ANCIENT SPOT OF DE SOTO'S CROSSING WHITE RIVER IN 1542--
LAMENESS PRODUCED BY A FORMER INJURY--INCIDENTS OF THE
JOURNEY TO THE ST. FRANCIS RIVER--DE SOTO'S ANCIENT
MARCHES AND ADVENTURES ON THIS RIVER IN THE SEARCH AFTER
GOLD--FOSSIL SALT--COPPER--THE ANCIENT RANGES OF THE
BUFFALO.
I determined to quit the river at this point, and, after a night's rest,
made the necessary arrangements.
There is almost a moral certainty that De Soto must have crossed the
river above this place. The make of the land, and the custom of the
Indians in choosing the best ground for a path to travel from village to
village, would determine this. His position, after crossing the
Mississippi at the mouth of the St. Francis, and reaching the high
grounds of the latter, would lead the natives who were his guides to
keep the elevated and dry ranges leading to the buffalo country, west;
and he must have crossed the affluents of the Black and Currents rivers
at a high point towards the Ozarks. The dry and open woods afforded the
best ground for the march of his cavalry; and when he attempted to reach
the salt and buffalo country from the region east of White river, the
roughness of the country would lead him to the central points of that
stream. It would be interesting, as a point of antiquarian interest, to
know where the old Indian paths were located. The roads, in all parts of
the country, were based on these. They led to the most practicable fords
of rivers, they avoided swamps and boggy grounds, and evinced a thorough
geographical knowledge of the conformation of the country.
To travel where De Soto had travelled, and where he had performed some
of his heroic feats, had something pleasing, at least, in the
association. Doubtless, had the first occupants of Upper Louisiana been
as mindful of historical reminiscences as they were set on repeating his
search for gold and silver mines, they might have been rewarded by
finding some of the straggling bones of his broken-down Andalusian
cavalry. The fragments of broken arms and trappings were yet, perhaps,
concealed by the accumulated rank vegetable soil of Arkansas and
Southern Missouri, whence the plough may at no distant day reveal them.
It was ten o'clock on the morning of the 19th, when, having made every
necessary preparation, we left Mr. Bean's. I regretted the necessity of
making a selection from my collection of minerals and geological
specimens. We set out with great alacrity. For the first five miles, we
passed over a level, fertile tract, with several plantations; the
remaining thirteen miles were comparatively sterile and uneven, without
settlements. We had passed about seventeen miles of the distance, when
my right foot and ankle began to flinch. I was not sensible of any slip
or sprain in walking, but rather believe it resulted from too much
ardour and anxiety to get forward. I had, about four years previously,
dislocated and injured the same ankle in leaping down a precipice in the
Green mountains, having mistaken a granitical shelf of rock at its base,
which was covered with autumnal leaves, for soft soil. I believe the
suddenness and alacrity of this day's travel, after leaving the quietude
of the canoe, had awakened a sympathy in the injured nerves. In a short
time, the pain was unendurable. With great effort I walked a mile
further, and reached a double log house, the mistress of which bathed
the ankle with salt and water, and made other applications. Some
alleviation, but no permanent relief, was obtained. I then laid down
under the hope of being better, but awoke on the morning of the 20th
with little or no abatement of the pain, and inflammation. A traveller
on horseback, coming along that morning on a fine animal, agreed, for a
small compensation, to let me ride to the south fork of Strawberry
river, while he went afoot. This helped me over twelve miles of the
road, where his path diverged; and I felt so much relieved by it, on
dismounting, that I managed, by easy stages, to walk four miles farther,
which brought us to the main river. The afternoon was not yet spent; but
the pain of my ankle had returned before reaching the river, and I found
it in vain to press forward, without adequate repose.
The next morning (21st), my travelling companion, who cared nothing for
natural history or antiquities, and was urgent to push on, left me, and
returned to St. Louis. Left alone, I felt, for a few moments, a sense of
isolation; but I was now in a region where there was no longer any
danger to be apprehended for the want of the first necessaries of life.
My lameness required nothing, indeed, but perfect repose. The people
were kind, and, when I ascertained that my hostess was a sister of one
of the hunters who had guided me in the most remote parts of my
wanderings in the Ozarks, there was a manifest point of sympathy.
I found by inquiry that there were appearances of a mineral deposit in
this vicinity, which seemed to connect the hilly grounds of Strawberry
river with similar indications which have been noticed near the Bull
shoals, on White river. Appearances denote the existence of sulphuret of
lead in the vicinity. The sulphate of barytes, calcareous spar, and
white crystalline masses of quartz, characterize the uplands. When my
foot and ankle would bear it, I proceeded by easy paces northward,
going, the first day after leaving the Strawberry valley, ten miles,
which brought me to a place called Dogwood Springs, so named from the
_cornus florida_. The next day I went ten miles further, when I came to
the banks of Spring river, where I was entertained by Major Haynes. Here
I first saw cotton in the fields, being the unpulled bolls of the autumn
crop, which had not been thought worth gathering.
Feeling no injury to result from these easy marches, which gave me time
to examine the appearances of the surface, I ventured a little farther
on the recovery of my ankle, and, the third day, went nineteen miles. In
this distance I crossed the stream called Elevenpoints, a tributary to
Spring river, and came, at a rather late hour in the evening, into a
small valley called Foosh-e-da-maw, a popular corruption of the French
_Fourche a Thomas_. It was quite dark when I applied for a night's
lodging at a small cabin, being the only one I had encountered for many
miles. The man and his wife, who were its only occupants, were
manifestly not blessed with much of this world's goods; but they were
kind, and, though they had already gone to bed, and had but one room,
they permitted me to occupy a part of the floor. Spare bed they had
none; but, had they possessed ever so many, I did not require one.
Camping out under the open heavens so long, had created a habit which
made it impossible for me to rest in a soft bed. I had declined one the
night before, at Spring river, and thrown myself on a single blanket, on
the hard puncheons. I wished to keep my nerves up to this tense state,
and the hardy habits of the woodman, while I was compelled to foot my
way, and take my chances for rough fare, for some time.
With the earliest gleams of light I was up, and walked four miles to
breakfast. Twelve more brought me to Hicks's ferry, on a large stream
called the Currents. I had camped on the source of this river, in the
cliffs of the Ozarks, on my outward trip, and found the region
remarkable for its large saltpetre caves. It was here a river of eight
feet deep, and three hundred yards wide. At this spot I should have
stopped; for, after going beyond it, I found the country was thinly
settled, which compelled me to walk some time after nightfall, before I
could find a house; and, on presenting myself, the man proved to be
surly and gruff, and denied me lodging. It was evident to me, from words
that passed, that his wife was expecting to be ill; and, as the house
was small, there seemed some reason for his apparent unkindness. I had
already come twenty-three miles; the night was dark, and threatened
rain; and the next house distant. I should have been happy to exclaim,
with the poet,
"Turn, gentle hermit of the dale, and guide my lonely way!"
but there was no gentle hermit in sight. It was clearly not a question
of poetry, but was likely to be one of sober, down-right prose. I said
to him, finally, after a look into the black darkness and desolate
woods, that I would only claim my length on the floor, and, to give no
uneasiness to his good lady, be off at the slightest intimation. He
consented, and I laid down without receiving any notice of the lady's
expected illness till morning, when I left my pallet at a very early
hour. For three miles beyond, it was a rough region, through which it
required daylight to pass, and where I must have lost my way in the
dark, had I gone on, the night previously.
I stopped at a cottage for breakfast. It was occupied by a poor woman.
Everything bore tokens of this fact. She appeared to have little in the
way of eatables herself, but was very willing, in the article of
breakfast, to share that little with me. I had passed the night before
supperless, after a long day's walk, and the morning's air had further
excited my appetite; still, I should have gone on, had another
habitation been near at hand; but what the good woman wanted in means,
she made up in readiness and hearty good-will; and, if the meal was not
sumptuous, I arose as well satisfied as if I had breakfasted with a
lord.
Thus refreshed, I went on ten miles, which brought me to the banks of
Little Black river. Two miles beyond this stream, I stopped at the house
of a Mr. Reeves, at an early hour in the afternoon, my ankle giving
indications of returning lameness. Quiet, and a night's repose, had the
effect to relieve these symptoms, and I was enabled cautiously to
continue my journey the next day. Daylight was ever my signal for
rising, and, by easy stages, I made seventeen miles during the day,
walking early and late. The first six miles of this distance were made
before I stopped for breakfast, and the next ten miles brought me to the
ferry over Big Black river--a clear, rapid stream, which, in its
progress to the south, is the recipient of all the before-mentioned
streams, from the Strawberry river, north; and is itself, finally, a
tributary of White river, maintaining through it a free navigation with
the Mississippi. After crossing the ferry, I went about half a mile
further, and took up my night's lodgings at a Mr. Bollinger's. I felt no
further weakness of my foot and ankle, and was happy in the reflection
that my cautious movements had been such as not to overtax the strength
of my nerves. Indeed, from this point, (till 1830,) I experienced no
further symptoms of lameness.
On the next morning (28th), I walked seven miles, and took breakfast at
a Mr. Esty's, where I fell in with the old road, which had originally
been laid, when the country came to be settled, on the ancient Indian
path. The elevated lands between Black river and the St. Francis, had
evidently been the line of march of De Soto, when (in 1541) he set
forward from "Quiguate," on the St. Francis, toward the "north-west," in
search of Coligoa. Any other course between west and south-west, would
have involved his army in the lagoons, and deep and wide channel, of
Black river, which forms a barrier for about one hundred and fifty miles
toward the south; while this dividing ground, between the Black river
and St. Francis, consists chiefly of dry pine lands and open uplands,
offering every facility for the movements of his cavalry, which were
ever the dread of the Indians.
The first Indian village which De Soto reached, after crossing the
Mississippi--probably at the ancient Indian crossing-place at the lower
Chickasaw bluffs--and pushing on through the low grounds, was on
reaching the elevations of the St. Francis, immediately west of his
point of landing. The place was called Casquin, or Casqui; a name which
will be recognized as bearing a resemblance to one of the Illinois
tribes, who have long been known under the name of Kaskaskias. From this
place on the high lands of the St. Francis, he ascended that river,
keeping the same side of its current, through a fine country, abounding
in the pecan and mulberry, a distance of seven leagues, to the central
position of the Casquins. Here it was, and not on the immediate banks of
the Mississippi, that he erected a gigantic cross, formed out of a pine
tree, which, after it was hewn, a hundred men could not lift.
From this place, after a rest of several days, he was led, by the wily
chief, to march against the village and chief of Capaha, who was his
hereditary enemy, and who had, in past encounters, proved himself more
than his equal in prowess. De Soto was caught in this trap, which had
nearly proved fatal to his gallant army.
Descending the high grounds, evidently, towards the north-east, and
crossing alluvial tracts, by a march of about six days he reached the
enemy, well posted, strong in numbers, and of great bravery, on the
pastoral elevations, which we are disposed to look for at the site of
the modern Spanish town of New Madrid. Capaha took shelter on a thickly
wooded island in the Mississippi river, where De Soto, assisted by his
allies, attacked him in canoes, and from which his allies, and
afterwards he himself, were glad to retreat. The chief was a most brave,
energetic young man, and fought against his combined enemies with the
spirit inspired by long acknowledged success. This place formed the
extreme northern limit of De Soto's expedition on the line of the
Mississippi, and must have been north of 35 deg. After this effort, he
retraced his steps slowly back to Casqui.
The Kapahas, of whom the Sioux are ethnologically a branch, have
occupied the west banks of the Mississippi, extending to the base of the
Rocky mountains, as long as we have known that stream. They have been
inveterate enemies of the whole Algonquin race, to which the Kaskaskias
and Illinois belonged; and it is not improbable that they had, at this
early day, not only encountered the Spaniards, but that, after their
withdrawal, they fell on the Casquins, and drove them east of the
Mississippi, into the country of the Illinois.
While De Soto was in the country of Capaha, he learned that about forty
leagues distant, (west, it must needs have been,) there were, in the
hill country, quantities of fossil salt, and also a yellowish metal,
which he supposed to be gold. He despatched two trusty and intelligent
men, with Indian guides and carriers, to procure samples. After an
absence of eleven days, they returned, with six of the Indians laden
with crystals of salt, and one of them with metallic copper. A hundred
and twenty miles west of the supposed point of starting, would carry the
messengers across the valley of White river, and far into the Ozark
plains and elevations, between the south fork of that stream, and the
north banks of the Arkansas--the same region, in fine, mentioned, in a
prior part of these sketches, as yielding those articles, on the
authority of the experienced woodsman, Teen Friend. The country through
which these messengers passed was sterile and thinly inhabited; but they
reported it to be filled with herds of buffalo. These reports led him to
march down the banks of the St. Francis, till he reached the village
called Quiguate. From thence, having heard of a locality called Coligoa,
where he thought there might be gold, he marched again north-west in
search of it. This march, in which he followed a single Indian guide,
must have led him to the foot of the rough, mountainous, granitic, and
mineral region, at the sources of the St. Francis. But this search
proved also a disappointment. He was informed that, six leagues north of
Coligoa, the buffalo existed in vast herds; but that, if he would reach
a rich province, he must march south. It is possible that, in this
latitude, he may have, a little, exceeded the utmost point reached by
him on the Mississippi; and he hence confined his adventurous marches to
Southern Missouri and Arkansas.
Having taken the road again, after my halt at Esty's, I travelled
diligently ten miles, at which distance I reached the ferry of Dr.
Bettis, at the St. Francis. The scene was rural and picturesque, the
river winding along in a deep and rapid bed, between elevated and
fertile banks. From appearances, and old fields, it seemed altogether
such a spot as might have answered the glowing Spanish descriptions of
Casqui. The ferry was managed by a black man; and we cut an American
half-dollar on the top of an oak stump, agreeably to the Kentucky mode,
to adjust the ferriage. On landing on the north bank, I pursued my
journey six miles farther, to one Smith's. It was now the 28th of
January, and the weather so mild, that I this day found the witch-hazel
in bloom.