farther towards the north-west, and finally reached the highlands of the White River, two hundred miles from the Mississippi. But neither did these mountains yield gold nor precious stones!
De Soto and his people took up their winter quarters in an Indian town on the banks of the White River, Washita, among a peaceful Indian tribe, who were employed in agriculture, and who had fixed towns. The young cavaliers practised upon the unoffending natives every cruelty which their unbridled caprice suggested. De Soto, it is said, had no pleasure in cruelty; but the lives and rights of the Indians were counted as nothing by him.
In the following spring De Soto determined to descend the Washita to its junction, and to obtain tidings of the sea. He bewildered himself among the morasses which border the Red River and its tributaries. In one province called Guachoya, he inquired from the chief how far it was thence to the sea? The chief could not tell. Were there settlements through the country from that point to the junction of the river? He was told that the whole country there was an uninhabitable swamp. De Soto, unwilling to credit such discouraging intelligence, sent men on horseback to examine the land southward along the Mississippi. In eight days they were not able to advance farther than thirty miles, they were so constantly impeded by morasses, by the denseness of the forests, and the impenetrable cane-brakes.
The governor heard their report in gloomy silence. Horses and men were dying around him, and the Indians were becoming more and more dangerous. He attempted to overawe a tribe of Indians near Natchez by saying that he was of supernatural descent, and therefore demanded of them obedience and tribute.
“You say that you are the child of the sun,” replied the chief, “dry up this river and I will believe you!”
