_The First Exploration of the Mississippi River._
River Scenery. The Missouri. Its Distant Banks. The Mosquito Pest.
Meeting the Indians. Influence of the Calumet. The Arkansas River. A
Friendly Greeting. Scenes in the Village. Civilization of the Southern
Tribes. Domestic Habits. Fear of the Spaniards. The Return Voyage.
Father Marquette and M. Joliet had astronomical instruments with which
they ascertained, with much accuracy, the latitude of all their
important stopping places. As they state that the two villages, which
they visited, were on the western side of the Mississippi, at the
latitude of forty degrees north, and upon the banks of a stream flowing
into the Great River, it is supposed that these villages were upon the
stream now called Des Moines, which forms a part of the boundary
between Iowa and Missouri. The Indians called the villages Pe-ou-a-sea
and Moing-wena. They were probably situated about six miles above the
present city of Keokuk.
It was three o'clock in the afternoon, of a day near the end of sunny,
blooming June, when our voyagers resumed their adventurous tour. Nearly
the whole tribe they had visited stood upon the bank to bid them adieu.
They floated along through a very dreary country of precipitous rocks
and jagged cliffs, which quite shut out from their view the magnificent
prairie region which was spread out beyond this barrier.
Upon the smooth surface of one of these rocks, apparently inaccessible,
they saw, with surprise, two figures painted in very brilliant colors
and with truly artistic outline. They thought that the painting would
have done honor to any European artist. The figures were of two rather
frightful looking monsters, about the size of a calf, in red, green,
and black. Stoddard, in his history of Louisiana, says that these
painted monsters, between the Missouri and the Illinois Rivers, still
remain in a good degree of preservation.
"As we were discoursing of them," writes Father Marquette, "sailing
gently down a beautiful, still, clear water, we heard the noise of a
rapid, into which we were about to fall. I have seen nothing more
frightful. A mass of large trees, entire, with branches, real floating
islands, came rushing from the mouth of the river Pekitunoüì, so
impetuously that we could not, without great danger, expose ourselves
to pass across. The agitation was so great that the water was all
muddy, and could not get clear."
This was the rush and the roar of the incoming billows of the terrible
Missouri, the most tremendous river upon this globe. It enters the
Mississippi through a channel half a mile in breadth, rushing down with
a sort of maniacal fury, from its sources among the Rocky Mountains at
the distance of three thousand and ninety-six miles. Its whole course,
from its rise to its entrance into the Gulf of Mexico, is four thousand
three hundred and forty-nine miles. More than two hundred and fifty
years after this, Mr. George Catlin ascended this river in the first
steamer which ever ventured to breast its torrent.
It took the steamer three months to ascend to the mouth of the
Yellowstone, two thousand miles from the city of St. Louis. At this
point the American Fur Company had erected a very substantial fort,
three hundred feet square, for the protection of their property against
the savages. The banks of the stream were lined with the villages of
the Indians. Their wigwams were of a great variety of structure. The
scenes presented were astonishing in their wild and picturesque aspect.
Crowds of weird-like savages would often be collected on the bluffs,
watching the appalling phenomenon of the passing steamer.
The Missouri is different, perhaps, from any other river in the world.
Its boiling, turbid waters rush impetuously on, in an unceasing
current, for hundreds of leagues, with scarcely a cove, an eddy, or any
resting place where a canoe can be tranquilly moored. The Indian name
of the river signifies Muddy Water. It is so opaque, like a cup of
chocolate, that a newly coined shilling, placed in a tumbler, cannot be
seen through the eighth part of an inch of the water.
For nearly a thousand miles the whole bed of the stream was impeded
with gigantic trees, torn from the rich alluvial banks, forming snags
and sawyers and rafts, through which, often with difficulty, the
steamer cut her way. Every island and sandbar was covered with dreary
looking masses of driftwood of every conceivable variety.
This desolate and savage aspect of the rushing flood is much relieved
by the aspect of marvellous beauty often presented on the banks. It was
almost a fairy scene. Hills and vales, bluffs and ravines, were
continually presented in successions of sublimity and beauty which
charmed the eye. Prairies were often spread out before them of
boundless expanse, upon which vast herds, often numbering thousands, of
buffaloes, elks, and antelopes, were seen grazing. In the gloomy
forests, wolves were roaming. Mountain goats bounded over the cliffs.
And at times, the air seemed darkened with the myriad birds which rose
from the tall grass.
There was one twelve-pound, and three or four eight-pound cannon on
board the steamer. At every village which was passed, the banks would
be crowded with the astounded natives. Mischievously, the captain would
order all the cannon to be simultaneously discharged. The effect upon
the terrified savages was ludicrous in the extreme. They were all
thrown into utter consternation. The more devout threw themselves upon
the ground, and, hiding their faces, cried to the Great Spirit for
protection. The cowards, with the women and the children, ran screaming
back into the prairie, or behind the hills. Occasionally, a little band
of veteran warriors, the bravest of the brave, would stand their
ground, ready to meet the terrors of even a supernatural foe.
"Sometimes," writes Catlin, "they were thrown neck and heels over each
other's heads and shoulders--men, women, children and dogs; sage,
sachem, old and young, all in a mass--at the frightful discharge of the
steam from the escape-pipe, which the captain of the boat let loose
among them, for his own fun and amusement."
As our voyagers, in their birch bark canoes, passed the mouth of this
wonderful stream, they had no conception of the scenes which were
transpiring in thousands of Indian villages on its far-distant waters.
They began now to think, from the course of the Mississippi, that it
must flow into the Gulf of Mexico. They had however learned, from the
Indians, that if they were to ascend the Missouri, or, as they called
it, Pekitanoüì, five or six days' sail, they would come to a very
beautiful prairie, ninety-five miles long. This splendid country, which
was represented as an Eden of loveliness, the Indians said could be
easily crossed, carrying their canoes. They could then take another
river which ran southwest into a small lake. This was the source of
another large and deep river, which emptied into the western sea.
In subsequent years, this description of the Indians was found to be
unexpectedly correct. By ascending the Missouri to the Platte River,
and following that stream to its source among the Rocky Mountains, the
traveller is brought within a few leagues of the Colorado, which flows
into the Gulf of California. Having passed the dangerous rush of the
Missouri, as it entered into the Mississippi, and floating upon the
surface of their combined waters, they came, after the sail, as they
judged, of about sixty miles, to the mouth of another large river, of
gentle current, and whose waters were of crystal purity, flowing in
from the east. The Indians very appropriately called it Wabash, which
signified Beautiful River. The French subsequently called it La Belle
Rivière. We have given it the name of Ohio, appropriating the name
Wabash to one of its most important tributaries.
The voyagers learned that this stream was fringed with a succession of
Indian villages. The various tribes were peaceful, averse to war. In
one district there was a cluster of twenty-three villages; in another,
of eighteen. But alas for man! It would seem that the fallen children
of Adam were determined that there should be no happiness in this
world. The ferocious Iroquois would send their war parties, hundreds of
miles through the wilderness, to make unprovoked attacks upon these
unwarlike people. They would rob them of their harvests, wantonly burn
their wigwams, kill and scalp men, women, and children, and carry off
captives to torture and burn at the stake, in barbarian festivities.
Near the mouth of this river they found deposits of unctuous earth,
having quite brilliantly the colors of red, purple, and violet. Father
Hennepin rubbed some of the red upon his paddle. The constant use of
that paddle in the water, for fifteen days, did not efface the color.
This was a favorite resort of the Indians to obtain materials for
painting their persons.
They now entered the region of that terrible pest, the mosquito.
Elephants, lions, tigers, can be exterminated. The mosquito bids
defiance to all mortal powers. The Indians would build a scaffolding of
poles, a mere grate-work, which would give free passage to smoke. A few
pieces of bark, overhead, sheltered them from the rain, and the
excessive heat of the sun. Upon these poles they slept, kindling
smouldering fires beneath. They could better endure the suffocating
fumes which thus enveloped them and drove away their despicable
tormenters, than bear the poison of their stings. The voyagers were
greatly annoyed by these insects.
As they were thus swept down the infinite windings of the stream, day
after day, mostly at the will of the current, they perceived one
morning, much to their surprise, a small band of Indians on the shore,
armed with guns. The savages seemed very much at their ease, and waited
the approach of the canoes. Father Hennepin stood up and waved toward
them his peace calumet, with its imposing decoration of feathers. His
companions held their muskets in readiness to repel any assault.
Drawing near the shore, the father addressed them in the Huron
language. They did not understand him, but made friendly signs for the
party to land. The Indians led the Frenchmen into their wigwams and
feasted them upon buffalo steaks, with bear's fat, and some very
delicious wild plums.
It appeared that these Indians were a band of warriors, probably from
the Tuscarora nation. They had seen the Spaniards, on the Florida
coast, and had purchased of them guns, axes, and knives. They kept
their powder in strong glass bottles. From them they learned that a ten
days' voyage down the rapid current of the Mississippi would bring them
to the ocean. The indefatigable missionary endeavored to give them some
idea of God, and of salvation through Jesus Christ, who came to seek
and save the lost.
And now, with renewed courage, our adventurers entered their canoes and
resumed their paddles. The prairies, which had so long delighted their
eyes, gradually disappeared, and the dense forest lined both sides of
the stream. It was very evident, however, that upon the other side of
the forest-crowned eminences, the prairies continued to extend in all
their sublimity and beauty; for they often heard the bellowing, as the
roar of distant thunders, from thousands of wild cattle roving the
plains.
They had now descended to nearly the thirty-third degree of north
latitude, when they came to a large Indian village, situated upon a
plain raised but a few feet above the level of the water. These Indians
had undoubtedly received some great outrage from the Spaniards; for no
sooner did they catch a sight of the Europeans than they were thrown
into great commotion, and all their warriors rallied for battle. They
were evidently aware that a few men, armed with the dreadful musket,
might overpower a large number who wielded only the Indian weapons of
warfare.
These warriors were armed with bows and arrows, javelins, and war
clubs. They seemed to know that the invisible bullet could strike with
death far beyond the reach of any of their missiles. They moved
therefore with great caution. In those southern latitudes the birch
tree, from whose bark the canoes of the northern Indians were made, did
not thrive. Their boats were made of large logs, hollowed out and
neatly shaped. They were often ornamented with infinite labor. Some of
the warriors prepared to overwhelm the strangers with a shower of
arrows from the land. Others embarked in their larger boats to ascend
the river, and others to descend, so as to cut off all possibility of
retreat.
As the voyagers drew near the shore, Father Marquette stood up in his
canoe, though exposed to imminent danger of being pierced by their
arrows, and earnestly waved the calumet of peace, at the same time, as
he writes, imploring the aid of "our patroness and guide, the Blessed
Virgin Immaculate. And indeed," he continues, "we needed her aid, for
we heard, from afar, the Indians exciting one another to the combat by
continual yells."
In the terror and tumult of the moment the calumet had not been seen.
But as soon as some of the chiefs caught sight of it, they rushed into
the water, threw their bows and arrows into the canoes, which they
seized and brought to the shore. Father Marquette and M. Joliet were so
familiar with the customs of the Indians that they understood this to
be a friendly movement, and they no longer felt any great anxiety;
though they were aware that, through some sudden outbreak of the savage
sense of revenge, they might lose their lives. The good father
addressed them in six Indian languages, none of which they understood.
At last an old man came forward, who spoke a little Illinois.
Very friendly relations were soon established. They made the Indians
several valuable presents, and informed them of their desire to find
the way to the ocean. "They perfectly understood our meaning," writes
Father Marquette, "but I know not whether they understood what I told
them of God, and the things which concerned their salvation. It is a
seed cast in the earth, which will bear its fruit in season."
The Indians, in return, presented them with corn pounded into meal, and
some fishes. They said that, at some distance farther down the river,
there was a large village called Akamsea; that there they could learn
all they wished to know respecting the course and the out-flow of the
Father of Waters. The voyagers slept in the wigwams of the Indians
during the night, though the father confesses that it was not without
some uneasiness. The Akamsea, to which the Indians referred, was what
we now call Arkansas.
It is supposed that this village was near the Indian village of
Guachoya, where the unhappy De Soto, whose romantic history we have
given in a previous volume of this series, breathed his last, one
hundred and fifty years before. In the narrative which has descended to
us of that ill-fated and cruel expedition the historian writes:
"The same day, July 2, 1543, that we left Aminoya, we passed by
Guachoya, where the Indians tarried for us in their canoes."
It was at Aminoya that De Moscoso, who succeeded De Soto, built his
little fleet of seven strong barges, with which the Spaniards
descended, in a voyage of sixteen days, to the mouth of the river. The
Spaniards were as ignorant of the sources of the mighty river upon
which they were sailing, as were the French of the termination of the
majestic flood, which they had discovered nearly two thousand miles,
far away amidst the lakes and prairies of the north.
The next morning, at an early hour, the Frenchmen resumed their voyage.
A party of ten Indians accompanied them, leading the way in one of
their large boats. The old man, who understood a little of the Illinois
language, also went with them as an interpreter. When they had
descended the river nearly thirty miles, and were within about a mile
and a half of the Arkansas village, they saw two boats, crowded with
warriors, push out from the shore, and advancing to meet them. The keen
eyes of the savages had probably discerned the Indian boat which led
the frail canoes of the Frenchmen. They knew that persons thus
approaching could come with no hostile attempt.
The chief of this party, distinguished by his gorgeous dress, stood up
in his boat, and, waving the plumed calumet, sung, in a very plaintive
but agreeable tone, some Indian ode of welcome. He came with smiles and
friendly signs alongside of the two birch canoes which kept close
together. First, having taken a few whiffs from the pipe, he presented
it to them to smoke. Then, having given them some bread, made of Indian
meal, he made signs for them to follow him to the shore.
The chief had a large scaffolding, such as we have before described, as
a protection from the mosquitoes. It also afforded a cool shelter from
the rays of an almost tropical sun. The ground floor was carpeted with
very fine rush mats. In the centre of this spacious awning, the
Frenchmen were seated, as in the post of honor. The head chief, with
his subordinates, surrounded them. Then the encircling warriors,
several hundred in number, took their seats. A motley but perfectly
orderly crowd of men, women, and children gathered around as witnesses
of the scene.
Fortunately there was a young warrior there who had travelled, and who
was much more familiar with the Illinois language than the old man who
had accompanied the voyagers as interpreter.
"Through him," says the faithful missionary, "I first spoke to the
assembly by the ordinary presents. They admired what I told them of
God, and the mysteries of our holy faith, and showed a great desire to
keep me with them to instruct them."
In answer to inquiries in reference to the sea, they said that it could
be easily reached, in their canoes, in ten days. They, however, stated
that they knew but little about the nations who inhabited the lower
part of the river, because they were their enemies. These Indians had
hatchets, knives, and beads. This proved that, in some way, they had
held intercourse with Europeans. Upon being consulted on this question,
it appeared that they had obtained them through the Spaniards in
Florida and Mexico. They warned the voyagers not to go any farther down
the river, as they would certainly be attacked and destroyed by the war
parties of these hostile bands.
While this conference was going on, which continued for several hours,
the Indians were continually presenting their guests with plates of
food, which consisted principally of meal-pudding, roast corn, and
dogs' flesh. The Indians were very courteous. But it was not a powerful
or war-like tribe. They often had but a meagre supply of food, as the
ferocity of their surrounding enemies prevented them from wandering far
in pursuit of game.
Their main reliance was upon corn. They sowed it at all seasons,
raising three crops a year. While some fields were just sprouting,
others were in the soft and milky state suitable for roasting, and
other fields were waving with the ripe and golden harvest. These
southern tribes were generally much more advanced in the arts than
those farther north. They manufactured many quite admirable articles of
pottery for household use. It is said that some of them were hardly
inferior in form and finish to the exquisite vases found in Herculaneum
and Pompeii.
Still they were in many respects degraded savages, of loathsome habits,
but little elevated above the brutes. Many of the men wandered about
without any clothing. The women were not regarded with any honor. They
were beasts of burden, dressed in wretched skins, without any
ornaments. Their wigwams were long and wide, made of bark, with a
single central entrance. Almost like the cattle, they slept together at
the two extremities, upon mat-covered elevations, raised about two feet
from the ground. From the description of Father Marquette, we should
infer that, in this melancholy village, the chiefs alone enjoyed the
luxury of sleeping upon poles enveloped with suffocating smoke to drive
away the mosquitoes.
"We ate no fruit there," writes Marquette, "but watermelons. If they
knew how to cultivate their grounds they might have plenty of all
kinds."
In the evening M. Joliet and Father Marquette held a conference in
reference to their future course. They had ascertained that they were
at 33° 40' north latitude. The basin of the Gulf of Mexico was at 31°
40'. Though the Indians had said that they could reach the sea in ten
days, it was manifest that they could easily accomplish the distance in
four or five. The question was consequently settled that the
Mississippi ran into the Gulf of Mexico. To decide this point was the
great object of their voyage. Spanish outrages had exasperated all the
Indians along the southern coast. The voyagers could not prosecute
their enterprise any farther, but at the imminent peril of their lives.
Should they thus perish, the result of their discoveries would, for a
long time, be lost to the world.
They feared the Spaniards even more than they did the savages. The
Spaniards, jealous of the power of France, would certainly hold them as
prisoners, if they could take them, and would not improbably put them
to death to prevent the fact of their having descended the whole course
of the Mississippi from being known. They therefore wisely determined
to retrace their steps with all energy. On the 17th of July they left
the village of Akamsea, near the mouth of the Arkansas River, to stem
the strong current of the Mississippi on their return. At high-water
the vast flood, a mile in width, rushed along at the rate of five or
six miles an hour. They found it very difficult to force their way
against this current. We have no particular account of the incidents of
their long and laborious return voyage. When they had reached the
latitude of thirty-eighth degree north, they came to the mouth of the
Illinois River. The Indians informed them that this would be a shorter
route to Lake Michigan than to go up the Mississippi still farther to
the Wisconsin River. They therefore entered this stream, which takes
its rise within six miles of the lake. In the glowing account which
Father Marquette gives of this river, he writes:
"We had seen nothing like this river for the fertility of the land,
its prairies, woods, wild cattle, stags, deer, wild-cats, bustards,
swans, ducks, parrots, and even beavers. It has many little lakes
and tributary rivers. The stream on which we sailed is broad, deep,
and gentle, for sixty-five leagues. During the spring, and part of
the summer, when the rivers are full, the portage is only a mile
and a half in length."
They ascended the Illinois until, by a short portage, they could
transport their canoes across the prairie to the Chicago River.
Descending this stream to its mouth, where the thronged city of Chicago
now stands, but which was then only a dreary expanse of marshy prairie,
they paddled up the western coast of Lake Michigan until they reached
the mission at Green Bay, about the middle of September. About two
months were spent in the toilsome voyage from Arkansas.
General Wool, Inspector-General of the army of the United States, has
made, from a personal acquaintance with the route, the following
estimate of the distances of the several stages of this eventful
journey:
From Green Bay up Fox River to the portage 175 miles
From the portage down the Wisconsin to the Mississippi 175 "
From the mouth of the Wisconsin to the mouth of the
Arkansas 1087 "
From the Arkansas to the Illinois River 547 "
From the mouth of the Illinois to Chicago 305 "
From Chicago to Green Bay, by the lake shore 260 "
_____
Total 2,549
The accompanying fac-simile of a map attached to Marquette's Journal,
reduced from the original, and which we take from Mr. Sparks's brief
but admirable sketch of Marquette's Life, will give the reader a very
clear idea of the route he pursued. The dotted line from the
Mississippi to the Illinois, marked "Chemin du retour," is evidently a
mistake, added by some other hand. It is clear, from the narrative,
that the voyagers returned up the Illinois River.
Father Marquette, who was never known to utter a murmuring word, and
who was serene and cheerful amidst the sorest trials, was so utterly
exhausted by the toils of the expedition that he could proceed no
farther than Green Bay. Here M. Joliet separated from him and continued
his route, in a birch canoe, along the vast expanse of Huron, Erie, and
Ontario, and down the St. Lawrence to Montreal. In descending the
rapids of the river his canoe was over-set and all his papers lost, he
narrowly escaping with his life. He subsequently dictated, from memory,
a few pages of the incidents of the voyage; but the manuscript of
Father Marquette alone remained to tell the wondrous story. This was
sent to France, and there published.
Even Marquette had no conception of the true grandeur of that valley he
had entered, extending from the Alleghany ridges to the Rocky
Mountains. Still, when the tidings of his wonderful discoveries reached
Quebec, the exciting intelligence was received with the ringing of
bells, with salvos of artillery, and, most prominent and important of
all, by nearly the whole population, led by the clergy and other
dignitaries of the place, going in procession to the cathedral where
the Te Deum was sung in thanksgiving to God.