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OUR AMERICAN ISRAEL
OUR
AMERICAN
ISRAEL
THE STORY OF AN ENTANGLED ALLIANCE

Amy Kaplan

Harvard University Press

cambridge, mas­sa­c hu­s etts  ­london, ­e ngland   2018
Copyright © 2018 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College
All rights reserved
Printed in the United States of Amer­i­ca

First printing

library of congress cataloging-­i n-­p ublication data

Names: Kaplan, Amy, author.

Title: Our American Israel : the story of an entangled alliance /
Amy Kaplan.
Description: Cambridge, Mas­sa­chu­setts : Harvard University Press,
2018. | Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018009015 | ISBN 9780674737624 (alk. paper)
Subjects: LCSH: Israel—­Foreign public opinion, American. |
National characteristics, American. | United States—­Foreign
relations—­Israel. | Israel—­Foreign relations—­United States.
Classification: LCC E183.8.I7 K36 2018 | DDC 327.7305694—­dc23
LC rec­ord available at https://­lccn​.­loc​.­gov​/­2018009015

Jacket design: Graciela Galup

Jacket photograph: Shutterstock
Paper background: Getty Images
For Paul
CONTENTS

Introduction 1

1 Lands of Refuge 10

2 Founding Israel in Amer­i­ca 58

3 Invincible Victim 94

4 “Not the Israel We Have Seen in the Past” 136

5 The ­Future Holocaust 178

6 Apocalypse Soon 211

7 Homeland Insecurities 239

Conclusion 274

notes 283

acknowl­e dgments 331

illustration Credits 335

index 337
OUR AMERICAN ISRAEL
INTRODUCTION

In 2009, President Barack Obama delivered a

historic speech in Cairo, Egypt, where he reached out to Arabs and
Muslims to repair some of the damage inflicted by the war on terror.
At the same time that he was seeking common ground with the Arab
world, however, Obama made a familiar and long-­standing claim:
“Amer­i­ca’s strong bonds with Israel are well known. This bond is
unbreakable.”1
Obama’s statement was an affirmation that American presidents have
routinely voiced since John F. Kennedy spoke of the “special relation-
ship” between the United States and Israel in 1962. In Cairo, Obama’s
reiteration of this sentiment was clearly strategic. He had just pointed
to the conflict between Israel and Palestine as a major source of ten-
sion between the Arab world and the United States. Addressing the
­human suffering on both sides, he needed to reassure Israel and its
American supporters that this balance would not tip the scales against
his primary allegiance. He was telling his audience something they al-
ready knew well, that the relationship with Israel took pre­ce­dence over
that with the Arab world, and in some way set its par­ameters. Obama’s
statement tapped into a vast reservoir of narratives and images, emo-
tions and beliefs about Amer­i­ca’s special kinship with Israel. This bond,
he said, “is based upon cultural and historical ties, and the recognition
that the aspiration for a Jewish homeland is rooted in a tragic history
that cannot be denied.”2
Both proponents and critics have long understood the partnership
between the United States and Israel as an exception to the norms of
international alliances. The United States has given more monetary aid
2 our american israel

to Israel than to any other nation and has committed itself to main-
taining Israel’s military edge in the region. In December 2016, the
Obama administration agreed to a rec­ord $38 billion package of mili-
tary aid over ten years. Diplomatically as well, the relationship is in a
category of its own: the United States has protected Israel from inter-
national criticism, most notably by casting many vetoes on its behalf
in the Security Council of the United Nations.3
The fact that this po­liti­cal relationship is expressed as an “unbreak-
able bond” implies an affiliation beyond the realm of statecraft. As much
a ­future pledge as a historical description, the phrase has a ring of con-
secration, like a marriage. A “bond” connotes both identification and
obligation. “Unbreakable” conveys an aura of timelessness and immu-
tability, a bedrock connection that transcends the vagaries of po­liti­cal
alliances.
This book aims to recover the strangeness of an affinity that has come
to be seen as self-­evident. In 1945, it was not inevitable that a global
superpower emerging victorious from World War II would come to
identify with a small state for Jewish refugees, refugees who at that time
­were still being turned away from the United States. How did Zionism,
a Eu­ro­pean movement to establish a homeland for a par­tic­u­lar ethno­
religious group, come to resonate with citizens of a nation based on the
foundation, or at least the aspiration, of civic equality amid ethnic di-
versity? How was the creation of a Jewish state in the M ­ iddle East
translated into a narrative that reflected cherished American tales of na-
tional origins? How, in other words, did so many come to feel that the
bond between the United States and Israel was historically inevitable,
morally right, and a ­matter of common sense?
Our American Israel is the story of popu­lar perceptions of Israel
and of the ways Americans have understood this special relationship.
It starts at the end of World War II, with debates about the establish-
ment of a Jewish state in Palestine, and concludes with the war on
terror, when the United States a­ dopted a distinctively Israeli concep-
tion of homeland security. The po­liti­cal relationship between the two
nations has always been entangled with power­ful myths about their
kinship and heritage, their suffering and salvation. During the seventy
years since Israel’s founding, certain themes have taken on the stature
of hallowed beliefs: that the kinship is rooted in a common biblical
heritage and shared po­liti­cal values, that the Holocaust created a
 Introduction 3

legacy of unique moral obligations, and that the two countries face
threats from common enemies.
The pro­cess by which ­these beliefs developed mythic status and te-
nacious appeal is a dynamic one. They ­were created, contested, and
transformed over time through meta­phors, analogies, and symbols that
­shaped popu­lar views of po­liti­cal realities and imparted emotional
meaning and moral value to po­liti­cal policy. The belief that Amer­i­ca is
an “exceptional” nation of moral force and military power underwrote
and strengthened its special bond with Israel. The United States would
protect and secure Israel, a moral community of both concentration
camp survivors and heroic warriors. At the same time, Israel was seen
as unique in its own right—­a state that is both vulnerable and indomi-
table, an invincible victim.
Diplomatic historians have researched the strategic alliance between
the United States and Israel in the international arena, scholars of Jewish
history have studied the importance of Israel to the lives of American
Jews, and po­liti­cal scientists have examined how the domestic Israel
lobby influences geopo­liti­cal strategy. However, it is in the wider cru-
cible of American culture that the diverse meanings of the “special re-
lationship” have been forged, disputed, and remade. Looking at popu­lar
narratives about Israel, and the ways in which dif­fer­ent individuals and
groups have understood Amer­i­ca’s relationship with the Jewish state,
can reveal the making of this special relationship. From a diverse array
of repre­sen­ta­tions and cultural expressions, patterns coalesced to form
a broad consensus about Amer­i­ca’s attachment to Israel, a consensus
that came to seem like common sense. The cultural alchemy that trans-
formed the story of Israel from a par­tic­u­lar tale about a specific ethnic
state into one that resonates with the American nation as a ­whole has,
in turn, ­shaped po­liti­cal discourse in Amer­i­ca.4
Cultural perceptions, to be sure, do not dictate policies. They do,
however, create a perceptual field in interaction with t­ hose policies and
po­liti­cal ideas from which a consensus emerges about the unbreakable
bond between the two nations. Cultural artifacts—­whether a novel,
film, newspaper article, or museum—do not work by imposing a
singular and monolithic meaning on the relationship between the two
nations. But they are effective precisely ­because they are capacious, in-
viting dif­fer­ent meanings from diverse perspectives while effectively
ruling out ­others.
4 our american israel

The special relationship has never been just about the United States
and Israel. It has included the Palestinian p ­ eople from the start, even
in mainstream narratives that have denied their existence, or popu­lar
­images that have made them invisible to the American eye. Dominant
narratives that identify Israelis with Americans have always been con-
tested by counternarratives from both inside and outside the United
States. The most popu­lar American story of the founding of Israel is
modeled on the American revolution as an anticolonial war of in­de­
pen­dence against the British, as told in the novel and film Exodus. A
counternarrative endorses a Palestinian perspective that views the
founding of the State of Israel as a colonial proj­ect bolstered by Western
imperial powers. In the 1940s, American debates about the establish-
ment of a Jewish state revolved around t­ hese conflicting interpretations,
as did debates in the 1970s about Israel’s occupation of territories cap-
tured in the Six-­Day War. Indeed, conflicts over narratives about the
founding of Israel as being an example of ­either colonialism or anti­
colonialism have reemerged with dif­fer­ent emphases in ­every de­cade.
Parallel histories of settler colonialism expressed in biblical narratives
of exceptionalism have formed the basis of American identification with
Israel. Both nations have generated power­ful myths of providential
origins, drawing on the Old Testament notion of a chosen p ­ eople des-
tined by God to take possession of the Promised Land and blessed
with a special mission to the world. Both nations ­were initially founded
by colonists from Eu­rope who displaced indigenous p ­ eople, appropri-
ating and transforming their land in the pro­cess of creating a new na-
tion of immigrants. Both nations celebrate their anticolonial origins as
a strug­gle for in­de­pen­dence against the British Empire, and disavow
their own histories of conquest.
The providential narrative has made the special relationship seem in-
evitable, as though it primed Christian Americans to embrace Israel
long before the founding of ­either nation-­state. In real­ity, it took many
changes in twentieth-­century Amer­i­ca—­the emergence of the idea of the
Judeo-­Christian tradition, post-­Holocaust theology, and the politiciza-
tion of evangelical Christians—to generate new stories and forge modern
bonds between American Chris­tian­ity and the Jewish state.5
Similarly, parallel conditions of settler colonialism did not alone
create an American identification with Zionist pioneers. This identifi-
cation came about through the development of the myth of the fron-
 Introduction 5

tier, which found its apotheosis in the Hollywood Western, a genre that
­shaped how Americans viewed the founding of Israel. By the second
half of the twentieth ­century the United States had become an imperial
power itself. Stories of Israel mirroring American development arose
in the context of the modern strug­gle for power in the ­Middle East, and
the concurrent global movement ­toward decolonization.6
The phrase “our American Israel” comes from a Puritan expression
of colonial American exceptionalism. In 1799, Abiel Abbot, a Mas­sa­
chu­setts minister, preached a Thanksgiving sermon titled “Traits of Re-
semblance in the P ­ eople of the United States of Amer­i­ca to Ancient
­Israel.” The sermon starts by noting common usage at the time: “It has
been often remarked that the ­people of the United States come nearer
to a parallel with Ancient Israel, than any other nation upon the globe.
Hence, ‘our american israel,’ is a term frequently used; and common
consent allows it apt and proper.”7 This parallel with biblical Israel
conferred an exceptional identity on the United States right from the
start.
­After World War II, similar parallels again made the modern state of
Israel appear exceptional in American eyes. The phrase “our American
Israel” originally used the biblical nation meta­phor­ically to refer to the
United States, yet the possessive construction also expresses how Amer-
icans have made Israel their own. This pro­cess in the twentieth c­ entury
involved projection—of desires, fears, fantasies—­onto the modern state
of Israel. It also entailed concrete exchanges and intimate interactions
fueled by the circulation of individuals and institutions between the two
countries. This combination of identification, projection, and posses-
sion has contributed abundantly to ideas of American national iden-
tity, and to support for Israel as well.
Abbot’s eighteenth-­century sermon grounded the unstable identity
of the new American nation-­state in the known typology of the biblical
Israel. The sermon helped to constitute the new nation as an “­imagined
community.”8 The word “our” conveyed a sense of national belonging
to the community of white Protestant settlers, now citizens of the new
nation, in part by excluding outsiders from the circle of possession. It
not only distinguished the United States from “any other nation on the
globe” but also effaced the memory of the Native communities that had
been exterminated by warfare, disease, commerce, and agriculture to
make way for the divinely chosen nation.
6 our american israel

Viewing Amer­i­ca in the mirror of Israel has continued to efface such

memories of the settler colonial past. Yet “our American Israel” ­today
has many more connotations: Israel can be seen through American eyes
as a model of liberation from persecution, an imperial proxy ­doing the
bidding of a superpower, a unifying object of affection, or the exclu-
sive possession of a par­tic­u­lar group. Israel has embodied multiple and
conflicting meanings for diverse groups of Americans, and divergent in-
terpretations have clashed during the ongoing pro­cess of creating and
maintaining a special relationship between the United States and Israel.
The idea of American exceptionalism may seem ill fitting for the par­
tic­u­lar ethnoreligious identity of a Jewish state. Exceptionalism in-
volves two components: that the United States is uniquely dif­fer­ent from
all other nations, and that, paradoxically, it also serves as a universal
model for all other nations to emulate. Israel is a kind of exception that
proves the rule of American exceptionalism. In the early de­cades of
­Israeli statehood, journalists and promotional material depicted the new
nation as a successful replica of Amer­i­ca—an even shinier, more robust
model. It was a country built by idealistic pioneers, a haven for the per-
secuted, a nation of immigrants, a paragon of modernization. Israel’s
emulation of the United States confirmed its exemplary qualities. Amer-
icans projected onto Israel redemptive images of their own power in
the world. This affinity has idealized the exercise of military force
through narratives of rescue: rallying to support the besieged underdog,
preventing the recurrence of genocide through humanitarian interven-
tion, launching a war on terror to save the world from apocalypse.
Americans and Israelis alike have attributed universal meanings to
Israel’s founding as transcending nationalist aspirations, as a beacon to
the world, a model of regeneration, an exemplar of anticolonialism. For
liberals in the aftermath of World War II, Israel’s U.N.-­sponsored birth
fulfilled internationalist ideals. Eleanor Roo­se­velt believed that Israel’s
“model state” had the potential “to promote an international New
Deal.”9 In the 1958 novel Exodus, Leon Uris wrote of Israel’s founding
as “an epic in the history of man” and quoted from the 1948 Declara-
tion of the State of Israel that the Jews had returned to their original
homeland, where they had “created cultural values of national and uni-
versal significance.”10 The oft-­repeated claim that Israel is the “only
democracy in the ­Middle East” not only mirrors American values, but
also renders Israel both unique and exemplary among its neighbors.
 Introduction 7

Israeli exceptionalism has its own tensions, which cannot be col-

lapsed into a mirror of Amer­i­ca. At the heart of Zionism was a conflict
between the search for normalcy and the desire for uniqueness. A
nation-­state would end the persecuted status of Jews as outcasts, by
making them just like other nations. Nonetheless Israel was bequeathed
with a uniquely moral and uniquely vulnerable legacy from the history
of Jewish suffering. This tension would take many forms from dif­fer­ent
po­liti­cal perspectives in debates about Israel in the United States, as to
­whether Israel would be held to a higher standard than other nations
or would be exempted from international norms.
Key to the American understanding of Israeli uniqueness is a belief in
its exceptional suffering. The paradox of vulnerability and invincibility
has framed many dif­fer­ent views of Israel, even as they have changed
over time. Israelis have appeared si­mul­ta­neously as innocent victims
and triumphant soldiers, and Israel as both threatened with extermina-
tion and saved by its superior strength of arms. A long-­standing image
of Israel’s uniquely humane army stemmed from popu­lar narratives of
reluctant warriors intrepidly seizing victory from the jaws of annihila-
tion. Existentially imperiled by potential extermination, Israel’s only
option for survival was military preeminence, a logic that has explained
the perpetual state of war forced on a peace-­loving p ­ eople.
The repre­sen­ta­tion of Amer­i­ca’s special relationship with Israel has
under­gone major shifts from 1945 to the pres­ent: from the American-
ization of Israel to the Israelization of Amer­i­ca; from the admiration
of Israel as a mirror of Amer­i­ca’s idealized self-­image to emulation of
­Israel as a model for fighting Amer­i­ca’s worst nightmares. The figure of
Israel as the invincible victim reflects this shift in changing narrative
forms—­from the heroic to the apocalyptic. Heroic narratives follow a
progressive momentum in which the protagonist is the plucky underdog
who fights against all odds to overcome adversity. At the end, he defeats
the ­enemy with ingenuity and an indomitable spirit. This structure
­underlay the many popu­lar stories that formed an American liberal
consensus about Israel through the 1960s. In the aftermath of the Six-
­Day War, many Americans romanticized Israel’s way of making war as a
humane and muscular alternative to the American approach, which had
led to the quagmire in Vietnam. As ­these progressive images ­were chal-
lenged throughout the world, Israel began to appear less as a replica
of Amer­i­ca’s past than an augury of pos­si­ble ­futures. Israel’s invasion of
8 our american israel

Lebanon in 1982 precipitated a crisis in mainstream liberal views of

Israel and shattered this heroic narrative of the invincible victim.
During the 1980s, apocalyptic narratives started to supplant and re-
formulate heroic ones, as discourse about Israel took on a heightened
moralistic and religious tenor. Apocalyptic narratives took a range of
forms, many of which have continued into the twenty-­first ­century, in-
cluding ­those that told of the threat of a second Holocaust, and t­ hose
that told of Israel’s central role during the Second Coming and the end
days.
­After September 11, 2001, Israel’s experience of terrorism offered
Americans a ready-­made vocabulary for articulating their own sense
of unpre­ce­dented trauma. During the Cold War, the paradox of vulner-
ability and invincibility had already implicitly informed American per-
ceptions of threats to national security. The paradox became even more
resonant ­after 9/11, when the United States looked to Israel as a model
for fighting the war on terror. Recasting the United States in Israel’s
image as existentially threatened joined the nations to each other as in-
nocent victims of evil forces and bestowed moral righ­teousness on
their pursuit of indomitability.
Many of ­these narratives and images that circulated in popu­lar and
po­liti­cal culture have been deployed by groups with the overt purpose
of influencing U.S. policy t­oward Israel. More often, t­hese narratives
displayed how the story of Israel could become a generic story of rel-
evance to all Americans, not just American Jews or Zionists. Indeed,
other minorities and ethnic groups, such as African Americans, Irish
Americans, and Cuban Americans, have also lobbied around foreign
policy issues in South Africa, Ireland, and Cuba, all of which achieved
wide po­liti­cal and emotional significance that captured the national
imagination at par­tic­u­lar historical and po­liti­cal junctures. In the case
of Israel, however, what might have been the foreign policy concerns
of a par­tic­u­lar ethnic group came to have long-­term symbolic associa-
tions with American national my­thol­ogy. Israel became as much a
domestic as a foreign issue.
The cultural work of American Jews played a major part in the de-
velopment of this association. As novelists, filmmakers, journalists, in-
tellectuals, and museum curators, they have at times been more effective
than formal lobbyists in communicating their passions and ambivalences
to a broader public and in shaping the way a diverse swath of Americans
 Introduction 9

have made Israel their own. The American Jews discussed ­here ­were
not professional advocates for Israel, nor did they identify with Israel
as their major life work. Rather, they w ­ ere cultural mediators who in-
terwove their visions of Israel with compelling myths or critiques of
Amer­i­ca, and who translated their attachments or disillusionments
with par­tic­u­lar ethnic meanings into universal idioms.
In seeking to explain the strength and longevity of the myth of the
unbreakable bond between the United States and Israel, it is easy to por-
tray both countries as more homogeneous and less diverse than they
are in real­ity. Indeed, that is in part an effect of the myth, which not
only views Israel in an idealized mirror, but also proj­ects idealized vi-
sions of American nationhood onto the image of Israel. Examining the
exclusive relationship between the United States and Israel risks repro-
ducing the myth of the exceptional relationship. Many cultural narra-
tives and images of Israel are not unique to the United States but have
been shared and elaborated in other nations that have divergent and
overlapping histories in their relationship to Israel and to the United
States. ­There are other ways to tell this story. One way would be to
focus on the domestic history of the shifting alliances and divisions
among dif­fer­ent groups of Americans in relation to Israel and Pales-
tine. Another way would be to understand how and when U.S. views of
Israel dovetailed and diverged from those of other nations in dif­fer­ent
international alliances and configurations. But that is not the task ­here.
In his 1799 sermon, Abbot confirmed a way of speaking about the
new nation that was already circulating in the public sphere. It was a
­matter of “common consent,” he remarked, that the term “our American
Israel” was an “apt and proper” one. This book explores the creation
of “common consent” over the last seventy years about the “apt and
proper” ways of speaking about Israel in the United States.
 1

LANDS OF REFUGE

In the 1947 Oscar-­winning film Gentleman’s

Agreement, a journalist played by Gregory Peck decides to pose as a
Jew to gather material for a story about anti-­Semitism in Amer­i­ca. At
a cocktail party he awkwardly approaches a famous Jewish physicist,
played by Sam Jaffe as a thinly veiled Albert Einstein, suggesting that
the two “hash over some ideas”:

“What sort of ideas?”

“Palestine, for instance. Zionism.”
“Which? Palestine as a refuge . . . ​or Zionism as a movement
for a Jewish State?”
“The confusion between the two, more than anything.”
“If we agree ­there’s confusion, we can talk. We scientists
love confusion.”

Smiling at his earnest listener, the scientist rambles through a thicket

of ideas about Jewish identity, questioning ­whether Jews constitute a
religion, a race, or a nation. He pokes fun at the logic of each; to a sec-
ular Jew, religion seems irrelevant; to a scientist, race is unscientific; to
a worldly refugee, nationalism is suspect. The confusion he sows about
Jewish identity underscores the questions he first raised about the na-
ture of Zionism.1
This Hollywood banter reflected serious questions that w ­ ere being
asked about the meaning of Zionism a­ fter World War II. Some Ameri-
cans viewed the movement to s­ ettle Jews in Palestine as a humanitarian
cause, one that would provide refuge for the homeless survivors of Nazi
 Lands of Refuge 11

extermination camps in Eu­rope. ­Others viewed Zionism as a po­liti­cal

movement to establish a sovereign state in Palestine for Jews from
around the world. Many blurred the distinction between t­hese two
ideas, while ­others found them irreconcilable.
It is often presumed that the revelation of the Holocaust led Ameri-
cans to embrace the Zionist cause. A Jewish state, however, was by no
means a universally applauded or uncontested idea in the aftermath of
the war. Sympathy for the suffering of Eu­ro­pean Jews did indeed mo-
tivate many Americans to support their emigration to Palestine. But hu-
manitarian sympathy often found­ered on the po­liti­cal notion of a state
based on an exclusive ethnoreligious identity. This notion struck some
Americans as c­ ounter to their demo­cratic values, especially in a postwar
world recovering from the devastating outcome of virulent nationalism.
The idea of a Jewish state in a land inhabited by an Arab majority alien-
ated ­others who understood democracy as majority rule. A religious
basis for national identity appeared foreign to ­those who believed that
citizenship—­irrespective of creed—­should provide the basis of national
belonging. Such reservations and ambivalences w ­ ere widely expressed
in the mainstream press, within Jewish organ­izations, and in govern-
ment commissions.
­These debates about Zionism have virtually dis­appeared from the
American memory of the founding of Israel. Historians have focused
on the po­liti­cal strug­gle between representatives of Zionist organ­
izations and State Department diplomats for the heart of President
Harry Truman, viewing it as a conflict between domestic electoral pres-
sure and national geopo­liti­cal interests. They have also highlighted the
interplay of other geopo­liti­cal and domestic ­factors: big power rival-
ries, the founding of the United Nations, Arab nationalism, oil politics,
the rebuilding of Eu­rope, and the status of Jews in the United States.2
But for the idea of a Jewish state in Palestine to achieve widespread
ac­cep­tance, more was needed—­the idea had to be Americanized. Its pro-
ponents attributed New World meanings, symbols, and mythologies to
a Eu­ro­pean movement to establish a Jewish polity in the Arab M ­ iddle
East. They drew parallels between Mayflower Pilgrims and Jewish pio-
neers in the familiar landscape of the biblical Promised Land, and they
presented Zionist settlement as enacting American ideas of modern de-
velopment. This proj­ect of Americanization took on par­tic­u­lar urgency
in the post–­World War II effort to establish a Jewish state, and it had
12 our american israel

to grapple with all the ways in which Zionism appeared misaligned with
American values.
In the 1940s, American liberals enthusiastically championed this
proj­ect. The most power­ful arguments on behalf of Zionism appeared
in left-­leaning publications, such as The Nation, the New Republic, and
PM—­not in the New York Times, Commentary Magazine, or Life, all
of which took skeptical or noncommittal stances ­toward the Zionist
movement. Liberal journalists, activists, and politicians fused humani-
tarian and po­liti­cal understandings to create an influential and enduring
narrative of Zionism as a modern progressive force for universal good.
Their way of narrating the founding of Israel was not a historical in-
evitability, but rather the outcome of a strug­gle in which the stories we
are so familiar with t­ oday prevailed over ­others.

Contested Narratives
The United States first confronted the question of Palestine in the
displaced persons camps of occupied Germany. At the end of the war,
the army was holding tens of thousands of Jewish concentration
camp survivors in the American sector. Haunting images of gaunt
refugees ­behind barbed wire—­some still wearing prison garb—­filled
newspapers and newsreels for months a­ fter the liberation of the
death camps. President Truman appointed attorney Earl Harrison to
lead an investigation, and his report on the crowded, unsanitary, and
dismal conditions in the camps concluded chillingly: “We appear to
be treating the Jews as the Nazis treated them except that we do not
exterminate them.” Harrison recommended that one hundred thousand
displaced persons (DPs) be permitted to s­ettle in Palestine immedi-
ately. Truman agreed and called on G ­ reat Britain to end its ­restrictions
on Jewish immigration, which had been in effect since 1939.3
British foreign secretary Ernest Bevin responded by inviting Truman
to convene a joint commission to investigate the impact of mass im-
migration on the inhabitants of Palestine and its governance. Since the
fall of the Ottoman Empire in World War I, Britain had ruled Palestine
­under a mandate endorsed by the League of Nations in 1922. The man-
date incorporated the 1917 Balfour Declaration, which expressed
 Lands of Refuge 13

British f­ avor for “the establishment in Palestine of a national home of

the Jewish ­people” with the caveat that “nothing ­shall be done which
may prejudice the civil and religious rights of existing non-­Jewish com-
munities in Palestine.” From the start, the meaning of the declaration
had been open to interpretation and criticism—­and it continues to be
controversial ­today. The Zionist movement welcomed it as the ­legal
foundation of the right to statehood, while Arab spokesmen denounced
it as an imperial imposition with no ­legal standing. The British govern-
ment considered that it had fulfilled its obligation by facilitating the cre-
ation of a home for ­those Jews who settled in Palestine, without regard
to statehood.
Formation of the Anglo-­American Committee of Inquiry represented
a last-­ditch effort by the British to maintain a foothold in their increas-
ingly vulnerable empire in the ­Middle East. For its part, the United
States was now, for the first time, officially participating in policymaking
for Palestine. Each government appointed six members, selected for
their supposed impartiality (that is, they could not be Jews, Arabs, Mus-
lims, experts in the field, or ­women). Federal Judge Joseph Hutcheson,
a Texas Demo­crat, chaired the American del­e­ga­tion, which included
Frank Aydelotte, director of the Institute for Advanced Study; Frank
Buxton, editor of the Boston Herald; Bartley Crum, an attorney from
California; William Phillips, a ­career diplomat; and James G. McDonald,
who was the League of Nations high commissioner for refugees from
Germany in the 1930s and would ­later be appointed the first U.S. am-
bassador to Israel.4 In the first four months of 1946, the committee held
public hearings in Washington, D.C., London, Cairo, and Jerusalem,
and members visited DP camps in Eu­rope, as well as Arab capitals
throughout the ­Middle East.
The committee focused primarily on the prob­lem of resettling Jewish
refugees, and secondarily on the consequences of this resettlement for
Arab inhabitants of Palestine. The final report recommended the im-
mediate immigration of one hundred thousand Jewish refugees on hu-
manitarian grounds, but it rejected the po­liti­cal establishment of a
Jewish state in Palestine.5 The report antagonized both Arabs and Zi-
onists, and the United States and G ­ reat Britain never agreed on its im-
plementation. Escalating vio­lence by Jewish militias made the British
Mandate increasingly unpop­u­lar and costly to a nation recovering from
14 our american israel

The Anglo-­American Committee of Inquiry at the Jerusalem train station, 1946.

 Lands of Refuge 15

a devastating war. In 1947 the British government deci­ded to end the

mandate and to place the question of Palestine’s f­ uture in the hands of
the newly founded United Nations.
Although the Anglo-­American Committee ultimately failed to direct
policy, its proceedings remain invaluable ­today. They offer a kaleido-
scopic perspective on the passionate debates about what the Christian
Science Monitor called “the explosive, nettlesome, Gordian knot—­call
it any of ­these—of the Palestinian prob­lem.”6 The committee’s public
hearings provided an international stage on which almost ­every major
actor in the strug­gle over Palestine played a role. An avid press covered
testimonies by leaders of the Zionist movement, representatives from
Arab organ­izations, refugees in the DP camps, British officials, demo­
graphers and agricultural specialists, and celebrity intellectuals.
Two notable committee members, one American and one British,
published books about their experiences. Bartley Crum, an ambitious
civil rights attorney from San Francisco, wrote ­Behind the Silken Cur-
tain: A Personal Account of Anglo-­American Diplomacy in Palestine
and the ­Middle East. Richard Crossman, a socialist L ­ abour Party MP
with an Oxford PhD, wrote Palestine Mission: A Personal Rec­ord. Pub-
lished in 1947, the two books offer more than insider accounts of the
committee’s travails. Through a combination of travelogue and memoir,
po­liti­cal meditation and polemic, both authors convey the personal
reckoning that led them to champion the cause of an in­de­pen­dent Jewish
state. Crum and Crossman w ­ ere the youn­gest and most progressive
members of their national del­e­ga­tions. They ­were the only committee
members to argue for Jewish statehood, although they disagreed about
the impact of Zionism on the Arab inhabitants of Palestine. Written
from a critical stance on the waning British Empire, Crossman’s book
provides a valuable contrast with the views of his American colleagues,
whose nation was becoming a greater power in the M ­ iddle East. Even
though their stance on statehood was a minority position within the
committee, their writings presage views that would become dominant
in the United Kingdom and the United States.
The last American to be appointed to the committee, Bartley Crum
was promoted by David Niles, Truman’s liaison with l­abor and minority
groups and his intermediary with Zionist organ­izations. The State De-
partment tried to block Crum b ­ ecause of his left-­wing affiliations, which
earned him the moniker “Comrade Crum.” As an attorney, he had
16 our american israel

campaigned against discrimination ­toward black employees by southern

railroads, and he had served as counsel at the founding of the United
Nations. At the time of his appointment, he was preparing to leave
for Spain to defend two members of the anti-­Franco underground.
While writing his book a­ fter the committee disbanded, he joined Paul
Robeson and W. E. B. Du Bois in endorsing the American Crusade
against Lynching.
A journalist traveling with the committee described Crum as a lib-
eral playboy of sorts, “serious, courageous, and prepared like a trained
prizefighter to ­battle for his convictions. He preferred drinking to eating
and was so good looking that the ­people often turned to stare at him on
the German streets.” Richard Crossman eyed him as cynically angling
for a po­liti­cal ­career “which could be made or marred by the attitude
he ­adopted ­toward the Jewish question.” ­Because of Crum’s White
House connections, committee members would avoid speaking freely
in front of him, and his contacts sometimes worried that his overzeal-
ousness marred the reliability of the information he passed on to them.7
A story of po­liti­cal and spiritual awakening, ­Behind the Silken Cur-
tain shows how an American progressive, a liberal Catholic with l­ittle
knowledge of the M ­ iddle East and no experience outside the United
States, confronted manifold arguments about Zionism from points of
view he had never before encountered. Crum describes in detail how
he listened to multiple Jewish and Arab testimonies, only to be con-
vinced of the justice of the Zionist cause. Crum played a noteworthy
role in the Americanization of Zionism precisely b ­ ecause he was not a
government official or a Jewish member of a Zionist organ­ization, al-
though he interacted with major figures in both groups. His story
­exemplifies the synergy between an early Zionist lobby seeking to gal-
vanize U.S. public opinion and the larger American culture in which it
operated. His views can neither be reduced to pure pandering nor at-
tributed to in­de­pen­dent thinking alone. He understood Zionism as a
liberal cause, and he made it a personal one.
In 1940, Crum had served as a close advisor to the presidential cam-
paign of Wendell Willkie, who was r­ unning as a liberal Republican. One
World, Willkie’s 1943 runaway bestseller, became Crum’s guidebook
for his first trip abroad with the committee. Willkie’s popu­lar book de-
scribed his world tour at the behest of President Franklin Roo­se­velt to
muster support for the war and to c­ ounter isolationist sentiment in the
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
and the promise of rich spoils induced him to follow the preceding
party, in contradistinction to which his stout and lusty recruits were
dubbed the ‘strong-backs.’[965] Hearing that two other vessels had
been fitted out to follow the Pánuco expeditions, and were probably
now cruising along the coast, Cortés ordered a crew to be sent in
pursuit, with the sole desire, as he expressed it, to save them from
the fate which had so nearly overtaken Camargo. One was never
heard of, and the other, the largest, entered the port before the
searching vessel had left, it seems, bringing about one hundred and
twenty men and sixteen horses. Camargo was induced to
remonstrate with the captain against proceeding to Pánuco, since
the result could only be disastrous, the native lord having, beside,
tendered allegiance to Cortés in Montezuma’s time.[966] But the
captain would not listen to him. To the joy of Cortés, however, a
storm arose, which obliged this captain to slip his anchor and put to
sea; obliged him to take refuge in San Juan de Ulua harbor, where
he found his vessel so unsafe as to require her to be stranded,
whereupon the forces and armaments were landed.[967] Cortés at
once sent a sympathizing message, offering the captain every
assistance, but never for a moment intending to give him any. He
even tendered other vessels for his voyage—so he tells the emperor.
[968]But there is no doubt that the tender was illusive, and that he
did all in his power, with bribery, promises, and even force, to secure
the men and armament, and at the same time to weaken his rivals
by their loss. According to some accounts he caused their vessels to
be sunk to prevent departure,[969] an act which Oviedo declares a
fair war measure, particularly on the part of Cortés, who greatly
needed reinforcements. Men destined for so comparatively
unattractive a region as Pánuco must have been pleased by the
prospect of ready spoils and Mexican treasures soon to fall into their
hands under so able and successful a leader as Cortés. They were
therefore readily induced to join him, the captains alone, as in the
last instance, interposing objections for a while. These several
accessions amounted, according to the testimony of Cortés, to about
two hundred men and some twenty horses,[970] together with a large
quantity of small-arms, artillery, and ammunition. Thus again and
again was the shrewd and lucky Cortés aided by the very means
which his great enemies and rivals had sent to be used against him;
aided to reap the advantages they had planned and plotted to
secure. And all the while he was pitting the antagonisms of native
foes one against another, employing them also to assist him in
securing the grand prize. Greatness is but another name for good
fortune. Circumstances certainly did as much for Cortés in promoting
success as Spanish arms and superior civilization.
Civilization! What fools we are, pluming ourselves in its radiance,
the radiance of ghastly electrical lights, adopted instead of the
glorious sun of nature. For is not the unartificial nature, and nature
God, while artifice is rather of the devil? And yet we persist in
glorifying artifice and calling it deity. The human sacrifice of the
Aztecs was a horrible rite, but in the hands of the Spaniards is not
Christianity a bloody mistress? And does not European civilization
constantly demand the sacrifice of millions of lives, if not for the
propitiation of gods, then to avenge an insult, to preserve the
integrity of a nation, or to gratify the spleen of rulers? At hand even
now, coming to the assistance of the magnificent Cortés,
civilization’s pride and pet for the moment, is another ally of
civilization, more terrible than horses, blood-hounds, gunpowder, or
steel. At the time of Narvaez’ departure for Cuba, small-pox was
raging there so severely that it offered a reason for preventing the
governor from leaving with the expedition. A pioneer vessel of the
fleet sowed the malady at Cozumel, whence it entered the continent.
Before it spread far in this direction Cempoala was infected by a
negro slave of Narvaez.[971] The Spaniards knew little about its
treatment, and that little they sought to impart, not for their own
safety, since those that were left of them were considered almost
proof against the malady, but for the sake of the allies. Their advice
did not avail much, however, for the natives were too devoted to their
panacea, the hot and cold bath, which only intensified the evil. The
terrible force of the first attacks of epidemics and endemics is well
known, and it has been advocated with apparent truth that the
diseases of a strong people fall with particular force on weaker
races. After desolating the coast region for some time, the small-pox
crossed the plateau border during the summer, and in
September[972] it broke out round the lakes, on its way to the
western sea, smiting high and low, rich and poor. For sixty days,
according to native records, the hueyzahuatl, or great pest, raged
here with such virulence as to fix itself a central point in their
chronology. In most districts, says Motolinia, over half the population
died, leaving towns almost deserted, and in others the mortality was
appalling. Those who recovered presented an appearance that
made their neighbors flee from them, until they became accustomed
to the sight. Learning how contagious was the disease, and terrified
by the number of deaths, the inhabitants left the bodies to putrefy,
thus aiding to extend the pest. In some cases the authorities ordered
the houses to be pulled down over the dead, so as to check the
contagion. Not the least of the evil was a famine, which resulted from
a lack of harvesters.[973]
Among the first victims at the capital were King Totoquihuatzin,
of Tlacopan, and Cuitlahuatzin, the successor of Montezuma. The
latter had ruled barely three months,[974] but sufficiently long to
prove himself a most able leader of his people in their struggle for
liberty, for he was brave, full of devices, and energetic, yet prudent; a
man who, not content with securing the expulsion of invaders, had
sought to strengthen his position with alliances and by attracting the
subject provinces through gifts, remissions, and promises. If he did
not succeed so well as he had hoped, the fault must be ascribed to
the reputation of the previous government and to dereliction of duty
among his officers.
As a monarch he would not have fallen far short of the native
ideal, for as a general he had distinguished himself; and, the brother
of Montezuma, he had in his court imbibed the dignity and majestic
manner born of constant adulation from subservient nobles and
plebeians. Crafty and unscrupulous, he appears not to have
hesitated at crime and breach of faith to secure his aims for personal
and state advancement. The flourishing condition of his own
province indicated a not unwise administrator; and the beauty of
Iztapalapan, its magnificent palaces, and exquisite gardens filled
with choice plants from different regions, pointed to a ruler of
cultivated taste.
There is no doubt that Mexico lost in him one of the most
promising of sovereigns, and perhaps the only leader capable of
giving her a longer lease of freedom in face of the irresistible
onslaught of foreigners.[975] Thus bravely worked the small-pox for
Cortés and the superior civilization.
The strongest candidate for the Mexican throne was now the
high-priest Quauhtemotzin,[976] a young man of about twenty-
three[977] years, rather handsome, of fairer complexion than the
average of his race, grave and dignified, as befitted a prince, and
‘quite a gentleman for an Indian.’ He is said to have been the son of
Montezuma’s sister by Itzquauhtzin, lord of Tlatelulco, the twin town
or suburb of Mexico, who had been fellow-prisoner of the late
emperor, and sharer in his fate.[978] The brothers and descendants
of Montezuma had been pretty well removed by death, or through
the machinations of Cuitlahuatzin; but if nearer legitimate claimants
existed, Quauhtemotzin had eclipsed them all in experience,
influence, and fame, as a brave and able leader. As the chief
companion of his predecessor, and one who even before the
appearance of the latter had led the uprising against the Spaniards,
he had become identified as a true patriot, keeping himself at the
head of the dominant party which began and continued the struggle
for freedom. In order further to secure his influence he had taken to
wife the only legitimate daughter of Montezuma, Princess Tecuichpo,
or Isabel; and although the marriage was merely nominal, she being
but a child, yet the alliance served the intended aim.[979] The
Tepanecs at the same time elected as successor to their king, his
son Tetlepanquetzaltzin,[980] whose coronation took place at the
same time as that of Quauhtemotzin, hallowed by the blood of
captive enemies, including no doubt some Spaniards. Cohuanacoch
had meanwhile been chosen at Tezcuco in lieu of the disowned
protégé whom Cortés had foisted upon them. By this trio were taken
up the plans of Cuitlahuatzin for the deliverance of the country from
her invaders, and especially were their efforts directed toward
securing the loyalty of provinces and allies which had been stirred by
the alarming progress of Spanish arms in Tepeaca.
A loss to the Spaniards through the epidemic, which outweighed
many a gain, was the death of Maxixcatzin, to whose devoted
friendship they chiefly owed their escape from the recent crises;[981]
for he it was who took the lead in offering the Tlascaltec alliance and
in overthrowing the inimical plans of the younger Xicotencatl in favor
of the Aztecs. When the sad news came, Cortés felt as if he had lost
a father, says Bernal Diaz, and mourning robes were donned by
quite a number of the captains and men. In this they felt the more
justified, since the chief, on finding himself stricken by the dread
disease, had expressed a wish to become a Christian, and with the
name of Lorenzo had received baptism at the hands of Olmedo, who
joyfully hastened to Tlascala to perform so welcome a service for the
Spaniards’ champion. He died exhorting his family and friends to
obey Cortés and his brethren, the destined rulers of the land, and to
accept their god, who had given victory over the idols.[982] It was
fortunate that he did not die before Spanish prestige had been
reëstablished by the Tepeaca campaign; for his friendship sufficed to
confirm the allies in their adhesion, to gain for the Spaniards further
coöperation, and to obtain for them a firm footing in the country.
The allied forces had become so numerous by the time Itzucan
fell that they were absolutely unmanageable, and on returning from
this place to Tepeaca Cortés dismissed them with friendly words to
their homes, retaining only the tried Tlascaltecs, who had become
efficient in the European style of warfare under the Spanish
discipline and tactics.[983]
Before the Quauhquechollan expedition summoned him away,
Cortés had begun a report to the emperor on the condition of affairs.
On returning, he completed this his second and perhaps most
interesting letter, dated at Segura de la Frontera, or Tepeaca,
October 30, 1520, wherein are related the occurrences since the
despatch of the first letter in the middle of July, a year before. “I write
your Majesty,” it states, “although poorly told, the truth of all that has
happened in these parts, and that which your Majesty has most need
of knowing. With the aid of God the conquest is progressing in this
new country, which from its similarity to Spain, in fertility, extent,
temperature, and many other things, I have called La Nueva España
del Mar Océano.” Then he proceeds to humbly beg his majesty to
confirm this name. In a brief supplementary letter he asks the
emperor to send a person of confidence to investigate and prove the
truth of his statements.[984]
The council also wrote a letter to the emperor, speaking
hopefully of the conquest, which already “extended, over one
hundred and fifty leagues of the coast, from Rio Grande de Tabasco
to Rio de Pánuco,”[985] while the remainder of the interior was on the
sure way to reduction, under the able leadership of Cortés, whose
valor and energy they praised.
 They prayed that he, the beloved of all the troops, might be
confirmed in the office of captain-general, as the only man whose
genius and experience could be relied on to carry out and maintain
the conquest. The natives being docile and ready to receive
conversion, friars should be sent to secure this harvest for the
church, and also to administer to the spiritual wants of the
Spaniards. Colonists were needed; also horses, and other live-stock
—the latter to be paid for at a future time—in order to secure the
country and develop its wealth.
With these letters went one from the army, which, recounting but
briefly the leading incidents of the campaigns, had for its main object
to decry Narvaez and Velazquez as the sole cause of all the
disasters that had occurred in the country, and to praise Cortés as a
noble, loyal, and able man, by whom alone the conquest could be
achieved.[986] These and other letters were intrusted to Alonso de
Mendoza, a townsman of Cortés, together with thirty thousand
pesos, in fifths and presents, and a number of commissions from
different members of the expedition. A well appointed vessel was
assigned for the voyage, and three other vessels were despatched
for Española, there to enlist recruits and to buy horses, arms and
ammunition, cattle, clothing, and other requirements, and four strong
vessels to maintain traffic with the Antilles. Letters were sent to
Licenciado Rodrigo de Figueroa and other royal officers on the
Island, inclosing duplicates of those forwarded to Spain; and a
number of specimens of the jewels, manufactures, and natural
resources of the country, were transmitted as presents and as
samples to allure recruits. The letters and the ample funds for the
enlistment and purchases were intrusted to Contador Ávila and
another officer,[987] with instructions to use every effort to confirm the
audiencia officials in their good opinion of Cortés, so that they might
plead his cause in Spain. The ill-treatment of Aillon by Velazquez
and Narvaez had already impelled them to do this, as we have seen.
Their advice was to be asked regarding the enslavement of rebels
and other measures, and their authority and aid sought for obtaining
men and stores.[988] Another vessel was sent under Solis[989] to
Jamaica to buy horses and war material. Bernal Diaz does not fail to
point out the evidence in the large remittance for Spain and the
Antilles of treasures secretly taken from Mexico by Cortés and his
clique, and accuses him of having appropriated also the share for
Villa Rica, claimed to have been captured by the Indians during its
transmission from Tlascala.[990]
No sooner were these preparations announced than Duero and
a number of others of the Narvaez party claimed a fulfilment of the
promise regarding their departure. The success of the Spanish arms
and the allurement of spoils had reconciled most of the lately
disaffected, so that those who now demanded to return were only a
few of the more wealthy. The services of these could be readily
dispensed with, now that such large reinforcements had been
received, and the display of their accumulations at home might
inspire fresh recruits. Therefore Cortés gave his consent, with
abundant promises that as soon as the conquest was fully
accomplished, gold and other rewards would flow on those who
supported his cause either in the Islands or in Spain. Leaders like
Duero and Bermudez were the chief recipients of such offers; and
offers alone they remained in most instances, for Cortés was not the
man to reward desertion. Duero and others evidently expected
nothing more, since they were soon after found arrayed on the side
of Velazquez. When some among the Cortés party raised objections
to this diminution of the force, they were quieted with the declaration
that the army was better rid of unwilling and inefficient soldiers,
whose presence served only to discourage others.[991]
The vessel for Spain and two of those for the Islands were
wrecked on the coast; and one consequence was that Mendoza’s
departure was delayed till the 5th of March. He took with him a
supplementary letter for the emperor, relating the progress so far
made for the recovery of Mexico. By this time Ordaz was, according
to Bernal Diaz, commissioned to join him and plead the cause of
Cortés before the emperor, and at the same time to receive the
reward for his many achievements, one of which was the ascent of
the volcano. Several of the Narvaez party appear to have left by the
same vessel.[992]
In course of the late campaign the advantages of the town of
Tepeaca for permanent occupation had become apparent, chiefly as
a point of observation for watching over the new conquest. It was
well situated for protecting the road to Villa Rica,[993] and for
communicating with Cholula and Tlascala, each capital eight or nine
leagues distant, and it lay in the midst of a fertile maize country,
which offered ample subsistence for a garrison. Although the
punishment at first inflicted, by sacking and enslaving, had been
severe, yet the treatment of the inhabitants became afterward so
considerate that they themselves prayed for a continuance of
Spanish protection.[994] Every circumstance, therefore, demanding a
settlement, it was decided in council to found a villa in this same
town, with the appropriate name of Segura de la Frontera, intended,
as it was, to secure the frontier against the Mexicans. Pedro de Ircio
was made alcalde, with Francisco de Orozco and others as
regidores.[995]
The campaign being practically concluded, a division was
ordered to be made of the spoils not hitherto distributed, including
slaves, which had now become a prominent feature thereof, and
were intended for personal and plantation service, as already
practised in the Antilles. The pretence was to enslave only the
inhabitants of districts concerned in the murder of Spaniards, but the
distinction was not very strictly observed, and rebellious tribes and
those addicted to cannibalism and other vicious practices were
included.[996] The Spaniards, as a rule, kept only the women and the
children, the men being transferred to the allies for their share,
“because they were difficult to watch,” says Bernal Diaz, “and
because their services were not needed while we had the
Tlascaltecs with us.”[997]
The soldiers were ordered to bring in all their captives, which
from the first had been branded for recognition with a ‘G,’ signifying
guerra, war.[998] When the day for distribution came, it was found
that the leaders and favored men had already secured their share by
appropriating the prettiest and choicest slaves. They had probably
been priced by the officials, and the leaders, being entitled to larger
shares, had secured the best articles. At this there was a
considerable uproar, increased by the outcry against the fifth set
apart for Cortés, after deducting the royal fifth.[999] How the matter
was settled is not clear, except that the general had recourse to the
soothing eloquence he knew so well how to apply, promising that for
the future he would conform to the general desire, which appeared to
be in favor of offering the slaves at auction, so as to arrive at their
proper value, and to give all members of the expedition an equal
chance in securing the more desirable.[1000]
One of the last expeditions fitted out at Segura was for the
reduction of the northern route to Villa Rica, by which the Spaniards
had first entered the plateau, and for the punishment of those
concerned in the murder of Alcántara and other Spaniards.[1001] It
set out in the beginning of December, under Sandoval, with two
hundred infantry, twenty horses, and the usual complement of allies,
and entered Xocotlan valley, which readily submitted, with the
exception of the main town, named Castilblanco during the first entry
into the country. The cacique, who had then already shown himself
unfriendly, rejected every proposition, with the threat that he would
make a feast on the commander and his followers, as he had on the
former party. There being no alternative, the cavalry charged the
large force which had taken up position near a ravine, on the
outskirts of the city, with a view to defend the entrance. Under cover
of the musketeers and archers, who from one side of the ravine did
considerable harm to the enemy, the charge succeeded, though four
riders and nine horses were wounded, one of the latter dying. The
enemy thrown into disorder fled to join the remaining garrison, which
occupied the temples on the plaza. With the aid of the infantry and
allies the stronghold speedily fell, and a number of prisoners were
secured.[1002]
Proceeding northward along the mountain border of the plateau
Sandoval added a considerable extent of country to his conquest,
meeting serious opposition only at Jalancingo, where the Aztec
garrison, ever since the beginning of the Tepeaca campaign, had
been employed in fortifying the place, and either considered
themselves secure or feared that a surrender would procure no
better terms, for them, at least. They were disconcerted by being
attacked on different sides, under native guidance, and after a brief
resistance took to flight, during which a number of them were
captured, the Spaniards losing three horses, and having eight men
severely injured, Sandoval receiving an arrow wound. In a temple
were found relics of slaughtered Spaniards, in the shape of dresses,
arms, and saddles.[1003] A few days later the expedition set out to
rejoin the army, with a large amount of spoils and a train of captives.
The chiefs were pardoned by Cortés, with politic regard for the
future, and enjoined to furnish their quota of supplies at Segura.[1004]
The head-quarters had meanwhile been removed to Tlascala,
preparatory to a march on Mexico, and Segura was now in charge of
the alcalde, Pedro de Ircio, lately lieutenant of Sandoval at Villa Rica,
assisted by the regidor, Francisco de Orozco, and sixty men,
including the invalids and the disabled.[1005] Cortés had left it in the
middle of December,[1006] taking with the cavalry the route through
Cholula,[1007] to settle the question of succession to a number of
cacique offices vacated during the epidemic. These appeals were
made to him not only as the representative of the Spanish monarch
to whom the people had sworn obedience, but as an
acknowledgment of his influence over the native mind. His treatment
of the conquered and his equitable decisions of disputes had made
him the umpire and king-maker whom not only allies, but half-
reconciled tribes were willing to heed, in private and public affairs.
Having made the appointments, and formed favorable arrangements
for himself, he rejoined the army. The march to Tlascala was one
befitting the return of conquering heroes. Triumphal arches covered
the roads, and processions came to chant the praises of the victors,
and recount the successes achieved by the Tlascaltec allies, as
shown by spoils and banners from different provinces and cities, and
by long files of captives. On nearing the republican capital the whole
population came forth to join in the ovation, and at the plaza an
orator stepped forward to greet Cortés in a glowing panegyric,
wherein he reviewed his progress as conqueror and avenger. In
reply Cortés alluded feelingly to the brotherhood between the two
races, now cemented by blood and victories, and to the common
loss sustained in the death of the wise and noble Maxixcatzin. These
words, added to the evidence of sorrow in the mourning array of their
dress and arms, left a most favorable impression on the minds of the
brave allies.
He was again called as representative of his king to appoint as
successor to Maxixcatzin his eldest legitimate son, a boy of twelve
years, against whom a claimant had arisen.[1008] This done, Cortés
dubbed him a knight, according to Castilian usage, in recognition of
the services of his father, causing him also to be baptized, with the
name of Juan, Maxixcatzin becoming the family name.[1009] Taking
advantage of the occasion and of his own popularity, the general
sought to inspire a more general feeling in favor of his religion, but
the effort met with little encouragement, and he wisely refrained from
pressing so dangerous a subject. According to Bernal Diaz, the elder
Xicotencatl was among the limited number of saved souls, and
received the name of Vicente.[1010] The native records, as given by
Camargo and Torquemada, and adopted by most writers, assume
that the four chiefs were all baptized at this time, if not earlier; but
they are neither clear nor consistent, and are evidently impelled by a
desire to redeem the native leaders from the charge of idolatry.
Cortés, Herrera, Diaz, and other chroniclers would not have failed to
record so large and prominent a conquest for the church, particularly
since the two latter do mention the exceptional converts.[1011] Cortés
also refers to a conversion in the person of Tecocoltzin, a younger
brother of King Cacama, and the future head of Tezcuco, who is
named Fernando; but he does so in a manner which indicates that
the conversion was exceptional.[1012] His baptism took place
probably on the same day as that of young Maxixcatzin and old
Xicotencatl, the occasion being celebrated with banquets and
dances, with illumination, sports, and exchange of presents, the
Spaniards adding horse-races and other interesting proceedings for
the gratification of the natives.

FOOTNOTES
[959] ‘Con este ... vino vn Francisco Lopez, vezino, y Regidor que fue de
Guatimala.’ Bernal Diaz, Hist. Verdad., 113. Vetancurt assumes that Pedro del
Castillo—Diaz calls him ‘el Almirante Pedro Cauallero’—secured Barba and his
vessel. Teatro Mex., pt. iii. 148; Cortés, Residencia, ii. 165.
[960] ‘El capitã Diego de Camargo,’ says Herrera; but Bernal Diaz explains that
this man stepped into the captaincy on the murder of ‘fulano Alvarez Pinedo,’ at
Pánuco. ‘Dixeron, que el Capitan Camargo auia sido Fraile Dominico, e que auia
hecho profession.’ Hist. Verdad., 114.

[961] Seven leagues up, says Herrera.

[962] ‘Muerto diez y siete ó diez y ocho cristianos, y herido otros muchos.
Asimismo ... muerto siete caballos.’ Cortés, Cartas, 144. Bernal Diaz assumes
that the whole attacking force was killed and some vessels destroyed. ‘Dexaron
vna carauela,’ says Herrera.

[963] Herrera states that hunger caused the land expedition to abandon the
vessels some twenty leagues above Almería. The people from the wrecked
caravel were taken on board the last vessel. dec. ii. lib. x. cap. xviii. Cortés leaves
the impression that both vessels arrived at Villa Rica, perhaps because the one
was wrecked so near it. ‘Vn nauio ... y traia sobre sesenta soldados.’ Bernal Diaz,
Hist. Verdad., 114. This may include the land party, but not the sailors.

[964] ‘Con hasta treinta hombres de mar y tierra.’ Cortés, Cartas, 154. ‘Sus
soldados, que eran mas de cincuenta, y mas siete cauallos,’ says Bernal Diaz,
Hist. Verdad., 114; and, since Cortés would be less apt to indicate large
accessions, he may be correct.

[965] ‘Este fue el mejor socorro.... Diaz de Auz sirvió muy bien a su Magestad en
todo lo que se ofreciò en las guerras, ... traxo pleyto despues, sobre el pleyto de
la mitad de Mestitan, ... conque le den la parte de lo que rentare el pueblo mas de
dos mil y quinientos pesos.’ Bernal Diaz, Hist. Verdad., 114-15. He was excluded
from the town itself, owing to cruel treatment of Indians.

[966] ‘El señor de aquel rio y tierra, que se dice Pánuco, se habia dado por vasallo
de V. M., en cuyo reconocimiento me habia enviado á la ciudad de Tenuxtitan, con
sus mensajeros, ciertas cosas.’ Cortés, Cartas, 144-5. But this is probably a mere
assertion, since the Spanish expeditions had never been higher than Almería, and
the cacique could have had no inducement for submitting.

[967] Bernal Diaz refers to the last accession from Garay’s expeditions as 40
soldiers and 10 horses, under an old man named Ramirez. Protected by heavy
cotton armor they were nicknamed the ‘albardillas.’ Hist. Verdad., 115.

[968] ‘Si todos ó algunos dellos se quisiesen volver en los navíos que allí estaban,
que les diese licencia.’ Cortés, Cartas, 163.
[969] Oviedo, iii. 335; and so Herrera also intimates in reference to Camargo’s
only remaining vessel, ‘la qual se anegò tãbien dẽtro de 10. dias en el puerto.’
dec. ii. lib. x. cap. xviii.

[970] The last two vessels bring 150 men and 16 horses, probably over 20, to
which must be added Camargo’s force, amounting no doubt to 50 effective men,
for Bernal Diaz admits 60 soldiers, not counting sailors; and Herrera intimates that
over 100 men must have reached Villa Rica of the total force on board Camargo’s
three vessels. Bernal Diaz’ estimates for the five vessels which he enumerates
exceed 170 soldiers and 20 horses; on fol. 115 he contradicts several points,
including the total, to which the sailors may be added, while a small reduction is to
be made for deaths among Camargo’s men. Vetancurt follows Bernal Diaz, and so
does Prescott, who assumes that full 150 men and 20 horses must have been
obtained. Mex., ii. 438. Robertson raises this nearer to the truth by saying 180
men, Hist. Am., ii. 104, as does Brasseur de Bourbourg, who nevertheless, on an
earlier page, adds Sahagun’s fanciful reinforcement of 300 men. Hist. Nat. Civ., iv.
371, 387. While the Spaniards were curing themselves, ‘llegó á Tlaxcala un
Francisco Hernandez, español, con 300 soldados castellanos y con muchos
caballos y armas.’ Sahagun, Hist. Conq., i. 37. The later edition does not give the
number. Gomara merely states that numerous small parties came over from the
Antilles, attracted by Cortés’ fame, through Aillon’s reports, he seems to say. Many
of them were murdered on the way, but sufficient numbers reached him to restore
the army and encourage the prosecution of the conquest. Hist. Mex., 173.

[971] Said to have been named Francisco Eguia. Sahagun, Hist. Conq., i. 39, 66,
and Chimalpain, Hist. Conq., i. 278. Herrera writes that many assumed the malady
to have been one of the periodical scourges that used to fall on the country. ‘Y el
no auer tocado a los Castellanos, parece que trae aparencia de razon.’ dec. ii. lib.
x. cap. iv. But it appears to have been wholly a new disease to the natives.

[972] ‘En el mes que llamaban Tepeilhuitl que es al fin de setiembre,’ as Sahagun
assumes. Hist. Conq., i. 39.

[973] Motolinia, Hist. Ind., in Icazbalceta, Col. Doc., i. 14-15; Sahagun, Hist.
Conq., i. 39, 66; Mendieta, Hist. Ecles., 514; Bernal Diaz, Hist. Verdad., 101; Id.
(Paris ed. 1837), iv. 460 (a chapter omitted in the original); Gomara, Hist. Mex.,
148; Chimalpain, Hist. Conq., i. 279; Torquemada, i. 489; Tezcoco en los ultimos
tiempos, 273.

[974] ‘Vivió despues de su elecçion solos sessenta dias.’ Cano, in Oviedo, iii. 549.
The election having taken place twenty days after Montezuma’s death, according
to Ixtlilxochitl, who assumes that he ruled only 40 or 47 days. Hist. Chich., 304; Id.,
Relaciones, 413. Others extend the rule to 80 days, both as leader and king,
perhaps, which would agree with Cano’s version.
[975] Such characteristics may be seen in Spanish as well as native records; yet
Solis writes, ‘su tibieza y falta de aplicacion dexáse poco menos que borrada
entre los suyos la memoria de su nombre.’ Hist. Mex., 372. Sufficient proof of his
energy is found in the siege resulting in the expulsion from Mexico.

[976] The native authorities incline to Quauhtemoc, but the Spanish generally add
the ‘tzin,’ the ‘c’ being elided, and the ‘Q’ changed to ‘G,’ making the name
Guatemotzin. ‘Quauhtemoc, que significa Aguila que baja.’ Vetancvrt, Teatro Mex.,
pt. iii. 51.

[977] Bernal Diaz describes him about a year later as 23 or 24 years old, while on
another occasion he alludes to him as 25. Hist. Verdad., 112, 155. Ixtlilxochitl
makes him 18. Hist. Chich., 304.

[978] ‘Por muerte de su Padre gobernaba el Tlatelulco.’ Duran, Hist. Ind., MS., ii.
479. ‘Sobrino de Monteçuma, que era papa ó saçerdote mayor entre los indios.’
Cano, in Oviedo, iii. 549; Peter Martyr, dec. v. cap. vi. ‘Cuauhtemotctzin hijo del
rey Ahuitzotzin y de la heredera de el Tlatelulco.’ Ixtlilxochitl, Relaciones, 413.
This incorrect view is adopted by Brasseur de Bourbourg and many others.

[979] ‘Moglie già del suo Zio Cuitlahuatzin,’ is the supposition of Clavigero, Storia
Mess., iii. 160. ‘Se hizo temer de tal manera, que todos los suyos temblauan dél.’
Bernal Diaz, Hist. Verdad., 112. For fanciful portraits of these last two emperors,
see Frost’s Pict. Hist. Mex., 104, 114.

[980] Ixtlilxochitl, loc. cit.; Torquemada, i. 570.

[981] ‘Al que solo fue causa q̄ los Christianos se conseruassen en aquella tierra.’
Herrera, dec. ii. lib. x. cap. xix.

[982] Bernal Diaz, Hist. Verdad., 118; Herrera, ubi sup.

[983] During the absence of the troops, says Herrera, a part of the Tepeacans had
formed a plot to surprise them when divided; but some women informed Marina in
time to prevent trouble. Cortés inflicted on them severe chastisement. dec. ii. lib. x.
cap. xvi. xviii.

[984] The reports and other papers by Cortés, written during a period of nearly
three decades in connection with New Spain, are both numerous and lengthy, but
only the five letters relating to the actual conquest of Mexico and Central America
have achieved bibliographic celebrity, under the title of Cortés’ Letters or
Relations. Although the first letter has been lost, and the companion letter long
missing, yet an allusion to the expedition against Mexico appeared as early as
1520 in Ein auszug ettlicher sendbrieff dem aller durchleüchtigisten
grossmechtigistẽ Fürsten ... von wegen einer new gefundẽ Inseln. Nürmberg
durch Fryderichen Peypus am. 17. tag Marcij MDXX., wherein the voyages of
Córdoba and Grijalva are also described. Harrisse, Bib. Am. Vet., 179, assumes
that the information is taken from Peter Martyr’s Decades. A later brief reference
to the city of Mexico itself is given in Translationuss hispanischer sprach zü
Frantzösisch gemacht so durch dẽ Vice Rey in Neapole fraw Margareten
Hertzogiñ iñ Burgundi zü geschrieben, published in 1522. On folio A. iii. is written:
Not far from the same island they have conquered a city called Tenustitan,
wherein 60,000 hearths have been counted, within a good wall. The letter of the
ayuntamiento was first published in Col. Doc. Inéd., i., 1842.
By the time of the receipt in Spain of Cortés’ second letter, of October 30,
1520, the general and his conquest had become so famous that his
communications were not likely to be lost sight of. The incidents treated of were
besides highly enticing, particularly the victories in Tlascala, the entry into
Montezuma’s wonderful island city, the disastrous expulsion, and the renewal of
the campaign, and Cromberger had it printed in 1522 under the title of Carta de
relaciõ ẽbiada a su. S. majestad del ẽpador nt̃o señor por el capitã general dela
nueua spaña: llamado fernãdo cortes, etc. Seuilla: por Jacobo crõberger aleman.
A viii. dias de Nouiẽbre. Año de M. d. y xxij. ‘Fué las Primicias de el Arte de la
Imprenta en Sevilla, y acaso de toda España,’ observes Lorenzana, in Cortes,
Hist. N. España, 171, but this is a great mistake, for printing had been done
already for several decades in Spain. An Italian abstract of the letter appeared
immediately after, as Noue de le Isole & Terra ferma Nouamente trouate In India
per el Capitaneo de larmata de la Cesarea Maiestate. Mediolani decimosexto
calẽ. Decembris M.D.XXII. A reprint of the Seville text was issued at Saragossa in
January, 1523. A later abridged account of the conquest is given in Ein schöne
Newe zeytung so Kayserlich Mayestet auss India yetz newlich zükommen seind,
ascribed to Sigmund Grimm of Augsburg, about 1522. Bibliotheca Grenvilliana
and Harrisse. Ternaux-Compans wrongly supposes the narrative to extend only to
1519, instead of 1522, and assumes the imprint to be Augsburg, 1520. Bibl.
Amér., 5. Perhaps 1523 is the more correct date, which may also be ascribed to
Tres sacree Imperiale et catholique mageste ... eust nouuelles des marches ysles
et terre ferme occeanes. Colophon, fol. 16. Depuis sont venues a sa mageste
nouuelles de certaīes ysles trouuez par les espagnolz plaines despecerie et
beaucoup de mines dor, lesquelles nouuelles il receupt en ceste ville de vailladolid
le primier doctobre xv. cent. xxij. This is a book noticed by no bibliographer except
Sabin, who believes that it contains only the second letter, although the holder
supposes the third letter to be also used. In 1524 appeared the first Latin version
of the second letter, by Savorgnanus, Praeclara Ferdinãdi Cortesii de Noua maris
Oceani Hyspania Narratio, Norimberga. M.D.XXIIII., which contains a copy of the
now lost map of the Gulf of Mexico, and also a plan of Mexico City. In the same
year two Italian translations of this version, by Liburnius, La Preclara Narratione,
were printed at Venice, one by Lexona, the other by Sabio, yet both at the
instance of Pederzani. The plan and map are often missing. Antonio, Bib. Hisp.
Nova, iii. 375, mentions only Lexona’s issue. A translation from Flavigny appeared
in the Portfolio, Philadelphia, 1817. The originals of the second and other letters
were, in the early part of the eighteenth century, ‘en la Libreria de Don Miguel
Nuñez de Rojas, del Consejo Real de las Ordenes,’ says Pinelo, Epitome, ii. 597.
Much of the vagueness which involves the narrative of events previous to the flight
from Mexico may be due to the loss of diary and documents during that episode.
The loss was convenient to Cortés, since it afforded an excuse for glossing over
many irregularities and misfortunes.
The third letter, dated Coyuhuacan, May 15, 1522, and relating the siege and
fall of Mexico, was first published at Seville, on Cromberger’s press, March 30,
1523, as Carta tercera de relaciõ: embiada por Fernãdo cortes capitan y justicia
mayor del yucatan llamado la nueua espana del mar oceano. It received a
reproduction in Latin by the same hand and at the same time as the second letter.
Both were reprinted, together with some missionary letters and Peter Martyr’s De
Insulis, in De Insvlis nuper Inventis Ferdinandi Cortesii. Coloniæ, M.D.XXXII. The
title-page displays a portrait of Charles V., and is bordered with his arms. Martyr’s
part, which tells rather briefly of Cortés, found frequent reprint, while the second
and third letters were republished, with other matter, in the Spanish Thesoro de
virtudes, 1543; in the German Ferdinandi Cortesii. Von dem Newen Hispanien.
Augspurg, 1550, wherein they are called first and second narratives, and divided
into chapters, with considerable liberty; in the Latin Novus Orbis of 1555 and 1616;
and in the Flemish Nieuwe Weerelt of 1563; while a French abridgment appeared
at Paris in 1532. The secret epistle accompanying the third letter was first printed
in Col. Doc. Inéd., i., and afterward by Kingsborough and Gayangos.
The fourth letter, on the progress of conquest after the fall of Mexico, dated at
Temixtitan (Mexico), October 15, 1524, was issued at Toledo, 1525, as La quarta
relacion, together with Alvarado’s and Godoy’s reports to Cortés. A second edition
followed at Valencia the year after. The secret letter accompanying it was not
published till 1865, when Icazbalceta, the well known Mexican collector,
reproduced it in separate black-letter form, and in his Col. Doc., i. 470-83.
The substance of the above three relations has been given in a vast number
of collections and histories, while in only a limited number have they been
reproduced in a full or abridged form, the first reproduction being in the third
volume of Ramusio Viaggi, of 1556, 1565, and 1606, which contains several other
pieces on the conquest, all supplied with appropriate headings and marginals.
Barcia next published them direct from the manuscript, in the Historiadores
Primitivos, i. This collection bears the imprint Madrid, 1749, but the letters had
already been printed in 1731, as Pinelo affirms, Epitome, ii. 597. Barcia died a few
years before his set was issued. From this source Archbishop Lorenzana took the
version published by him under the title of Historia de Nueva-España, Mexico,
1770, which is not free from omissions and faults, though provided with valuable
notes on localities and customs, and supplemented with illustrated pieces on
routes and native institutions, a map of New Spain by Alzate, an article on the
Gobierno Politico by Vetancurt, a copy of a native tribute-roll from picture records,
not very accurately explained, and the first map of Lower California and adjoining
coast, by Castillo, in 1541. This version of the letters was reproduced in New York,
1828, with a not wholly successful attempt by Del Mar to introduce modern
spelling. The work is also marked by a number of omissions and blunders, and the
introductory biographic sketch by Robert Sands adds little to its value. An
abridgment from Lorenzana appeared as Correspondance de Fernand Cortés, par
le Vicomte de Flavigny, Paris, 1778, which obtained three reprints during the
following year at different places. A great many liberties are taken with facts, as
may be imagined; and the letters are, beside, misnamed first, second, and third.
From the same source, or perhaps from Flavigny, of whom they savor, are Briefe
des Ferdinand Cortes, Heidelberg, 1779, with several reproductions, and with
notes; and the corrected Brieven van Ferdinand Cortes, Amsterdam, 1780-1. The
first edition in English, from Lorenzana, was issued by Folsom, as Despatches of
Hernando Cortes, New York, 1843, also with notes.
The fifth letter of the conqueror, on the famous expedition to Honduras, dated
at Temixtitan, September 3, 1526, lay hidden in the Vienna Imperial Library till
Robertson’s search for the first letter brought it to light. Hist. Am., i. xi. He made
use of it, but the first complete copy was not published till of late, in Col. Doc.
Inéd., iv. 8-167, reprinted at New York, 1848, and, in translation, in the Hakluyt
Society collection, London, 1868. It bore no date, but the copy found at Madrid has
that of September 3, 1526, and the companion letter printed in Col. Doc. Inéd., i.
14-23, that of September 11th. This, as well as the preceding letters, was issued
by Vedia, in Ribadeneyra’s Biblioteca de Autores Españoles, xxii.; the first three
letters being taken from Barcia, and the fifth from its MS. The letter of the
ayuntamiento is given and a bibliographic notice of little value. A very similar
collection is to be found in the Biblioteca Historica de la Iberia, i. But the most
complete reproduction of the principal writings by Cortés, and connected with him,
is in the Cartas y Relaciones de Hernan Cortés, Paris, 1866, by Gayangos, which
contains 26 pieces, beside the relations, chiefly letters and memorials to the
sovereign, a third of which are here printed for the first time. Although a few of
Lorenzana’s blunders find correction, others are committed, and the notes of the
archbishop are adopted without credit, and without the necessary amendment of
date, etc., which often makes them absurd. The earliest combined production of
Cortés’ relations, and many of his other writings, may be credited to Peter Martyr,
who in his Decades gave the substance of all that they relate, although he also
mingled other versions. Oviedo, in the third volume of his Hist. Gen., gives two
versions of the conquest, the first, p. 258 et seq., almost a reproduction of Cortés’
letters, and the other, p. 506 et seq., from different sources.
Beside the relations, there are a number of miscellaneous letters, petitions,
orders, instructions, and regulations, by Cortés, largely published in Navarrete,
Col. de Viages; Col. Doc. Inéd.; Pacheco and Cárdenas, Col. Doc.; Icazbalceta,
Col. Doc.; Kingsborough’s Mex. Antiq.; Alaman, Disert., and as appendices to
histories of Mexico. A special collection is the Escritos Sueltos de Hernan Cortés,
Mex., 1871, forming vol. xii. of the Bib. Hist. de la Iberia, which presents 43
miscellaneous documents from various printed sources, instructions, memorials,
and brief letters, nearly all of which are filled with complaints against ruling men in
Mexico.
Cortés’ letters have not inaptly been compared by Prescott to the
Commentaries of Cæsar, for both men were military commanders of the highest
order, who spoke and wrote like soldiers; but their relative positions with regard to
the superior authorities of their states were different, and so were their race
feelings, and their times, and these features are stamped upon their writings.
Cortés was not the powerful consul, the commander of legions, but the leader of a
horde of adventurers, and an aspirant for favor, who made his narrative an
advocate. The simplicity and energy of the style lend an air of truth to the
statements, and Helps, among others, is so impressed thereby as to declare that
Cortés ‘would as soon have thought of committing a small theft as of uttering a
falsehood in a despatch addressed to his sovereign.’ Cortés, ii. 211. But it requires
little study of the reports to discover that they are full of calculated misstatements,
both direct and negative, made whenever he considered it best for his interest to
conceal disagreeable and discreditable facts, or to magnify the danger and the
deed. They are also stamped with the religious zeal and superstition of the age,
the naïve expressions of reliance on God being even more frequent than the
measured declarations of devotedness to the king; while in between are calmly
related the most cold-blooded outrages on behalf of both. There is no apparent
effort to attract attention to himself; there is even at times displayed a modesty
most refreshing in the narrative of his own achievements, by which writers have as
a rule been quite entranced; but this savors of calculation, for the general tone is
in support of the ego, and this often to the exclusion of deserving officers. Indeed,
generous allusions to the character or deeds of others are not frequent, or they
are merged in the non-committing term of ‘one of my captains.’ Pedro de Alvarado
complains of this in one of his Relaciones, in Barcia, Hist. Prim., i. 165-6. In truth,
the calculating egotism of the diplomate mingles freely with the frankness of the
soldier. Cortés, however, is ever mindful of his character as an hidalgo, for he
never stoops to meanness, and even in speaking of his enemies he does not
resort to the invectives or sharp insinuations which they so freely scatter. His style
bears evidence of training in rhetoric and Latin, yet the parade of the latter is not
so frequent as might be expected from the half-bred student and zealot. Equally