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“The wild tribes heard of it, and brought us word,” said the Princess. “Soto attacked and pretended to withdraw. Out came the Indians after him. The Spaniards wheeled again and did terrible slaughter. They came at the stockade with axes; they fired the towers. The houses were all of dry cane and fine mats of cane for walls; they flashed up in smoke and flame. Many of the Indians threw themselves into the flames rather than be taken. At the last there were left three men and the dancing women. The women came into the open by the light of the burning town, with their hands crossed before them. They stood close and hid the men with their skirts, until the Spaniards came up, and then parted. So the last men of Mobila took their last shots and died fighting.”

“Is that the end?” said Oliver, seeing the Princess gather up her pearls and the Egret preparing to tuck her bill under her wing. He did not feel very cheerful over it.

“It was the end of Mobila and the true end of the expedition,” said the Princess. Rising she beckoned to her women. She had lost all interest in a story which had no more to do with Cofachique.

“Both sides lost,” said the Egret, “and that was the sad part of it. All the Indians were killed; even the young son of Tuscaloosa was found with a spear sticking in him. Of the Spaniards but eighteen died, though few escaped unwounded. But they lost everything they had, food, medicines, tools, everything but the sword in hand and the clothes they stood in. And while they lay on the bare ground recovering from their wounds came Juan Ortiz, who had been sent seaward for that purpose, with word that Maldonado lay with the ships off the bay of Mobila,–that’s Mobile, you know,–not six days distant, to carry them back to Havana.

“And how could Soto go back defeated? No gold, no pearls, no conquests, not so much as a map, even,–only rags and wounds and a sore heart. In spite of everything he was both brave and gallant, and he knew his duty to the King of Spain. He could not go back with so poor a report of the country to which he had been sent to establish the fame and might of His Majesty. Forbidding Juan Ortiz to tell the men about the ships, with only two days’ food and no baggage, he turned away from the coast, from his home and his wife and safe living, toward the Mississippi. He had no hope in his heart, I think, but plenty of courage. And if you like,” said the Egret, “another day we will tell you how he died there.”

“Oh, no, please,” said Dorcas, “it is so very sad; and, besides,” she added, remembering the picture of Soto’s body being lowered at night into the dark water, “it is in the School History.”

“In any case,” said the Egret, “he was a brave and gallant gentleman, kind to his men and no more cruel to the Indians than they were to one another. There was only one of the gentlemen of Spain who never had any unkindness to his discredit. That was Cabeza de Vaca; he was one of Narvaez’s men, and the one from whom Soto first heard of Florida,–but that is also a sad story.”

Neither of the children said anything. The Princess and her women lost themselves in the shadowy wood. The gleam here and there of their white dresses was like the wing of tall white birds. The sun sailing toward noon had burnt the color out of the sky into the deep water which could be seen cradling fresh and blue beyond the islets. One by one the pelicans swung seaward, beating their broad wings all in time like the stroke of rowers, going to fish in the clean tides outside of the lagoons.

The nests of the flamingoes lay open to the sun except where here and there dozed a brooding mother.

“Don’t you know any not-sad stories?” asked Dorcas, as the Egret showed signs again of tucking her head under her wing.

“Not about the Iron Shirts,” said the Egret. “Spanish or Portuguese or English; it was always an unhappy ending for the Indians.”

“Oh,” said Dorcas, disappointed; and then she reflected, “If they hadn’t come, though, I don’t suppose we would be here either.”

“I’ll tell you,” said the Man-of-War Bird, who was a great traveler, “they didn’t all land on this coast. Some of them landed in Mexico and marched north into your country. I’ve heard things from gulls at Panuco. You don’t know what the land birds might be able to tell you.”