Heinrich Barth, a German scholar attached to a British-sponsored expedition, crossed and recrossed the Sahara and the central Sudan between 1850 and 1855, outlived both of his European companions, reached Timbuktu and returned alive — bringing home one of the most valuable records of inner Africa ever produced by a nineteenth-century traveller. Where almost every contemporary in this case file died, Barth survived a five-year journey of some 10,000 to 12,000 miles, and he survived it not by force or luck but by preparation, discipline, and a working respect for the peoples whose country he crossed.
Born in Hamburg in 1821 and trained as a classical scholar and linguist, Barth set out from Tripoli early in 1850 with the British government expedition led by James Richardson, alongside a second German, the astronomer Adolf Overweg. Both leaders died of disease — Richardson in March 1851, Overweg in September 1852 — leaving Barth to carry the mission on alone. He explored the country around Lake Chad, mapped the upper Benue, and pushed west to Timbuktu, which he reached on 7 September 1853.
Barth’s survival turned on the things triumphalist exploration usually disdained. He spoke Arabic fluently and learned Hausa, Kanuri, Fulani and other African languages; he compiled vocabularies for some forty tongues; he was the first European to take the oral traditions of the Sudanic peoples seriously as historical sources, and he described the cultures he passed through with respect rather than contempt. In Timbuktu, where a non-Muslim European faced execution, his life was saved by the protection of the Tuareg-Arab scholar and spiritual leader Sheikh Ahmad al-Bakkay al-Kunti, who sheltered him in his own house against those who wanted him killed. Barth returned to Europe in September 1855 and published a vast, five-volume record of the journey. He died, comparatively unrewarded and under-appreciated in his lifetime, in Berlin in 1865. The verdict here is survival — and the mechanism of that survival is the lesson the rest of the file lacks.
The Coronado expedition marched out of Compostela in New Spain on 23 February 1540 under Francisco Vázquez de Coronado, governor of Nueva Galicia, to seize the “Seven Cities of Cíbola” — wealthy cities reported by the friar Marcos de Niza to lie north of Mexico. It was a large armed enterprise: roughly 400 European men-at-arms, mostly Spaniards, together with an estimated 1,300 to 2,000 Indigenous Mexican allies, four Franciscan friars, enslaved people, servants, and great herds of horses and livestock. Over more than two years it crossed what is now Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma and Kansas. It found no gold. It returned in 1542 a financial and strategic ruin, and most — though far from all — of those who set out came back alive.
What the expedition found instead of cities of gold was, at Cíbola, the Zuni pueblo of Hawikuh: a rock-and-adobe town that the Spaniards stormed and took on 7 July 1540, wounding Coronado in the assault. The “seven cities” were farming villages of earth and stone. Pressed for the wealth they had been promised, the Spaniards quartered themselves on the Tiwa pueblos of the Rio Grande for the winter of 1540–41, demanding food, clothing and shelter, and the abuses — including the sexual assault of a Puebloan woman — provoked a revolt. The Spanish response was the Tiguex War: under García López de Cárdenas they besieged and destroyed pueblos, and at Arenal burned to death an estimated thirty captives who had tried to surrender. Hundreds of Tiwa people died and a dozen or more pueblos were ruined or abandoned, in what is reckoned the first named war between Europeans and Native Americans in the present-day United States.
Lured on by an enslaved Plains captive the Spaniards called “the Turk,” who described a rich kingdom called Quivira on the eastern plains, Coronado marched out across the Llano Estacado in 1541 and reached Quivira — grass-house villages of the Wichita people near present-day Kansas — late that July. There was no gold there either. Concluding he had been deliberately misled, Coronado had the Turk garroted. A fall from his horse left him injured, and in spring 1542 the broken expedition turned back for Mexico, arriving that autumn. Coronado was later tried over the conduct of the expedition and acquitted; he died in 1554. The march mapped a vast stretch of the continent’s interior, but it did so at the cost of Puebloan lives and towns, and it is honestly read not as an epic of discovery but as a failed conquest.