Turning the matter over in his mind, DeSoto finally resolved on a desperate course. He had been planning to found a Spanish settlement in this particular region, and had gone so far as to send an Indian agent to Ochus, where the plans of colonization were being arranged. Goaded to the extreme of desperation, he proposed to make a bold show of authority and force. It was now just a month since the battle, and all his men had so far recovered from their wounds that they were again able to take up the line of march. Reserving his plan to himself, on the morning of November 18, he suddenly issued an order to get ready to move at once. His men did not know what direction he would go, but to their astonishment, he turned northward. He accompanied his order with a threat to kill any man who undertook to disobey. This was quite unusual, indeed, nothing like it had before occurred, and it took the men quite off their guard. Before the troops could confer or consult, every man was in his saddle and strung out on the line of march. By this means DeSoto surprised the men instead of their surprising him. He was really without authority in a step so arbitrary. The expedition was entirely voluntary, but DeSoto saw that unless he could by a single stroke, shatter the rising revolt, he should be totally undone.
Giving up the idea of a colony, DeSoto moved toward the northwest, beyond the confines of the present County of Clarke, and through the territory of Marengo and Greene, as they now are, and, after five days, reached the Black Warrior River about where the village of Erie now is. Here he encountered resistance. The news of the disaster at Maubila had spread to the remotest settlements, arousing the Indians to vengeance, and at Erie, they appeared 1,500 strong, painted, and bearing clubs and bows. As though nothing was before them, the Spaniards moved steadily on, the Indians falling back, while they filled the air with their arrows. On reaching the river, the Indians in haste filled their waiting canoes and rowed rapidly across, and such as could not find place in the boats, plunged in and swam the stream. On the opposite side, the Indians met a large reinforcement that had gathered to dispute the passage of the river by DeSoto. The Spaniards began leisurely to fortify, giving but slight heed to the wild demonstrations on the opposite side, which the Indians observing, quietly dispersed and disappeared, save a number who were left to watch the object of the Spaniards.
Detailing a hundred men to cut timbers and construct rafts, DeSoto quietly rested till the arrangements were complete, when he began to cross with his force, giving no attention to the showers of arrows from the foe. Struck by his cool determination, the Indians fled precipitately.
No region before entered, had so impressed DeSoto, as this one. He was charmed by its natural grandeur. The late dry fall had enlivened the autumnal scenery, the grass was still green, which, together with the flaming foliage of the forests, lent magnificence to a wide scene. The soil was of a deep black, and the surface somewhat rolling, the billows of green and the delicious color of the engirdling woods, affording a view lovelier than any he had ever before witnessed. The troop was now passing through the upper part of Greene County, where it borders on Pickens.
Five days more brought the Spaniards to the bank of the Little Tombeckbe. The Spaniards were impressed by the fact that in proportion to the fertility of the country, was a sparseness of population, the explanation being that the Indian detests prairie mud, making his home on the uplands, and descending to the fertile plains only to replenish his store of meat. Again at the Little Tombeckbe, the Indians appeared in hostile array, and DeSoto, eager to avoid battle, sent a friendly Indian across the stream to negotiate terms of peace. Him they slew within sight of the Spaniards, and then strangely fled to the woods, and DeSoto crossed without further interruption. He was now on the eastern border of Mississippi, but the final act of the tragedy was yet to come.
THE CLOSING SCENE
Though we have followed the daring and dashing DeSoto to the western confines of the state, the story would be incomplete without a record of the closing scene of his career. His life was thrilling in incident, even to the end. Entering the territory which long afterward came to be called Mississippi, DeSoto found it the most fertile and prosperous of the regions yet visited. Thriving Indian towns abounded with evidence of the most advanced Indian civilization he had yet met.
Though delayed, winter at last set in with unusual severity, and DeSoto decided to spend the cold season in that quarter. He was eager for the good will of the inhabitants, and sought by every possible means to gain it. Foraging over the country, his men would return with supplies, and always with prisoners. These DeSoto would liberate with much show of kindness, and dismiss them with presents to their chief. This would surprise the prisoners, and more the chiefs themselves. This resulted in bringing to his camp the chief of the Chickasaw tribe, the fiercest and most warlike of all those on the continent, and notably the most advanced. This chief, not to be outdone by the kindness of the Spaniard, brought as a present, one hundred and fifty rabbits, besides four mantles of rich fur. Nor did he cease with a single visit, but came again and again and chatted with DeSoto with unrestrained familiarity around his camp fire. The Indian was studiously diplomatic, and after several visits, disclosed to DeSoto that he had a certain rebellious subject whom he wished the Spaniard to subdue for him. This task, the chief further disclosed, was one attended with such complications as to prevent his action in the matter, and yet if DeSoto would intervene with sternness, the chief would see to it that it would not be forgotten.