charmed by its natural grandeur. The late dry fall had enlivened the
autumnal scenery, the grass was still green, which, together with the
flaming foliage of the forests, lent magnificence to a wide scene. The
soil was of a deep black, and the surface somewhat rolling, the billows of
green and the delicious color of the engirdling woods, affording a view
lovelier than any he had ever before witnessed. The troop was now passing
through the upper part of Greene County, where it borders on Pickens.
Five days more brought the Spaniards to the bank of the Little Tombeckbe.
The Spaniards were impressed by the fact that in proportion to the
fertility of the country, was a sparseness of population, the explanation
being that the Indian detests prairie mud, making his home on the uplands,
and descending to the fertile plains only to replenish his store of meat.
Again at the Little Tombeckbe, the Indians appeared in hostile array, and
DeSoto, eager to avoid battle, sent a friendly Indian across the stream to
negotiate terms of peace. Him they slew within sight of the Spaniards, and
then strangely fled to the woods, and DeSoto crossed without further
interruption. He was now on the eastern border of Mississippi, but the
final act of the tragedy was yet to come.
THE CLOSING SCENE
Though we have followed the daring and dashing DeSoto to the western
confines of the state, the story would be incomplete without a record of
the closing scene of his career. His life was thrilling in incident, even
to the end. Entering the territory which long afterward came to be called
Mississippi, DeSoto found it the most fertile and prosperous of the
regions yet visited. Thriving Indian towns abounded with evidence of the
most advanced Indian civilization he had yet met.
Though delayed, winter at last set in with unusual severity, and DeSoto
decided to spend the cold season in that quarter. He was eager for the
good will of the inhabitants, and sought by every possible means to gain
it. Foraging over the country, his men would return with supplies, and
always with prisoners. These DeSoto would liberate with much show of
kindness, and dismiss them with presents to their chief. This would
surprise the prisoners, and more the chiefs themselves. This resulted in
bringing to his camp the chief of the Chickasaw tribe, the fiercest and
most warlike of all those on the continent, and notably the most advanced.
This chief, not to be outdone by the kindness of the Spaniard, brought as
a present, one hundred and fifty rabbits, besides four mantles of rich
fur. Nor did he cease with a single visit, but came again and again and
chatted with DeSoto with unrestrained familiarity around his camp fire.
The Indian was studiously diplomatic, and after several visits, disclosed
to DeSoto that he had a certain rebellious subject whom he wished the
Spaniard to subdue for him. This task, the chief further disclosed, was
one attended with such complications as to prevent his action in the
matter, and yet if DeSoto would intervene with sternness, the chief would
see to it that it would not be forgotten.
DeSoto sent his men against the rebellious subaltern, burned his village
and forced him to sue for terms with the chief. On occasion, when the
chief would spend a few hours with him, DeSoto would send him home on one
of his finest horses, much to the delight of the savage. But a strain came
in their relations when after the fight with the insubordinate Indian,
those of the tribe who had accompanied DeSoto's men back to camp were
served with savory and toothsome bits of pork. The Indians had never
before tasted swine meat, and they were so delighted, that they showed
their appreciation by several nightly visits to the pig pens, and by a
stealthy appropriation of some of the choicest rooters. DeSoto was willing
to divide, but protested against his pig sties becoming the prey of
nightly marauders. His men lay in wait for the red rogues, who caught
three, two of whom they killed, and in order to advertise a warning to
future offenders, cut off the hands of the third at the wrist, and set him
free. This was one exception to the rule working both ways. The Spaniards
had never scrupled to steal from the Indian, or to take, by force,
whatever might please them, but so soon as somebody's else ox was gored,
the rule of roguish reciprocity ceased its operation. The standard of the
Spaniard was, might makes right. An early spring came with its balminess,
its singing birds, and first blossoms, and DeSoto was actuated to move
onward, and yet he was reluctant to quit the ease of so many months. He
was worn down by the strain to which he had so long been subjected. He
sought to rally himself, but his gait had lost much of its elasticity, his
eye was not so lustrous, and the stylus of care had marked deep crowfeet
on his brow. Whatever there was of nobleness in him, was turned into a
sense of sternness. Presuming that he knew the Indian character, he had
lost much already, but he proved not to be an apt scholar in Indianology.
He had courted the good will of the chief of Chickasaws, and had been
requited by a return of civility, but the Spaniard really had a contempt
for Indian character, and contempt always clouds justice, and when
exercised, leads often to serious error.
Now that he was about to quit his encampment, DeSoto made a peremptory
order on the Chickasaw chief for 200 of his ablest men to become his
burden bearers. The Chickasaws were the proudest and most arrogant of the
Indian tribes, and rather than be humbled, they preferred death. As
allies, they were valuable, as foes, formidable.
On the receipt of the order from DeSoto, the gentleness of the lamb was
turned into the wrath of the lion, but the Indian chief wisely curbed his
spirit, and sent an evasive answer, not without a dignified phase of
manliness, and an expression of remindfulness that DeSoto did himself
slight credit by failing to understand the stuff, of which himself, the
chief, was made. This was not the first time that DeSoto had encountered
men in these western wilds who were wiser than he took himself to be.
DeSoto saw too late that he had turned loose a storm which he might not be
able to manage. Moscoso was summoned, told to be on his guard, and to get
ready for the worst. DeSoto impressed him with the importance of the
utmost vigilance, but Moscoso saw nothing in it all, and continued lax.
Though the trees were budding, and the young leaves were peeping from
their coverts, there came on one of the last nights in March, one of those
cold snaps to which this latitude is subject. A cold wind roared from the
north, and furiously soughed through the trees. In its suddenness, the
Spaniards made unusual preparation for comfort that night, and huddled
together on their bunks of straw and dried leaves. The camp was as silent
as a cemetery, save the howling of the wind. The fires died down, and the
men were fast asleep. Suddenly there came a din of confusion rarely heard,
mingled with the howling of the wind. From four different quarters came
the sound of the beating of wooden drums, the hoarse notes of sea shells,
and the unearthly shrieks of thousands of warriors. When the sleepers
awoke, the roofs of dry hay were afire, and the Indians were already in
the camp. They had wisely chosen that terrible night for the extinction of
the invaders, and on nothing less were they bent. The Spaniards had often
had recourse to fire, and the Indians thought they would test its virtue.
Fire-tipped arrows, shot into the straw-thatched roofs had fired them,
while the dry wattled cane of which the huts were built, lent loud
detonations by the explosion of their joints. The fire-tipped arrows,
DeSoto later learned, was by the use of a decoction from certain herbs
known only to these Indians as a means of occasioning fire.
Springing from his couch, DeSoto was the first to gain his horse, and a
cavalier mounted his own at the same moment. With sword and lance, they
spurred their horses into the midst of the host of savages, dealing death
with every movement. Half-dressed, the other troopers followed in quick
succession, and soon the camp was the scene of a hand-to-hand fight.
DeSoto had failed to fasten the girth of his saddle sufficiently, and by a
sudden turn of his horse in one of his desperate sallies, he was thrown
hard to the ground, just as he had laid an Indian low. He was speedily
rescued by his men, and securing his girth, he fought as never before.
While the fight was at its height, fifty of his men chose the moment as an
opportune one to desert, but DeSoto had them brought back and join in the
fray. The Indians were routed, but not till forty Spaniards had been
killed. This had the effect of welding the Spaniards afresh, and ended all
insubordination.
There was no more sleep in the Spanish camp that night. Moscoso was
summoned, roundly abused, and cashiered in the presence of the troops, and
Beltecar was appointed in his stead. After burying his dead, DeSoto set
out on a renewed march, encountered resistance again at Alilome, where,
after another fierce engagement, he routed the enemy, but lost fifteen
more men, making in all three hundred and fifteen, of the six hundred,
with whom he started, and in May, 1541, reached the Mississippi River, of
which he is the reputed discoverer. Here he lingered a year, making an
excursion into Arkansas, and on his return, was stricken with swamp fever.
His system was ill prepared for this attack, and from the first, he was
aware that he must die. He summoned his men about him, restored Moscoso to
command, begged his men to be subject to the new commander, and yielded to
the last foe--death.
To prevent the possible mutilation of his body, his men hewed out a coffin
from the trunk of a huge oak, placed the body within it, sealed it
securely and bore it to the middle of the deep Mississippi and lowered it
in its current. Thus died this chivalrous son of Spain, and though a
monster of cruelty, none in the annals of that ill-fated land was ever
braver.
ORIGINAL MOBILE
Following the death of DeSoto, it was one hundred and sixty-two years
before another white man was in Alabama. During this century and a half,
there was developed such a spirit of exploration as the world had never
before known. The new regions of the earth were visited by explorers from
a number of European nations, chief among which were Spain, Portugal,
France, England, and Holland. The French came to vie with the Spaniards in
the comprehensiveness of expedition and exploration, and from Canada, the
French found their way to the upper limits of the navigable waters of the
Mississippi, and followed it to the gulf.
From their established possessions west of the great river, the French
came later to skirt the upper waters of the gulf, and were much impressed
by the sinuous character of the long shore front, with its numerous inlets
and indentations, its promontories, bays, and rivers. It was by means like
these that they first entered Mobile Bay, and finally came to found
Mobile. Biloxi had previously been established, and was an important
colonial center to the enterprising French of that period. In order to
impress the native savage and ward off interference, the French would
erect forts of mud, poles, and grass, which, while appearing formidable to
the Indians, they were flimsy and frail. The savages themselves relied on
their strong-timbered forts for defense, and they had an idea that those
of the French were similarly strong.
Attracted by the beautiful sheet of water known to us as Mobile Bay, the
French entered it from the gulf through its deep mouth, flanked on the one
side by a long tongue of land, and on the other by an island. Once on the
bosom of the bay, its shores were explored, and on the present location of
Mobile was erected Fort St. Louis, which was intended as a permanent name,
but Iberville, the great sea captain of the French, insisted on calling it
Mobile, from the name of the tribe of Indians on the boundary of the
territory of which the original fort was built. The name is supposed to
mean "paddling."
From its inception, Mobile came to be to the French an important center.
By nothing was Iberville more impressed than by the magnificent timbers
with which the forests were stocked. Nothing was more important at that
time than heavy oaken timber for ship building, and to the practical eye
of the great navigator, it seemed an excellent place for the erection of a
saw mill. Later developments of the geographical advantages of the
location, led to its adoption as the headquarters and seat of government
for this region of the French possessions. Seaward, it was open to the
world as a port of navigation.
It was found that the river, on the west bank of which is the location,
was like the base of the letter Y, with its prongs, fifty miles to the
north, penetrating regions at great distances in the interior, which
regions were already populous with Indians, and of fabulous fertility of
soil. While, like the Spaniards, the French dreamed of mines of gold,
they were not unmindful of the importance of colonization.
One of the first chief cares of these early colonizers was that of winning
to their loyalty the native tribes, as an agency against the English, who
were equally desirous of the possession of the fertile region. Bienville,
the French governor of Louisiana, was ambitious to extend the dominions of
his royal master as far eastward as possible, and vied with the English in
seeking the alliance of the native tribes. From no point were these
natives so easily reached, as from the fort just erected on the swell of
land on the western side of this river pouring into the beautiful bay.
Sufficient space was therefore at first cleared, a stockade was built, a
few dingy tents were erected about it, while on the premises might have
been seen a few specimens of imported swine, chickens, and horses moving
domestically about.
There was, however, lacking one element of civilization, concerning which
Bienville proceeded to make complaint to the home government at Paris. The
improvised homes were minus the presence of the gentler sex. On receipt of
this information, the King of France forthwith instructed the bishop of
Quebec to send to the Mobile region twenty-three young women of good
families, to become the wives of these original founders. In due time
these twenty-three blushing maidens reached the fort under the care of
four Sisters of Charity. Governor Bienville at once issued a proclamation
announcing their arrival, and very practically proceeded to place a
premium on manly worth, by stating that no man would be allowed to claim
the heart and hand of these waiting damsels, who did not first prove
himself capable of supporting a wife. The result was a rapid improvement
of the manhood of the community, eventuating in another fact, namely, that
not many moons waned before every one of the Canadian prospectives became
a wife.
These were the first marriage rites, under Christian sanction, ever
solemnized on the soil of Alabama. This meant homes, and homes meant the
beginning of a new order of civilization. This romantic touch to our early
civilization in Alabama is worthy of record.
From that primitive beginning in the wild woods of south Alabama, and from
conditions as crude and uncanny as those named, our chief port had its
beginning little more than two centuries ago. As a common center of
importance, it was visited by numerous deputations of Indians, from points
near and remote, skimming with their light canoes the deep waters of the
Alabama and Tombigbee Rivers. While this was true, trade was established
with the Spaniards as far south as Vera Cruz, and from the region of the
great lakes of the north, came French traders to Mobile. While the
conditions were such as to excite the most optimistic outlook, there were
counter conditions of vexation and of perplexity. These early years were
full of anxiety and harassment to Bienville. In his efforts to conciliate
the native tribes, he encroached on the territory of the active emissaries
of the English, as competitors of native alliance, and thus the Indian
became a shuttle in the loom of primitive politics between the French and
the English. The Indians were incited to lure the French into the interior
by false representations, and straightway to massacre them. To question
their statements, meant unfriendliness, to trust them, meant death.
Abundant trouble was in store for the French governor in the immediate
future.
FORT TOMBECKBE
Just above the point where the bridge of the Southern Railway spans the
Tombigbee, at Epes station, in Sumter County, may be seen a clump of
cedars on a high chalky bluff overlooking the river. This is a historic
spot, for here Governor Bienville had built Fort Tombeckbe, as an outpost
of civilization. The barest traces of the old fort are left in the slight
mounds still to be seen, but it was at one time an important base to
Bienville.
By tampering with the savages in the interior of Alabama, English
emissaries had occasioned such confusion as to give to Bienville much
annoyance. Whatever may be said of the conduct of England in this
connection, and it was reprehensible enough, it was at par with that which
was done by the French. Both nations took advantage of the untutored
savage, and laid under requisition his worst passions, in order each to
avenge itself on the other. On the part of England, however, this
continued much later, and that nation was responsible for many of the
atrocities perpetrated on Americans.
On one occasion, two artful warriors appeared at Mobile with every
possible show of interest in the government of Bienville, and with
extravagant asseverations of loyalty to his government. Bienville was
responsive to demonstrations like this, for nothing he so much desired as
the loyalty which these red men professed. These savages advised the
French governor that they had carefully accumulated much corn at a given
point up the river, and if he desired it, they were in position to sell
it cheaply. As provisions were growing scarce at the fort, this was
cheering news to Bienville, and he promptly sent five men from the
garrison to fetch it. Only one of the five returned, and he with an arm
almost cut from his shoulder, the rest of the party having been massacred.
Bienville was at once impressed that it was necessary to teach the Indians
that he was not to be trifled with, and taking forty men in seven canoes,
he ascended the river to the scene of the late massacre. Finding ten empty
Indian canoes tied to the bank, he knew that their settlement was not far
distant, and from the smoke seen rising above the tree tops, he was able
to locate the village. Hiding his men in the underbrush till night, he
crept stealthily to the encampment and opened fire. The Indians were
scattered in all directions, and loading his boats with provisions,
Bienville leisurely returned to the fort. How many of the Indians were
killed in this night attack, was not ascertained, but Bienville suffered
the loss of three men. These offensive Indians were of the Alabamas, whom
to punish more effectually, Bienville incited against them both the
Choctaws and the Chickasaws, promising rewards to those who would kill the
greater number. That the Alabamas were effectually punished, abundant
proof was afforded by the numerous warriors who sought their way to Mobile
to compare the number of scalps which they bore, dangling from their
belts. Beads, hatchets, pipes, and ammunition were given the savages in
reward for their work of death.
Fort Tombeckbe had been built at the point already designated, which was
within the territory of the Choctaws, whose special service Bienville now
needed, since the Chickasaws had revolted against him. Meantime they had
also become most hostile toward the Choctaws, therefore Bienville
concluded that their service could be the more readily enlisted in his
proposed expedition against the Chickasaws. In order to subdue the hostile
Chickasaws, Bienville proposed a unique expedition which he would head in
person. The dominions of the Chickasaws were remote from Mobile, but he
would make Fort Tombeckbe the base of his operations, while he would bring
them again into subjection.
Accordingly Bienville summoned the garrisons from Natchez and Natchitoches
to co-operate with the one at Mobile in the up-country expedition. As it
was regarded as a sort of picnic outing, a company of volunteers, composed
of citizens and merchants from New Orleans asked to join in the excursion.
Everything was gotten in readiness. Thirty rough dugouts, and an equal
number of flat boats or barges, were arranged along the shore ready to
join in the diversion of subduing the Chickasaws. In due time, Governor
Bienville appeared in gay uniform, plumed hat, and bright sword, and
headed the expedition which sailed from Mobile on the morning of April 1,
1736. The day might have been taken as indicative of that which was to
come, for never was a body of men more fooled than were these.
There were pomp and circumstance on this occasion. Banners, trappings, and
bunting were galore. Boats, little and large, were well filled, men, young
and old, business men and merchants, adventurers and gamblers, idlers and
jail birds, men of fortune and men of leisure, rough mariners and veteran
soldiers, friendly Indians and forty-five negroes, made up the medley of
the expedition. The Indians belonged to the general command, while the
negroes were a separate command under a free, intelligent mulatto, named
Simon. They shove from the shore in the current. Lillied flags wave and
flutter in glinting curve, varied colored banners are displayed, and the
incongruous expedition starts. Amidst the yells of the hosts, the cannon
booming from the fort, the report of which rebounds and re-echoes along
the shore, while the gay and hilarious host shouts itself hoarse, the
expedition starts. For twenty-three days they pull against the current in
their ascent of the Tombigbee. Messengers were dispatched in advance to
advise Captain DeLusser, at Fort Tombeckbe, of the coming of the mighty
multitude, and to provide against their hunger by cooking several barrels
of biscuits. DeLusser cooked for life, by day and by night, but he had
only about two-thirds the quantity of biscuits needed for the hungry host
on its arrival. No trip could have been more laborious, as the barges had
to be dragged against the current by seizing the overhanging branches and
vines, when possible, and at other times employing beaked rods by means of
which, when grappling with trees or rocks the barges were pulled slowly
along. All this was forgotten when the fort was reached, and men could
again refresh themselves.
"When the shore is won at last,
Who will think of the billows past?"
Bienville was much disappointed to find that just before his arrival there
had been a revolt at the fort, and the conspirators were now in irons
awaiting his coming. The plan of the conspirators was to kill DeLusser and
the commissariat, and return to the Chickasaws two men who had been
delivered from their hands, and who had been previously reduced by the
Chickasaws to slavery. By thus conciliating the Chickasaws, the
conspirators hoped to have aid given them in reaching Canada, where they
would join the British. Bienville made short work of them, for after a
brief court martial, they were marched out on the prairie and shot. The
most significant event connected with the coming of Bienville was that of
the assembling of six hundred Choctaw warriors, who had heard much of
Bienville and under their leaders, Mingo and Red Shoes, had now come to
offer their service. To impress them with his importance, Bienville
regaled the warriors with a dress parade of his host, only a part of which
knew anything about military evolutions, but where the Indians knew
nothing of regularity, the purpose was equally served. With great delight
the savages witnessed the drill, and announced themselves ready to join
Bienville in his campaign against the Chickasaws, fifty miles away. With
his body of five hundred and fifty, and the six hundred Choctaws, and the
reinforcements under D'Artaguette of three hundred more, which last body
was to join him later, Bienville felt confident of success, but he little
knew the character of the foe that he was to meet.
CAMPAIGN AGAINST THE CHICKASAWS