Thus refreshed, I went on ten miles, which brought me to the banks of Little Black river. Two miles beyond this stream, I stopped at the house of a Mr. Reeves, at an early hour in the afternoon, my ankle giving indications of returning lameness. Quiet, and a night's repose, had the effect to relieve these symptoms, and I was enabled cautiously to continue my journey the next day. Daylight was ever my signal for rising, and, by easy stages, I made seventeen miles during the day, walking early and late. The first six miles of this distance were made before I stopped for breakfast, and the next ten miles brought me to the ferry over Big Black river—a clear, rapid stream, which, in its progress to the south, is the recipient of all the before-mentioned streams, from the Strawberry river, north; and is itself, finally, a tributary of White river, maintaining through it a free navigation with the Mississippi. After crossing the ferry, I went about half a mile further, and took up my night's lodgings at a Mr. Bollinger's. I felt no further weakness of my foot and ankle, and was happy in the reflection that my cautious movements had been such as not to overtax the strength of my nerves. Indeed, from this point, (till 1830,) I experienced no further symptoms of lameness.
On the next morning (28th), I walked seven miles, and took breakfast at a Mr. Esty's, where I fell in with the old road, which had originally been laid, when the country came to be settled, on the ancient Indian path. The elevated lands between Black river and the St. Francis, had evidently been the line of march of De Soto, when (in 1541) he set forward from "Quiguate," on the St. Francis, toward the "north-west," in search of Coligoa. Any other course between west and south-west, would have involved his army in the lagoons, and deep and wide channel, of Black river, which forms a barrier for about one hundred and fifty miles toward the south; while this dividing ground, between the Black river and St. Francis, consists chiefly of dry pine lands and open uplands, offering every facility for the movements of his cavalry, which were ever the dread of the Indians.
The first Indian village which De Soto reached, after crossing the Mississippi—probably at the ancient Indian crossing-place at the lower Chickasaw bluffs—and pushing on through the low grounds, was on reaching the elevations of the St. Francis, immediately west of his point of landing. The place was called Casquin, or Casqui; a name which will be recognized as bearing a resemblance to one of the Illinois tribes, who have long been known under the name of Kaskaskias. From this place on the high lands of the St. Francis, he ascended that river, keeping the same side of its current, through a fine country, abounding in the pecan and mulberry, a distance of seven leagues, to the central position of the Casquins. Here it was, and not on the immediate banks of the Mississippi, that he erected a gigantic cross, formed out of a pine tree, which, after it was hewn, a hundred men could not lift.
From this place, after a rest of several days, he was led, by the wily chief, to march against the village and chief of Capaha, who was his hereditary enemy, and who had, in past encounters, proved himself more than his equal in prowess. De Soto was caught in this trap, which had nearly proved fatal to his gallant army.
Descending the high grounds, evidently, towards the north-east, and crossing alluvial tracts, by a march of about six days he reached the enemy, well posted, strong in numbers, and of great bravery, on the pastoral elevations, which we are disposed to look for at the site of the modern Spanish town of New Madrid. Capaha took shelter on a thickly wooded island in the Mississippi river, where De Soto, assisted by his allies, attacked him in canoes, and from which his allies, and afterwards he himself, were glad to retreat. The chief was a most brave, energetic young man, and fought against his combined enemies with the spirit inspired by long acknowledged success. This place formed the extreme northern limit of De Soto's expedition on the line of the Mississippi, and must have been north of 35°. After this effort, he retraced his steps slowly back to Casqui.
The Kapahas, of whom the Sioux are ethnologically a branch, have occupied the west banks of the Mississippi, extending to the base of the Rocky mountains, as long as we have known that stream. They have been inveterate enemies of the whole Algonquin race, to which the Kaskaskias and Illinois belonged; and it is not improbable that they had, at this early day, not only encountered the Spaniards, but that, after their withdrawal, they fell on the Casquins, and drove them east of the Mississippi, into the country of the Illinois.
While De Soto was in the country of Capaha, he learned that about forty leagues distant, (west, it must needs have been,) there were, in the hill country, quantities of fossil salt, and also a yellowish metal, which he supposed to be gold. He despatched two trusty and intelligent men, with Indian guides and carriers, to procure samples. After an absence of eleven days, they returned, with six of the Indians laden with crystals of salt, and one of them with metallic copper. A hundred and twenty miles west of the supposed point of starting, would carry the messengers across the valley of White river, and far into the Ozark plains and elevations, between the south fork of that stream, and the north banks of the Arkansas—the same region, in fine, mentioned, in a prior part of these sketches, as yielding those articles, on the authority of the experienced woodsman, Teen Friend. The country through which these messengers passed was sterile and thinly inhabited; but they reported it to be filled with herds of buffalo. These reports led him to march down the banks of the St. Francis, till he reached the village called Quiguate. From thence, having heard of a locality called Coligoa, where he thought there might be gold, he marched again north-west in search of it. This march, in which he followed a single Indian guide, must have led him to the foot of the rough, mountainous, granitic, and mineral region, at the sources of the St. Francis. But this search proved also a disappointment. He was informed that, six leagues north of Coligoa, the buffalo existed in vast herds; but that, if he would reach a rich province, he must march south. It is possible that, in this latitude, he may have, a little, exceeded the utmost point reached by him on the Mississippi; and he hence confined his adventurous marches to Southern Missouri and Arkansas.
Having taken the road again, after my halt at Esty's, I travelled diligently ten miles, at which distance I reached the ferry of Dr. Bettis, at the St. Francis. The scene was rural and picturesque, the river winding along in a deep and rapid bed, between elevated and fertile banks. From appearances, and old fields, it seemed altogether such a spot as might have answered the glowing Spanish descriptions of Casqui. The ferry was managed by a black man; and we cut an American half-dollar on the top of an oak stump, agreeably to the Kentucky mode, to adjust the ferriage. On landing on the north bank, I pursued my journey six miles farther, to one Smith's. It was now the 28th of January, and the weather so mild, that I this day found the witch-hazel in bloom.