CHAPTER XIX
Death of De Soto
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 Añasco 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. Nuño 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 Añasco, 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.