There is almost a moral certainty that De Soto must have crossed the river above this place. The make of the land, and the custom of the Indians in choosing the best ground for a path to travel from village to village, would determine this. His position, after crossing the Mississippi at the mouth of the St. Francis, and reaching the high grounds of the latter, would lead the natives who were his guides to keep the elevated and dry ranges leading to the buffalo country, west; and he must have crossed the affluents of the Black and Currents rivers at a high point towards the Ozarks. The dry and open woods afforded the best ground for the march of his cavalry; and when he attempted to reach the salt and buffalo country from the region east of White river, the roughness of the country would lead him to the central points of that stream. It would be interesting, as a point of antiquarian interest, to know where the old Indian paths were located. The roads, in all parts of the country, were based on these. They led to the most practicable fords of rivers, they avoided swamps and boggy grounds, and evinced a thorough geographical knowledge of the conformation of the country.
To travel where De Soto had travelled, and where he had performed some of his heroic feats, had something pleasing, at least, in the association. Doubtless, had the first occupants of Upper Louisiana been as mindful of historical reminiscences as they were set on repeating his search for gold and silver mines, they might have been rewarded by finding some of the straggling bones of his broken-down Andalusian cavalry. The fragments of broken arms and trappings were yet, perhaps, concealed by the accumulated rank vegetable soil of Arkansas and Southern Missouri, whence the plough may at no distant day reveal them.
It was ten o'clock on the morning of the 19th, when, having made every necessary preparation, we left Mr. Bean's. I regretted the necessity of making a selection from my collection of minerals and geological specimens. We set out with great alacrity. For the first five miles, we passed over a level, fertile tract, with several plantations; the remaining thirteen miles were comparatively sterile and uneven, without settlements. We had passed about seventeen miles of the distance, when my right foot and ankle began to flinch. I was not sensible of any slip or sprain in walking, but rather believe it resulted from too much ardour and anxiety to get forward. I had, about four years previously, dislocated and injured the same ankle in leaping down a precipice in the Green mountains, having mistaken a granitical shelf of rock at its base, which was covered with autumnal leaves, for soft soil. I believe the suddenness and alacrity of this day's travel, after leaving the quietude of the canoe, had awakened a sympathy in the injured nerves. In a short time, the pain was unendurable. With great effort I walked a mile further, and reached a double log house, the mistress of which bathed the ankle with salt and water, and made other applications. Some alleviation, but no permanent relief, was obtained. I then laid down under the hope of being better, but awoke on the morning of the 20th with little or no abatement of the pain, and inflammation. A traveller on horseback, coming along that morning on a fine animal, agreed, for a small compensation, to let me ride to the south fork of Strawberry river, while he went afoot. This helped me over twelve miles of the road, where his path diverged; and I felt so much relieved by it, on dismounting, that I managed, by easy stages, to walk four miles farther, which brought us to the main river. The afternoon was not yet spent; but the pain of my ankle had returned before reaching the river, and I found it in vain to press forward, without adequate repose.
The next morning (21st), my travelling companion, who cared nothing for natural history or antiquities, and was urgent to push on, left me, and returned to St. Louis. Left alone, I felt, for a few moments, a sense of isolation; but I was now in a region where there was no longer any danger to be apprehended for the want of the first necessaries of life. My lameness required nothing, indeed, but perfect repose. The people were kind, and, when I ascertained that my hostess was a sister of one of the hunters who had guided me in the most remote parts of my wanderings in the Ozarks, there was a manifest point of sympathy.
I found by inquiry that there were appearances of a mineral deposit in this vicinity, which seemed to connect the hilly grounds of Strawberry river with similar indications which have been noticed near the Bull shoals, on White river. Appearances denote the existence of sulphuret of lead in the vicinity. The sulphate of barytes, calcareous spar, and white crystalline masses of quartz, characterize the uplands. When my foot and ankle would bear it, I proceeded by easy paces northward, going, the first day after leaving the Strawberry valley, ten miles, which brought me to a place called Dogwood Springs, so named from the cornus florida. The next day I went ten miles further, when I came to the banks of Spring river, where I was entertained by Major Haynes. Here I first saw cotton in the fields, being the unpulled bolls of the autumn crop, which had not been thought worth gathering.
Feeling no injury to result from these easy marches, which gave me time to examine the appearances of the surface, I ventured a little farther on the recovery of my ankle, and, the third day, went nineteen miles. In this distance I crossed the stream called Elevenpoints, a tributary to Spring river, and came, at a rather late hour in the evening, into a small valley called Foosh-e-da-maw, a popular corruption of the French Fourche à Thomas. It was quite dark when I applied for a night's lodging at a small cabin, being the only one I had encountered for many miles. The man and his wife, who were its only occupants, were manifestly not blessed with much of this world's goods; but they were kind, and, though they had already gone to bed, and had but one room, they permitted me to occupy a part of the floor. Spare bed they had none; but, had they possessed ever so many, I did not require one. Camping out under the open heavens so long, had created a habit which made it impossible for me to rest in a soft bed. I had declined one the night before, at Spring river, and thrown myself on a single blanket, on the hard puncheons. I wished to keep my nerves up to this tense state, and the hardy habits of the woodman, while I was compelled to foot my way, and take my chances for rough fare, for some time.
With the earliest gleams of light I was up, and walked four miles to breakfast. Twelve more brought me to Hicks's ferry, on a large stream called the Currents. I had camped on the source of this river, in the cliffs of the Ozarks, on my outward trip, and found the region remarkable for its large saltpetre caves. It was here a river of eight feet deep, and three hundred yards wide. At this spot I should have stopped; for, after going beyond it, I found the country was thinly settled, which compelled me to walk some time after nightfall, before I could find a house; and, on presenting myself, the man proved to be surly and gruff, and denied me lodging. It was evident to me, from words that passed, that his wife was expecting to be ill; and, as the house was small, there seemed some reason for his apparent unkindness. I had already come twenty-three miles; the night was dark, and threatened rain; and the next house distant. I should have been happy to exclaim, with the poet,
"Turn, gentle hermit of the dale, and guide my lonely way!"
but there was no gentle hermit in sight. It was clearly not a question of poetry, but was likely to be one of sober, down-right prose. I said to him, finally, after a look into the black darkness and desolate woods, that I would only claim my length on the floor, and, to give no uneasiness to his good lady, be off at the slightest intimation. He consented, and I laid down without receiving any notice of the lady's expected illness till morning, when I left my pallet at a very early hour. For three miles beyond, it was a rough region, through which it required daylight to pass, and where I must have lost my way in the dark, had I gone on, the night previously.
I stopped at a cottage for breakfast. It was occupied by a poor woman. Everything bore tokens of this fact. She appeared to have little in the way of eatables herself, but was very willing, in the article of breakfast, to share that little with me. I had passed the night before supperless, after a long day's walk, and the morning's air had further excited my appetite; still, I should have gone on, had another habitation been near at hand; but what the good woman wanted in means, she made up in readiness and hearty good-will; and, if the meal was not sumptuous, I arose as well satisfied as if I had breakfasted with a lord.