tent, leading his horse, and ordered Pérez de Villagrá to make a rude cross of lashed branches. This was taken into his tent, where he asked to be left alone.

      In the morning he ordered a formation and came out to speak to the men. His eyes were swollen and his face was haggard from lack of sleep. He had prayed all night for wisdom and guidance in the danger about them. Facing the soldiers he tried three times to speak, but could not, until at last he was able to say that they had all suffered a terrible loss in their comrades, who died martyrs. He spoke of dangers to come that must be met bravely, and he invoked their faith by saying that all knew it to be true that the more they suffered the greater would be their heavenly reward, and he placed all trust in God. He lifted up the soldiers’ hearts.

      With that he gave marching orders and the exploring party turned toward the capital. It snowed. They drank melted snow from their helmets. It was hard marching in December on the friendless plains.

      When he arrived home the Governor found all turned out to wait for him. They were weeping. He went to them, and in silence embraced each one of his people. He then led them into the church where he greeted the friars with his embrace, and the Father President led the priests who chanted in chorus the Te Deum Laudamus in thanks for the Governor’s safe return with his men.

      The city of San Juan de Nuevo Mexico was in the form of a great square with four gates at which sentinels were now posted. All people carried arms. The Governor retired to his quarters and did not put away his belt and baldric, his sword and dagger, all night. He had a heavy decision to contemplate. Its basis in law was already, at his request, being considered by the Father President and the other friars.

      21.

       The Battle of Ácoma

      He received their official opinion on the following day.

      “What conditions,” he had asked them, “are necessary in order to wage a just war? In the event of such a war, what steps may be taken against those warred upon and against their possessions?”

      In reply to the first question the learned friars made several points.

      To begin with, there must be authority to wage war, as in the cases of Popés, emperors and kings, and those acting in their stead. The Governor was a delegate of the Crown. Plainly, he had authority.

      And then there must be a just cause. The friars listed “to punish those who are guilty of wrongdoing, or have violated the laws of the land,” which clearly covered the crime of treacherous insurrection. The friars added that the final just cause for war was to establish peace, “for peace is the principal object of war.” The Governor could feel that he had more than one just cause.

      Moreover, they stated, war must be waged with good faith, and without covetousness, malice, hate, or ambition for power. The Governor examined his conscience.

      As to the second question, though several points were analyzed, the pertinent one seemed to be that about war against wrongdoers, and the opinion declared that “they and their possessions are at the mercy of their conqueror according to the laws of the land,” and could be “treated by divine and civil law, as law and justice require,” but any punishment visited upon the vanquished must be taken “to carry into effect the requirements of justice.” The Governor noted this respect for due process.

      Finally, said the friars, “as the purpose of war is to establish peace, then it is even justifiable to exterminate and destroy those who stand in the way of that peace.”

      The Governor could hear his duty clearly. If he had known doubt before he knew none now. He ordered public proclamation in the capital that “war by blood and fire” was declared against the Indians of Ácoma, and announced that he would himself lead the punitive army. Immediate protests of concern for his safety made him change his mind about taking personal command, and instead he named Vicente de Zaldívar to lead the return to Ácoma.

      On the same day—December 22, 1598—a Requiem Mass was held for Juan de Zaldívar and all who had died with him. The cold, narrow, dark, clay church above the riverbanks resounded with the offices of the dead. It was, the church, as plain as a coffin and the spirit of all there that day filled it with fierce thoughts and prayers upon the reality of death.

      But three days later came the great feast of Christmas, and the birth of life and purity in the world. All worked hard, and rededicated themselves in the midst of hazard, loneliness and loss; and resolve grew with the