Children of Destiny: True Adventures of Three Cultures

By Jean M. Burroughs

The best way to know about history is to be part of it. The next best way is to read about it and come away feeling as if you had been part of the events and action. Jean Burroughs has selected twelve exciting episodes covering a span of five centuries to bring history to life. Her young heroes and heroines tell their stories from their own personal viewpoints and experiences. They represent the three cultures that are the bedrock of the Southwestern United States society: Native American, Hispanic and Anglo. Each story, based on facts, is preceded by an account of the historical event or incident that forms the basic framework for the tale. Young readers will enjoy reading about the adventures of other children from other cultures and centuries. History comes to life in this series of vignettes of important times in a land that passed from one country to another until it became part of the United States—New Mexico. Illustrations by New Mexico artist, Al Chapman, add drama to the text. JEAN M. BURROUGHS was a First Lady of New Mexico. She is also the author of “Bride of the Santa Fe Trail,” a fictionalized account of the pioneer trip of Susan Shelby Magoffin, also published by Sunstone Press. She has written numerous articles on Southwestern US history and taught Local and Oral History at Eastern New Mexico University. Burrough's special skill has been able to combine literary creativity with in-depth historical research. The results have brought applause and appreciation from a wide and grateful readership.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sunstone Press
• Release date: Nov 15, 2011
• ISBN: 9781611390452

Book preview

Chapter One

LUMINARIAS LIGHT THE WAY

José and I were friends. Lupe and Cosita were friends. Our families were traveling up the Rio Grande with the first group of colonists that followed Coronado’s expedition. The year was 1590, and I was only ten years old. My friends were about the same age. Leaving our homes in Mexico had been very sad for us. But as old friends that were sharing new adventures together, we made the best of the long, uncomfortable journey. A whole new world was unrolling before our eyes, and each day was exciting.

Let’s sing, Mañuel, José called to me. We liked to sing, for the old folksongs reminded us of home.

But our home was very far away. I felt my own chin quiver as I tried to sing, and the girls blinked quick tears from their dark eyes.

All the people of the small village of Almadén had joined Captain Castaño de Sosa’s caravan. Our parents, like the others, were very poor, and they were willing to seek new lives and fortunes. They had piled mantas (blankets), cooking pots, and clothing into the high two-wheeled carretas (carts) pulled by plodding oxen. Four upright poles covered with hides and fastened to the cart sides made queer umbrellas. Children too young to walk rode under their shade. But José and I, Lupe and Cosita had walked most of the entire dusty journey. Our zapatos (shoes) were ragged, and our legs scratched by thorny mesquite and cat claw bushes. But we were still together, as we had been in our village. Many other children as well had come with their parents to the new land to the north.

Singing the old songs cheered us. We chanted and clapped hands together at the last line.

But we could not sing so gaily when the coolness of early morning gave way to the drying heat of July noon. It parched our skins and blurred our sight with its shimmering glare. It kept us always thirsty. There was so little water in this arid land. Sometimes at night we dreamed of cool mountain streams and placid lakes.

One very hot day, Lupe pointed to the distance where waves of blue water seemed to sparkle in brilliant sunshine, "A lake, agua, agua," she cried.

No, no, Lupe, corrected José, "we could travel many days and never reach that lake. Your eyes play tricks on you. Es un espejismo, (it is a mirage)."

Day after day, week after week, the expedition creaked its way northward. The colonists’ families had reached the land which would later be called New Mexico. It was now October. I felt the chillness of autumn nights. I saw that the tufted grass between sagebrush clumps was now dried and bristly. Plump grasshoppers startled out of their hiding places whirred around our feet. The greenness of our homeland seemed like a forgotten dream. Our journey was made more tedious because the heavily loaded supply wagons often stuck in the deep sand. Finally Captain Castaño called a halt. How glad I was to stop! My legs ached with throbbing weariness.

Did you hear the command, Mañuel? asked my friend José. The Captain said we may rest while he looks for a better route out of these sand beds. He has walked off alone to search. Come, Mañuel, let’s play our game. José squatted down on the baking sand and smiled up at me.

We smoothed out a place on the ground and marked off squares. I took three smooth sticks from my jacket pocket. I placed them carefully in my hands, then threw them upon the sandy score board. The way the sticks fell determined our score. Lupe and Cosita watched us with envy. We did not allow girls to play.

Late in the afternoon the women began to cook tortillas and beans for the evening meal. Smoke of the camp fires hung in the still autumn air. The sun burned its way down a copper sky below the endless stretch of flat sand.

"Come watch los muchachos (the little ones)," cried one of the mothers. Lupe and Cosita slowly rose from the sandy ground and dusted off their faded cotton skirts. Obediently they took the dark-eyed toddlers by the hands.

Let’s watch for Captain Castaño, suggested Cosita. It is getting dark now and time for his return. Did you know that he walked off alone? Not a single soldier went with him.

He was very brave to go without a guard, said Lupe. "Muy bien (very well), we’ll walk to the edge of the camp. Then we must turn back, for it is easy to get lost in the satitiales (sand beds) when night falls. I pray nothing has happened to the Captain." She made the sign of the Cross, and her eyes strained to see in the darkness.

All about on the ground people were spreading their bedding for the night. The supper fires were burning low. The cattle and sheep lay clustered on the ground, and the horses were hobbled to graze.

José and I stood talking with other boys of the camp. My father says that Captain Castaño still has not returned, said Juan, a worried frown wrinkling his tanned forehead.

Perhaps he has not yet located an easier route toward the river, answered José.

Suppose he cannot find his way back to camp at all? The supper fires are burned out. They are banked with ashes lest Indians track us from their light, I whispered in a low tone to my friends.

What will we do if our Captain is lost? Then who will lead us to the northland we are seeking? asked a boy named Benito.

We would just wander in the desert, I guess, I answered gloomily.

But we might starve and die of thirst …, José said.

No one answered him. We just stood silent, wondering and waiting. Soon Lupe and Cosita returned with the sleepy children. They too were becoming worried.

We heard the women murmuring and praying, Lupe said. They fear the Captain is lost.

"Si, everyone is asking for him," added Cosita.

Two men of our expedition, Juan de Carbojol and Pedro Yrigo, walked close to the dying fire. A Black man, also named Pedro, joined them. He asked, Didn’t anyone go with our Captain?

Each man shook his head.

No one, answered Juan de Carbojol.

The Captain thought he would be back soon, replied the first Pedro. But now it’s too dark for him to see the camp. Let’s light torches and look for him.

We watched the three men pick up branches of twisted mesquite and thrust them into the dying embers of the cook fire. They stooped to blow the coals into little blazes and fed the tiny flames with bits of weed and dried grass.

Look, Mañuel, José called to me, look, look, the fire’s burning again!

At that moment the branches took fire and became flickering torches. The men held them high over their heads to light their separate paths into the darkness.

Keep the fire going, one of them called back to us children.

Let’s hurry, I suggested. "Let’s gather sticks and dried weeds to start many fires. We’ll make the flames leap so high they will show the Captain the way back