Ascent of the Mississippi. Revenge
of Guachoya. Sickness of De Soto. Affecting
Leave-taking. His Death and Burial. The
March for Mexico. Return to the Mississippi. Descent
of the River. Dispersion of the Expedition. Death
of Isabella.
The village of Guachoya was situated
on a bluff on the western bank of the Mississippi,
and was strongly fortified with palisades. De
Soto succeeded in establishing friendly relations
with the chief, and was hospitably entertained within
the town. The Cacique and Governor ate at the
same table, and were served by Indian attendants.
Still, for some unexplained reason, the Cacique with
his warriors retired at sunset in their canoes, to
the eastern side of the Mississippi, and did not return
till after sunrise the next morning.
De Soto’s great anxiety now
was to get access to the ocean. But he could
not learn that the Cacique had ever heard of such a
body of water. He then sent Juan de Anasco with
eight horsemen to follow down the banks of the river
in search of the sea. They returned in eight
days, having explored but about fifty miles, in consequence
of the windings of the stream and the swamps which
bordered its banks. Upon this discouraging information,
the Governor decided to build two brigantines at Guachoya,
and to establish his colony upon some fertile fields
which he had passed between Anilco and that place.
This rendered it very important for him to secure
abiding friendly relations with the chiefs of both
of these provinces.
The territory indeed upon which he
intended to settle, was within the province of Anilco,
and on the north bank of the Arkansas. The chief
Guachoya, very kindly offered to supply De Soto with
eighty large and many small canoes with which a portion
of his force with the baggage could ascend the Mississippi,
twenty-one miles to the mouth of the Arkansas, and
then ascending that stream about forty miles would
reach the point selected for the settlement.
The Governor and the chief, with united military force
in light marching order, would proceed by land so
as to reach the spot about the same time as the canoes.
Four thousand Indian warriors embarked
in these canoes, and in three days accomplished the
voyage. At the same time, the land forces commenced
their march. The Cacique led two thousand warriors,
besides the attendants. Mr. Irving writes:
“The two expeditions arrived
safely at the time opposite the village.
The chief of Anilco was absent, but the inhabitants
of the place made a stand at the pass of the river.
Nuno Tobar fell furiously upon them with a party
of horse. Eager for the fight, they charged
so heedlessly that each trooper found himself
surrounded by a band of Indians. The poor savages,
however, were so panic-stricken that they turned their
backs upon the village, and fled in wild disorder to
the forests, amid the shouts of the pursuers,
and the shrieks and cries of the women and children.
“On entering the
conquered village, they massacred all they
met, being chiefly old
men, women and children, inflicting
the most horrible barbarities.
“In all this they acted in such
fury and haste, that the mischief was effected
almost before De Soto was aware of it. He
put an end to the carnage as speedily as possible,
reprimanded the Cacique severely, forbade any
one to set fire to a house, or injure an Indian
under pain of death, and hastened to leave the
village, taking care that the Indian allies should
be the first to pass the river, and none remained
behind to do mischief.”
From this untoward enterprise De Soto
returned to the village of Guachoya, renouncing all
idea of establishing his colony in Anilco. He
immediately commenced with all energy building his
two brigantines, while he looked anxiously about in
search of some region of fertility and abundance,
where his army could repose till the envoys should
bring back a sufficient fleet to transport those to
Cuba who should wish to return there, and could also
bring those reinforcements and supplies essential
to the establishment of the colony. The river
at this point was about a mile and a half in width.
The country on both sides was rich in fertility, and
thickly inhabited.
Upon the eastern bank there was a
province called Quigualtanqui, of which De Soto heard
such glowing reports that he sent an exploring party
to examine the country. By fastening four canoes
together, he succeeded in transporting the horses
across the stream. To his disappointment he found
the Cacique deadly hostile. He sent word to De
Soto that he would wage a war of utter extermination
against him and his people, should they attempt to
invade his territories.
Care, fatigue and sorrow now began
to show their traces upon the Governor. He could
not disguise the deep despondency which oppressed
him. His step became feeble, his form emaciate,
his countenance haggard. A weary, grief-worn
pilgrim, he was in a mood to welcome death, as life
presented him nothing more to hope for. A slow
fever aggravated by the climate, placed him upon a
sick bed. Here, the victim of the most profound
melancholy, he was informed that the powerful chief,
Quigualtanqui, was forming a league of all the neighboring
tribes for the extermination of the Spaniards.
De Soto’s arm was paralyzed and his heart was
broken. He had fought his last battle. His
words were few; his despondency oppressed all who
approached his bedside. Day after day the malady
increased until the fever rose so high, that it was
manifest to De Soto, and to all his companions, that
his last hour was at hand.
Calmly and with the piety of a devout
Catholic, he prepared for death. Luis De Moscoso
was appointed his successor in command of the army,
and also the successor of whatever authority and titles
De Soto might possess, as Governor of Florida.
He called together the officers and most prominent
soldiers, and with the trembling voice of a dying man
administered to them the oath of obedience to Moscoso.
He then called to his bedside, in groups of three
persons, the cavaliers who had so faithfully followed
him through his long and perilous adventures, and
took an affectionate leave of them. The common
soldiers were then, in groups of about twenty, brought
into the death chamber, and tenderly he bade them
adieu.
These war-worn veterans wept bitterly
in taking leave of their beloved chief. It is
worthy of record that he urged them to do all in their
power to convert the natives to the Christian religion;
that he implored the forgiveness of all whom he had
in any way offended; and entreated them to live as
brothers, loving and helping one another. On
the seventh day after he was attacked by the fever,
he expired.
“He died,” writes the Inca,
“like a Catholic Christian, imploring mercy
of the most Holy Trinity, relying on the protection
of the blood of Jesus Christ our Lord, and the intercession
of the Virgin and of all the celestial court, and
in the faith of the Roman church. With these words
repeated many times, he resigned his soul to God;
this magnanimous and never-conquered cavalier,
worthy of great dignities and titles, and deserving
a better historian than a rude Indian.”
Thus perished De Soto, in the forty-second
year of his age. His life, almost from the cradle
to the grave, had been filled with care, disappointment
and sorrow. When we consider the age in which
he lived, the influences by which he was surrounded,
and the temptations to which he was exposed, it must
be admitted that he developed many noble traits of
character, and that great allowances should be made
for his defects.
The Governor had won the confidence
and affection of his army to an extraordinary degree.
He was ever courteous in his demeanor, and kind in
his treatment. He shared all the hardships of
his soldiers, placed himself in the front in the hour
of peril, and was endowed with that wonderful muscular
strength and energy which enabled him by his achievements
often to win the admiration of all his troops.
His death overwhelmed the army with grief. They
feared to have it known by the natives, for his renown
as a soldier was such as to hold them in awe.
It was apprehended that should his
death be known, the natives would be encouraged to
revolt, and to fall with exterminating fury upon the
handful of Spaniards now left in the land. They
therefore “buried him silently at dead of night.”
Sentinels were carefully posted to prevent the approach
of any of the natives. A few torches lighted the
procession to a sandy plain near the encampment, where
his body was interred, with no salute fired over his
grave or even any dirge chanted by the attendant priests.
The ground was carefully smoothed over so as to obliterate
as far as possible all traces of the burial.
The better to conceal his death, word
was given out the next morning that he was much better,
and a joyous festival was arranged in honor of his
convalescence. Still the natives were not deceived.
They suspected that he was dead, and even guessed
the place of his burial. This was indicated by
the fact that they frequently visited the spot, looking
around with great interest, and talking together with
much volubility.
One mode of revenge adopted by the
natives was to disinter the body of an enemy and expose
the remains to every species of insult. It was
feared that as soon as the Spaniards should have withdrawn
from the region, the body of De Soto might be found
and exposed to similar outrages. It was therefore
decided to take up the remains and sink it in the
depths of the river.
In the night, Juan De Anasco, with
one or two companions, embarked in a canoe, and, by
sounding, found a place in the channel of the river
nearly a hundred and twenty feet deep. They cut
down an evergreen oak, whose wood is almost as solid
and heavy as lead, gouged out a place in it sufficiently
large to receive the body, and nailed over the top
a massive plank. The body, thus placed in its
final coffin, was taken at midnight to the centre
of the river, where it immediately sank to its deep
burial. The utmost silence was preserved, and
every precaution adopted to conceal the movement from
all but those engaged in the enterprise.
“The discoverer of the Mississippi,”
writes the Inca, “slept beneath its waters.
He had crossed a large part of the continent in
search of gold, and found nothing so remarkable as
his burial-place.”
Upon the death of De Soto, a council
of war was held to decide what to do in the new attitude
of affairs. In their exhausted state, and with
their diminished numbers, they could not think of attempting
a march back for hundreds of leagues through hostile
nations, to Tampa Bay. It would take a long time
to build their brigantines and to await an arrival
from Cuba. In the meantime there was great danger
that they might be attacked and destroyed by the powerful
league then forming against them.
A rumor had reached them that a large
number of Spaniards were in Mexico, not very far to
the westward; that they were powerful in numbers,
conquering all before them, and enriching themselves
with the spoils of a majestic empire. It was
consequently determined to march with all speed in
that direction, and join this Spanish army in its
career of Mexican conquest.
Early in the month of June they commenced
their march in a line due west. Their geographical
knowledge was so limited that they were not aware
that they were in a latitude far above the renowned
city of the Montezumas.
Day after day the troops pressed on,
through many sufferings and weary marches. On
the way, one of their number, Diego De Guzman, a very
ambitious young cavalier of high rank and wealthy connections,
fell so passionately in love with the beautiful daughter
of a Cacique that he deserted from the army to remain
with her. She was but eighteen years of age,
of very amiable spirit, and of unusual gracefulness
of form and loveliness of feature. Moscoso sent
an embassy to the Cacique, demanding the return of
Guzman as a deserter, and threatening, in case of
refusal, to lay waste his territory with fire and sword.
The chief sent back the heroic reply
“I have used no force to detain
Diego De Guzman. I shall use no force to compel
him to depart. On the contrary I shall treat him
as a son-in-law, with all honor and kindness, and
shall do the same with any others of the strangers
who may choose to remain with me. If for thus
doing my duty you think proper to lay waste my lands
and slay my people, you can do so. The power
is in your hands.”
It would seem that this manly reply
disarmed Moscoso, for the Spanish army continued its
journey, leaving Guzman behind. Onward and still
onward the weary men pressed, wading morasses, forcing
their way through tangled forests, crossing rivers
on rafts; now hungry and now thirsty, again enjoying
abundance; sometimes encountering hostility from the
natives, when they took fearful vengeance, applying
the torch to their villages; and again enjoying the
hospitality of the natives, until having traversed
a region of about three hundred miles in breadth,
they supposed they had reached the confines of Mexico.
They had no suitable interpreters
with them. The most contrary impressions were
received from the attempts they made to obtain intelligence
from the Indians. Lured by false hopes, they wandered
about here and there, ever disappointed in their hopes
of finding the white men. Entering a vast uninhabited
region, they found their food exhausted, and but for
the roots and herbs they dug up, would have perished
from hunger.
The Spaniards were in despair.
They were lost in savage wilds, surrounded by a barbarous
and hostile people, with whom, for want of an interpreter,
they could hold no intelligible communication.
They had now been wandering in these bewildering mazes
for three months. Mountains were rising before
them; dense forests were around. They had probably
reached the hunting-grounds of the Pawnees and Comanches.
It was the month of October; winter would soon be
upon them. A council of war was called, and after
much agitating debate, it was at length decided, as
the only refuge from perishing in the wilderness, to
retrace their steps to the Mississippi.
Forlorn, indeed, were their prospects
now. They had made no attempt to conciliate the
natives through whose provinces they had passed, and
they could expect to encounter only hostility upon
every step of their return. The country also,
devastated in their advance, could afford but little
succor in their retreat. Their worst fears were
realized. Though they made forced marches, often
with weary feet, late into the night, they were constantly
falling into ambuscades, and had an almost incessant
battle to fight.
Before they reached the Arkansas river
the severe weather of winter set in. They were
drenched with rains, pierced with freezing gales,
and covered with the mud through which they were always
wading. Their European clothing had long since
vanished. Their grotesque and uncomfortable dress
consisted principally of skins belted around their
waists and over their shoulders; they were bare-legged.
Many of them had neither shoes nor sandals; a few
had moccasons made of skins. In addition to all
this, and hardest to be borne, their spirits were all
broken, and they were sunk in despondency which led
them to the very verge of despair.
Every day some died. One day,
seven dropped by the wayside. The Spaniards could
hardly stop to give them burial, for hostile Indians
were continually rising before, behind, and on each
side of them. At length, early in December, they
reached the banks of the Mississippi near the mouth
of the Arkansas.
The noble army with which De Soto
left Spain but three and a half years before, had
dwindled away to about three hundred and fifty men;
and many of these gained this refuge only to die.
Fifty of these wanderers, exhausted by hunger, toil
and sorrow, found repose in the grave. Soon the
survivors commenced building seven brigantines to take
them back to Cuba. They had one ship-carpenter
left, and several other mechanics. Swords, stirrups,
chains, cutlasses, and worn out fire-arms, were wrought
into spikes. Ropes were made from grass.
The Indians proved friendly, furnishing them with
food, and aiding them in their labors.
The hostile chief of whom we have
before spoken, Quigualtanqui, on the eastern bank
of the river, began to renew his efforts to form a
hostile league against the Spaniards. He was continually
sending spies into the camp. Moscoso was a merciless
man. One day thirty Indians came into the town
as spies, but under pretence of bringing presents
of food, and messages of kindness from their Cacique.
Moscoso thought he had ample evidence of their treachery.
Cruelly he ordered the right hand of every one of
these chiefs to be chopped off with a hatchet, and
thus mutilated, sent them back to the Cacique as a
warning to others.
Moscoso, conscious of the peril of
his situation, made the utmost haste to complete his
fleet. It consisted of seven large barques,
open save at the bows and stern. The bulwarks
were mainly composed of hides. Each barque had
seven oars on a side. This frail squadron was
soon afloat, and the Governor and his diminished bands
embarked.
It was on the evening of the second
of July, just as the sun was setting, when they commenced
their descent of the majestic Mississippi, leading
they knew not where. They had succeeded in fabricating
sails of matting woven from grass. With such sails
and oars, they set out to voyage over unexplored seas,
without a chart, and without a compass. The current
of the river was swift and their descent rapid.
They occasionally landed to seize provisions wherever
they were to be found, and to take signal vengeance
on any who opposed them.
It seems that the Indians, during
the winter, had been collecting a fleet, manned with
warriors, to cut off the retreat of the Spaniards.
This fleet consisted of a large number of canoes, sufficiently
capacious to hold from thirty to seventy warriors,
in addition to from thirteen to twenty-four men with
paddles. They could move with great rapidity.
Two days after embarking, the Spaniards
met this formidable fleet. The natives attacked
them with great ferocity, circling around the cumbrous
brigantines, discharging upon them showers of arrows,
and withdrawing at their pleasure. This assault,
which was continued almost without intermission for
seven days and nights, was attended by hideous yells
and war-songs. Though the Spaniards were protected
by their bulwarks and their shields, nearly every
one received some wound. All the horses but eight
were killed.
On the sixteenth day of the voyage
four small boats, containing in all fifty-five men,
which had pushed out a little distance from the brigantines,
were cut off by the natives, and all but seven perished.
The natives now retired from pursuing their foes, and
with exultant yells of triumph turned their bows up
the river and soon disappeared from sight.
On the twentieth day they reached
the Gulf. Here they anchored their fleet to a
low marshy island, a mere sand bank, surrounded with
a vast mass of floating timber. Again a council
was held to decide what course was to be pursued.
They had no nautical instruments, and they knew not
in what direction to seek for Cuba. It was at
length decided that as their brigantines could not
stand any rough usage of a stormy sea, their only
safety consisted in creeping cautiously along the
shore towards the west in search of their companions
in Mexico. They could thus run into creeks and
bays in case of storms, and could occasionally land
for supplies.
It was three o’clock in the
afternoon when they again made sail. There was
much division of counsel among them; much diversity
of opinion as to the best course to be pursued; and
the authority of Moscoso was but little regarded.
They had many adventures for fifty-three days, as
they coasted slowly along to the westward. Then
a violent gale arose, a norther, which blew with unabated
fury for twenty-six hours. In this gale the little
fleet became separated. The brigantines contained
about fifty men each. Five of them succeeded in
running into a little bay for shelter. Two were
left far behind, and finding it impossible to overtake
their companions, as the wind was directly ahead, and
as there was danger of their foundering during the
night, though with quarrels among themselves, they
ran their two vessels upon a sand beach and escaped
to the shore.
Moscoso, with the five brigantines,
had entered the river Panuco, now called Tampico.
Here he found, to his great joy, that his countrymen
had quite a flourishing colony, and that they had reared
quite a large town, called Panuco, at a few miles
up the stream. They kissed the very ground for
joy, and abandoning their storm-shattered brigantines,
commenced a tumultuous march towards the town.
They were received with great hospitality. The
Mayor took Moscoso into his own house, and the rest
of the party were comfortably provided for.
It is worthy of note that one of their
first acts was to repair to the church to thank God
for their signal deliverance from so many perils.
They were soon joined by their shipwrecked comrades.
They numbered only three hundred, and they resembled
wild beasts rather than men, with uncut and uncombed
hair and beard, haggard with fatigue, blackened from
exposure, and clad only in the skins of bears, deer,
buffaloes, and other animals. Here their military
organization ended.
For twenty-five days they remained
at Panuco; a riotous band of disappointed and reckless
men, frequently engaging in sanguinary broils.
Gradually they dispersed. Many of the common soldiers
found their way to the city of Mexico, where they
enlisted in the Mexican and Peruvian armies.
Most of the leaders found their way back to Spain,
broken in health and spirits.
Many months elapsed ere Isabella heard
of the death of her husband, and of the utter ruin
of the magnificent enterprise in which he had engaged.
It was to her an overwhelming blow. Her heart
was broken; she never smiled again, and soon followed
her husband to the grave. Sad, indeed, were the
earthly lives of Ferdinand De Soto and Isabella De
Bobadilla. We hope their redeemed spirits have
met in that better land where the weary are at rest.