Five Spanish ships dropped anchor just north of what is now Tampa Bay, Fla., in mid-April 1528. Led by the recently appointed Spanish governor of Florida, Pánfilo de Narváez, a contingent of 400 heavily armed men went ashore. As the proud conquistadors formed up along the beach, however, they were joined by another, more incongruous member of their number — a young Moorish slave named Estévanico. He was the first Muslim known to have set foot in Florida, and his arrival in the New World marked his transformation from humble bondsman into a conquistador and demigod.
Born in Morocco toward the end of the 15th century, Estévanico was captured and sold into slavery while still a boy. His early years are shrouded in mystery, but by the time he reached his late 20s, he had come into the service of Andréas Dorantes. A paid infantry commander in the Narváez force, Dorantes took Estévanico along on the new governor’s expedition to Florida, and together they set sail for the New World in late 1527.
Like many of their contemporaries, Narváez and Dorantes set off in search of wealth and glory. Their voyage, however, was ill-fated from the beginning. During the Atlantic crossing, fearsome hurricanes destroyed one ship and badly damaged the others, and even after they had put in for repairs in Cuba, the flotilla was buffeted constantly by gales. By the time they set foot on American soil, the members of Narváez’s expedition were already exhausted.
But the thrill of exploration kept spirits high, and even the humble Estévanico — whose duties extended only to looking after Dorantes’ domestic needs — must have been wide-eyed with excitement and curiosity. Eager to find gold and jewels, Narváez set off into the interior with 300 of his men, including Estévanico, and sent the ships ahead with instructions to wait for him in a safe harbor.
Almost immediately, Narváez ran into difficulties, and Estévanico was forced to wade through bogs and fend off attacks from natives. For three months, they wandered aimlessly while their supplies dwindled and the dream of riches evaporated. Forty men died from illness, starvation, or wounds incurred in native attacks. To make matters worse, the ships were nowhere to be seen.
In desperation, they built five barges out of tree trunks and put to sea on Sept. 22, 1528, in the hope of reaching Mexico. Crammed into one small barge, Estévanico, Dorantes and 49 other men found themselves without food or fresh water, completely unable to navigate. They had little option but to let themselves be carried by the currents. Four of the barges — including Narváez’s own — were lost to the sea, and soon only Estévanico’s raft remained. In late October, the last barge capsized near where the Mississippi flows into the Gulf of Mexico, and Estévanico and the others had to swim for their lives to an island that they named Misfortune.
On Misfortune, the survivors dwindled as the winter progressed. As starvation set in, the conquistadors died quickly, and the bodies of the dead were eaten. By the spring, only 15 men — including Estévanico — were left alive. Without any alternative, Dorantes led most of the tiny band back across the water to the mainland (some 2 or 3 miles distant) aboard a small, handmade barge in April 1529, leaving only a handful behind under the expedition’s treasurer, Álvar Núñez Cabaza de Vaca.
When they reached shore, Dorantes, Estévanico and their comrades were captured by natives and forced into servitude. Beaten constantly and compelled to undergo back-breaking labor for six long years, death swept through their meager ranks. By 1535, Dorantes, Estévanico and one other were the sole survivors of the 300 men who had disembarked so many years before.
In September 1535, Estévanico’s luck at last began to change. To his amazement, Cabaza de Vaca — who had survived by trading with natives on Misfortune — found them. Together, the four men escaped and pushed toward what is today northern Mexico. Broken by years of suffering and dressed in rags, they were in constant fear of indigenous people.
Their pitiable appearance, however, proved to be their salvation. Upon meeting a group of natives, the bedraggled men looked so strange that they were immediately acclaimed as magicians, an impression that was “confirmed” when several of the indigenous people claimed to have been cured of headaches. Welcomed with open arms, they were soon treated more like gods than men, and before long, Estévanico’s unusual skill with languages transformed him into the de facto leader of the group of demigods.
Motivated by a residual sense of loyalty, the four conquistadors set out in search of their countrymen in early 1536 and ultimately found a group of Spaniards in the far northwest of modern Mexico. Received back into Spanish society at Culiacán, the knowledge they had gained was immediately recognized as an invaluable asset, and in 1539, Estévanico was appointed to guide an expedition to find the legendary Seven Cities of Cibola, where the very streets were thought to be paved with gold.
Puffed up with pride as they ventured among the natives, Estévanico resumed his former role as a living god, and — to the dismay of the Franciscan friar who was nominally leading the expedition — gladly accepted the beautiful women and jewelry offered to him.
Upon reaching the deserts of central Mexico, however, Estévanico’s new arrogance got the better of him. Volunteering to scout the way to the Golden Cities with an advance party, he was led by natives to a mud village called Hawikuh. There, his demands for fealty were met with an incredulity that turned into open hostility when he was accused of killing a woman from a neighboring tribe. Unconvinced by his claims to quasi-divinity, the native Zuñis locked him up in a hut. The terrified Estévanico tried to escape. Running from the village, he was killed by an arrow.
From slave to demigod, Estévanico was in many ways emblematic of the hubris of the voyages of discovery. Freed from the bonds of slavery by a hostile land of fanciful opportunity, he was bewitched by the promise of wealth and glory, and undone by pride. But as Florida’s first Muslim, and the only known Islamic conquistador, he remains a unique testament to the dangers of exploration.
Alexander Lee is a post-doctoral research fellow at the University of Luxembourg and the University of Warwick in Britain.
Born in Morocco toward the end of the 15th century, Estévanico was captured and sold into slavery while still a boy. His early years are shrouded in mystery, but by the time he reached his late 20s, he had come into the service of Andréas Dorantes. A paid infantry commander in the Narváez force, Dorantes took Estévanico along on the new governor’s expedition to Florida, and together they set sail for the New World in late 1527.
Like many of their contemporaries, Narváez and Dorantes set off in search of wealth and glory. Their voyage, however, was ill-fated from the beginning. During the Atlantic crossing, fearsome hurricanes destroyed one ship and badly damaged the others, and even after they had put in for repairs in Cuba, the flotilla was buffeted constantly by gales. By the time they set foot on American soil, the members of Narváez’s expedition were already exhausted.
But the thrill of exploration kept spirits high, and even the humble Estévanico — whose duties extended only to looking after Dorantes’ domestic needs — must have been wide-eyed with excitement and curiosity. Eager to find gold and jewels, Narváez set off into the interior with 300 of his men, including Estévanico, and sent the ships ahead with instructions to wait for him in a safe harbor.
Almost immediately, Narváez ran into difficulties, and Estévanico was forced to wade through bogs and fend off attacks from natives. For three months, they wandered aimlessly while their supplies dwindled and the dream of riches evaporated. Forty men died from illness, starvation, or wounds incurred in native attacks. To make matters worse, the ships were nowhere to be seen.
In desperation, they built five barges out of tree trunks and put to sea on Sept. 22, 1528, in the hope of reaching Mexico. Crammed into one small barge, Estévanico, Dorantes and 49 other men found themselves without food or fresh water, completely unable to navigate. They had little option but to let themselves be carried by the currents. Four of the barges — including Narváez’s own — were lost to the sea, and soon only Estévanico’s raft remained. In late October, the last barge capsized near where the Mississippi flows into the Gulf of Mexico, and Estévanico and the others had to swim for their lives to an island that they named Misfortune.
On Misfortune, the survivors dwindled as the winter progressed. As starvation set in, the conquistadors died quickly, and the bodies of the dead were eaten. By the spring, only 15 men — including Estévanico — were left alive. Without any alternative, Dorantes led most of the tiny band back across the water to the mainland (some 2 or 3 miles distant) aboard a small, handmade barge in April 1529, leaving only a handful behind under the expedition’s treasurer, Álvar Núñez Cabaza de Vaca.
When they reached shore, Dorantes, Estévanico and their comrades were captured by natives and forced into servitude. Beaten constantly and compelled to undergo back-breaking labor for six long years, death swept through their meager ranks. By 1535, Dorantes, Estévanico and one other were the sole survivors of the 300 men who had disembarked so many years before.
In September 1535, Estévanico’s luck at last began to change. To his amazement, Cabaza de Vaca — who had survived by trading with natives on Misfortune — found them. Together, the four men escaped and pushed toward what is today northern Mexico. Broken by years of suffering and dressed in rags, they were in constant fear of indigenous people.
Their pitiable appearance, however, proved to be their salvation. Upon meeting a group of natives, the bedraggled men looked so strange that they were immediately acclaimed as magicians, an impression that was “confirmed” when several of the indigenous people claimed to have been cured of headaches. Welcomed with open arms, they were soon treated more like gods than men, and before long, Estévanico’s unusual skill with languages transformed him into the de facto leader of the group of demigods.
Motivated by a residual sense of loyalty, the four conquistadors set out in search of their countrymen in early 1536 and ultimately found a group of Spaniards in the far northwest of modern Mexico. Received back into Spanish society at Culiacán, the knowledge they had gained was immediately recognized as an invaluable asset, and in 1539, Estévanico was appointed to guide an expedition to find the legendary Seven Cities of Cibola, where the very streets were thought to be paved with gold.
Puffed up with pride as they ventured among the natives, Estévanico resumed his former role as a living god, and — to the dismay of the Franciscan friar who was nominally leading the expedition — gladly accepted the beautiful women and jewelry offered to him.
Upon reaching the deserts of central Mexico, however, Estévanico’s new arrogance got the better of him. Volunteering to scout the way to the Golden Cities with an advance party, he was led by natives to a mud village called Hawikuh. There, his demands for fealty were met with an incredulity that turned into open hostility when he was accused of killing a woman from a neighboring tribe. Unconvinced by his claims to quasi-divinity, the native Zuñis locked him up in a hut. The terrified Estévanico tried to escape. Running from the village, he was killed by an arrow.
From slave to demigod, Estévanico was in many ways emblematic of the hubris of the voyages of discovery. Freed from the bonds of slavery by a hostile land of fanciful opportunity, he was bewitched by the promise of wealth and glory, and undone by pride. But as Florida’s first Muslim, and the only known Islamic conquistador, he remains a unique testament to the dangers of exploration.
Alexander Lee is a post-doctoral research fellow at the University of Luxembourg and the University of Warwick in Britain.
