Pilgrimage Through the Americas: A Spirit Cries Out To Me Across Time

Juan de Grijalva’s Final Hours

We are constantly under attack! But we can’t fight back. I kill as many as I can. I kill one and two appear. I kill three and six appear, always replaced by more vicious and stronger of their kind. There is no relief. We are sacrificing our lifeblood on the alter of gold. Crimson blood streaks run down my face, neck and uncovered arms. The air is full of them. It’s a dark cloud from the inferno. Why dear Lord did you create this menace to humankind?

Gold plundered from the New World by Spanish Conquistadors

We can tolerate the overwhelming heat that causes trees to bend from exhaustion. The humidity drenches are bodies with hot sweat and can be bore with the idea that the cool evening breeze brings relief. Deprivations of adequate food, a comfortable bed, the soft touch of a loving woman all can be tolerated. The unyielding onslaught of the blood suckers is beyond tolerance. God forgive me, I curse the dreaded mosquitoes!

I slap, smash, squash and they continue their way of dominance. My face is swollen, red and riddled with festering sores from bites. I scratch my neck and the cowards jump and bite the back of my hand. What keeps us going is our quest for the yellow precious metal. What man or woman does not want gold? We can tolerate the pain and irritation three times over, if we find the prize. “Gold, gold, gold!” I shout at the flying insects to keep them away. It doesn’t help. I’m paying the penance for my sin of lusting for gold.

Inca gold salvaged from the looting of the Spanish

Gold Inca mask: The shiny metal drove the conquistadors mad with lust for more

It’s night and time to unwind after sixteen hours working in the river looking for the valuable shiny metal. We’re hot, tired, hungry, irritated and inflamed with insect induced pockmarked faces and necks. We’ve arrived at our Villa Hermosa (Beautiful Town) settlement, content to go indoors to hide from the flying devils. We eat beans and corn tortillas, our meal for the last six months. We talk of home and past adventures. We rest. The crickets chirp as if a chorus of angels are singing for the salvation of the souls of sinners. The constant sound of the river flowing over rocks reminds me of the sound of my galloping horse’s hoofs when hitting the cobblestone streets of Seville, España. The rhythmic sound of leaves rustling in the wind guides me to sleep.

Villa Hermosa was located in what the Spanish explorers named Valle Hermoso (Beautiful Valley)

The Olancho River flowing by Villa Hermosa was rich in gold

Every muscle and tendon finally releases its contractions. I close my eyes and dream of the fame and honor that awaits me upon my return to my beloved España with my pockets overflowing with New World gold. I see my beautiful wife’s smile, hear her joyous laughter, and smell her rose scented skin. I finally relax. I sleep and lustful dreams of . . . . “Ahhhhhhhhh!”

I’m shaken awake by cries of pain and agony. “Help me dear mother!” cry the dying.

We are under attack!

I grab my hardened Toledo sword. Glistening under the moonlit night, its cold steel steadied in my right hand. How did the intruding natives get into our fortifications and surprise us? To die tonight is a travesty. We’ve found gold today - much gold! I stop thinking as I slash flesh of my enemies. I’m fighting for my life. Yet another Tawahka warrior confronts me with anger and hate in his black eyes. I cut him down with a strike across his chest. Scarlet steaming blood splashes my face. I taste the sour, sweet flesh, similar to the rich taste of roasted pork. I slash again and again . . . one falls, than another. I lose count.

Toledo steel swords & stone weapons of indigenous fighters

Sixteenth century engraving by Theodor De Bry depicting conquistadors being overwhelmed by a great number of native warriors

I feel a tremendous blow on my back that sends a shock wave through my whole body. I continue to fight for my life. The non stop blows overwhelm me. I fall to my knees. The blows come from every direction and on every part of my body and head. I’m blinded by black burning blood flowing from a gash on my forehead. I’m down on the ground. Help me dear God! Mother!

I fight no more.

I know I’m dying. What of my family and descendants? To die in this far flung, unknown, violent, lonely place was never in my dreams. Who will mourn me and lay me to rest? Who from my family will come and help my soul rest in peace in my native land? Who can I depart my legacy and love? As my mind slips into eternal darkness never to breathe the air of the living those were my last thoughts . . . .

Olancho River runs along the site of Grijalva's final battle

Juan de Grijalva died violently with blood on his hands. His body beaten and desecrated by a resentful, vengeful enemy. It was stripped and robbed of its clothing and repeatedly stabbed by his own sword. His naked cadaver left for wild animals and buzzards to complete the final insult by devouring his flesh and bones. Grijalva’s faithful Spanish compañeros (close friends in arms) escaped in full retreat running for their lives. No one is thinking about burying and praying for the dead. Everyone suffers wounds, some grave and will not last the night.

Spaniards defeated and running for their lives (unknown artist)

The brave strong Tawahka, Pech and Lenca fighters led by Lenca Venito, Lord of Comayagua, burn and destroy all traces of the foreign invaders who speak an unintelligible tongue. The celebration of victory is tempered by the loss of so many of their young heroic warriors. Many of those killed were the best of their tribes. Always the most powerful and courageous die first. By way of eulogy Lord Venito tells his followers that, “We defended our lives, our families, our territory, our way of thinking, of living, our future.”

Royal costume similar to what Lenca Lord Venito wore

Lenca pottery predating Mayan occupation of Honduras

Lenca warriors playing the royal "ball game"

To die for a cause greater than oneself is honorable and will be remembered in the hearts of the living. To die in pursuit of material gain condemns one to roam the netherworld for ages until someone comes to make amends and acknowledges one’s connection to the body of humanity. I accept this heavy responsibility. I acknowledge Juan de Grijalva’s connection to me. We acknowledge that every human being who has ever lived, who lives, and will live are connected. We pay homage to the fraternity of humanity and admit that we are all brothers and sisters.

I perform the first part of a ritual that will symbolically bring Grijalva’s remains to rest with his family. I reverently gather a handful of dark brown soil from the spot where he may have been brutally killed in combat. I say a prayer and ask forgiveness for his transgressions against native people. I beseech that his soul and spirit seek the light. I make a promise and commitment to complete the ritual in his land of birth - Cuéllar, España. I’ll take this hallow earth containing his essence from Honduras and journey a great distance to the cemetery in España, where Juan de Grijalva’s family and other Grijalvas are interred, and solemnly bury it and lay to rest his remains, so that his soul can finally join his family in peace.