The magazine of history with notes and queries (Vol. I, No. 5, May 1905)

In 1519 Alonso Alvarez de Pineda (or Pinedo) was sent as commander of an expedition of three or four sailing vessels to explore the coast of Florida and the northern half of the Gulf of Mexico, under a commission from Garay, the governor of the Spanish settlements in Jamaica. The resulting map, transmitted by Garay to Spain, gives a somewhat correctly proportioned outline of the entire gulf, with Florida, Cuba, and Yucatan inclosing it on the east; and the Mississippi is named Rio del Espiritu Santo (River of the Holy Spirit). In Harrisse’s Discovery of North America (1892, p. 168), a translation from the contemporary Spanish account of this expedition says, concerning the Mississippi, that the ships “entered a river which was found to be very large and very deep, at the mouth of which they say they found an extensive town, where they remained forty days and careened their vessels. The natives treated our men in a friendly manner, trading with them, and giving what they possessed. The Spaniards ascended a distance of six leagues up the river, and saw on its banks, right and left, forty villages.”

Pineda’s map shows the Mississippi as if it had a wide mouth, growing wider like a bay in going inland, and it has no representation of the delta; but this river and the several others tributary to the gulf are all mapped only at their mouths. What he meant for the Mississippi is more clearly indicated by the map sent to Spain by Cortes and published there in 1524, which shows the Rio del Espiritu Santo flowing through two lakes close to its mouth, evidently intended to represent Lakes Pontchartrain and Borgne. The same delineation of the Lower Mississippi is given also by the Turin map, of about the year 1523. Both these maps, doubtless based on information supplied by Pineda, display the course of the Mississippi above Lake Pontchartrain to a distance of apparently at least a hundred miles, where it is represented as formed by three confluent streams. Through questioning the Indians, he probably learned of the Red river, and of its northern tributary, the Black, which would be the two inflowing streams at nearly the distance mentioned from Pontchartrain.

The little ships of Pineda’s expedition therefore must be supposed, according to these maps, to have entered the Mississippi by one of its numerous outflowing navigable bayous, which, before the construction of levees, discharged a considerable part of the waters of the great river through Lakes Maurepas, Pontchartrain, and Borgne. The Indian town noted at the mouth of the river may have been at the mouth of the bayou, that is, on or near Lake Maurepas; or it may have been near the chief place of outflow from the main river, which was most probably then, as in recent times, at Bayou Manchac, 117 miles above the site of New Orleans by the course of the river, and 14 miles below Baton Rouge. There is no reason to distrust the statement that within six leagues thence up the Mississippi the Spaniards observed forty groups of temporary or permanent Indian dwellings. If the ships only entered the mouth of the bayou (or of the Amite river, through which the several bayous send their waters to the lake), being there careened and repaired, it is easy to infer that some of the Spaniards ascended the Amite and Bayou Manchac in small boats to the Mississippi, noted the width of that mighty stream, sounded its great depth, and reported its Indian villages. The delta, jutting out as a long cape, was neglected by Pineda in his mapping, which was accepted generally by cartographers. The chart of Vespucci’s first voyage, more truthful as to this river’s embouchure, had been lost and forgotten.

Harrisse, from a thorough study of records of Pineda’s cruise, concludes that he came to the Mississippi in April or May, 1519, remained at the Indian town forty days, as stated, and went onward, exploring the coast of Louisiana and Texas, in June and July. He coasted beyond the Panuco river, but turned back when he reached the neighborhood of Vera Cruz, already occupied by Cortes. The next year Pineda again voyaged to the Panuco, with many men and horses, to establish a colony, in which endeavor he and most of his company were killed by the Indians.

The next expedition noting the Mississippi river was under the command of Pamphilo (or Panfilo) de Narvaez, for exploration and colonization of the country north of the Gulf of Mexico, from Florida westward nearly to the Panuco river, over which he had been given the title of governor. Grandly but ignorantly planned, this expedition was most utterly disastrous. Out of the three hundred men who began it, only Cabeza de Vaca, the historian of their shipwrecks and wanderings, with three others, survived to reach Spanish settlements.

In April, 1528, after a stormy voyage from Cuba, Narvaez landed on the west coast of Florida, probably at Tampa Bay. Amid great hardships, the expedition, mostly afoot, but having forty horses, marched through woods and swamps, crossed rivers, found an Indian town called Apalachen, and, finally turning back, came again to the sea, probably at the site of St. Mark’s, about fifty miles east of the Appalachicola River. Not finding his ships, on which he expected to re-embark, Narvaez consulted his followers, and they decided, although destitute of tools, to construct boats and voyage westward along the coast. More than forty had died of disease and hunger, and ten had been killed within sight of their camp and boat-building, by arrows of Indian foes, before they embarked, late in September, reduced to the number of two hundred and forty-seven, in five frail vessels, to be propelled by oars, but also provided with sails. They had no adequate means to carry water, and consequently suffered terribly from thirst, as well as hunger. On the sea they were in great peril during storms; and on landing they were assailed by the Indians with stones and arrows.

About the end of October the wretched flotilla reached the Mississippi, of which Cabeza de Vaca wrote in his Relation, as translated by Buckingham Smith:

“My boat, which was first, discovered a point made by the land, and, against a cape opposite, passed a broad river. I cast anchor near a little island forming the point, to await the arrival of the other boats. The Governor did not choose to come up, and entered a bay near by in which were a great many islets. We came together there, and took fresh water from the sea, the stream entering it in freshet. To parch some of the maize we brought with us, since we had eaten it raw for two days, we went on an island; but finding no wood we agreed to go to the river beyond the point, one league off. By no effort could we get there, so violent was the current on the way, which drove us out, while we contended and strove to gain the land.

The north wind, which came from the shore, began to blow so strongly that it forced us to sea without our being able to overcome it. We sounded half a league out, and found with thirty fathoms we could not get bottom; but we were unable to satisfy ourselves that the current was not the cause of failure.”

During the next week the boats, being rowed and drifted westward, were separated by storms; that of Narvaez may have foundered; others were driven ashore and wrecked. Those of the men who escaped from the sea mostly perished by hunger and cold, while some were enslaved by the Indians. Cabeza de Vaca was held in servitude on and near the island where he was wrecked, probably the island of Galveston, during about six years. Thence escaping, with two Spaniards and a negro of their company, he wandered across Texas, Chihuahua, and Sonora, securing the friendly aid of the Indians all the way, and coming to Spanish settlements on the Pacific coast, near the mouth of the Gulf of California, at the end of March, 1536. The next year he returned to Spain, where his Relation was published in 1542. A map of his wanderings was made in Mexico for the viceroy, but it has not been preserved. No addition to the knowledge of the Mississippi was derived from this expedition.

Grander, equally foolhardy, and scarcely less direful in its experiences, was the expedition of Hernando (Ferdinand) de Soto, similarly planned for discoveries, conquest, and the establishment of a colonial government. He attained to a possession of the country granted to him, but only by burial in its great river.

By a strange infatuation, Cabeza de Vaca, arriving in Spain, and being questioned by his kinsfolk, gave them the impression that Florida, then including a large region northwest of the peninsula, was “the richest country in the world.” This was near the truth, if understood with reference to capabilities for agriculture; but the Spaniards pictured such wealth of gold and silver as had been recently plundered from Peru and Mexico. A soldier of fortune, De Soto, who was of noble lineage, formerly poor, but who had become suddenly rich with Pizarro from the spoils of Peru, was eager for greater wealth and power. Returning to Spain he secured appointment as governor of Cuba, with a commission to extend Spanish dominion over Florida and the country north of the Gulf of Mexico, where he was to be the feudal lord and governor. It was the same commission as that which had lured Narvaez to his death; but it was thought to be a sure passport to great wealth.

Many young gentlemen of the noblest families in Spain, and some from Elvas in Portugal, flocked to De Soto’s standard. One of the Portuguese, whose name is unknown, wrote the narrative, published in 1557, which is our chief source of information concerning the route and history of the expedition. An English translation of this Relation of “A Gentleman of Elvas,” made by Richard Hakluyt, was published in 1611, and was reprinted for the Hakluyt Society in 1851. Another translation, by Buckingham Smith, from which ensuing quotations are taken, was published in New York by the Bradford Club in 1866.

There were more volunteers than could be accepted; and after an exultant voyage to Cuba and thence to Florida, De Soto landed, with about 600 men and 213 horses, at Tampa Bay, May 30 (old style), 1539.

Almost two years were spent in marches through inhospitable forests and swamps, fording rivers, and fighting with many tribes of Indians, but finding nothing worth plundering. After much suffering in the winter camps, in the spring of 1541 the weary and wellnigh despairing expedition came to the Mississippi River, probably at the Lower Chickasaw Bluff (in Memphis, Tennessee, and extending ten miles down the east bank of the river), near the northwest corner of the present state of Mississippi, at the distance of about four hundred miles north of the Gulf, but twice as far by the tortuous watercourse. Armed Indians in two hundred canoes, coming from up the river, saluted the Spaniards, and the chief said to De Soto “that he had come to visit, serve, and obey him; for he had heard that he was the greatest of lords, the most powerful on all the earth.” The Indians were doubtless treacherous; but here, as usual, the Spaniards were the first aggressors. When the canoes drew off from the shore, “the crossbow-men, who were in readiness,” according to the Portuguese Relation, “with loud cries shot at the Indians, and struck down five or six of them.”