The sole achievement of this costly and memorable expedition was the discovery of the Mississippi River at the lowest Chickasaw Bluff. Boats were required to cross, and it took a month to build them. The Spaniards crossed, and extended their tedious journey as far as Kansas. They found the Indians an agricultural people, with fixed places of abode, and subsisting chiefly on the product of the fields. They were neither turbulent nor quarrelsome. Their dress was in part mats; in cold weather they wore deerskins, and mantles woven of feathers. Their villages were generally small, but close together. The natives were treated with the utmost cruelty by the Spaniards, who held their lives as of no account. They would cut off their hands on the slightest suspicion, and the guide who was unsuccessful, or who purposely misled them, was thrown to the hounds or condemned to the flames.

Disappointed and dispirited, De Soto's health rapidly declined, and he was finally carried off by a malignant fever. His body was buried at night in the great river he had discovered. "He had crossed a large part of the continent in search of gold," says the historian Bancroft, and found nothing so remarkable as his burial-place."

His followers wandered about for months afterwards, but at length abandoned their fruitless expedition and returned to the Mississippi. They then, with extraordinary patience and labor, ingeniously constructed some vessels out of their scanty materials, in which Sept. 1543, the survivors, three hundred and eleven in number, finally reached Mexico.

While De Soto was vainly seeking wealth and fame in the American wilderness, Mendoza, the Viceroy of Mexico, organized an expedition under Francis Vasquez Coronado, to search for the "Seven Cities of Cibola," the fame of whose riches was fully credited by the gullible Spaniards. Three hundred men were enlisted for the expedition, who were accompanied by eight hundred Indians.

The tale of the famous seven cities originated in the report of a Spanish missionary, who pretended that he had discovered, north of Sonora, a populous and rich kingdom called Quivera, or the Seven Cities, abounding in gold, the capital of which was called Cibola. Tezon, an Indian, also told the Spanish viceroy, Nuno de Guzman, that his father, who was now dead, had been a trader in ornamental feathers, such as are used in head-dresses, to a people in the interior lying north of the Gila River, and that he brought back in exchange large quantities of precious metals. He had accompanied his father, he said, on one of these journeys, and saw seven cities as large as Mexico, built on a regular plan, with high houses, and that there were entire streets of gold and silver smiths. No story seems to have been too absurd for these credulous Spaniards, and this one was still further corroborated by the return of Cabeca de Vaca with three companions from the ill-fated expedition of Narvaez, whose glowing accounts of the countries through which they had passed, inflamed still further the avarice of their countrymen.

Crossing the Gila, Coronado led his men over a desert and through the valley of a small stream, until they arrived before the lofty, natural walls of Cibola (old Zuni). On the top of these stood the town. The Indians cultivated corn in the valleys below, as they do at this day, wore coarse stuffs for clothing, and manufactured a species of pottery, but possessed neither gold nor mines.

Without waiting to make any inquiries, the Spaniards immediately assaulted the town. The natives rolled down stones from above, one of which struck Coronado and knocked him down. The place being taken after an hour's struggle, the troops found provisions, but no gold nor silver. Proceeding onward in his invasion of New Mexico, Coronado was everywhere resisted by the natives. The explorations were continued to the Colorado River on the west, and to the Rio Grande on the east. Realizing at last that the country was barren and destitute of resources, the Spaniards, after two years of fruitless exploration, returned to Mexico, wiser, but no richer than when they departed.

Nearly seventy years elapsed before France, desolated by civil strife and torn by religions dissensions, could renew her purpose of founding a French empire in America. In the mean time, however, voyages for traffic with the natives were regularly and successfully made, and there had been no less than one hundred and fifty French fishing vessels at Newfoundland in a single year.

The father of the French settlements in Canada was Samuel de Champlain, a skilful seaman, cool, courageous, and persevering, and a man of science. Selecting Quebec as the site for a fort, he returned to France just before the issue to the Sieur De Monts of the patent of Acadia, a region claimed by France to extend from the Delaware River to beyond Montreal. Port Royal, called Annapolis after the conquest of Acadia, in honor of Queen Anne, was settled in the spring of 1605 preceding by two years the first English settlement at Jamestown.

With a view to future settlements, De Monts explored and claimed for France the rivers, coasts, and bays of New England as far south as Cape Cod. Jesuit missions were at once established among the natives. That at St. Mary's, the oldest European settlement in was established in 1668. Though many of these heroic men suffered death by torture at the hands of the natives, others sprang forward to take their vacant places. Through their influence the Abenakis of Maine, already hostile to the English, became the allies of France, and made a firm barrier to English encroachments.

Within the present limits of the United States, a French colony was, in 1613, planted at Mount Desert. Quebec was founded by Champlain in 1608. Having formed an alliance with the Algonkin tribes around him, Champlain twice invaded the territory of the Iroquois, their hereditary enemies. Having to take sides, unfortunately for France he took that of the weaker. The story of these Iroquois conflicts will be found in a subsequent chapter.

While residing among the Hurons, Champlain's influence over them was put to a severe test. A quarrel, ending in bloodshed, had occurred between two friendly tribes; the principal Algonkin chief had been murdered, and his band forced to pay a heavy tribute of wampum.

Champlain was made umpire. The great council-house was filled with Huron and Algonkin chiefs, "smoking," says the historian Parkman, "with that immobility of feature beneath which their race often hides a more than tiger-like ferocity." Addressing the assembly, Champlain enlarged on the folly of fighting among themselves, while the common enemy stood ready to devour both; showed them the advantages of the French trade and alliance, and zealously urged them to shake hands and be friends. His good advice was taken, the peace-pipe was smoked, and a serious peril for New France averted.

In 1624 Champlain built the castle of St. Louis—so long the place of council against the Iroquois and the English—and was governor of Quebec at the time of his death in 1635.

The first attempt to found an English colony in New England was made by Captain Bartholomew Gosnold, who crossed the ocean in a small bark called the Concord. He first landed on Cape Cod. Some of the natives came along-side in their birch canoes, others ran May along the beaches, gazing in wonder at the strangers. It was observed that the pipes of those who came on board were "steeled with copper," and that one of the Indians wore a copper breastplate.

Gosnold afterwards sailed into Buzzard's Bay, and began a settlement on Elizabeth Island, now known as Cuttyhunk. This, however, was soon abandoned, for want of provision for its support, when his vessel had completed her lading. Here he traded with the Indians, who were frequent visitors, and who are described as "exceeding courteous, gentle of disposition, and well conditioned, exceeding all others that we have seen in shape and looks. They are of stature much higher than we, of complexion much like a dark olive; their eyebrows and hair black, which they wear long, tied up behind in knots, whereon they prick feathers of fowls in fashion of a coronet. They make beards of the hair of beasts, and one of them offered a beard of their making to one of the sailors for his that grew on his face, which, because it was of a red color, they judged to be none of his own.

"They have great store of copper . . . none of them but what have chains, ear-rings, or collars of this metal. They head some of their arrows with it. Their chains, worn about their necks, contain four hundred hollow pieces, very fine and nicely set together. So little did they esteem these that they offered the finest of them for a knife or some similar trifle."

The settlement of Maine was largely owing to the vast fisheries on her coast. For more than a century before, these had been known and drawn from by English and French mariners. The territory, as we have seen, was claimed by the French, but the Abenaki and Micmac tribes were its aboriginal inhabitants. These Indians had permanent villages, enclosed by palisades. They wore many ornaments in their dress, skilfully made from shells and stones. They were agriculturists, amiable and social, brave, faithful to engagements, and especially strong in their family attachments. They had been gained over by the French missionaries, captivated by the picturesque and striking ceremonies of the Catholic religion, which appealed so strongly to the eye and the imagination.

In May, 1605, Captain George Weymouth landed on their coast, and seized some of the natives, whom he carried to England. There was great difficulty in getting the Indians into their boat. The narrator of the voyage tells us that it was as much as five of them could do, for they were strong and naked, so that "their best hold was by their long hair." In England they were objects of great wonder, and crowds of people followed them in the streets, as they had done, a century before, when those brought over by Cabot were exhibited.

Landing with them at Plymouth, the commandant, Sir Ferdinando Gorges, became greatly interested in them, and ultimately became largely concerned in the settlement of New England through the information derived from them. He kept them with him three years, finding in them "great civility of manners, far from the rudeness of our common people." Two of these natives piloted Popham's colony to the Kennebeck River in 1607.

This was the first colony that spent a winter in New England; and a most severe winter it was. From the natives they found "civil entertainment and kind respect, far from brutish or savage nations," but from adverse circumstances gave up the settlement in the following year and returned to England. Gorges, who was far-sighted and energetic, continued to exert himself earnestly and unselfishly to promote a permanent settlement of his countrymen upon the continent.

An act of singular boldness was performed by an Indian named Pechmo. Captain Harlow, while at Monhegan Island, detained him and two others on board his ship, but the leaped overboard and escaped. Not long afterwards he with others cut Harlow's boat from his ship's stern, got her on shore, and filling her with sand, with their bows and arrows prevented the English from recovering her.

Another instance of successful daring and duplicity on the part of the Abenakis is seen in the escape of Epanow, an Indian who had promised Gorges, in a voyage undertaken in 1611, to point out a gold mine in his country. Of this Indian it was said that, "being a man of so great a stature, he was showed up and down London for money as a wonder. He was of no less courage and authority than of wit, strength, and proportion.

"Every precaution was taken to prevent Epanow's escape. He was even obliged to wear long garments, that might easily be laid hold of it occasion should require. Notwithstanding all this, his friends being all come at the time appointed with twenty canoes, the captain called to them to come aboard; but they did not stir. Then Epanow, who was standing between two gentlemen that had been on guard, started suddenly from them, called his friends in English to come aboard, and leaps overboard. And although he was laid hold of by one of the company, yet, being a strong and heavy man, he could not be stayed, and was no sooner in the water but the natives in the boats sent such a shower of arrows, and came withal desperately so near the ship, that they carried him away in despite of all the musketeers aboard. And thus," continues Gorges, "were my hopes of that particular voyage made void and frustrate."

In September, 1609, Henry Hudson, an English navigator of experience, in the employ of the Dutch East India Company, sailed in the Half Moon  up the noble river that now bears his name. "This day," says the narrator, "the people of the country came aboard of us in canoes made of single, hollowed trees, seeming very glad of our coming, and brought green tobacco, and gave us of it for knives and beads. They go in deerskins, loose, well dressed. They have yellow copper, desire clothes, and are very civil. . . . Next day many of the people came aboard in mantles of feathers. Some women also came to us with hemp; they had red copper tobacco-pipes, and other things of copper they did wear about their necks." One of Hudson's men, named Colman, was killed with an arrow on the following day in a conflict with some of the natives belonging to the fierce tribe of Manhattans.

Hudson then sailed up the river as far as Albany, the natives found above the Highlands being a "very loving people." They brought tobacco, grapes, oysters, beans, pumpkins, and furs to the vessel, for which he paid them in hatchets, beads, and knives. They invited him to visit them on shore, where they made him welcome, and a chief "made an oration and showed him all the country round about."

One thievish Indian climbed up by the rudder and stole some articles, but was shot and killed by the master's mate. The others fled, some taking to the water. A boat was sent out and the articles recovered. "Then," says the narrator, "one of them that swam got hold of our boat, thinking to overthrow it, but our cook took a sword and cut off his hands, and he was drowned."

It was a sad day for the natives when they were, for the first time, brought under the influence of strong drink. Some of the chiefs were invited into Hudson's cabin, and were plied with wine and brandy till they were intoxicated. "That was strange to them," says the old chronicler, "for they could not tell how to take it." One of them was so tipsy that his companions thought him bewitched, and brought charms (strips of beads) to save him from the strangers' arts. As Hudson and his men sailed down the river, the natives followed with friendly presents and hearty regrets at their departure. Hudson put to sea October 4th, and arrived at Dartmouth, England, on the 7th of November.

A few years later the Dutch laid the foundation of Manhattan, now the great city of New York. The first European settlements in America were nearly all trading posts, established at points where they could barter with the Indians for the skins and furs of the animals they had trapped or shot. These were fitted out by trading companies in England, France, and Holland. The traders were constantly defrauding the Indians, and at the same time rendering them formidable by selling them arms. The attempt of Kieft, the Dutch governor, to exact tribute from them, followed by an attack on the Raritans, for an alleged theft at Staten Island, brought on, finally, a desolating warfare, lasting for two years.

In the winter of 1642-43 the dreaded Mohawks came swooping down upon the Algonkin settlements, driving great numbers of them into Manhattan and other Dutch settlements near it. Though these Indians had committed hostile acts, policy and humanity alike suggested that they should be well treated. Instead of this their defenceless condition only suggested to Kieft the policy of exterminating them.

Across the river, at Pavonia, a large number of them had collected, and here, at midnight, the Dutch soldiers, joined by some privateersmen, fell upon them while asleep in their tents, and butchered nearly one hundred of them, including women and little children. This cruel and impolitic act was terribly avenged. The Indians everywhere rose upon the whites, killing the men, capturing the women and children, and destroying and laying waste the settlements. Trading boats on the Hudson were attacked and plundered and their crews murdered. The war extended into Connecticut, and at Pelham's Neck, near New Rochelle, Anne Hutchinson, a remarkable woman, exiled from Boston on account of her religious opinions, was murdered, together with her family, with the exception of a daughter, who was carried into captivity.

The terror-stricken people crowded into Fort Amsterdam, where, during the following winter, they suffered from hunger and cold. Meantime they organized a force, fifty of whom were English, under Captain John Underhill, who had won renown in the Pequot war. Early in 1644 they undertook an expedition against the principal village of the Connecticut Indians, situated near Stamford.

A night-march brought them to the Indian town. They had hoped to surprise the Indians, but it was a bright moonlight night and they found then prepared. The Dutch numbered one hundred and fifty; the Indians, protected by their rude fortifications, were seven hundred strong. Advancing steadily, the Dutch repelled the sorties of the Indians, nearly two hundred of whom fell in the attempt to drive them back. Underhill at last succeeded in setting fire to the village. There was an end of the fighting; it was only slaughter now. But eight of the Indians escaped. This victory put a period to the strife. In the following summer a treaty was concluded with all the hostile tribes on the beautiful spot in front of Fort Amsterdam, now known as the Battery, and the pipe of peace was duly smoked in presence of the entire Dutch population. One week later a day of thanksgiving was kept by the Dutch for the conclusion of this terrible war, in the course of which nearly every one of their settlements had been attacked and destroyed.

Early one morning in September, 1655, during the absence of Governor Stuyvesant, who was besieging the Swedes at Fort Christian, nearly two thousand Algonkin warriors swarmed through the streets of New Amsterdam, and after plundering the houses all day, were finally driven off in the evening after a desperate conflict. They then ravaged the adjacent country, killing the men and making prisoners of the women and children. Stuyvesant hastened back and took prompt measures to meet the emergency; but, instead of attacking the savages, by a prudent and conciliatory course he avoided further trouble, and procured a lasting peace and the return of all the captives.

On the Pacific coast, Sir Francis Drake, the first Englishman who sailed round the world, discovered "a fair and good bay," which may have been that of San Francisco, and remained there long enough to refit his vessel and to build a fort upon the shore. He took possession of the country for Queen Elizabeth with the usual formalities, erecting a post upon which an engraved plate of brass was placed, bearing, besides the picture and arms of the Queen, and Drake's arms, the statement of the free resignation of the country by the king and people into her hands.

With the Indians Drake maintained the most friendly relations. Soon after he landed he received a visit from the king of the country, a man of comely presence and stature, who with his train appeared in great pomp. In front of him marched a tall man, with the sceptre or mace of black wood a yard and a half long. Upon it hung two crowns, with three long chains of bone; these had innumerable links and were marks of honor. The king was dressed in rabbit-skins. The common people were almost naked, but their hair was tied with many feathers. Their faces were painted, and they all brought with them some present. The sceptre bearer and another made long speeches, and then there was a dance and a song. They were then understood to ask Drake "to become their king and governor," the king singing with all the rest; and more fully to declare their meaning, set the crown upon Drake's head and encircled his neck with their chains. They then saluted him by the title of Hioh, or king, and sang and danced to show their joy not only at this visit of the gods, but that Drake, the great god, was become their king and patron.

In the interior the natives were found living in villages. Their houses were round holes in the ground, surmounted by poles which met in the centre, the whole being covered with earth to keep out water. The door, "made sloping like the scuttle of a ship," was also the chimney. The people slept in these homes on rushes, on the ground around a fire in the middle. The country was fruitful. Deer and wild horses were plenty. The natives were loving and tractable, and expressed great sorrow at Drake's departure. In his narrative of this voyage, Drake sets forth fully the abundance of gold in California.

The natives who met the founder of Pennsylvania were Lenni-Lenape, who formerly had their seat beyond the Alleghanies, whence they emigrated to the Hudson and the Delaware. The Raritan, Navesink, Mingo, and Assanpink creeks and rivers, preserve for us the names of the tribes commonly known as Delawares. They were of a warlike disposition, and frequently fought with their Indian neighbors. At the time of Penn's visit they had been conquered by and were subjects of the fierce Iroquois.

Penn had thus described them: "They are tall, straight, tread strong and clever, and walk with a lofty chin. Their custom of rubbing the body with bear's fat gives them a swarthy color. They have little black eyes. Their heads and countenances have nothing of the negro type, and I have seen as comely European-like faces among them as on the other side of the sea. Their language is lofty, yet narrow; like short-hand in writing, one word serveth in the place of three, and the rest are supplied by the understanding of the hearers. I have made it my business to learn it that I might not want an interpreter on any occasion.

"In liberality they excel; nothing is too good for their friend. Give them a fine gun, coat, or other thing, it may pass twenty hands before it sticks; light of heart, strong affections, but soon spent. The justice they have is pecuniary. In case they kill a woman, they pay double; and the reason they render is that she breedeth children, which the man cannot do. It is rare that they fall out, if sober, and if drunk they forgive it, saying it was the drink and not the man that abased them."

At Penn's first interview with the Delawares, Taminent, the chief sachem, sat in the middle of a semicircle composed of old men and councillors. At a little distance back sat the young people. One of the sachems addressed Penn, during whose "talk" no one whispered or smiled. Penn and his friends were without arms; he was easily distinguished by a blue silk network sash. The sachem wore a chaplet, with a small horn projecting from it, as a symbol of sovereignty.

The name of the famous Delaware sachem with whom Penn made his treaty has been handed down to posterity in a very singular manner. the discredit into which it has latterly fallen, the name of Tammany (Taminent) was an honored one, not only during the lifetime of the warrior and sage who bore it, but long after his decease.

A century ago it was adopted by a society in Philadelphia, who, on the first day of May in each year, walked in procession through the streets of that city, their hats decorated with buck's tails, to a place of meeting which they called the wigwam, where the day was passed in mirth and festivity. Since that period the honored name has been associated with a political faction in New York City, at whose meetings a semblance of Indian customs is still preserved.

Penn told the Indians that he desired to live in perfect amity with them, and that he and his friends came unarmed because they never used weapons. In addition to the price of the land he bought of them, he presented them with various articles of merchandise.

He tried in every way to conciliate them and gain their confidence. He walked with them at one of their earliest meetings, sat with them on the ground, and ate with them of their roasted acorns and hominy. They expressed their delight at this by hopping and jumping, in which the staid Quaker himself joined them, and, as the story goes, "beat them all." His open, straightforward, simple manner and kind treatment of them was repaid by friendly offices both to himself and his followers.

His famous treaty with them took place at Shakamaxon, on the northern edge of Philadelphia. Every right of the Indians was to be respected, and every difference adjusted by a tribunal composed of an equal number of men from each race. Neither oaths, signatures, nor seals were made use of in this treaty, and no written record of it exists; but it was sacredly kept for sixty years. Harmony also subsisted with the neighboring Indians, among whom were bands of the war-like Shawnees.