_The Discovery of the Mississippi._
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."