Part 24

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.