Chapter XI: Part 11

Under conditions like these, Jean Ortiz had lived for ten years, making the most of the circumstances, and had long ago given up all hope of leading other than the life of a wild savage. The dominion of his tribe fell within the march of invasion of the Spaniards, and Ortiz led his warriors to battle against them. Sorely beaten in the encounter, many of his warriors having been slain, Ortiz and his troops fled in confusion, hotly pursued by the Spanish horsemen. Ortiz was specially sought to be killed because he was the leader, and as a cavalryman raised his lance to deal a deadly blow, the chief cried out in Spanish, much to the surprise of the pursuer: "Slay me not; I, too, am a Christian!" The half-nude savage was taken to DeSoto, his body smeared with divers paints, his hips swathed in a fawn skin girdle and his head bedecked with a coronet of pretty feathers. He told the story of his capture and wild life to the Spanish commander, and placed himself at his service. Ortiz proved to be a valuable ally to the troop in acquainting DeSoto with the methods of the savages, and in serving frequently as an interpreter.

DeSoto found the aborigines to be far more formidable fighters than he had expected. While their implements of combat were rude, yet when wielded by the Indian, they did deadly execution. The chief weapon of warfare of the Indian was the bow, the character of which made it an object of terror. The bows were made of sun-cured hickory saplings the size of a man's wrist and eight feet long. Curved and secured by a strip of rawhide, the bow was no mean instrument of peril in the hands of the muscular savage. To the flexibility of the hickory bow and the elasticity of the thong were adjusted the skill and aim of the practiced warrior. The arrows were finished with a view to accuracy of aim, velocity, and deadliness of execution. Tipped with triangular flints with rough edges and pointed sharpness, they were driven with an aim so unerring, and with such force and celerity, that they could be shot through a man or beast at a distance of one hundred yards. With a quiver full of these arrows strapped to his back, the brawny warrior would sally forth, an object of terror.

Fortunately for the Spaniards, they were prepared with armor sufficient to withstand these crude weapons, for each soldier wore a coat of steel, a helmet and breastplate, and carried a shield of metal. Their horses were also protected with coats of steel. With their biscayan lances, broadswords, arquebuses, crossbows, and a small piece of artillery, the Spaniards felt secure against the primitive implements of the savage. Though thus secured against savage attack, DeSoto and his men soon learned that theirs was not a primrose path through the American wilds. The Indian proved to be a terrible antagonist with his foxy stratagem and his primitive method of warfare. These pampered sons of Spain, many of whom had been petted and nourished in mansions and in palaces of luxury, had daily to fight for their lives on the invaded territory of the red man, who would engage the Spaniards at points of the greatest advantage to themselves, and who enjoyed every possible advantage because of their familiarity with the surroundings. But for Ortiz, the expedition might have perished before it had quitted the present territory of Georgia.

The Spaniards never knew when to expect an assault. Often at the most unconjectured time, they would receive a shower of arrows, noiseless in their flight, and coming from unseen sources. Every hour, by day and by night, they were kept in suspense, and even intervals of quietude became ominous of accumulating trouble. Sometimes from the summits of rocky hills in front an attack would be made; sometimes one flank assailed, then both simultaneously; while not infrequently the rear would be attacked by overwhelming numbers of shrieking, yelling demons, whose painted, naked bodies and fierce demonstrations would create pandemonium. There was little in tragic scenes like these to hearten the tender gentry of Spain. By dint of rare discipline, maneuver, powder and ball, of which the Indians knew nothing, and an intensely common interest of protection which welded the Spaniards together, they invariably prevailed, but never were shrewder, more stubborn or fiercer foes encountered, than these raw savages of the American forest.

Though duly provided with workers in metal with their pots and ladles for the refinement of gold, the troops found no use for them after months of a straggling march through the woods of the South. The alluring vision of the invading Spaniard of the abundance of gold in the retreats of the American wilds, was gradually dispelled and vastly counterbalanced by the hourly peril that menaced. That the spirit of the troops so long survived conditions like these, shows the stern stuff of which the Spanish soldier of that time was made. His love of gold was consuming, while his spirit of adventure was the most audacious. These, combined with the necessary coherence in common defense, made DeSoto's band well nigh invincible.

After a considerable detour of the present state of Georgia, DeSoto reached the region where the city of Rome now is, where he crossed the river, and was the first white man to set foot on the soil of Alabama. Of the subsequent scenes of the expedition we shall have occasion to learn in the chapters that are to follow.

INGRATITUDE AND CRUELTY

Thirteen months of hardship and of Indian warfare had changed the original picnic appearance of the Spanish troop. The uniforms were not now so lustrous, and the young grandees did not disport themselves as they did more than a year before, on the shore of Tampa Bay. The elements had dimmed the luster of their equipments, the hot southern sun had bronzed their complexions, their uniforms looked much the worse for wear, and, while the pots and ladles of the refiners were still unused, there was yet the undaunted flash of hope in the Castilian eye. It was a resolute legion under a resolute leader.

The Coosa was crossed, that stream of crumpled surface which the Indian in his native sense of poetry had called "Rippling Water," which is the meaning of Coosa, and now the cavalcade turned toward the southwest, as one would look from Rome toward Blount Springs and Tuscaloosa. It seems that from the Georgia side the Indians had sent runners to the tribes on the thither side, warning of the advance of the strange cavalcade of invasion, for as DeSoto pursued his way he met one embassy after another, offering every concession in order to placation.

The line of march was through the present counties of Cherokee, Calhoun, Talladega and Coosa. Like Cæsar in Gaul, DeSoto jotted down his observations and impressions, for he was a scholarly warrior, and his records are a matter of permanent value. He was charmed by the primeval beauty of that northeastern region of Alabama. Streams, swift, bright and deep, unalloyed by the soil and sediment of the present time, wound their way among the hills; magnificent timbers stocked the forests; mountains were the more imposing because of their wooded flanks; flowering vines, in gorgeous beauty, climbed to the tops of the tallest trees; festoons of wild grapes were suspended from tree to tree; varied floral coloring decked the region throughout, while meadows of the rarest green were spread like carpets along the valleys, through which ran flashing streams like threads of silver woven into the carpeted verdure.

Here, too, the observant and intelligent Spaniard detected the difference between the Indian tribes that he had encountered on the eastern side of the river, from those on this side. Fertility of soil, picturesqueness of scenery, or the inheritance of forces from a superior ancestry, or all these combined, had placed the Alabama tribes far in advance of their tawny brethren across the stream. Here were found cleared fields, on which was grown corn in abundance, of which there were rude barns full to overflowing. Settlements and towns were laid out with some respect to order, and the huts and wigwams were built with more regard to comfort and of appearance. It was the opinion of DeSoto that the highest civilization possible to the Indian unaided, was here reached.

Environed by conditions like these, the Spanish commander was much affected, favorably concerning the Indian, but unfavorably respecting himself and his men. This advanced condition of the Indian suggested to him a problem which he had not anticipated, for he was now to deal with a class of people not before met, and for which he had not planned. This was accompanied by a suspicion, inseparable from Spanish character, that these manifestations of embassies meant for him a trap, and by this he was controlled ever afterward, much to his disadvantage, as we shall see.

He was now within the dominion of the chief of Coosa, a great monarch in these far interior wilds. His dominion was vast, his people loyal and brave, thrifty and numerous. His capital city was Coosa, and to DeSoto the chief sent an embassy of welcome, which was coldly greeted by the suspicious Spaniard. When DeSoto came near the capital, he was met by the Indian monarch himself, attended by a thousand painted warriors, stalwart, tall, erect, lithe, and dignified of movement. They walked the earth like princes. Around a band about the head of each, were nodding plumes of varicolored feathers. With lofty port and evident pride, they escorted their chief into the presence of the Spanish invader. The chief himself was a fellow of commanding build, and as he sat erect on a rude chair borne on the shoulders of four brawny braves, he was not unconscious of his consequence as a great ruler.

The Spanish were astonished by a scene so splendid in these sylvan retreats. To them it was a spectacle of wonder. About the wide shoulders of the mighty chief was a mantle of martin skins, soft and glossy, which fell in graceful folds about his huge form, while his head was adorned with a coronal of brilliant plumage. His immense escort of painted attendants lifted their voices in Indian melody, accompanied by piping on their cane flutes.

The two bands of Indians and of Spaniards were brought front to front, each silently scanning the other curiously, each magnificent in its own way. Each was equally a revelation to the other--the plumed and half-naked savages, with faces hideous with divers paints, bearing bows, arrows and wooden clubs, and the steel-clad warriors of ancient Spain with metal armor, and mounted on animals never before seen by the Indians. Through Jean Ortiz, an interpreter, the ceremony was conducted. Speeches were exchanged, after which DeSoto was escorted with much pomp to the quarters prepared for his entertainment.

Haunted by a dark suspicion, DeSoto kept the chief near him and retained him as a sort of hostage near his quarters. While the Indian is revengeful, he is kind even unto death, when a friend. The chief had exhausted his ingenuity in providing entertainment for his distinguished guest, and that guest now requited that kindness by placing the chief under arrest. The man of the woods showed deeply and keenly the humiliation felt, but the supercilious Spaniard cared not for that. The untutored warriors were enraged by the untimely treatment of their chief and gathered in knots and groups about the settlement with a low hum of murmur. Their savage blood waxed hot, and they began to foment mischief. DeSoto cared nothing for savage amenity and hospitality, and was concerned alone for his own safety. Gratitude is not an element in the Spanish character, and DeSoto had not crossed the seas to indulge in diplomatic palaver, but had come in search of the yellow gold.

Stung by revenge, the Indian warriors by thousands slid away to the woods by different ways, to plan for the extinction of the invading host, the intruder, the ingrate. Apprised of their movement, DeSoto summoned his forces and sent them in pursuit, and scattered the warriors before they could assemble, and by concerted action attack him. A large number of them were made prisoners, both of men and women, whom DeSoto handcuffed, put iron collars about their necks and loaded them with chains. All this was done openly in their own capital city. Around his headquarters sat in groups the meek-eyed prisoners, while near the house provided for the entertainment of the Spaniard sat their revered chief, himself a prisoner. The chief, the wiser of the two, pleaded that, whatever was meted out to him, his people be not thus so cruelly served. In response DeSoto sufficiently relented to release some of the prisoners, while he retained others, and when at last he took his leave he forced them to become burden-bearers of his camp equipage.

Still anxious to afford assurance of his sincerity, the imprisoned chief sought repeatedly to avow it afresh, but it fell on the leaden ears of the heartless Spaniard. Engaging DeSoto in conversation, the chief even went so far as to offer a vast domain of land to the Spaniard for the founding of a Spanish colony, and proposed to allow him to select it himself. At this DeSoto only laughed, and told his entertainer that it was not land that he sought, but gold. Well had DeSoto learned the lesson given by the atrocious Pizarro in Peru, with whom he was, during that notorious invasion far to the south.

DeSoto was in no haste to quit the Coosa capital, and with lavish hand he fed his horses, cows, and hogs on the housed corn and provender of the savages, while his men were refreshed by a long-needed rest. When he at last took his departure, he left with the Indians some of his most undesired cattle and swine, besides a negro slave, who had fallen sick, and was unable to travel. The Indians were delighted to retain the African, as they were greatly impressed by his thick, heavy lips, his black skin, and his woolly hair. Long afterward it was noted that the Indians in that quarter were of a darker hue than were the neighboring tribes, which was attributed to the remote ancestry of this son of Ham. After lingering for a full month in the Indian capital, DeSoto took his leave, but not without crowning his cruelty by taking with him the proud young chief as a prisoner of war. The most that can be said in extenuation of this infamy is that he treated him with kindness. Realizing that it was futile and perhaps perilous to protest, the chief bore the indignity with becoming calmness, showing that of the two men, he was the superior. Though kindly treated, the chief was closely watched and guarded, lest he might escape and produce havoc. Taking up his line of march, DeSoto still moved toward the south.

TUSKALOOSA, CHIEF OF THE MOBILIANS

As had before occurred, couriers preceded DeSoto, warning the Indians of other settlements and tribes of his coming. Numerous Indian towns were passed by the Spaniards as they wended their way, following the wide and well-beaten paths of the Indians as they threaded the primeval forests. The Spaniards were cautious and wary, and kept a sharp outlook for lurking danger. They would invariably pitch their camps at night on the outskirts of an Indian village, and at times, well within its limits. If an attack or misfortune should come, there was an evident advantage of close proximity to supplies. The Spaniard was suspicious, the Indian distrustful.

Much after the fashion of the ancient cities of Europe and of the farther east, some of the larger towns of the Indians were surrounded by massive walls. Timbers hard and heavy, of cured oak and hickory, sometimes sunk deep into the earth and standing upright, at others lying horizontally, but in each instance strong and compact, made the walls most formidable to attack. Along the summits of these ramparts, high and rude, were watch towers or lookouts, warily sentineled. There was evident the sense of geometric order, skilled workmanship, and resistfulness to attack from without, all of which served to heighten the wonder of the Spaniard, if indeed it did not deepen his solicitude.

The Tallapoosa River was reached--a stream flanked by dense woods and penetrating soils of blackness and of a dingy red. DeSoto was greatly impressed by the savage skill shown in the location of a fortified town in a graceful curve of the river. Tallassee, for that was the name of the town, had a double protection in the river which coiled about it, and in the wall which more immediately encircled it. From the nature of the fortifications, the Indians evidently regarded Tallassee one of their strong and strategic points. In the regions adjacent, lining the fertile banks of the river, were fields of corn with heavy ears almost sufficiently ripe for the harvester. This was in 1540, some time after which this beautiful and prosperous Indian region was invaded by tribes of Indians from Mexico, who, with tomahawk and fire, laid waste the country, burning the towns, and reducing to slavery such of the native tribes as were not slain. In point of Indian relics, no part of the country is rarer and richer than this. Numerous relics have here been found for the enrichment of depositories, and a few years ago a peculiar implement of antiquated warfare was plowed up in this region. The metal implement suits the description of the cannon in use at the time of the DeSoto invasion. It represents the type of ordnance known in those days as the "drag," the heavier pieces of which were suspended by chains, from an axle between two wheels, when movable, or between two fixed objects, when used for stationary service. They were sometimes sufficiently light to be held off from the person, in the palm of the hand, when used for firing. This last description suits that of the implement found in the Tallapoosa region. It may be seen among the interesting collections so industriously made by Dr. Thomas M. Owen, the able and efficient director of the Alabama state department of archives and history, in the capitol at Montgomery. When the railroad was building between West Point and Montgomery, there was dug up in the region of the Tallapoosa River, a necklace of rare beads, such as were worn by chiefs and princesses in the primitive days.

At Tallassee, whither had come the terrible news of the approaching Spaniards, such of the Indians as did not betake themselves to the forts met DeSoto with slight and cool civility. In order to rest his force, the Spaniard halted here for twenty days, during which time men and stock were recuperated and the stores of the commander replenished. It was here that DeSoto was visited by a sprightly young brave of splendid physical mold, gaudily attired, excessively polite, and making much show of primitive diplomacy, who invited the Spaniard to the dominion and capital of Tuskaloosa, a powerful chief, the territory of whom began about thirty miles south of Tallassee and extended westward to the banks of the Tombeckbe.

DeSoto was notified that Tuskaloosa was in person awaiting him near the northern confine of his dominion, and was ready to accord a welcome alike befitting the great monarch, and the brave Spanish commander. To all of this and much more, DeSoto listened with imperturbable mood, meanwhile according due respect to the punctilious young diplomat, who, when he signified his purpose to return, the Spaniard sent a message of grateful acknowledgment to the chief, not unattended with gifts. With this the incident closed, but it had a bloody sequel.

On quitting Tallassee, and before crossing the river on his southward march, DeSoto released the chief of the Coosa and sent him back to his people a bearer of gifts. The chief had served DeSoto's purpose, and, now that no danger could come of him, he was dismissed. The valuable gifts in part atoned for the perfidy of his retention in captivity.

Up to this time the Spaniards had had much their own way. Everything that disputed their progress had been swept aside as so many cobwebs. With genuine Castilian arrogance, mixed with cruelty, they had marched the land through with the air of masters, but their brightest days were now behind them. The future had in store for them abounding trouble and misfortune, to grapple with which would tax them to the utmost. Gold, the only object of the quest of this adventurous itinerary, had induced these young fellows of Spain to sell their estates and enlist under the standard of DeSoto, had not been found. Not a grain of the precious metal had been discovered, and more, they were not destined to find any. They had been lured by lust for gain far into the wilderness fastnesses of America, had encountered fierce and hostile tribes, were remote from their ships, and their condition was now a precarious one. Brave, daring and well equipped as they were, even these advantages were not without serious limitation, and there was little to save them from utter extinction in these deep forest retreats.

Nor were there lacking omens of disaster which did not escape the acute detection of the wary and wily Spaniard. Beneath the thin sheath of diplomacy and protestations of friendship and of hospitality, there lurked a subtle purpose to decoy these men of Spain to destruction. DeSoto felt this in his bones. That the Coosa chief was sincere there is little doubt, but DeSoto's treatment of him had exposed his apprehension, which, in turn, sharpened the revenge of the Indian. The Spaniard's overwrought precaution hastened to ripeness a conspiracy which else might have been averted.

Coming within easy reach of the place of meeting appointed by the chief, Tuskaloosa, DeSoto dispatched his camp master, Moscoso, in advance with fifteen picked horsemen, clad in imposing attire, ostensibly to negotiate, but really to impress. Ostensibly Moscoso was to ascertain the wishes of the chief concerning the nature of the formalities at the approaching meeting. Moscoso found the proud monarch of the wilderness seated on two beautiful cushions, placed on a rare and curiously wrought mat. He was stationed on a lofty eminence which commanded, in all directions, a view of imposing natural grandeur. Around him stood, in large numbers, half-naked warriors, with bodies smeared with paint of different colors. Above the chief they held a canopy formed of deerskins, and supported at each end with slanting staves. The canopy was rudely ornamented on the upper side with parallel lines of varied color. While this was used as an improvised protection from the sun, it was really a banner of war. The chief was a fine specimen of the physical man, large, strong, sinewy, erect, and heavy limbed. He looked the savage sovereign to perfection. His manner was consequential, but dignified. Anxious to impress the haughty chief with the importance, and especially with the prowess, of the coming Spaniards, Moscoso and his band pranced their proud steeds before him. With necks arched, eyes dilated and nostrils thin, the horses reared and plunged, while the practiced cavalrymen would perform feats of acrobatic horsemanship. With visage unmoved, the chief quietly gazed on without demonstration.

Later, dashed up DeSoto with the entire troop, hoping to produce an impression of awe, if not of terror, but the stolid chief remained as austere as ever. If DeSoto would impress Tuskaloosa with his importance, Tuskaloosa was just as intent on impressing DeSoto with his profound greatness. It was throughout a dramatic game of diplomacy, at which each sought to play with more effect. The reception was short, the speeches brief and cautious. The savage spoke with haughty reserve, as though compelled by courtly form. DeSoto, though speaking briefly, was extravagant in praise of the chief, but especially of himself. He sought to impress the proud Indian with the idea that, while as an Indian he thought him peculiarly great, and in condescending magnanimity he would accord this, still it was an honor not to be lightly esteemed by the chief, that the Spanish commander should make any concession at all. This event occurred just south of Line Creek, in the present county of Montgomery.

The meeting was mutually unsatisfactory. Both chief and commander were doubtful of the accomplished result, and both were consequently stiffened to increased vigilance and resolution. One was suspicious, the other treacherous. In motive, each was equally hostile. Each felt that he had strained concession, each was bent on final success. That a juncture had been reached that would result in a fair test of ability, each knew, and of the issue, neither doubted. Both would plan and watch. It was a hand-to-hand fight beneath a show of formality. Whatever the conditions, DeSoto was determined to keep the chief near himself. After two days, DeSoto prepared to move. With much show of politeness, he invited the chief to ride with him. The choicest of the horses was selected, a blood red blanket thrown over it, while there was tendered to the chief a crimson cap, and robe of the same color, all of which fascinated Tuskaloosa while it showed a courtesy undreamed of. For the first time, the doughty warrior was lifted astride a charger. The spectacle was grotesque enough--the red robed warrior on the red blanketed steed, with his huge feet, in loose moccasins, hanging low. Out of the camp they rode at the head of the cavalcade, DeSoto and the chief, while thronging thousands gazed with admiring and gaping wonder. It was a ride that preceded a bloody tragedy.

TROUBLE BREWING

Since he had gone so far in unmasking his apprehension there was now left nothing for DeSoto to do but to accept whatever results might come. He could not recede from the position which he had assumed without danger, yet that he could maintain it, remained to be seen. As league on league they rode together, DeSoto and Tuskaloosa, the Spaniard was kind, polite and civil, chatting through an attendant interpreter with the doughty and deluded chief, it gradually dawned on the Indian that he was trapped, but he uttered not a word. The fact that DeSoto's objective point was the capital of the captive chief afforded opportunity for the contrivance of new schemes in the heart of Tuskaloosa.

Still moving in a southerly direction, through the present territory of Montgomery and Lowndes counties, and the lower end of Dallas, the command reached Piasche, a town built within a bend of the Alabama River. Unfortunately for DeSoto, his supply of salt was here exhausted, from the lack of which all suffered--both man and beast. A peculiar malady was the result, from the effects of which a number of the troops died. Others affected by the malady became loathsome. The deficiency of salt was in part overcome by the use of ashes of a certain plant, for information concerning which DeSoto was indebted to the natives.

On leaving Piasche the troops followed the Alabama River, and passed through a portion of the present County of Wilcox. Meanwhile the chief had become sullen and morose, as though cherishing a deeply nourished grudge, but not once did he complain or protest against his imprisonment, and for a time DeSoto flattered himself that the deluded chief was pleased with the distinction of accompanying him on his tour, while the Indian well understood the situation, but was willing to rely on the future for redress.

By one thing was DeSoto puzzled and embarrassed--that of a number of warriors who had followed the troops all the way from Line Creek in order to watch the fate of their chief. They would hang on the rear of the troop, stop when it would, and move when it moved. While not pleased with this, DeSoto was reluctant to drive them away, as he was under the impression that he had Tuskaloosa thoroughly infatuated with him and he was anxious to retain the supposed hoodwink. The embarrassment was increased when Tuskaloosa, who seemed to detect the deception into which DeSoto had beguiled him, availed himself of the advantage thus afforded, and asked for an occasional interview with his warriors who followed the troop.

To decline the request would be to expose DeSoto's plan concerning Tuskaloosa, while to grant it, was not unattended by danger. However, the privilege was granted, with the result that Tuskaloosa was constantly sending messengers toward his capital with dispatches, of the nature of which DeSoto knew nothing. There was constant disagreement between the Spanish troops and the Indian hangers-on, and danger was constantly imminent. An outbreak finally occurred in which two Spaniards were killed, when DeSoto raved and swore, and more than intimated to Tuskaloosa that he was the occasion of it, and in his warmth of wrath let fall some intimated threats of future purposes which furnished to his shrewd Indian guest what his ultimate determination was. To all of this, Tuskaloosa growled back that he was the keeper of the Spaniards, and the threats he treasured up in his heart.

So grave, at last, became the suspicion of DeSoto that he sent two of his most trusted followers in advance, to the Indian capital, to ascertain, if possible, if there was not a conspiracy hatching against him and his men. Following rapidly, came DeSoto himself with a hundred of his picked men. Following him again, were a hundred foot soldiers in their best trim, while to Moscoso was entrusted the rest with the heavy ordnance to come more leisurely on, but to lose no time. The plan was that by the successive arrival of troops, in detachments, to impress the Indians that his numbers were without limit, as they should arrive in order. At no time, however, did DeSoto leave the chief, but kept him close to his side. The two messengers charged to ascertain the true situation at Maubila, reported to their commander that there was evidently much discontent among the Indians that boded no good.

Early on the morning of October, 18, 1540, DeSoto reached the Indian capital, Maubila. Much as he had before been impressed by the skill and workmanship of the Indians, he was surprised at the scene now presented. Here indeed was a great Indian city, beautiful for location, and formidable in its fortifications. Situated on a wide grassy plain through which ran the deep rolling Alabama, was the capital of the Mobilian tribe. The city was completely walled about with timbers of immense size, standing perpendicularly, and made deep set in the earth, and the thick coat of plastering made of lime mud, gave it the appearance of a wall of stone. There were two gates in the walls which stood oppositely, and when closed were very strong. Within, there were eighty large edifices, any one of which would accommodate 1,000 men. The grounds were well cared for with their carpet of natural grass. The city viewed from without, looked like one of the ancient cities of Asia with its lookouts of sufficient size to accommodate in each eight men. At regular intervals around the walls, but a few feet above the ground, were portholes for bowmen.

The exact location of Maubila has given rise to much speculation, and not a little discussion. Plausible reasons are assigned by different writers in support of their respective views, but the preponderance of testimony seems to favor the present site of Choctaw Bluff, in Clarke County, as the location. In opposition to this view, however, it has been urged that its distance toward the south is incompatible with the time given for reaching it by the DeSoto band.

The arrival of the troops on horseback, under DeSoto, aroused terror on the part of the Indians, who seemed to regard more the terrible horses than the men themselves. At the head of the imposing troop rode the haughty DeSoto in splendid uniform, his armor glittering and his gay plume gracefully falling back of a wide brim, while beside him was the revered chief, with his robe of red and his crimson cap, now somewhat dimmed by rough exposure. There was a hush of consternation when first the cavalcade rode into full view on the plain. DeSoto had intended by dramatic effect to overawe the Indian spectators, and with this end in view he neglected nothing. The armor of the troops was unusually bright, the men were perfectly erect in their saddles, the horses neighed and pranced, and the whole effect was inspiringly striking.

The cavalcade proceeds to the gate on one side of the city, and proudly enters. With the first sensation of terror gone, the multitude breaks forth into mighty demonstration. Throngs of men give vent to their emotions in wild whoops and shouts, accompanied by rude music on cane flutes. They leap, they dance, and by every conceivable means manifest their excited joy. On the public square, the dusky maidens gather, and with shrieks and shouts, dance with unabated glee. No demonstration to a returning conqueror could exceed that now accorded to DeSoto and his men, as they proudly ride within the walls of Maubila. Hideous cries from thousands of throats, mingled with the unmusical notes of many reeds, made the scene one of terror.

Silently, but with much ostentation, they ride upon the public square beneath the wide-spreading oaks. At a given signal, all dismount. A canopy underspread with rich matting, had been prepared for DeSoto and the chief. They slowly repair thereto and are seated. With the suddenness of a flash, Tuskaloosa leaps to his feet, his eye glittering with pent-up anger, and in stentorian tones he demands that he receive the honor due him within his own walls, and that he be no longer treated as a common prisoner. DeSoto is taken quite off his guard. He is as silent as the tomb. An awful hush falls suddenly on the scene. Wheeling on his heel, the indignant monarch steps forth and leisurely retires to one of the buildings. DeSoto, usually very resourceful, is now at his wits' end. Hoping to placate the stormy chief, he sends an invitation to join him at breakfast, but the offer is not only sternly declined, but Tuskaloosa notifies the Spaniard that the sooner he betakes himself without his dominions, the better it will be for him. A crisis had come and DeSoto must face it.

BATTLE OF MAUBILA

Signs now grow more ominous and rapidly, and DeSoto begins to fear the worst. This is his greatest dilemma. He would avoid a clash if he could, and fight only if he must. The occasion has become tense, and he thinks and plans fast. The Indians have largely vanished from sight in rather a mysterious way, and those now huddled on the square are in close conference. A Spanish spy whispers to DeSoto that a thousand warriors, well armed, are concentrated in one of the large buildings, while in another is a large supply of Indian munitions of war. The crisis is graver than he had apprehended. The Spaniard dreaded Indian treachery the more because it might exceed that of his own. That which he has just learned is startling, and shows that he has not been mistaken in his suspicions.

Meanwhile DeSoto keeps up negotiations with the chief, but receives only rebuff. Meanwhile, also, he is sending secret orders to his men to be ready at any moment and for any emergency. He now realizes his error in allowing Tuskaloosa to get beyond his grasp. That which he now wishes is to have him once more in his possession, and to this end he is working. His flattery is profuse, his promises to the chief extravagant. His principal hope lies in gaining the possession once more of his person. He plies his ingenuity by cajolery, and by all the arts known to the flatterer, but the foxy Indian had himself recently learned some lessons of Spanish character, and he is as anxious to keep himself beyond the reach of DeSoto, as DeSoto's anxiety is to gain possession of him. In one of the buildings, Tuskaloosa is holding a council with his leading spirits, as message after message comes from DeSoto. The Indian is not so unskilled in the art of deception, that he does not see through the thin guise of the purpose of the Spaniard. "Surely in vain the net is spread in the sight of any bird." While the negotiations are thus pending, while the parleying and dallying are going on, an Indian warrior dashes from the assembled host, and with stentorian voice attended with grim expressions of heated hostility, denounces the Spaniards as robbers, thieves and murderers--denounces DeSoto for holding in captivity the beloved chief, who is as free as the Spaniards, and as good as the Spanish leader himself, meanwhile making as though he would shoot with an arrow into the Spanish ranks. Truth is hard, and sometimes hurts. DeSoto is inclined to disregard all this. The fact is, there was a mutual and balanced fear between the two parties. Each feared the other; each was equally doubtful of an issue joined.

What might have been the result had not a most untimely occurrence taken place, cannot be imagined, but a Spanish cavalier standing near the warrior who gave vent to the speech just referred to, irritated beyond control, clove him asunder with a heavy sword, and his bowels gushed out in sight of all present. This is the touch of the match to the magazine. Like the muffled roar of a distant storm, the savages quickly gather, and in fury rush on the Spaniards, who stand with entire self-collection as though nothing was occurring. Checked by this marvelous coolness, the Indians hesitate, and with the utmost precision, the Spaniards march outside the walls, excepting fifteen, who alarmed by the outbreak, flee into a room of one of the buildings and close fast the door.

Once beyond the gate, the Spaniards wheel in defiance and show battle. Their eyes flash terror, their attitude is one of ferocity. DeSoto has less than a hundred men, as the infantry has not yet arrived. Soon it appears, however, and gives fresh nerve. Save the unfortunate killing of the warrior, nothing has been yet done to indicate an approaching battle, though the signs thicken fast. The low thud of hurrying feet within the walls, while all else is silent, betokens trouble. The Spaniards have but a minute or so to wait, before indications of hostility are manifest. The camp equipage has been left by the Spaniards on the square, as well as the Indian prisoners, who had been used all the way from Coosa as burden bearers. The baggage is burned and the prisoners are freed. The iron collars are taken from their necks, and the chains from their wrists, and bows and clubs are placed in their hands to avenge themselves of their oppressors. The fifteen who fled into one of the buildings are still cut off, and the situation is ominously acute.

The delay is only temporary, for soon the savages pour through the gateway with demoniacal yelling, while a thousand swift arrows plow the air. Five Spaniards of the little band fall dead, and DeSoto receives a wound. Regardless of the flowing blood, he leads his command to meet the shock of the foe. Surprised at courage so unusual, the savages falter, then rush back within the gate and make it fast. They now turn to the destruction of the fifteen penned within the room, and seek to force the door, but as each savage shows himself the enclosed men shoot him down. Some of the best of DeSoto's fighters are shut within that room--among them are five of DeSoto's bodyguard, some crossbowmen, two priests, and a friendly Indian. Their doom seems certain, but they are fighting like bayed tigers. Unable to force the door, the Indians climb to the top of the walls, and begin to tear up the roof in order to reach them, but again as an Indian comes within view he is killed. The dead are heaped before the door, they lie in a pile on the roof.

Meanwhile there is no slack in the fighting at the front. The Spanish assault the walls, but are driven back, though in perfect order. Encouraged by this, and believing the battle already won, the Indians again throw open the big gate and rush with fury on the Spaniards. Indians know little of the value of a retreat in order to rally, and are stunned by the steadiness and nerve with which they are met. Now begins the battle in downright earnestness.

DeSoto is at great disadvantage both in numbers and in supplies of munitions. Moscoso lingers with the reserves. He is much in need, should be here, but delays. With strained vision, DeSoto looks for his lieutenant, but he comes not. The fight is now hand to hand. The Indians are perhaps fifty to one against the Spaniards, but order and discipline, powder and ball, crossbow and sword, horse and armor prevail against the odds. DeSoto leads his troops in person. His men are animated by his dauntless presence and the terror of his execution. He fights like a common trooper. The blood still oozes from his wound, but he fights on still. The Spaniards not only hold their own, but force the savages back.

At this juncture Moscoso arrives. The Indians rush again within the walls and make fast the gate. DeSoto now plans for the final onset. His heavy ordnance is to be brought into prompt execution. On the spot he organizes his detachments, and while the arrows are flying, he assigns to each body its task in the closing scene of the drama. Coolness like this is almost superhuman, but DeSoto is not cooler than his men.

The axes begin to ring on the gate. Nerved now to desperation by this, the Indians fight with more ferocity than ever. With resounding blows the axes fall on the doomed gate. From the summit of the walls and from the portholes the arrows are rained down on the Spaniards, but striking their encased armor glide off. Huge pebbles, the size of a man's fist and larger, fall like hailstones upon their helmets, but to no effect. The gate begins to give way, it reels, it falls with a creaking crash, and the Spaniards sweep within. Indians and Spaniards alike fight like demons. DeSoto still leads, hewing down man after man with his broadsword. His men follow with equal execution.

Torches in hand, the walls are being fired. The thick plastering is knocked off and in many places, the fires begin. Ladders are improvised, the walls are scaled, and near the summit the torch is applied. The fifteen pent-up men are released, jump with exhilaration into the fray, and do deadlier work than the others. The fires begin to climb the walls. They toss high in air their forked tongues. In a swaying column the smoke darkens the heavens.

For nine long hours the battle has raged without cessation, and the end is not yet. Yells, orders, shrieks, the clang of steel, the stroke of axes, the roar and crackle of flames mingle in common confusion. DeSoto rushes on a big warrior, raises his lance to drive it through him and receives a long arrow in his thigh. He cannot stop to extricate it now, and while it is protruding, and is much in his way, he fights on like a demon unchained. Rising in his saddle he sways his sword about his head and yells, "Our Lady and Santiago!" and plunges anew into the storm of battle. Spurring his horse into the thickest of the fight, he lays many a warrior low.

The Indians begin to break away. They rapidly disappear. The fires become intense, unbearable. It is a circle of flame leaping from eighty buildings of dried wood, all at once. The fires rage. The dead braves lie in heaps both within and without the wall. The blood stands in puddles over a wide area. At last there are no Indians to fight. They have fled in confusion to the woods, and DeSoto is master of the situation.

October 18, 1540, remains to this time the date of the bloodiest Indian battle that was ever fought. The sun goes down on a city which in the early hours of the day resounded with the sound of cane lutes, and the voices of many dancers. The mighty buildings which met the astonished gaze of the Spanish conqueror, are now a mass of charred ruins. The autumn grass, green and luxuriant in the morning, is now red with gore. The populous city of ten hours before is deserted. The great trees, rich in foliage, are now blasted and seared. Where peace and prosperity were, havoc is now enthroned. DeSoto had won; his greatest obstruction is now out of his way, but fresh, and now unconjectured, troubles await him for which he is ill prepared.

AFTERMATH OF THE BATTLE

The morning following the battle of Maubila the autumnal sun broke in radiance over the desolate scene. The high oaken walls were gone, the great buildings had vanished, the ancestral oaks that stood about the grounds now looked like bare sentinels with arms of nakedness--scarred, barkless and leafless, the greenswarded square of the morning before was a sheet of black. When the morning before DeSoto first beheld it, Maubila was a busy hive of humanity, but it was now as silent as the desert. The buzz of conversation was no more, the cane lute was silent, the shout of the warrior had died away, the voices of the Indian maidens were hushed. The warriors were now stiff in death--the maidens had perished. From the smouldering ruins of the burned city, still crept a slow smoke, while around the borders of the horizon it shrouded the fronting woods. Nothing was wanting to complete the scene of desolation, nothing to finish the picture of horror.

About the grounds lay heaps of the dead, many burned to blackness, while around the walls without, bodies were scattered like leaves. The wide paths leading to the city from different directions, were paved with the dead, while along the neighboring streams they lay, still grasping their bows and tomahawks. Wounded unto death, they had dragged their bodies in burning thirst to the streams, had slaked their intense desire for water, and had lain down to die. Squaws and babies were intermingled with brave warriors, while maidens in their tawdry regalia, worn to greet the Spaniard and his men, were stretched in death. The leaves, grass, and low underbrush about the once proud city, were painted in the blood of its brave defenders, now no more.

To DeSoto it was a victory dearly bought. He had won by dint of discipline and of orderly evolution, by means of powder and bullet and encasing armor, but he had paid a heavy toll. It was the beginning of his own end, and that of the expedition which he led. Eighty-two Spaniards of the small band were either dead, or a little later, died of their wounds. Forty-five horses had been killed, and much of the clothing of the men had been consumed in the flames, together with medicines, relics, and much other valuable property. There was not an unwounded man in the party save among the priests, who did not share in the fight. Some of the men bore as many as eleven wounds, and in not a few instances, the arrows were still buried in the flesh, made difficult of extrication because of the triangular shape of the stones with which the arrows were tipped. Every surgeon was dead excepting one of the staff, and he the least skillful. Following the example of the men under Cortez in Mexico, the Spaniards cut away the fat part of the thighs of the slain Indians, and bound the flesh about their wounds. The camp was removed sufficiently away from the scene to escape the stench of the dead, the Spanish slain were buried, and DeSoto was left to plan for the future. Forgetful of his own wounds, he was intent on the comfort of his men. He would seek to cheer them with visions of fortune yet to be realized, and with promises never to be fulfilled.

In the solitude of thought, DeSoto kept well within himself. He realized the seriousness of the situation, was half inclined to abandon the quest for gold, but his proud spirit revolted against acknowledgement of failure. Yet a serious breach had been made in his ranks, his resources were impaired beyond recuperation, winter was coming on, he knew not the condition of the country ahead, nor did he know what the temper of his troops would be after the reaction from the battle. He talked to no one, for the very excellent reason that he did not know in whom to confide. The Spaniard is wary, suspicious. Every one suspects every other. Daring as DeSoto was, he was not without a modicum of precaution. As he had westward gone, the tribes had increased in intelligence and in formidableness. What lay before him toward the further west, he knew not. He could not sustain another Maubila. After all, would it be wise or not, to seek again the fleet in Tampa Bay? Here was a perplexity with which to wrestle. He must act, and that soon, but how, was the question that harassed his mind.

One ray of hope pierced the gloom of the silent and morose Spaniard--the Indian tribes westward and northward, on learning of the fate of Maubila, sent envoys of peace to DeSoto, attended with assurances of good will and of friendship. Stricken with terror by the feat of the valiant white invader, they were anxious to placate him in advance. Whatever may have been their sentiments before, they were now sycophantic enough. Among the Indian visitors it was said by some that the Chief Tuskaloosa had fled during the battle, but the general opinion was that he had perished. These same Indian envoys told DeSoto that the great chief had long been planning for the extinction of the Spanish host, and that his plot was deeply laid, which news served to encourage the Spaniard with the belief that he had committed no blunder in overthrowing him. These envoys gave partial nerve to DeSoto in his growing perplexity and despondency.

While the commander sat alone in his tent meditating on what course he should pursue, his men nursed their wounds, and with returning relief, they became the same volatile spirits as before. Up to this time, their confidence in their leader had been supreme. While they did not comprehend his unusual moroseness, and while no one would venture to approach him with any degree of familiarity, they confided in his judgment, and lolled the days away in utter indifference of the future. Sprawled on their rough pallets of leaves and straw, or else stretched on the grass beneath the wide trees, they would while away the time gambling. Their cards had been destroyed by the fire, but they improvised others. They were inveterate gamblers. Throughout the entire march these reckless fellows gambled at every halt. Money, jewelry, horses, clothing, and even Indian mistresses were staked in the games. With nothing now to beguile the tedium of the camp, they whiled away the days in gaming, while the demure commander sat alone in his tent doubtful as to what to do next. Heartened by the reports of the envoys, DeSoto finally almost resolved to push westward, but an unexpected dilemma arose for which he was least prepared. Idleness was demoralizing his men, and an unlooked-for trouble was in store for him, the news of which almost stunned him, when he learned it. Far severer and sorer than any yet encountered, it went to his heart like cold steel, when once it was realized.

MURMURING AND MUTINY

Nearly eight months now lie behind the expedition, and they had been months of almost superhuman endurance. Exposure to rain and cold, groping through tangled swamps, and wading or swimming numerous creeks and rivers, undergoing hunger, fatigue, and sickness, kept in constant anxiety, by day and by night, lest they be attacked by a stealthy foe, climbing high hills and mountains without the semblance of a road, or even a path, fighting frequently without any knowledge of the force opposed, utterly cut off from communication with home, or with the outside world, and utterly without any compensation for all endured--when were the trials of a body of men greater? Their ranks were now thinned, most of their luggage was gone, they were worn out by long marches, many of their comrades were sleeping in graves in a land of wilderness, and yet not a grain of the much-sought gold has been found. Many had staked their fortunes on the quest, and these young, blooded Castilians were now beginning to show signs of hostile restlessness.