The Fortress of Hostile Indians. Its
Capture. The Disastrous Conflict. The
Advance of the Army. Discovery of
the Mississippi River. Preparations for
Crossing. Extraordinary Pageants. Unjustifiable
Attack. The passage of the River. Friendly
Reception by Casquin. Extraordinary
Religious Festival.
On the first day of April, 1541, the
army broke up its encampment, and again set out languidly
on its journey to the westward. No sounds of
joy were heard, for there was no longer hope to cheer.
The indomitable energy of De Soto dragged along the
reluctant footsteps of his troops. The first
day they travelled about twelve miles, through a level
and fertile country with many villages and farm houses
to charm the eye. At night they encamped beyond
the territory of Chickasaw, and consequently supposed
that they would no longer be molested, by those hostile
Indians.
A well armed party of cavalry and
infantry was sent out on a foraging expedition.
They accidently approached a strong fortress where
a large number of Indian warriors was assembled, prepared
to resist their march. They were very fantastically
clothed, and painted in the highest style of barbaric
art, so as to render them as hideous as possible.
Immediately upon catching sight of the Spaniards they
rushed out upon them with ferocious cries. Anasco,
who was in command of the Spanish party, seeing such
overwhelming numbers coming upon him, retreated to
an open field, where he drew up his horses and placed
his cross-bow men in front with their bucklers, to
protect the precious animals. At the same time
he sent hastily back to De Soto for reinforcements.
The Indians came rushing on, clashing
their weapons, beating wooden drums and raising the
war-whoop, till they arrived within reach of the arrows
of the cross-bow men. Then, somewhat appalled
by the formidable military array of the Spaniards
glittering in steel armor, they stopped and taunted
their foes from the distance, with cries of defiance
and gestures of insolence and insult.
The hot-headed Anasco found it hard
to restrain his impatience. Soon De Soto himself
came, with all his force, except a few left to guard
the camp. Carefully he scrutinized the fortress
where these savages had gathered their strength to
crush him. It was indeed a formidable structure:
consisting of a quadrangle twelve hundred feet square.
There were three entrance gates, purposely so low that
mounted men could not enter. In the rear of the
fortress there was a deep and rapid river with steep
banks, probably the Yazoo; in the county of Tallahatchee.
The fort was called the Alabama. Across this stream,
frail bridges were constructed, over which the Indians,
in case of necessity, could retreat, and easily destroy
the bridges behind them. Directly in the rear
of the front entrance, there was a second wall, and
in the rear of that a third; so that if the outer wall
were gained, the garrison could retreat behind one
and the other.
De Soto very carefully reconnoitred
the fort. He judged that the slightest appearance
of timidity, on his part, would so embolden the savages
as to expose him to great peril. Should he avoid
the conflict, to which he was challenged, and endeavor
to escape, by fleeing before his enemies, he would
draw them down upon him with resistless fury.
Thus again he found himself impelled to rouse all the
energies of his army for the slaughter of the poor
savages.
He formed his attacking force in three
columns, to seize the three entrances. The Indians,
carefully noting these preparations, made a simultaneous
rush upon the Spaniards, pouring in upon them an incessant
volley of flint-pointed arrows. Notwithstanding
the armor, many of the Spaniards were wounded, the
savages taking careful aim at those parts which were
least protected. The three storming columns pressed
vigorously on, while two bands of horsemen, twenty
in each, De Soto leading one of them, attacked the
tumultuous foe on each flank. The assault was
resistless. The panic-stricken savages fled to
the fortress. The entrances were clogged by the
crowd, and horsemen and footmen, with their long sharp
sabres cut down their foes with enormous slaughter.
In the heat of the conflict an arrow,
thrown by the sinewy arm of an Indian, struck the
steel casque of De Soto with such force that it rebounded
some sixteen feet in the air. The blow was so
severe that it almost unhorsed the Governor, and seemingly
caused, as he afterwards said, the fire to flash from
his eyes. As the savages rushed pell-mell into
the fortress, their pursuers were at their heels, cutting
them down. The Spaniards were exasperated.
They had sought peace, and had found only war.
De Soto had wished, in a friendly spirit, to traverse
their country, and they were hedging up his way and
pursuing him with relentless ferocity. He assumed
that it was necessary, for the salvation of his army,
to teach them a lesson which they would not soon forget.
The carnage within the fortress was
dreadful. All was inextricable confusion.
It was a hand-to-hand fight. Wooden swords fell
harmless upon helmet, cuirass and buckler. But
the keen and polished steel of the Spaniards did fearful
execution upon the almost naked bodies of the Indians.
Some climbed the palisades and leaped down into the
plain, where they were instantly slain by the mounted
troops. Others crowded through the fort and endeavored
to escape by the narrow bridges. Many were jostled
off, and in the swift current were drowned. But
a few moments elapsed ere the fort was in the hands
of the Spaniards. Its floor was covered by the
gory bodies of the slain. Still, not a few had
escaped, some by swimming, some by the bridges.
They immediately formed in battle array upon the opposite
bank of the river, where they supposed they were beyond
the reach of the Spaniards.
Again they raised shouts of defiance
and insult. De Soto was not in a mood to endure
these taunts. Just above the fort he found a ford.
Crossing with a squadron of horsemen, they rushed with
gleaming sabres upon the savages, and put them instantly
to flight. For more than three miles they pursued
them over the plain, till wearied with slaughter.
They then returned, victors, slowly and sadly to their
encampment. Peace and friendship would have been
far preferable to this war and misery. Even their
victory was to the Spaniards a great disaster, for
several of the men were slain, and many severely wounded.
Of the latter, fifteen subsequently died. De Soto
remained four days in the encampment, nursing the
wounded, and then resumed his weary march.
He still directed his footsteps in
a westerly direction, carefully avoiding an approach
to the sea, lest his troops should rise in mutiny,
send for the ships, and escape from the ill-starred
enterprise. This certainly indicates, under the
circumstances, an unsound, if not a deranged mind.
For four days the troops toiled along through a dismal
region, uninhabited, and encumbered with tangled forests
and almost impassable swamps.
At length they came to a small village
called Chisca, upon the banks of the most majestic
stream they had yet discovered. Sublimely the
mighty flood, a mile and a half in width, rolled by
them. The current was rapid and bore upon its
bosom a vast amount of trees, logs, and drift-wood,
showing that its sources must be hundreds of leagues
far away, in the unknown interior. This was the
mighty Mississippi, the ‘father of waters.’
The Indians, at that point, called it Chucagua.
Its source and its embouchure were alike unknown to
De Soto. Little was he then aware of the magnitude
of the discovery he had made.
“De Soto,” says Mr. Irving,
“was the first European who looked out upon
the turbid waters of this magnificent river; and
that event has more surely enrolled his name among
those who will ever live in American history,
than if he had discovered mines of silver and
gold.”
The Spaniards had reached the river
after a four days’ march through an unpeopled
wilderness. The Indians of Chisca knew nothing
of their approach, and probably had never heard of
their being in the country. The tribe inhabiting
the region of which Chisca was the metropolis, was
by no means as formidable, as many whom they had already
encountered. The dwelling of the Cacique stood
on a large artificial mound, from eighteen to twenty
feet in height. It was ascended by two ladders,
which could of course be easily drawn up, leaving the
royal family thus quite isolated from the people below.
Chisca, the chieftain, was far advanced
in years, a feeble, emaciate old man of very diminutive
stature. In the days of his prime, he had been
a renowned warrior. Hearing of the arrival of
the Spaniards, he was disposed to regard them as enemies,
and seizing his tomahawk, he was eager to descend
from his castle and lead his warriors to battle.
The contradictory statements are made
that De Soto, weary of the harassing warfare of the
winter, was very anxious to secure the friendship
of these Indians. Unless he were crazed, it must
have been so, for there was absolutely nothing to
be gained, but everything to be imperilled, by war.
On the other hand, it is said that the moment the
Spaniards descried the village, they rushed into it,
plundering the houses, seizing men and women as captives.
Both statements may have been partially true.
It is not improbable that the disorderly troops of
De Soto, to his great regret, were guilty of some outrages,
while he personally might have been intensely anxious
to repress this violence and cultivate only friendly
relations with the natives.
But whatever may have been the hostile
or friendly attitude assumed by the Spaniards, it
is admitted that the Cacique was disposed to wage
war against the new comers. The more prudent of
his warriors urged that he should delay his attack
upon them until he had made such preparations as would
secure successful results.
“It will be best first,”
said they, “to assemble all the warriors of
our nation, for these men are well armed. In the
meantime, let us pretend friendship and not provoke
an attack until we are strong enough to be sure of
victory.”
The irascible old chief was willing
only partially to listen to this advice. He delayed
the conflict, but did not disguise his hostility.
De Soto sent to him a very friendly message, declaring
that he came in peace and wished only for an unmolested
march through his country. The Cacique returned
an angry reply, refusing all courteous intercourse.
The Spaniards had been but three hours
in the village when, to their surprise, they perceived
an army of four thousand warriors, thoroughly prepared
for battle, gathered around the mound upon which was
reared the dwelling of the chief. If so many
warriors could be assembled in so short a time, they
feared there must be a large number in reserve who
could be soon drawn in. The Spaniards, in their
long marches and many battles, had dwindled away to
less than five hundred men. Four thousand against
five hundred were fearful odds; and yet the number
of their foes might speedily be doubled or even quadrupled.
In addition to this, the plains around the city were
exceedingly unfavorable for the movements of the Spanish
army, while they presented great advantages to the
nimble-footed natives, for the region was covered
with forests, sluggish streams and bogs.
By great exertions, De Soto succeeded
in effecting a sort of compromise. The Cacique
consented to allow the Spaniards to remain for six
days in the village to nurse the sick and the wounded.
Food was to be furnished them by the Cacique.
At the end of six days the Spaniards were to leave,
abstaining entirely from pillage, from injuring the
crops, and from all other acts of violence.
The Cacique and all the inhabitants
of the village abandoned the place, leaving it to
the sole occupancy of the Spaniards. April, in
that sunny clime, was mild as genial summer. The
natives, with their simple habits, probably found
little inconvenience in encamping in the groves around.
On the last day of his stay, De Soto obtained permission
to visit the Cacique. He thanked the chief cordially
for his kindness and hospitality, and taking an affectionate
leave, continued his journey into the unknown regions
beyond.
Ascending the tortuous windings of
the river on the eastern bank, the Spaniards found
themselves, for four days, in almost impenetrable
thickets, where there were no signs of inhabitants.
At length they came to quite an opening in the forest.
A treeless plain, waving with grass, spread far and
wide around them. The Mississippi river here was
about half a league in width. On the opposite
bank large numbers of Indians were seen, many of them
warriors in battle array, while a fleet of canoes
lined the shore.
De Soto decided, for some unexplained
reason, to cross the river at that point, though it
was evident that the Indians had in some way received
tidings of his approach, and were assembled there to
dispute his passage. The natives could easily
cross the river in their canoes, but they would hardly
venture to attack the Spaniards upon the open plain,
where there was such a fine opportunity for the charges
of their cavalry.
Here De Soto encamped for twenty days,
while all who could handle tools were employed in
building four large flat boats for the transportation
of the troops across the stream. On the second
day of the encampment, several natives from some tribe
disposed to be friendly, on the eastern side of the
river, visited the Spaniards. With very much
ceremony of bowing and semi-barbaric parade, they
approached De Soto, and informed him that they were
commissioned by their chief to bid him welcome to
his territory, and to assure him of his friendly services.
De Soto, much gratified by this message, received
the envoys with the greatest kindness, and dismissed
them highly pleased with their reception.
Though this chief sent De Soto repeated
messages of kindness, he did not himself visit the
Spanish camp, the alleged reason being, and perhaps
the true one, that he was on a sick bed. He, however,
sent large numbers of his subjects with supplies of
food, and to assist the Spaniards in drawing the timber
to construct their barges. The hostile Indians
on the opposite bank frequently crossed in their canoes,
and attacking small bands of workmen, showered upon
them volleys of arrows, and fled again to their boats.
One day the Spaniards, while at work,
saw two hundred canoes filled with natives, in one
united squadron, descending the river. It was
a beautiful sight to witness this fleet, crowded with
decorated and plumed warriors, their paddles, ornaments,
and burnished weapons flashing in the sunlight.
They came in true military style: several warriors
standing at the bows and stern of each boat, with large
shields of buffalo hides on their left arms, and with
bows and arrows in their hands. De Soto advanced
to the shore to meet them, where he stood surrounded
by his staff. The royal barge containing the chief
was paddled within a few rods of the bank. The
Cacique then rose, and addressed De Soto in words
which were translated by the interpreter as follows:
“I am informed that you are
the envoy of the most powerful monarch on the globe.
I have come to proffer to you friendship and homage,
and to assure you of my assistance in any way in which
I can be of service.”
De Soto thanked him heartily for his
offers, and entreated him to land, assuring him he
should meet only the kindest reception. The following
extraordinary account of the termination of this interview,
a termination which seems incredible, is given in the
“Conquest of Florida:”
“The Cacique returned no answer,
but sent three canoes on shore with presents
of fruit, and bread made of the pulp of a certain
kind of plum. The Governor again importuned the
savage to land, but perceiving him to hesitate,
and suspecting a treacherous and hostile intent,
marshalled his men in order of battle. Upon
this the Indians turned their prows and fled.
“The cross-bowmen sent a flight
of arrows after them, and killed five or six
of their number. They retreated in good order,
covering the rowers with their shields. Several
times after this they landed to attack the soldiers,
as was supposed, but the moment the Spaniards
charged upon them they fled to their canoes.”
If this account be true, the attack
by the Spaniards was as inexcusable as it was senseless.
At the end of twenty days the four barges were built
and launched. In the darkness of the night De
Soto ordered them to be well manned with rowers and
picked troops of tried prudence and courage.
The moment the bows touched the beach the soldiers
sprang ashore, to their surprise encountering no resistance.
The boats immediately returned for another load.
Rapidly they passed to and fro, and before the sun
went down at the close of that day, the whole army
was transported to the western bank of the Mississippi.
The point where De Soto and his army crossed, it is
supposed, was at what is called the lowest Chickasaw
Bluff.
“The river in this place,”
says the Portuguese Narrative, “was a mile
and a half in breadth, so that a man standing still
could scarcely be discerned from the opposite shore.
It was of great depth, of wonderful rapidity,
and very turbid, and was always filled with floating
trees and timber, carried down by the force of
the current.”
The army having all crossed, the boats
were broken up, as usual, to preserve the nails.
It would seem that the hostile Indians had all vanished,
for the Spaniards advanced four days in a westerly
direction, through an uninhabited wilderness, encountering
no opposition. On the fifth day they toiled up
a heavy swell of land, from whose summit they discerned,
in a valley on the other side, a large village of
about four hundred dwellings. It was situated
on the fertile banks of a stream, which is supposed
to have been the St. Francis.
The extended valley, watered by this
river, presented a lovely view as far as the eye could
reach, with luxuriant fields of Indian corn and with
groves of fruit trees. The natives had received
some intimation of the approach of the Spaniards,
and in friendly crowds gathered around them, offering
food and the occupancy of their houses. Two of
the highest chieftains, subordinate to the Cacique,
soon came with an imposing train of warriors, bearing
a welcome from their chief and the offer of his services.
De Soto received them with the utmost
courtesy, and in the interchange of these friendly
offices, both Spaniards and natives became alike pleased
with each other. The adventurers remained in this
village for six days, finding abundant food for themselves
and their horses, and experiencing in the friendship
and hospitality of the natives, joys which certainly
never were found in the horrors of war. The province
was called by the name of Kaska, and was probably the
same as that occupied by the Kaskaskias Indians.
Upon commencing anew their march they
passed through a populous and well cultivated country,
where peace, prosperity and abundance seemed to reign.
In two days, having journeyed about twenty miles up
the western bank of the Mississippi, they approached
the chief town of the province where the Cacique lived.
It was situated, as is supposed, in the region now
called Little Prairie, in the extreme southern part
of the State of Missouri, not far from New Madrid.
Here they found the hospitable hands of the Cacique
and his people extended to greet them.
The residence of the chief stood upon
a broad artificial mound, sufficiently capacious for
twelve or thirteen houses, which were occupied by
his numerous family and attendants. He made De
Soto a present of a rich fur mantle, and invited him,
with his suite, to occupy the royal dwellings for
their residence. De Soto politely declined this
offer, as he was unwilling thus to incommode his kind
entertainer. He, however, accepted the accommodation
of several houses in the village. The remainder
of the army were lodged in exceedingly pleasant bowers,
skilfully, and very expeditiously constructed by the
natives, of bark and the green boughs of trees, outside
the village.
It was now the month of May.
The weather was intensely hot, and these rustic bowers
were found to be refreshingly cool and grateful.
The name of this friendly chief was Casquin.
Here the army remained for three days, without a ripple
of unfriendly feeling arising between the Spaniards
and the natives.
It was a season of unusual drouth
in the country, and on the fourth day the following
extraordinary incident occurred: Casquin, accompanied
by quite an imposing retinue of his most distinguished
men, came into the presence of De Soto, and stepping
forward, with great solemnity of manner, said to him,
“Senor, as you are superior
to us in prowess and surpass us in arms, we likewise
believe that your God is better than our God.
These you behold before you are the chief warriors
of my dominions. We supplicate you to pray to
your God to send us rain, for our fields are parched
for the want of water.”
De Soto, who was a reflective man,
of pensive temperament and devoutly inclined, responded,
“We are all alike sinners, but
we will pray to God, the Father of mercies, to show
his kindness to you.”
He then ordered the carpenter to cut
down one of the tallest pine trees in the vicinity.
It was carefully trimmed and formed into a perfect,
but gigantic cross. Its dimensions were such,
that it required the strength of one hundred men to
raise and plant it in the ground. Two days were
employed in this operation. The cross stood upon
a bluff, on the western bank of the Mississippi.
The next morning after it was reared, the whole Spanish
army was called out to celebrate the erection of the
cross, by a solemn religious procession. A large
number of the natives, with apparent devoutness, joined
in the festival.
Casquin and De Soto took the lead,
walking side by side. The Spanish soldiers and
the native warriors, composing a procession of more
than a thousand persons, walked harmoniously along
as brothers, to commemorate the erection of the cross the
symbol of the Christian’s faith. The Cross!
It should be the emblem of peace on earth and good
will among men. Alas! how often has it been the
badge of cruelty and crime.
The priests, for there were several
in the army, chanted their Christian hymns, and offered
fervent prayers. The Mississippi at this point
is not very broad, and it is said that upon the opposite
bank twenty thousand natives were assembled, watching
with intensest interest the imposing ceremony, and
apparently, at times, taking part in the exercises.
When the priests raised their hands in prayer, they,
too, extended their arms and raised their eyes, as
if imploring the aid of the God of heaven and of earth.
Occasionally a low moan was heard
wafted across the river a wailing cry,
as if woe-stricken children were imploring the aid
of an Almighty Father. The spirit of De Soto
was deeply moved to tenderness and sympathy as he
witnessed this benighted people paying such homage
to the emblem of man’s redemption. After
several prayers were offered, the whole procession,
slowly advancing two by two, knelt before the cross,
as in brief ejaculatory prayer, and kissed it.
All then returned with the same solemnity to the village,
the priests chanting the grand anthem, “Te Deum
Laudamus.”
Thus more than three hundred years
ago the cross, significant of the religion of Jesus,
was planted upon the banks of the Mississippi, and
the melody of Christian hymns was wafted across the
silent waters, and was blended with the sighing of
the breeze through the tree-tops. It is sad to
reflect how little of the spirit of that religion has
since been manifested in those realms in man’s
treatment of his brother man.
It is worthy of especial notice that
upon the night succeeding this eventful day clouds
gathered, and the long-looked-for rain fell abundantly.
The devout Las Casas writes:
“God, in his mercy, willing to
show these heathen that he listeneth to those
who call upon him in truth, sent down, in the
middle of the ensuing night, a plenteous rain, to the
great joy of the Indians.”