The Fountain of Youth Killed the Native American
Spanish Exploration, Treasure, and the Passing of the Plains Indians
Aug 17, 2009
There were numerous reasons behind the burning desire of Spain in the early 1500s to cross the shimmering sea and open up new channels of trade and commerce. The most significant of them all in terms of the fate of Native Americans began with the most romanticized of whimsies – a treasure hunt, and a desire to stay young forever. The latter is what led Ponce de Leon to the Florida coast, sailing on a headwind of Indian rumors about a fountain of youth. (Note: The foregoing statement contains some whimsy of its own, as historians do not fully agree that a man of de Leon’s stature would sail in search of such mythical treasures. Some believe his interests were far more tangible, and looked a lot like gold. But what good is history without some romance?) Whatever led him there after his checkered career in the Caribbean, Ponce de Leon undeniably first set foot on North American soil on April 3rd, 1513. The site is preserved today, in the northern section of St. Augustine, FL, as a tourist trap masquerading as a national archaeological park. And indeed it is both. Still visible to visitors today is the stone cross de Leon had laid into the ground to mark both his arrival and his claim of “La Florida” for the King of Spain. And burbling up from the ground right next to that cross is the briny spring still known as the Fountain of Youth. In reality a drink may take years off of one’s life, rather than add them, but a certain sense of connection with the distant past that comes with lifting the cup to one’s mouth is worth the potential sacrifice.
The Founding of St. Augustine
It was here, on this soil, that the Spanish established the oldest continuously inhabited colony in North America. And in a searingly stark foreshadowing of events to follow, the spot happened to have already been occupied for a millennium. A village of Timucua Indians there still offers up its history to the archaeologist’s spade and brush. The villagers took de Leon and his men in as guests, and generally speaking the interactions were peaceful and complementary. In time de Leon sailed away, but what would become St. Augustine remained.
Its location on the northern Florida coast, just below present-day Jacksonville, was fortuitous for a number of reasons. From a mariner’s perspective, the deep harbor protected by a shallow entry between barrier islands and only crossable at high tide was a boon like no other. For settlers, the friendly Timucuan presence and the network of native villages all along the St. Johns River and estuaries presented ample opportunities for trade with little likelihood of hostilities. There were unfriendly tribes and bands, to be sure, but friendly ones as well. And for the Spanish crown, St. Augustine’s location near the point where the Gulf Stream takes a right made it an ideal haven for resupply before the treasure galleons made their way to the homeland.
Castillo de San Marcos
By 1565 the colony was taking permanent shape under the leadership of Pedro Menendez de Aviles, Captain General of the Ocean Sea, and later the first governor of Florida. It was under Menendez’ leadership that St. Augustine built its first wooden fort. And it was in the city Menendez led to stability that the Castillo de San Marcos was constructed. Over the centuries, the Castillo changed hands as Florida changed governments. For a time it was a British fort, then Spanish again, then American after the Adams-Onis Treaty ceded Florida to the United States. Even the Confederacy held the fort for a time, having taken it from its sole Federal defender without firing a shot. The defender did, however, request – and receive – a receipt before he abdicated the premises.
During its first and second lives as a post of the United States Army, the Castillo, called Fort Marion under U.S. rule, often served as a prison. In 1837 it held Osceola, whose ghostly visage many claim to be visible to this day in the peeling alabaster on the fort’s outer walls. In the 1870s and 1880s, America’s westward push was driven by the credo of Manifest Destiny. The resulting atrocities from the wars with Plains Indians are well known, although only in recent years have the native sides of many of those struggles become part of the popular awareness.
Plains Indians On the Shores of Matanzas
What’s not widely recognized, however, is that after Little Big Horn, and after Wounded Knee, the government chose a brutal yet effective way to end the Indian troubles. In short, its agents on the various reservations singled out the ringleaders, the old chiefs, and the hotheads whose souls still burned for the open life the vast plains had afforded. These firebrands and leaders – Kiowa, Cheyenne, Apache and Arapaho – were trundled away from their beloved open vistas and imprisoned on the shores of the eastern sea within the walls of Fort Marion.
Doubtless few of them, if any, ever realized the awful symmetry in their fate. Today one must drive from the spot where Ponce de Leon landed to the site of the old Castillo, but only because the land in between is largely privately owned. In fact it’s but a short walk from one to the other, and therein lies the tremendous irony and significance of the U.S. government’s decision to move Plains Indians to the Florida coast. The alpha and the omega of the saga of native cultures trampled by insensitivity, arrogance, and greed are within walking distance on a shoreline today frequented only by tourists, birders, and johnboats with trolling motors and fishing lines.
Sources:
Albert Menucy, Pedro Menendez de Aviles, Captain General of the Ocean Sea. (Pineapple Press Inc, 1992)
Brad D. Lookingbill, War Dance at Fort Marion. (University of Oklahoma Press 2006.)
