The Departure from Spain. Arrival
in Cuba. Leonora and Tobar. Isabella
Invested with the Regency. Sad Life of
Isabella. Sailing of the Expedition. The
Landing at Tampa Bay. Outrages of
Narvaez. Noble Spirit of Ucita. Unsuccessful
Enterprises. Disgrace and Return of
Porcallo.
The brilliant armament spread its
sails to a favorable breeze at the port of San Lucar,
on the morning of the sixth of April, 1538. The
squadron consisted of seven large ships, and three
smaller vessels. It must have been an imposing
and busy scene in that little bay, upon which the
sun looked serenely down three hundred years ago.
In addition to the Floridian fleet, there was another
squadron of twenty-six sail, at the same time weighing
anchor, bound for Mexico. Bugle peals resounded
from ship and shore, while salvoes of artillery swept
over the waves and reverberated among the cliffs.
Isabella accompanied her husband,
and quite an imposing train of attendants was attached
to the governor’s family. The sail of a
fortnight brought them to the Canary Islands.
The Count Gomera, a Spanish nobleman, was in command.
No religious scruples lent their restraints to his
luxurious court. He had a very beautiful daughter,
seventeen years of age, named Leonora. The father
loved her tenderly. He was perhaps anxious to
shield her from the deleterious influences with which
she was surrounded. The high moral worth of Isabella
impressed him; and arrangements were made for Leonora
to accompany Isabella to Cuba, as a companion, to
be treated in all respects as her own daughter.
On the twenty-fourth of April the
fleet again set sail, and reached St. Jago de Cuba
the latter part of May. This city was then the
capital of the island. It was situated on the
southern shore, at the head of a bay running inland
about six miles. It was then quite populous,
and was opulent with the wealth of which previous Spanish
adventurers had robbed the unhappy Cubans. The
whole city turned out with music, and banners and
gorgeous processions, to give a suitable reception
to their new governor.
A grand tournament was held on the
occasion. Among the cavaliers who were contending
for the prizes there was a young nobleman, Nuno de
Tobar, who was De Soto’s lieutenant-general.
He was one of the most accomplished of the Spanish
grandees, and bore off many of the prizes. The
beauty of Leonora won his admiration. They were
thrown much together, and he betrayed her. At
the confessional Leonora opened her heart to the priest.
It is probable that he communicated with the governor.
De Soto’s indignation was thoroughly roused.
He summoned the culprit before him. Tobar, deeming
his offense a very trivial one, without hesitation
acknowledged it, thinking, perhaps, that he might
receive some slight reprimand. He was not a little
surprised when the governor said in indignant tones:
“Leonora was placed under my
care by her father. I pledged myself to protect
her at the hazard of my own life. To-morrow morning
you must meet me in single combat, where you will
have a chance to protect the life you have justly
forfeited.”
There was no man probably, in the
whole Spanish army, who could safely cross swords
with De Soto in mortal strife. Tobar was appalled.
He well knew that in such a rencontre death was his
inevitable doom. Overwhelmed with confusion,
he said:
“I have not committed a capital
crime. If I had, I should not expect your Excellency
to be my executioner. It is impossible for me
to contend with you in single combat. By accepting
your challenge, I doom myself to certain destruction.”
De Soto replied: “Your
crime is not a trivial one. You cannot evade
the consequences by refusing to meet them. To
say nothing of the wrong you have done this unhappy
girl, your treachery to me deserves the punishment
of a traitor. You may choose whether you will
die like a soldier, sword in hand, or like a criminal,
under the axe of the executioner.”
Tobar withdrew. He hastened to
the room of the confessor. With him he called
upon Leonora, and, taking a few witnesses, repaired
to the church, where the marriage ceremony was immediately
performed. Within an hour he returned to the
governor and informed him that he had made all the
reparation in his power. De Soto, his brow still
clouded with severe displeasure, replied:
“You have saved your life, but
you can never regain my confidence. You are no
longer my lieutenant. That office can be held
only by one whose honor is unsullied.”
De Soto remained about three months
in Cuba, making a tour of the island, establishing
his government, purchasing horses, and making other
preparations for the expedition to Florida. While
thus engaged, he sent a vessel, with a picked crew,
to coast along the shores of the land he was about
to invade, in search of a commodious harbor, where
his troops might disembark. After many perilous
adventures, the vessel returned with a satisfactory
report.
The fleet, and all the armament it
was to bear, were rendezvoused at Havana, on the northern
coast of Cuba, where a fair wind in a few hours would
convey them to the shores of Florida. On the twelfth
of May, some authorities say the eighteenth, of the
year 1539, the expedition set sail upon one of the
most disastrous adventures in which heroic men ever
engaged. Terrible as were the woes they inflicted
upon the natives, no less dreadful were the calamities
which they drew down upon themselves.
Isabella had been anxious to accompany
her husband to Florida. But he, aware of the
hardships and perils to which they would be exposed,
would not give his consent. She consequently remained
at Cuba, entrusted with the regency of the island.
She never saw her husband again. Poor Isabella!
In sadness she had waited fifteen years for her nuptials.
Two short years had glided away like a dream in the
night. And then, after three years of intense
anxiety, during which she heard almost nothing of
her husband, the tidings reached her of his death.
It was a fatal blow to her faithful and loving heart.
World-weary and sorrow-crushed, she soon followed
him to the spirit-land. Such is life; not as
God has appointed it, but as sin has made it.
The expedition consisted of eight
large ships, a caraval, and two brigantines.
They were freighted with everything which could be
deemed needful to conquer the country, and then to
colonize it. The force embarked, in addition
to the sailors who worked the ships, consisted of
a thousand thoroughly armed men, and three hundred
and fifty horses. Contrary winds gave them a
slow passage across the gulf. On the twenty-fifth
of May they entered the harbor of which they were in
search. It was on the western coast of the magnificent
peninsula. De Soto then gave it the name of Espiritu
Santo. It is now however known as Tampa Bay.
As they entered the harbor beacon
fires were seen blazing along the éminences,
indicating that the natives had taken the alarm, and
were preparing for resistance. Several days were
employed in cautious sounding of the harbor and searching
for a suitable landing-place, as it seemed probable
that opposition was to be encountered. On the
last day of May, a detachment of three hundred soldiers
landed on the beach and took possession of the land
in the name of Charles the Fifth. The serene
day was succeeded by a balmy night. Not an Indian
was to be seen; and the bloom, luxuriance and fruitage
of the tropics, spread enchantingly around them.
The hours of the night passed away
undisturbed. But just before dawn a terrific
war-whoop resounded through the forest, as from a thousand
throats, and a band of Indian warriors came rushing
down, hurling upon the invaders a shower of arrows
and javelins. The attack was so sudden and impetuous
that the Spaniards were thrown into a panic. They
rushed for their boats, and with loudest bugle peals,
called for aid from their companions in the ships.
The summons met with a prompt response. Boats
were immediately lowered, and a large party of steel-clad
men and horses were sent to their aid.
When Nuno Tobar was degraded, and
dismissed from his office as lieutenant-general, a
rich, hair-brained Spanish nobleman, by the name of
Vasco Porcallo, took his place. He was a gay cavalier,
brave even to recklessness, of shallow intellect,
but a man who had seen much hard service in the battlefields
of those days. He was very rich, residing at
Trinidad in Cuba. He joined the enterprise for
the conquest of Florida, influenced by an instinctive
love of adventure, and by the desire to kidnap Indians
to work as slaves on his plantations. The valiant
Porcallo headed the party sent to the rescue of those
on shore.
In such an adventure he was entirely
in his element. Immediately upon landing he put
spurs to his horse and, accompanied by only seven
dragoons, with his sabre flashing in the air, plunged
into the very thickest of the Indians. Soon they
were put to flight. An Indian arrow, however,
pierced his saddle and its housings, and reached the
vitals of his horse. The noble steed dropped dead
beneath him. Porcallo was quite proud of his
achievement, and boasted not a little that his arm
had put the infidels, as he called the Indians,
to flight, and that his horse was the first to fall
in the encounter.
During the day all the troops were
disembarked and encamped upon the shore. It was
reported that there was quite a populous Indian town
at the distance of about six miles from the place
of landing. While the ammunition and commissary
stores were being brought on shore, the little army
marched for this village. It was the residence
of the chief of the powerful tribe who occupied that
region. His name was Ucita, and from him the
village received the same appellation.
The Spaniards met with no opposition
on their march. But when they reached the village
they found it entirely deserted. It was quite
a large town, the houses being built substantially
of timber, thatched with palm leaves. Many of
these edifices were large and commodious, containing
several rooms. Their articles of household furniture
were convenient, and some of them quite elegant.
The dresses, especially those of the females, were
artistic and often highly ornamental. Very beautiful
shawls and mantillas were manufactured by them.
Their finest fabrics were woven by the hand from the
fibrous bark of the mulberry-tree and hemp, which
grew wild and in abundance. The natives had acquired
the art of rich coloring, and the garments thus manufactured
by them were often really beautiful. The walls
of the houses of the wealthier citizens were hung
with tapestry of very softly tanned and richly prepared
buckskin; and carpets of the same material were spread
upon the floors.
The Floridians were not acquainted
with iron, that most indispensable article with nations
of high enlightenment. But they had succeeded
in imparting a temper to copper, so as to give many
of their tools quite a keen edge. Though the
inhabitants of Florida had not attained that degree
of civilization which had been reached by the Peruvians,
it will be seen that they were immeasurably in advance
of the savages in the northern portion of the continent,
and that their homes far surpassed those of the peasantry
of Ireland, and were more tasteful and commodious
than the log huts which European emigrants erect as
their first home in the wilderness of the West.
They cultivated the ground mainly for their subsistence,
though hunting and fishing were resorted to, then
as now, for recreation as well as for food.
De Soto took possession of the deserted
village, and occupied the houses of the inhabitants
as barracks for his soldiers. A few straggling
Indians were taken captive. From them he learned
that he was doomed to suffer for the infamous conduct
of the Spanish adventurer, Narvaez, who had preceded
him in a visit to this region. This vile man
had been guilty of the most inhuman atrocities.
He had caused the mother of the chief Ucita to be
torn to pieces by bloodhounds, and in a transport
of passion had awfully mutilated Ucita himself, by
cutting off his nose. Consequently, the chief
and all his people were exasperated to the highest
degree. The injuries they had received were such
as could never be forgiven or forgotten.
De Soto was very anxious to cultivate
friendly relations with the Indians. Whatever
may have been his faults, his whole career thus far
had shown him to be by nature a kind-hearted and upright
man, hating oppression and loving justice. The
faults of his character rather belonged to the age
in which he lived, than to the individual man.
No military leader has ever yet been able to restrain
the passions of his soldiers. Wherever an army
moves, there will always be, to a greater or less
degree, plunder and violence. De Soto earnestly
endeavored to introduce strict discipline among his
troops. He forbade the slightest act of injustice
or disrespect towards the Indians. Whenever a
captive was taken, he treated him as a father would
treat a child, and returned him to his home laden
with presents. He availed himself of every opportunity
to send friendly messages to Ucita. But the mutilated
chief was in no mood to be placated. His only
reply to these kind words was,
“I want none of the speeches
or promises of the Spaniards. Bring me their
heads and I will receive them joyfully.”
The energies of De Soto inspired his
whole camp. The provisions and munitions of war
were promptly landed and conveyed to Ucita. The
place was strongly fortified, and a hardy veteran,
named Pedro Calderon, was placed in command of the
garrison entrusted with its defence. All the
large ships were sent back to Cuba, probably to obtain
fresh supplies of military stores; some say that it
was to teach the army that, there being no possibility
of escape, it now must depend upon its own valor for
existence.
De Soto was very unwilling to set
out for a march into the interior for discovery and
in search of gold, while leaving so powerful a tribe
as that over which Ucita reigned, in hostility behind
him. He therefore sent repeated messages to Ucita
expressing his utter detestation of the conduct of
Narvaez; his desire to do everything in his power
to repair the wrong which had been inflicted upon him,
and his earnest wish to establish friendly relations
with the deeply-injured chief.
These reiterated friendly advances,
ever accompanied by correspondent action, at length
in some slight degree mitigated the deadly rancor of
Ucita, so that instead of returning a message of defiance
and hate, he sent back the truly noble response:
“The memory of my injuries prevents
me from returning a kind reply to your messages, and
your courtesy is such that it will not allow me to
return a harsh answer.”
The man who, under these circumstances,
could frame such a reply, must have been one of nature’s
noblemen. De Soto could appreciate the grandeur
of such a spirit. While these scenes were transpiring,
a man was brought into the camp, in Indian costume,
who announced himself as a Spaniard by the name of
Juan Ortiz. He had been one of the adventurers
under Narvaez. In the extermination of that infamous
band he had been taken captive and bound to the stake,
to be consumed. He was then but eighteen years
of age, tall and very handsome. As the tongues
of torturing flame began to eat into his quivering
flesh, cries of agony were extorted from him.
He was in the hands of a powerful
chief, whose daughter is represented as a very beautiful
princess, by the name of Uleleh. She was about
sixteen years of age, and could not endure the scene.
She threw her arms around her father’s neck,
and with tears of anguish pleaded that his life might
be saved. He was rescued; and though for a time
he suffered extreme cruelty, he eventually became
adopted, as it were, into the tribe, and for ten years
had resided among the Indians, sometimes regarded
as a captive, upon whom heavy burdens could be imposed,
and again treated with great kindness. Juan Ortiz
being thus familiar with the habits of the natives
and their language, became an invaluable acquisition
to the adventurers.
De Soto inquired very earnestly of
him respecting the country and the prospect of finding
any region abounding with silver and gold. Ortiz
had but little information to give, save that, at the
distance of about a hundred miles from where they
then were, there was a great chief named Uribaracaxi,
to whom all the adjacent chiefs were tributary.
His realms were represented as far more extensive,
populous, and rich than those of the surrounding chieftains.
De Soto dispatched a band of sixty horsemen and sixty
foot soldiers with presents and messages of friendship
to Uribaracaxi. The object of the expedition
was to explore the country and to make inquiries respecting
gold.
A weary march of about forty miles
brought the party to the village of Mucozo, where
Ortiz had resided for some years. The chief of
this tribe, whose name was also Mucozo, was brother-in-law
to Uribaracaxi. Mucozo received the Spaniards
with great hospitality, and learning that they were
on a friendly visit to Uribaracaxi, furnished them
with a guide. Four days were occupied in a tedious
march through a country where pathless morasses continually
embarrassed their progress.
This expedition was under the command
of Balthazar de Gallegos. He reached his point
of destination in safety. But the chief, deeming
it not prudent to trust himself in the hands of the
Spaniards, whose renown for fiendish deeds had filled
the land, had retired from his capital, and nearly
all the inhabitants had fled with him. He left
for his uninvited guests no message either of welcome
or defiance. Gallegos found all his attempts
to open any communications with him unavailing.
There was no plunder in the city worth seizing, and
De Soto’s commands to the expedition were very
strict, to treat the Indians with the utmost kindness
and humanity.
Gallegos made earnest inquiries of
the Indians whom he met, as to the provinces where
gold and silver could be found. They told him
that there was a country many leagues west of them,
of marvellous luxuriance and beauty, where gold was
found in such abundance that the warriors had massive
shields and helmets made of that precious metal.
The more shrewd of the Spaniards placed very little
reliance upon this testimony. They thought they
saw evidence that the Indians were ready to fabricate
any story by which they could rid themselves of their
visitors.
Soon after the departure of Gallegos,
De Soto received the intelligence that the chief Ucita
had taken refuge in a forest, surrounded with swamps,
not far from the Spanish camp. The vainglorious
Porcallo was exceedingly indignant that the Indian
chief should presume to hold himself aloof from all
friendly advances. He entreated De Soto to grant
him the privilege of capturing the fugitive.
De Soto complied with his request. The impetuous
old man, fond of parade, and lavish of his wealth,
selected a band of horsemen and footmen, all of whom
were gorgeously apparelled for the occasion.
He, himself, was mounted on a magnificent steed and
cased in glittering armor.
It seems that the noble Ucita kept
himself well informed of every movement of the invaders.
With a spirit of magnanimity which would have done
honor to the best Christian in the Spanish ranks, he
sent a courier to meet Porcallo, and to say to him,
“You will only expose yourself
to infinite peril from the rivers, morasses, and forests
through which you will have to pass in your attempt
to reach my retreat. My position is so secure
that all your attempts to take me will result only
in your own loss. I do not send you this message
from any fears on my own account, but because your
leader, De Soto, has manifested so much forbearance
in not injuring my territory or my subjects.”
It is really refreshing to find here
and there, among all these demoniac deeds of demoniac
men, some remaining traces of that nobility of character
which man had before the fall, when created in God’s
image he was but little lower than the angels.
Man, as we see him developed in history, is indeed
a ruin, but the ruin of a once noble fabric.
When we think of what man might be, in all generous
affections, and then think of what man is, it is enough
to cause one to weep tears of blood.
Porcallo could not appreciate the
magnanimity of Ucita. He regarded the message
as one of the stratagems of war, dictated either by
fear or cowardice. He therefore ordered the trumpets
to sound the advance, his only fear being, that the
chief might escape. Porcallo, a Quixotic knight,
had no element of timidity in his character. He
led his troops. He never said “Go,”
but “Follow.” Pressing rapidly forward,
the little band soon arrived upon the border of a vast
and dismal morass, utterly pathless, stretching out
many leagues in extent.
The hot-headed cavalier, thinking
that the swamp might be waded, put spurs to his horse
and dashed forward. He had advanced but a few
rods when the horse, struggling knee-deep through
the mire, stumbled and fell. One of the legs
of the rider was so caught beneath the animal as to
pin him inextricably in the morass, covering him with
water and with mud. The weight of his armor sank
him deeper in the mire, and in the desperate struggles
of the steed for extrication, he was in great danger
of being suffocated. None could come to his aid
without danger of being swallowed up in the bog.
The unfeeling and brutal soldiers
stood upon the borders of the morass with shouts of
merriment, as they witnessed the sudden discomfiture
of their leader; a discomfiture the more ludicrous,
in contrast with his gorgeous attire, and his invariably
proud and lofty bearing. At length Porcallo extricated
himself, and, drenched with water, and covered with
mud, led his equally bemired steed to the land.
He was humiliated and enraged. The derision of
the soldiers stung him to the quick. He had embarked
in the expedition to gain glory and slaves. He
had encountered disgrace; and the prospect of kidnapping
the natives, under such a leader as De Soto had proved
himself to be, was very small.
It is probable that before this disaster
he had seriously contemplated abandoning the expedition
and returning to his princely mansion in Trinidad.
Ordering his men to face about, he sullenly and silently
returned to the Spanish camp. Throwing up his
commission with disgust, he embarked for Cuba, and
we hear of him no more.
“His train of servants,”
writes Mr. Theodore Irving, “Spanish, Indian
and negro, were embarked with all speed. But
when the gallant old cavalier came to take leave
of his young companions in arms, and the soldiers
he had lately aspired to lead so vain-gloriously,
his magnificent spirit broke forth. He made
gifts to the right and left, dividing among the officers
and knights all the arms, accoutrements, horses and
camp equipage, with which he had come so lavishly
and so ostentatiously provided, and gave, for
the use of the army, all the ample store of provisions
and munitions brought for the use of himself and
his retinue. This done, he bade farewell
to campaigning and set sail for Cuba, much to the
regret of the army, who lamented that so gallant
a spirit should have burned out so soon."
Indeed, it is stated in what is called
“The Portuguese Narrative” of these events,
that Porcallo and De Soto had already quarrelled so
decisively that they were no longer on speaking terms.
Porcallo, thoroughly destitute of moral principle,
was a slave hunter; a character whom De Soto thoroughly
despised, and whose operations he would not on any
account allow to be carried on in his army. Porcallo
therefore found no difficulty in obtaining permission
to retire from the service. Probably both the
governor and his lieutenant were equally happy to
be rid of each other.