Nearly eight months now lie behind the expedition, and they had been months of almost superhuman endurance. Exposure to rain and cold, groping through tangled swamps, and wading or swimming numerous creeks and rivers, undergoing hunger, fatigue, and sickness, kept in constant anxiety, by day and by night, lest they be attacked by a stealthy foe, climbing high hills and mountains without the semblance of a road, or even a path, fighting frequently without any knowledge of the force opposed, utterly cut off from communication with home, or with the outside world, and utterly without any compensation for all endured—when were the trials of a body of men greater? Their ranks were now thinned, most of their luggage was gone, they were worn out by long marches, many of their comrades were sleeping in graves in a land of wilderness, and yet not a grain of the much-sought gold has been found. Many had staked their fortunes on the quest, and these young, blooded Castilians were now beginning to show signs of hostile restlessness.

DeSoto discovered all this, and he had so often cheered them with dazzling phantoms, while he had only poverty and distress to offer, that he knew not whither to turn in an extremity so dire. A difficulty now faced him that required greater courage than that needed to resist Indian arrows, for his men were quietly fomenting rebellion. They had learned from Indian visitors to the camp, that a fleet of Spanish ships, under Maldinado, was lying off the present location of Pensacola, awaiting the return of DeSoto. This was corroborated by other reports from the coast. This impelled a determination on the part of the men, to break away and seek the shores of the south. DeSoto would himself have turned southward at this juncture, but for his humiliating failure. The vision of his sumptuous home in distant Spain rose often before him, and in his dreams he had pictured a palace rivalling that of royalty, in consequence of his discovery of gold, but he was destined never to see that home again.

The worst at last came. His apprehensions were fully confirmed when he learned that under the leadership of some of his most trusted men, a conspiracy was hatching to leave him to his fate, and make their way southward, some proposing to sail home, others to join a new expedition to Peru. In order to satisfy himself fully, DeSoto quietly slid about the camp at night, and by a process of eavesdropping gain what he might. Among his men were some who had deserted Pizarro at a juncture, and DeSoto began to prepare for the worst. This was the severest trial of his eventful life. He had no means of knowing who were his friends, or indeed whether he had any. The crisis was extreme.

Turning the matter over in his mind, DeSoto finally resolved on a desperate course. He had been planning to found a Spanish settlement in this particular region, and had gone so far as to send an Indian agent to Ochus, where the plans of colonization were being arranged. Goaded to the extreme of desperation, he proposed to make a bold show of authority and force. It was now just a month since the battle, and all his men had so far recovered from their wounds that they were again able to take up the line of march. Reserving his plan to himself, on the morning of November 18, he suddenly issued an order to get ready to move at once. His men did not know what direction he would go, but to their astonishment, he turned northward. He accompanied his order with a threat to kill any man who undertook to disobey. This was quite unusual, indeed, nothing like it had before occurred, and it took the men quite off their guard. Before the troops could confer or consult, every man was in his saddle and strung out on the line of march. By this means DeSoto surprised the men instead of their surprising him. He was really without authority in a step so arbitrary. The expedition was entirely voluntary, but DeSoto saw that unless he could by a single stroke, shatter the rising revolt, he should be totally undone.

Giving up the idea of a colony, DeSoto moved toward the northwest, beyond the confines of the present County of Clarke, and through the territory of Marengo and Greene, as they now are, and, after five days, reached the Black Warrior River about where the village of Erie now is. Here he encountered resistance. The news of the disaster at Maubila had spread to the remotest settlements, arousing the Indians to vengeance, and at Erie, they appeared 1,500 strong, painted, and bearing clubs and bows. As though nothing was before them, the Spaniards moved steadily on, the Indians falling back, while they filled the air with their arrows. On reaching the river, the Indians in haste filled their waiting canoes and rowed rapidly across, and such as could not find place in the boats, plunged in and swam the stream. On the opposite side, the Indians met a large reinforcement that had gathered to dispute the passage of the river by DeSoto. The Spaniards began leisurely to fortify, giving but slight heed to the wild demonstrations on the opposite side, which the Indians observing, quietly dispersed and disappeared, save a number who were left to watch the object of the Spaniards.

Detailing a hundred men to cut timbers and construct rafts, DeSoto quietly rested till the arrangements were complete, when he began to cross with his force, giving no attention to the showers of arrows from the foe. Struck by his cool determination, the Indians fled precipitately.

No region before entered, had so impressed DeSoto, as this one. He was charmed by its natural grandeur. The late dry fall had enlivened the autumnal scenery, the grass was still green, which, together with the flaming foliage of the forests, lent magnificence to a wide scene. The soil was of a deep black, and the surface somewhat rolling, the billows of green and the delicious color of the engirdling woods, affording a view lovelier than any he had ever before witnessed. The troop was now passing through the upper part of Greene County, where it borders on Pickens.

Five days more brought the Spaniards to the bank of the Little Tombeckbe. The Spaniards were impressed by the fact that in proportion to the fertility of the country, was a sparseness of population, the explanation being that the Indian detests prairie mud, making his home on the uplands, and descending to the fertile plains only to replenish his store of meat. Again at the Little Tombeckbe, the Indians appeared in hostile array, and DeSoto, eager to avoid battle, sent a friendly Indian across the stream to negotiate terms of peace. Him they slew within sight of the Spaniards, and then strangely fled to the woods, and DeSoto crossed without further interruption. He was now on the eastern border of Mississippi, but the final act of the tragedy was yet to come.