DISCOVERER OF THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER.

(1496-1542)

IN the old Spanish town of Seville, at the time when Pizarro and his numerous brothers were conquering the gentle Peruvians, the streets were often filled with the adventurers who had returned from Mexico, Panama, and South America, laden with the treasures of plundered cities. Among these successful cavaliers, no one had a more gallant bearing, or a more captivating presence, than Hernando de Soto, who had been with the Castilian troops in their battles upon the lofty Peruvian plains.

When the rapacious Spaniards had divided the ransom of the helpless Atahuallpa, which amounted to such a fabulous sum, the ambitious De Soto’s share, it is said, was fully a million dollars of our own money. You see, therefore, that, when he returned to Spain, he could set up a princely establishment and was one of the most important citizens of the country. But, dissatisfied with the humdrum life of the civilized community in which he had hoped to end his days, he longed to go once more to this New World and discover other cities and other mines of treasure. He therefore asked the King to allow him to undertake an expedition at his own expense, for he was so rich in worldly goods that he had no need of financial assistance from the throne, which all the other discoverers and explorers has been seriously in need of. None, in fact, could have succeeded in their hazardous enterprises without the aid of the Castilian gold.

Romance is a vast assistance to exploration. Men look towards the unknown, wonder what is there, and, in order to verify their conjectures, go and explore. They bring back many stories. This element was of great aid to the daring Cavalier, for a fanciful legend was then current in Spain to the effect, that, in that far-distant America, was a country so rich in gold, that its King was completely gilded. He was known as El Dorado, the gilded man, and it became generally believed that this Kingdom of the Gilded Man lay somewhere in that vast, unexplored region, then called Florida.

The King of Spain appointed De Soto Governor of this fabled country, and decreed that he should have the power to subdue and to rule it. When it became known that the famous cavalier was about to start for the New World, recruits flocked to his standard, and both high and low-born vied with each other to gain a place in his company of explorers. Men of noble birth even sold their estates in order to properly equip themselves for this expedition, as they expected to duplicate the experiences of the cavaliers in Peru and in Mexico. Many a tradesman, also, parted with his little shop in order to purchase armor, guns, and supplies for the great undertaking. The conquest of Florida was the talk of the hour and was upon every lip. It was a popular enterprise.

One beautifully clear morning in Spring a fleet of white-winged galleons swept from the harbor of Seville. Crowds lined the quays, and, although a faint cheer or two was heard, there were many gloomy faces, for there was a multitude of disappointed aspirants who could not find a vacant place upon the overcrowded ships. Bugles blared a parting salute, the yellow flag of Spain was dipped into the blue Atlantic, and with cries of “Adios! We will find El Dorado!” the cheering followers of this swashbuckling hero of that day, gazed eagerly towards the now well-known passage to the Spanish Main. It was more like a monster picnic party than a serious expedition.

The Spaniards landed at Cuba, where they delayed for nearly a year, and passed their time in a round of balls, tilting-matches and bullfights. After having enjoyed themselves to the full, they again embarked and headed for Florida, landing upon the beach at Tampa, where the American troops who were to wrest Cuba from the Spanish rule, set out for the harbor of Santiago, in the summer of 1898. All were cheerful and happy, eagerly looking forward to the not far distant time when they would find rich and populous cities to be sacked and looted in the same manner that they had despoiled the Peruvian and Mexican strongholds.

Fearing no enemy, about three hundred of them went ashore and encamped near the beach. They christened the bay, The Bay of the Holy Spirit; and yet they were to find no Holy Spirit nestling behind the solemn palm trees which grew almost down to the sand, for, as they lay in fanciful security, suddenly the thicket rang with the wild war-whoops of the native Floridians, and a horde of dusky forms rushed in among them, shooting arrows and striking with sharp, stone tomahawks.

All was now a scene of terror and confusion. A few of the Spaniards ran to the water’s edge, shrilly blowing upon their trumpets in order to attract those left upon the ships. Others cried loudly for help, and, piling into the longboats, their comrades hastened to their assistance, leaped upon the sand, and, with a fierce battle-cry, drove the Indians pell-mell into the sheltering palms. Thereafter the Castilians were most careful to establish a picket-post around their encampments, for they had suffered severely in this first encounter.

The boats were now unloaded, many of the larger vessels were sent back to Cuba, while the smaller craft, or caravels, were kept for the service of the army. A number of men were left on guard at Tampa, while the remainder set off into the forest, heading towards the northeast. They had not gone far before they came upon a white man, who was none other than a lonely survivor of a previous expedition, led by a Spaniard called NarvÁez. His name was Juan Ortiz. He had been with the Indians for a long time, as he had been very young when captured by the natives. They had spared his life because of the intercession of a chief’s daughter. Since this lucky proceeding, which was quite similar to that of Pocohontas and John Rolfe, he had lived with a neighboring tribe. The Spaniards were delighted to secure his services as a guide and interpreter.

When the followers of Pizarro had reached Peru they had immediately found gold among the natives. You know that this is what they were after and what they seized upon with greedy fingers. Not so in palm-studded Florida. For, as the mail-clad invaders pushed into this barren and sandy country, they found no gold and no splendid cities with temples filled with jeweled images. After marching for hours through interminable pine forests and floundering through dense swamps, where the natives shot at them with poisoned arrows from behind trees, and harassed and slew them as they splashed through the mire and deep water, they found nothing but deserted villages and a few aged Indians who were too decrepit to make their escape.

This naturally angered the adventurers. Those who had sold their property in order to join in this hazardous expedition, began to be sorry that they had ever left the peaceful soil of old Castile. Those who had sacrificed good positions to take a chance in the search of this El Dorado, began to bewail their coming, and to bemoan the fact that they had listened to the sweet strains of romance which had been woven over these expeditions into the unknown.

The fabled El Dorado could be no gilded chieftain, he was a gilded fool. Alas that they ever left the gray cobbled streets of ancient Seville!

Yet on, on, they toiled wearily, ever hoping to find the gold which never came to view. They finally approached a native village which was filled with warriors of mettle, for they were furiously attacked. A shower of arrows fell among them, but, little heeding these missiles, the Spaniards discharged their guns, and, rushing upon the patriotic Indians, easily routed them. Many of the poor redskins took refuge in a pond and swam out so that they could not be reached. The Spaniards immediately surrounded the water and awaited developments. A historian of the period says:

“Nine hundred Indians took to the pond, and, all day long, continued to swim around shouting defiance and mounting on each other’s shoulders in order to shoot their arrows. Night came, and not one had surrendered; midnight, and still not one. At ten o’clock the next day, after twenty-four hours in the water, some two hundred came out, all stiff and cold. Others followed. The last seven would not give up, but were dragged out unconscious by the Spaniards, who swam in after them, when they had been thirty hours in the water, without touching bottom. Then the humane invaders exerted themselves to warm and restore to life these unfortunate people.”

In spite of this kind treatment, the men from Castile put irons on many of these natives, and took them along with them, so that they would have slaves to transport their baggage, pound their corn, and serve them when in camp. A soldier, who has written of this journey, says that, upon one occasion, the enslaved prisoners rose against their masters and tried to massacre them, but the Spaniards crushed this attempt, brought the helpless Indians to the village square, and caused them to be hacked to pieces by their halberdiers, or swordsmen. You can readily see that these invaders were making no happy impression upon simple-minded Americans.

The Spaniards were now in the country of Apalachee, which was then, as it is to-day, a land of agriculture, with well-tilled fields of corn, of pumpkins and beans, and with a farm-loving population of red men. The Castilians seized all the provisions which they needed for their journey, and, when the Indians objected, slew them mercilessly, but not without the loss of many of their own people.

Although the majority of the party were much dissatisfied with the fact that they had not discovered gold, De Soto seemed to be satisfied with the outlook. A few men were sent to the south in order to find the ocean, and came back with the report that they had run upon a magnificent harbor: the Bay of Pensacola. They had also seen the skulls of horses on the beach, these being the remains of those killed by the Spanish explorer, NarvÁez, who had fed the flesh to his men while engaged in building boats for their departure from this country. De Soto ordered a vessel to set sail for Cuba, stating that he had met with great success, was much pleased with the outlook, and wished more men and horses.

This was all very well for the provisional Governor, but still no gold had been found, and the soldiers were discouraged and disgusted with this lack of success. Eagerly they listened to the tales of two Indian boys who undertook to guide them to a region where they would find gold in abundance; the land of the Cofachiqui. It was towards the northeast, said the lads, so the Spaniards set out in that direction, expecting to find a city similar to Tumbez in Peru, and also El Dorado, the golden man, sitting upon a throne of solid golden ingots. Accordingly, they set out to cross the territory which is now the State of Georgia. It was a pleasant, fruitful land, inhabited by a peaceable and kindly people, who entertained them hospitably in their villages, and furnished them generously with food. The Spaniards had no need of resorting to their usual cruel methods, and the chiefs gave them guides and porters so that they could more easily pass on.

But see how crafty and keen these old Indians were!

A certain chieftain offered to furnish the travelers with guides and with porters. The Castilians eagerly accepted the offer, but so many armed warriors assembled in order to go with them, that the Spaniards suspected them of meditating treachery, and thus watched them very closely. The Indians seemed to travel along peacefully enough; but, when the village of Cofachiqui was reached, and the Spanish soldiers had gone to sleep, their redskinned guides and porters fell upon the unsuspecting natives, who lived there, and massacred all upon whom they could lay their hands. This, indeed, had been a war-party in disguise, which had taken a clever method of invading the territory of a tribe which was hostile to them, and which heretofore they had been afraid to attack. The affair took place at a distance of between thirty or forty miles below the present city of Augusta, Georgia.

Still the travelers kept on and on. Ever were their thoughts upon gold, and yet no gold seemed to appear, nor did the natives seem to possess any of the precious metal. After they had crossed a broad river, they found a well-to-do race of natives in a well-tilled country, governed by a young woman who received them with great kindness and gave them corn, pork, and sweet potatoes. She also presented them with pearls, of which she had a great quantity, as they were found in the shell-fish in the streams. De Soto saw little value in these stones, and, although he was invited to carry away all that he could, he refused to take more than fifty pounds, as a sample to show to the Cubans when he should return. He was also presented with a herd of hogs, which he drove off before him towards the west.

The climate was not unhealthy, and so the Castilians had an easy time of it. They wandered through upper Georgia, across the mountains into lower Tennessee, and then into the present State of Alabama. As vessels from Cuba were expected to meet them with re-enforcements and supplies, they now headed for Pensacola Bay.

At a place called Choctaw Bluff, not far from the present city of Mobile, they came to an Indian town presided over by a fierce chieftain by the name of Tuscaloosa, which means Black Warrior. This village had the sweet-sounding name of Mauvila. It was surrounded by a high palisade, which was chinked and plastered with mud, and, besides this, there were slits in the sides of the walls, so that those who defended it could shoot through at an attacking party.

De Soto rode ahead of the main body of Castilians with about a hundred horsemen. They were clad in doublets and trousers, with steel caps, breast plates and greaves upon their legs. As it was warm, most of this armor was slung to their saddles with cords, while the cavaliers trotted along joyously, chanting many an old Spanish song, and laughing and jesting with one another, for they were having a pleasant journey, even though no gold had been discovered. Reaching the sleepy little village of these southern Indians, they were met by the chief, Tuscaloosa, who appeared to be most friendly and asked them to enter and have a feast. Fearing nothing, and remembering the pleasant reception which they had received while marching through Georgia, they trotted gayly forward, while De Soto chatted with the chief by means of a native interpreter.

They rode to a position near the palisade, and then, dismounting, went inside in order to greet the inhabitants. Here was a large Indian town and hundreds of women, who greeted them in a friendly manner and waved their hands. Almost immediately a blow was struck. The Spaniards say that they were enticed into the palisade on purpose, and in order that they might be slaughtered by thousands of warriors who were hidden behind the wigwams, and had been summoned thither from the surrounding country. This is hardly probable, for, had the Indians contemplated a battle, they would certainly have first removed their children. No doubt a hot-headed Castilian started all the trouble. At any rate the soldiers from Seville were soon engaged in a fierce hand-to-hand encounter with a vast concourse of howling savages.

There was a fearful battle. The cavaliers had fortunately donned their armor, after dismounting from their horses, and it was well, for a shower of sharp-pointed arrows fell amongst them. A horde of Indians swarmed from their houses and swept the invaders before them, driving them in a struggling mass through the narrow entrance to the palisade. The Castilians ran to their horses and hastily mounted, but some were so hard-pressed by the natives that they were unable to get into their saddles, while their patient steeds, struck with a shower of arrows, broke away and ran frantically into the woods. In spite of the confusion and uproar, the Spaniards kept cool, and, although driven to a distance, formed a battle line and came back, pressing the native bowmen before them. With fixed lances they charged into the yelping mob, only to be met with splendid courage by the native soldiers.

De Soto bore himself right valiantly and led his men, using his long, sharp lance with deadly effect. His soldiers, too, were not laggards in the attack, and followed him closely, shouting the Spanish battle cry: “St. Iago and at them!” Many were sorely wounded. De Soto himself, as he leaned forward to make a lance thrust, received an arrow in the exposed portion of his thigh. This made it impossible for him to sit down, so, throughout the remainder of the day, he rode, standing in his stirrups.

Several of the more prominent Castilians were shot dead. The Spanish leader’s brother, Diego de Soto, was pierced through the eye by an arrow, which came out at the back of his neck. A young cavalier, called Carlo Enriquez, who had married the Governor of Florida’s niece, leaned over the neck of his horse in order to pull out an arrow from the animal’s breast, and thus exposed his throat, which was instantly pierced by an Indian barb, so that he fell prostrate. Thus the battle raged furiously, while shrill trumpets blared out the distress of the Spaniards and summoned their easy-riding comrades to come speedily to their assistance.

The greater portion of De Soto’s troop were jogging peacefully along in the sunshine, little realizing into what a desperate strait their advance guard had fallen. Late in the afternoon they approached the Indian village and were much surprised to see dense volumes of smoke rising to the sky. Those in advance sent back word to hurry on, while they galloped forward in order to see what was amiss. All hurried towards the sound of battle, and, now, realizing that their comrades were in a desperate fight, they rushed to their assistance, cheering wildly as they did so. The black smoke was pouring from the thatched Indian houses, which the Spaniards had set on fire, and a bloody hand-to-hand engagement was in progress around the smoking dÉbris. The main body of cavaliers had now arrived. They charged vigorously, cutting down both women and men, and, amidst the shrieks of the women and wailing of little children, Tuscaloosa’s people were annihilated. At last all had been dispersed or butchered.

The Spanish histories of this bloody affair say that at last only a solitary warrior was left. Seeing that all his friends and companions had either perished or fled, he sprang upon the palisade, and, finding that he was surrounded on all sides by vindictive steel-clad Spaniards with menacing swords, he twisted off his bow-string, and, making a slip-noose, hanged himself to the stout limb of a tree.

The battle of Mauvila had left De Soto in a sorry state, for eighty-two of his followers had been killed, and so many of the men had been wounded that the surgeon could not give them proper attention. In fact, so broken up were the cavaliers, and particularly the horses, which had suffered badly from the numerous arrows which had been fired into them, that De Soto was forced to tarry in the vicinity of the ruined Indian village for three weeks. The Spanish accounts of the battle say that eleven thousand natives fell before the swords, lances, and clumsy muskets of the Castilian invaders of this peaceful country.

De Soto was only a few days’ journey from Pensacola, where the ship, which he had sent to Cuba for supplies, was to reach him. Yet, instead of heading for the ocean, he decided to march towards the north, evidently hoping to find some city where was gold and silver, similar to that which he had seen in the table-lands of Peru.

The El Dorado seekers accordingly marched northwest, and passed through a flat country where was much game. The Indians were treacherous and constantly annoyed them by attempting to steal their horses, and by attacking any parties which traveled at a distance from the main column. It was now December. As the weather grew chill, De Soto determined to spend the winter in some convenient spot, and, as he now came upon a well-built Indian town, which had recently been deserted, he reached the conclusion that this was the very place for which he had been in search. Accordingly, his cavaliers made themselves comfortable in the thatched huts of the Chickasaws, for such was the name of the redskins who had settled here.

Trouble was still in store for the adventurous gold-seekers.

After their many battles and long journeys, the men enjoyed themselves in hunting and in taking life easy. There was an abundance of corn stored here, so their horses grew sleek and fat, while their masters chased rabbits and other small game. All was peaceful. Apparently not an Indian was in the vicinity, so the guards relaxed their vigilance, grew somewhat careless, and unsuspectingly offered a tempting opening to any redskins who might wish to attack them.

One night the Chickasaws made good use of their opportunity to get even with the invaders of what they considered to be their sacred soil. It was towards the end of January and a fierce north wind was blowing. While the men were sleeping in their huts, suddenly a wild war-whoop welled upon the night air, and, as the wind howled dismally, the roofs over their heads burst into a crackling blaze. Fanned by the high breeze, the flames leaped into the air, and, in a moment the whole camp was red with fire. The Spaniards sprang to arms and rushed forth to the fray, some in their shirts, and many without their armor on.

What had happened?

Under cover of the darkness, and unheard, because of the blustering wind, the vindictive Chickasaws had approached their abandoned town and had furiously attacked it. They had poured in a volley of arrows with burning wisps attached to them, which quickly ignited the thatched roofs and sent a reddening glare over the scene of confusion. De Soto leaped upon his horse, but did so hurriedly and without tightening the girth. It turned with him and he pitched to the ground, falling upon his chest. Immediately the howling savages surrounded him and attempted to put an end to his life, but his men rushed to his assistance, beat off the shrieking Chickasaws, and dragged him by the feet to a position of safety. Leaping again to the saddle, with a mighty cheer, he led his men into the fray with such impetuosity, that the Indians disappeared into the blackness. Forty of the Spaniards had been killed, fifty of their precious horses had been prostrated by barbed arrows and flaming brands, while the larger part of their clothing, arms, their saddles and their provisions, had been consumed. They were also houseless, and the wind was bitterly chill. Fortunately, the Chickasaws did not again attack.

But the hostile savages did not leave them alone. When Spring came and the horsemen resumed their march, they were repeatedly harassed by the red men, who crept near them on every side, and cut down any unsuspecting Spaniard who wandered from the column.

Pursuing a northwesterly course, the cavaliers at length came upon a great force of the natives, who, stripped to their waists and painted with various colors, yelled their defiance and brandished their spears and arrows at the invaders. Nearby was their stronghold, a palisade surrounding their huts, which had three entrances. The Spaniards advanced in three columns to attack these openings.

What could these half-clad redskins do against men in steel armor, and with sword, buckler, and arquebusier? The Castilians drove them into their fortification like sheep, and there massacred them as they had the fierce warriors under Tuscaloosa. According to old accounts, two thousand of the Indians were slain, although the native warriors inflicted quite a loss upon their attackers. The invaders secured provisions, corn, and female slaves, which they transported with them in their journey towards the northwest.

The Spaniards took their battles lightly, for they considered it all a part of the day’s work. They resumed their march, but now they must have been pretty sure that no El Dorado could exist in this flat and somewhat marshy country. Still, they were cheerful, and when, a few weeks later, they came upon a great muddy river which was so wide that they could not see a man upon the other bank, they felt that certainly their trip, their many discomforts, and their losses, had not been in vain. When they viewed the turbid current of the Mississippi they were filled with silent awe, and a priest, holding the cross of Christ high in the air, blessed the surging flood, while De Soto cried out: “I take you in behalf of the King of Spain, and shall call you mine own from henceforth!”

This gallant cavalier was a man of resource. He set his soldiers immediately to work constructing boats, and, gradually moving up the river in order to find a place where it would be possible to cross—for the little army was upon high bluffs (now called the Chickasaw Bluffs)—he transported all in safety to the other side and into the land of Arkansas, the seventh State of the present Union, upon whose soil these restless explorers had set their feet.

They wandered towards the setting sun. Here were vast plains filled with herds of buffalo and roving bands of hostile redskins, from whom they learned that other white men had preceded them, although rumors of the adventurous Coronado’s march had traveled eastward by word of mouth among the native inhabitants of the plains. This Spaniard had traveled thither from Mexico, and, could the two parties have met each other, there would have been great rejoicing. But there was to be no such good fortune, and De Soto’s men found only simple, but treacherous natives.

The Spaniards lost some of their horses. The escape of these was fortunate for future generations of pioneers, as many an emigrant in later years was able to cross the plains by capturing and taming one of the descendants of these fugitives from the bit and the saddle.

The adventurers wandered about for many months, wintered in a well-provisioned village near the Red River, within the present State of Louisiana, then, to the great joy of the now well-seasoned veterans, De Soto told them that he was about to return to the great, turbid Mississippi. He informed the wanderers that he intended to build boats, send them down the stream and across the Gulf of Mexico, to Cuba, and to transport thither many other men and a plentiful supply of provisions, so as to establish a colony in his Kingdom of Florida.

The conception was a grand one. Yet the imaginative and jealous Castilian had not reckoned with one powerful enemy, that cruel and unrelenting persecutor called Death.

The active brain of this gallant explorer was busy with perfecting his plans for the founding of a settlement in the wilderness. He carefully selected the officers and crews who were to take charge of the vessels which he proposed to build. He chose those who were to remain with him upon the banks of the rolling Mississippi. Some were set to work cutting timbers; others collected gum from pine trees; while still others put up forges and made nails from bits of iron which they had carried with them. All were busy and active in preparation both for the stay of those who were to colonize this country, and the departure of those who were to leave. Yet the fever was in the veins of our venturesome Castilian and his customary vigor was slackened. De Soto grew so weakened that he had to be carried to his tent and was delirious.

While upon the Red River, one of the malaria-breeding mosquitoes had driven his tiny sting into the flesh of the brave adventurer. He had sickened from the poison, yet refused to give up to the disease, until the fever was raging in his veins. He now sank rapidly. Yellow fever had doubtless assailed him, and his system, already weakened by much exposure and by shock of battle, could not throw off the inroads of the dread disease. He sank day by day. When he knew that the end was approaching, he called his officers together, asked their forgiveness for any wrong which he might have done them, and named Moscoso de Alvarado to succeed him to the command of the expedition. Officers and bluff soldiers all swore allegiance to their new leader. The dying explorer begged his followers to carry out his ideas in the settlement of the vast country of Florida, and this they promised him that they would do.

One warm, sultry morning, when the mocking bird was trilling a beautiful melody from an overhanging sycamore, which jutted over the bank of the slow-moving, yet turbulent Mississippi, the spirit of the bold adventurer departed. His hardened and sunburned companions were dewy-eyed when they gazed upon the still countenance of their friend and kindly adviser. They wrapped him in a sheet, rowed him to the center of the swirling stream, dropped him overboard, and left him amidst the silence of the great, wild country where the “golden man” had never been found.

So perished De Soto, a cavalier of Spain in a day when Spain had great warriors and noble-minded, yet adventuresome men. As a horseman he had few superiors; as a soldier he could bear as many privations as any man. Towards his own cavaliers he was merciful and just; towards the hostile natives of silent Florida he was merciless and cruel. He was a man of learning, of imagination, of iron will, as is exhibited by the fact that he held his gold-worshiping supporters to their journey long after many had sickened of the affair and had wished to go home. At one time worth a million dollars, the companion of Kings and of Princes, he died in the wilderness of the New World. His followers drifted back to Mexico, broken in both health and in spirit, so his ambitious dream for a colony in the land of the fanciful El Dorado was never consummated.