In the last quarter of the seventeenth century the Spanish officials of Florida, both religious and civil, became convinced that a certain game of ball played by the Christian Indians was detrimental to their bodies, their souls, and the peace of the provinces of Apalache and Ustaqua. During a ten-year campaign this time-honored custom was investigated, argued over and finally outlawed. The story of this crusade against a ballgame is valuable for both the ethnologist and the Spanish colonial historian. For the ethnologist it is important because among the documents is a lengthy description of the game and its associated myths and magic: “Origin and beginnings of the game of pelota which the Apalache and Ustaqua Indians have played since pagan times up to the year 1676, brought to light by the Reverend Father Fray Juan de Paiva, Father of the mission of San Luis de Talimali. September 23, 1676.” For the colonial historian, the campaign demonstrates the identification of conversion with sovereignty long past contact and conquest, as well as the interwoven relationships among civil and religious authorities, unofficial Spanish residents, and native nobility.

In this discussion of the sources used by Fray Juan de Torquemada it is not our intention to reopen the question of plagiarism in his historical writings. The purpose of this study, as will be explained, is simply to find out the varied and rich sources which Torquemada used as well as to judge objectively how he employed them throughout his “Veintiún libros rituales.” It has been said, and correctly so, that the Monarquía Indiana is a sort of “crónica de las crónicas.” In fact, the sources consulted by its author are very numerous. As we shall see, these embrace various kinds of indigenous records, many unedited chronicles and other Spanish documents likewise unpublished, as well as, lastly, a rather small group of printed works.

This remarkable statement, issued by the Lima Inquisition, suggests the extent to which Portuguese and their descendants had penetrated the Peruvian commercial system during the six-decade union of the Spanish and Portuguese Crowns. Spanish concern over the presence of Portuguese merchants in the viceroyalty extended to the royal bureaucracy and Lima Consulado. For example, one important government functionary writing to the King in 1619 assessed the situation as follows: “These Portuguese … in the Provinces of Peru are many of them rich, powerful, and very intelligent in all aspects of commerce. They maintain communication with many other Portuguese retail and wholesale merchants who reside in the stated realms. …” The Consulado issued numerous complaints against Portuguese merchants and often agitated for their expulsion on the grounds that they increasingly dominated trade to the detriment of Spaniards. By 1639, the majority of Portuguese merchants had been expelled from Lima and from many other parts of the viceroyalty thanks to a rapid and far-reaching expurgation by the Inquisition. Indeed, Spanish merchant monopolists and their government-sanctioned trading association, the Consulado, acted in concert with the Lima Inquisition to harass and eventually to oust their Portuguest competitors. The establishment of Portuguese merchants in Peru and their subsequent purge by the Holy Office comprise a crucial chapter in the business history of imperial Spain.

This essay deals with the lore of the military profession in Latin America in two ways. First, it presents a general introduction to militarylore, its applications to the study of military-civilian relations and its limitations as a research tool. Second, it presents an application (with obvious limitations) of concepts discussed in part I to a case study, part II: the lore of the Chilean Army officer class in the twentieth century. I am convinced that militarylore as defined and discussed herein is an especially fertile field for research in the study of the interaction between the armed forces and state, nation and society.

Terminology used in the following pages is for the most part selfexplanatory and free from neologisms, jargon and “sociologese.” There are, though, some terms which merit clarification, not because of their vagueness, but so that they not be confused with similar terms. There is, I believe, a decreasing tendency to generalize about military-civilian relations; clarity is important.

Trans-Pacific relations of Japan and Latin America began toward the end of the sixteenth century, but it was not until almost three centuries later that continuous contact was established. A seclusion law, adopted in 1638 by the Tokugawa shogunate of Japan, was enforced until the late nineteenth century. During this period Japanese citizens going abroad were subject to the death penalty upon returning, and foreigners, except for a limited number of Chinese and Dutch traders, were excluded from Japan. The expedition of Commodore Matthew C. Perry was instrumental in reestablishing Japan's relations with the West. Following the restoration of the Meiji Emperor, Mitsuhito, in 1868, Japanese were encouraged to seek knowledge throughout the world; however, the emigration of Japanese subjects, in general, was not legalized until 1885.

The expulsion of the Jesuits from Spain and her possessions represents a historical question mark, in so far as the decisive factors which led to that event are still far from being clear. Ludwig von Pastor's dictum that the whole affair was a most secretive one remains the one conclusion beyond doubt. Historians have presented various hypotheses on the causes for expulsion, but none of them are conclusive or definitive. Among the more probable and plausible of these hypotheses, that of the regalist policies of the Spanish Crown appears to be the most convincing. In effect, regalism as an antithetical force to the organization and activities of the order has been implied by nineteenth and twentieth-century Spanish historians, although they tended to view the “Cloaks and Hats” riot of 1766 as the essential cause of the Jesuits' expulsion.

Scholars have frequently argued about the nature and extent of British participation in the economic and political life of the countries which emerged during the nineteenth century. Historians who seek to disprove general or specific theses concerning British imperialism in the nineteenth century, often focus their discussions on the doctrines of “Free Trade” and “Laissez-Faire” and their impact on the formulation and implementation of British official policy. They note that Britain refused any opportunity to attain formal special status and demanded that it have only equal opportunities for trade.

There were many kinds of money in use in New Spain from the time of the conquest to the opening of the mint in Mexico City in 1537. Some was Spanish; other was Indian and dated back centuries before the arrival of the Spaniards. After the conquest, Spanish coins were the official media of exchange, but there were very few in New Spain.

Once the mint was in operation, Spanish coins became the first legal tender in the New World—begun 256 years before the first authorized coin was struck at Philadelphia. Furthermore, these “Mexican” coins served as a medium of exchange the world over. The real circulated freely in the Orient; many specimens bear “chop-marks” indicating the official validation of each individual bank through which they passed.

In fact, the Spanish real became the standard of the currency of the United States and circulated with official sanction until 1857. One real was equal to twelve and one-half cents and was called a bit. A quarter of a dollar or twenty-five cents was equal to two bits, hence the present day expression.

It is often assumed that the most creative aspect of Latin American thought, since independence, has been revolutionary. To a considerable degree this is true, as this author has himself pointed out in previous writings. But Latin America has also felt the impact of a different stream of creative thought, Spanish in origin to a considerable degree, though not completely so—the stream of Hispanic and Christian traditionalism. But this traditionalism is a mixed current. Thus, Pablo González Casanova of Mexico has shown that while reactionary forces often opposed it, “modern” Christian thought in Spain and New Spain was absorbing the new philosophy and science of the eighteenth century. Alberto Caturelli and Enrique Zuleta Álvarez. of Argentina, in somewhat different ways, have pointed out a mixture of Christian traditionalism with liberal streams of thought in that country. Moisés González Navarro of Mexico found in the historian-statesman, Lucas Alamán, a mixture of Christian traditionalism and economic liberalism. Carlos Valderrama Andrade of Colombia has found that traditionalists such as Miguel Antonio Caro (1843-1909), and his father before him, mixed with the conservative elements of traditionalist thought progressive elements not unlike those of modern Christian democracy.

By 1860, racism had taken its toll on the psyche of thousands of free blacks. The Fugitive Slave Law of 1850, the South's demands for the extension of slavery and the re-opening of the African slave trade, the Dred Scott decision of 1857 and the denial of suffrage, the right to hold public office, the right to be a juror, policeman or judge convinced thousands of free blacks to seek dignity away from the country's shores. Liberia, which had attracted Afro-Americans since the 1820's, was too far away and considered unhealthy for expatriates. But Haiti, jewel of the Caribbean, was near and most importantly, she beckoned to her northern brothers to come south.

In 1859 Fabre Geffrard, military hero of the wars with the Dominican Republic, overthrew the despotic regime of Emperor Faustin I and formed a republican form of government with himself as president for life. Haiti needed to be developed. President Geffrard looked to America's black agriculturists to replace the thousands of Haitians killed in the nation's wars and revolutions.

Since early times civil and religious authorities of New Spain showed considerable interest in population statistics of New Mexico. Such an interest was directly related to the peculiarities of settlement in the province since the Reconquest, fourteen years after the bloody Indian uprising of 1680. From then on, control over New Mexico could only be sustained with great difficulty—final pacification could not be achieved until the late eighteenth century—for a purely geopolitical reason: keeping New Mexico for the Crown as a defensive bulwark in the northern approaches of New Spain against the penetration of hostile Indians and foreigners. In that sense, the Franciscan missions performed a decisive role in affirming the Spanish occupation of the territory.

The demographic configuration of Brazil during the colonial period is known only in its general outlines. To a large degree this is due to the unavailability of census data for most of the colonial period as well as to a general reluctance on the part of historians to resort to the laborious process of systematically using parish records or census tracts. This essay is an effort to present detailed information on a colonial Brazilian urban center in the hope that it will provide some insights into the structure of colonial society while at the same time providing material from which comparisons can be drawn with other parts of the world for which the demographic picture is clearer. Because of the paucity of comparable studies for other areas of Brazil no claim is made, at this time, concerning the generalizability of the conclusions reached from the Vila Rica data.

The wars of the French Revolution and Napoleon obliterated century-old boundaries. In the tedious reformation of European borders, nations quarreled so violently at times—such as over Poland and Saxony—that it seemed as if new wars would immediately engulf Europe. This study explores a major Iberian storm center, which existed on the eastern Portuguese border at Olivenza. Repercussions of this conflict between Spain and Portugal extended from Moscow to Montevideo—and resulted in the formation of a new nation, Uruguay.

In January of 1914 a young Mexican lawyer named Luis Cabrera, who was already on his way to becoming one of the most important figures of the Mexican Revolution, arrived in Washington on a special mission for the First Chief of the Constitutional movement, Venustiano Carranza. Cabrera's task was to persuade President Woodrow Wilson to lift a ban on the sale of American arms and munitions to Mexican factions, and his success in this effort encouraged Carranza to turn to him in a variety of other Mexican-American crises during the next three years. In the course of three difficult negotiations he became well-known in Washington and played a role in the development of American policy toward the Mexican Revolution. Though less important then Wilson's own agents in the shaping of American policy, Luis Cabrera should be better-known to those who would understand Wilsonian policy toward Mexico.

At first glance, nothing could be stranger than a paper discussing the relationship between Martín Fierro and peronism. It is not just the disparity of genres. The gulf of history that separates their worlds and styles appears to be unbridgeable. Martín Fierro is emblematic of the gaucho, the endless pampa, man alone, the pastoral economy, individualism and the search for personal transcendence. Peronismo, on the other hand, calls up images of the factory worker, the city, mass society, the industrial economy, corporatist idealogy and the struggle for collective salvation.

Despite these differences, however, Martín Fierro and peronismo are in both clear and complex ways of the same lineage and an analysis of their relationship illuminates both generations—and a century of Argentine social protest. The world's of Martín Fierro and peronismo may be different, but the line of descent that joins them is as clear as that which leads from Fierro's pampa milonga to the tango of porteño peronismo and as complex as that which runs from the singer in the pulpería to the orator in the Plaza de Mayo.

Paraguay, by the mid-nineteenth century, was alone among the South American nations in its policy of internal development and economic autonomy. Exemplifying this were the many independent efforts at modernizing the country and its economy, including the building of a railway, telegraph system, and perhaps most importantly, an iron foundry. Although many foreign advisers were hired for these projects, ultimate control and direction rested in the hands of the Paraguayans themselves.

Elsewhere throughout the continent a new British-dominated neocolonial order had taken firm root. Britain's diplomatic ventures at this time centered on the formation of alliances with such American metropolises as Lima and Buenos Aires. These compacts were built upon mutual interests in reconstructing the splintered Viceroyalties into viable political units under basically British hegemony. “The nail is driven,” wrote Foreign Secretary Canning in 1824, “Spanish America is free, and if we do not mismanage our affairs sadly, she is English.”

In 1920, Chile entered a transitional period during which political issues sparked intense social tensions. A fundamental reform of the Alianza Liberal coalition was to open the political system to fuller citizen participation, a prospect which threatened the Chilean elite. To thwart reform and change, an oligarchy, closely united by kinship ties and mutual interest, pursued a policy of obstructionism in the Senate which effectively paralyzed government. The four years 1920-1924 during which Arturo Alessandri occupied the presidency were so turbulent and frustrating that the military alone seemed capable of reestablishing order.

The Coleccion SepSetentas which was published by the Departamento de Divulgación de la Secretaría de Educación Pública during the recent presidential term of Lic. Luis Echeverria (1970-1976), contains many volumes of interest to historians. However, it should be noted that of the 315 volumes, which form this Colección, some are readily identifiable as historical while there are some which were not written by historians or not written explicitly to narrate past events. In great measure this style of writing corresponds to the modern tendency (as Alejandra Moreno Toscano asserts vol. 143) to supplement historical research with the findings of anthropologists, sociologists, economists, geographers and urbanists. On the other hand, some authors in SepSetentas state that they will study human groups or anthropological problems, systems and structures, but since they use the historical method, their volumes are useful also to the historian.

The centuries-old Spanish folk heritage of our Southwest, and its many faceted and enduring influence on the cultural life of the region, has been written about from various rims of observation. This article describes the pioneer studies of Aurelio M. Espinosa on Spanish folklore in the Southwest, with special emphasis on northern New Mexico. Although he made important contributions to the study of Spanish folklore of southern Colorado, Arizona, and California, and to that of Spain, Mexico, and other parts of Spanish America as well, he devoted most of his research and field work to the upper half of New Mexico which is the richest field of Spanish folklore in the Southwest.

In viewing the cultural history of New Mexico, Espinosa reminded his readers that its first century as a Spanish colony, the 17th, was the second great century of Spain's Golden Age of arts and letters. With the vigor of Spain's sense of mission in those centuries, her Golden Age radiated to all parts of Spanish America via Mexico City, Lima, and the other principal colonial capitals. At the same time, from the bookshelf and the store of knowledge of the humble missionary, and the folklore of the Spanish settlers, passed down from generation to generation, the spirit of the Golden Age was reflected on the most remote settled frontiers.

Conceived in trepidation, plagued by ineptitude, and ultimately relegated to obscurity, the Villa de Branciforte marked the last Spanish colonial town to be founded in California, or for that matter, in the Americas. A hybrid of civilian and military enterprise, Branciforte was envisioned as California's grandest town only to become instead an early casualty of incompetence and Madrid's depleted exchequer. Yet, despite its misfortunes, the Villa was within a venerable and generally successful tradition of frontier endeavor. In certain instances, the resources of Spain's distinct urban institutions of settlement and pacification—the presidio, pueblo and mission—were joined in varying combinations to meet the demands of extraordinary circumstance. If the Villa de Branciforte failed in its assignment, it was primarily for want of sagacity.