know little, except that he had
already won some consideration when in 1527, a mature man, he came to
the New World. In that year we find him sailing from Spain as treasurer
and sheriff of the expedition of six hundred men with which Panfilo de
Narvaez intended to conquer and colonize the Flowery Land, discovered a
decade before by Ponce de Leon.

They reached Santo Domingo, and thence sailed to Cuba. On Good Friday,
1528, ten months after leaving Spain, they reached Florida, and landed
at what is now named Tampa Bay. Taking formal possession of the country
for Spain, they set out to explore and conquer the wilderness. At Santo
Domingo shipwreck and desertion had already cost them heavily, and of
the original six hundred men there were but three hundred and forty-five
left. No sooner had they reached Florida than the most fearful
misfortunes began, and with every day grew worse. Food there was almost
none; hostile Indians beset them on every hand; and the countless
rivers, lakes, and swamps made progress difficult and dangerous. The
little army was fast thinning out under war and starvation, and plots
were rife among the survivors. They were so enfeebled that they could
not even get back to their vessels. Struggling through at last to the
nearest point on the coast, far west of Tampa Bay, they decided that
their only hope was to build boats and try to coast to the Spanish
settlements in Mexico. Five rude boats were made with great toil; and
the poor wretches turned westward along the coast of the Gulf. Storms
scattered the boats, and wrecked one after the other. Scores of the
haggard adventurers were drowned, Narvaez among them; and scores dashed
upon an inhospitable shore perished by exposure and starvation. The
living were forced to subsist upon the dead. Of the five boats, three
had gone down with all on board; of the eighty men who escaped the wreck
but fifteen were still alive. All their arms and clothing were at the
bottom of the Gulf.

The survivors were now on Mal Hado, "the Isle of Misfortune." We know no
more of its location than that it was west of the mouth of the
Mississippi. Their boats had crossed that mighty current where it
plunges out into the Gulf, and theirs were the first European eyes to
see even this much of the Father of Waters. The Indians of the island,
who had no better larder than roots, berries, and fish, treated their
unfortunate guests as generously as was in their power; and Vaca has
wr