_Marquette's Last Voyage, and Death._
The Departure from Green Bay. Navigating the Lake in a canoe. Storms of
rain and snow. Night Encampments. Ascending the Chicago River. A Winter
with the Savages. Journey to the Kankakee. The Great Council on the
Prairie. Interesting Incidents. The Escort of Savages. The Death Scene.
Sublime Funeral Solemnities.
Father Marquette spent the winter and the whole summer of 1674 at Green
Bay, actively engaged in the services of the mission, though in a very
feeble state of health. It is said that he was remarkably genial and
companionable, fond of pleasantry, ever greeting others with pleasant
words and benignant smiles. He had promised the Illinois Indians that
he would return to them, to teach them the religion of peace and
good-will brought to the world by the Son of God.
His health being somewhat recruited, he set out, by direction of his
superiors, with two boatmen, Pierre and Jacques, to establish a mission
among these Indians, who were anxiously awaiting his arrival. The
mission at Green Bay was at the southern extremity of that inland sea.
Taking their canoe and all their effects upon their shoulders, they
crossed the peninsula, which separated the bay from the lake, through
an Indian trail about thirty miles in length. They then launched their
canoe upon the broad surface of Lake Michigan. The cold gales of
November had now begun to plough the surface of this inland sea. Their
progress was very slow. Often the billows were such that the canoe
could not ride safely over them. Then they landed, and, in the chill
November breezes, trudged along the shore, bearing all their effects
upon their shoulders!
Ice formed upon the margin of the water, and several snow-storms
impeded their march, adding greatly to their discomfort. But not a
repining word escaped the lips of Father Marquette. It was but a dismal
shelter they could rear, for the night, on the bleak shore. Through
this exposure his health began rapidly to fail. It took them nearly
four weeks to reach the mouth of the Chicago River. They ascended the
river several leagues, until they came to a small cluster of Indian
wigwams. The savages were poor, but few in number, and their abodes
comfortless. But Père Marquette was so sick that they could go no
farther. These Indians were of the Miami tribe.
Here the voyagers built a small log-cabin, and, destitute of what many
would deem the absolute necessaries of life, passed the remaining weeks
of the dreary winter. One would suppose that the lone missionary must
at times have contrasted painfully his then situation, with the
luxuries he had enjoyed in the ancestral castle in which he was
cradled. A few wretched wigwams were scattered over the snow-whitened
plains, where poverty, destitution, and repulsive social habits
reigned, such as is perhaps never witnessed in civilized life.
His home was but a cabin of logs, with the interstices stuffed with
moss. The roof was covered with bark. The window was merely a hole cut
through the logs. In storms a piece of cloth hung over it, which
partially kept out wind and rain. The fireplace was one corner of the
room, with a hole in the roof through which the smoke ascended. Often
the state of the atmosphere was such that the cabin was filled with
smothering smoke. A few mats, woven coarsely from bulrushes, covered a
portion of the earth floor. A mat was his bed. A log, covered with a
mat, was his chair; his food was pounded corn, and fishes and flesh of
animals, broiled on the coals; his companions, savages. Such was the
home which this noble man had cheerfully accepted in exchange for the
baronial splendors of his ancestors. It was two hundred years ago.
Father Marquette has received his rewards. His earthly labors and
sacrifices were for but about twenty years. For two hundred years he
has occupied a mansion, which God reared for him in heaven. There he is
now, with his crown, his robe, and his harp, with angel companionship.
And there he is to dwell forever.
There is something exceedingly beautiful in the simplicity of the
Gospel of Christ. God, in the person of his Son, came to earth and
suffered and died to make atonement for human sin. All who will abandon
sin, and try to live doing nothing wrong, and endeavoring to do
everything that is right, He will forgive, and make forever happy in
heaven.
This is the Gospel; the Good News. God is no respecter of persons; but
in every nation, he that feareth him and worketh righteousness, is
accepted with him. The loitering Indians, ignorant, degraded, wicked,
gathered in constant groups around the fire, in the cabin of the sick
Christian teacher. And when he told them of that happy world where they
shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more, and where God shall wipe
away all tears from their eyes, the truth came home to their hearts,
and became its own witness.
And yet here, as elsewhere, the Gospel of Jesus found its bitter
antagonists. With the Indians, as in every city and town in
Christendom, there were those who did not wish to be holy. They hated a
Gospel which demanded the abandonment of sin. These men, with bloody
tomahawks and gory scalping knives, and who, from infancy, had been
practising the hideous war-whoop; who consider the glory of their
manhood to depend upon the number of enemies they had slain, and whose
greatest delight consisted in listening to the shrieks, and witnessing
the convulsions of their agonized victims at the stake, denounced the
Christian teacher, as the Jews denounced the Son of God, crying out
"Crucify him."
Every day Father Marquette was sinking in languor, which both he and
his companions supposed to be a monition of speedily approaching death.
And yet he was a cheerful and happy man. All incomers at his cabin were
greeted with smiles. Death had no terror. Brighter and brighter grew
the path, as he drew nearer to the celestial city. His log-cabin was
continually crowded with those who sought instruction. The two humble
companions who attended him were devout men, though uneducated, and in
life's lowly station. They joined heartily in the devotions of the
cabin. The voices of the three were joined in matins and vespers, and
floated sweetly over those dreary wastes, where such heavenly strains
had never been heard before.
Louis XIV. was then upon the throne of France. He was one of the
greatest, most powerful, most opulent of all earthly monarchs. The
wealth and the genius of earth could construct nothing more grand than
his palaces at Marly and Versailles. His banqueting-hall was
unsurpassed by any other hall ever reared upon this globe. His
chambers, his saloons, his galleries, are still visited by astonished
and admiring thousands. And yet no one, familiar with his life, will
deny that Father Marquette, in his log-cabin, surrounded by Indian
wigwams, probably passed a happier winter than did Louis XIV., amidst
the most dazzling splendors which ever surrounded a mortal.
Christmas came. It was made by the three a season of special devotion,
that God would so reinvigorate Father Marquette, as to enable him to
fulfil his promise, and visit the Illinois Indians, and teach them the
Gospel. These devotions were called a Novena, which was a nine days'
prayer-meeting. Their prayers were heard. Contrary to all reasonable
expectation, he so far regained his strength as to be able, on the 29th
of March, to resume his journey. The chill winds of departing winter
still swept the plains. Storms of sleet often beat upon them. The
ground, alternately thawing and freezing, was frequently whitened with
snow. And still these heroic men, with chivalry never surpassed in the
annals of knighthood, pressed on. Their journey was slow. Sometimes
they floated upon the stream. Again they followed the Indian trail
through forest and prairie. After traversing a route about a hundred
and fifty miles in length, they reached, on the 8th of April, the
Kankakee River, an important tributary of the Illinois. At this point,
which is now in the present county of Kankakee, and near where the
village of Rockport stands, the Illinois Indians had their large and
populous village.
The missionary was received, we are told, as an angel from heaven. He
assembled all the chiefs of the tribe, with the renowned warriors, that
with imposing ceremonies he might announce to them the object of his
coming, and impress them with the momentous importance of his message.
There was no wigwam sufficiently capacious to accommodate such a
multitude as the occasion would assemble.
Near the village there was a smooth, verdant, beautiful prairie, richly
carpeted with the velvet green of early spring. On a mild and sunny
morning a wonderful crowd of savages--men, women, and children--were
seen crowding to the appointed station. The chiefs were dressed in
truly gorgeous habiliments, of plumes, skins richly embroidered and
fringed, and brilliantly colored. Their robes were more showy than any
court-dress ever witnessed at Windsor Castle or the Tuileries. The
warriors, with proud demeanor and stately tread, marched along, with
quivers of arrows at their backs, and bows in their hands. Tomahawks
and scalping knives were ostentatiously displayed, and the scalps of
enemies dangled at their javelin points, as badges of their nobility.
Of these they were more proud than were ever English, French, or
Spanish grandees of the decoration of stars or garters. The women and
the dogs came next. They were alike regarded as necessary drudges to
bear burdens, and to be fed with the refuse which their masters left.
Then came the boys and girls, many of them half naked, shouting,
laughing, racing, engaging in all the uncouth merriment of a savage
gala day.
The spot selected for the council was decorated according to the most
approved fashion of the people and their times. The ground was covered
with mats, made of the skins of bears and other animals. Posts were
planted, draped and festooned with green boughs. Upon each of the four
sides of the square, the good father, who had ever been taught to
regard with the utmost veneration the Mother of Jesus, hung a picture
of the Blessed Virgin, that all might gaze upon her sad yet beautiful
features.
Father Marquette took his seat upon a mat, in the centre of the
enclosure. Then the chiefs, and the veteran warriors, who in many a
bloody foray had won renown, took their seats around him. Silently and
with the dignity becoming great men, they assumed their positions. The
young men, who had not yet signalized themselves, and who were ever
eager to go upon the war-path, that they might return with their
trophies of gory scalps, to receive the applause of the nation as
braves, came next.
In respect to the war spirit, which is one of the most direful traits
of our fallen race, there is but little difference between the
civilized and uncivilized man. I was once breakfasting with one of the
most distinguished officers of a European army. To my question whether
the officers generally wished for peace or war, he replied:
"War, of course. In times of peace promotion comes slowly. But upon the
battle field promotions are very rapidly made."
The young warriors counted about fifteen hundred. Outside of their
circle, the women and the children were clustered. It was estimated
that the whole population of the village amounted to about three
thousand.
The Illinois Indians were at war with the Miamis, among whom Father
Marquette had passed the winter. The Illinois chiefs had obtained of
the traders a few guns. Immediately upon Marquette reaching their
village, they hastened to entreat of him powder and ball, that they
might fit out an expedition against their foes. Father Marquette rose
at the council, and after presenting the chiefs with some valuable
gifts, in token of the sincerity of his desire to be their friend and
do them good, addressed them in substance as follows:
"I have not brought you any powder or balls. I do not wish you to fight
your brethren the Miamis. You are all the children of the same Father.
You should love one another. I have come to tell you of God, and to
teach you to pray. God, the Great Spirit, came to the world, and became
a man, whose name was Jesus. He died upon the cross to atone for the
sins of all men. And now, if you will cease to sin; if you will love
your Father, the Great Spirit, pray to Him and do everything in your
power to please Him, He will bless you, and when you die will take you
to dwell with Him and will make you happy forever."
Such was, in general, the address of Father Marquette. Such was ever,
in substance, his teaching. Jesus the Christ, and Him crucified, was
his constant theme. Two or three days were spent in similar exercises.
The Indians crowded around the father constantly. They listened to his
teachings with respectful and apparently with even joyful attention. He
was pale and emaciate. Even the Indian could perceive, from his feeble
voice and emaciate steps, that he was not far from the grave. On Easter
Sunday, the faithful missionary, with solemn and imposing ceremonies,
took, if we may so speak, spiritual possession of the land, in the name
of Jesus Christ.
The rapidly failing health of the missionary, rendered it expedient for
him to endeavor to return to his friends at Green Bay. The poor Indians
really mourned at the idea of his departure. Time hung heavily upon
their hands. They had but little to think of, and but little to do.
Loitering indolently around, from morning till night, it was a great
source of enjoyment to them, to crowd the large wigwam they had built
for the father, to listen to his words, to question him, and to witness
the ceremonies with which he was accustomed to conduct his devotions.
They were therefore much troubled at the thought of his departure, and
were but partially comforted by his repeated assurances that he would
either soon return again, or send some one else to continue the mission
which he had thus commenced.
Slowly and feebly he set out on his long journey back to Green Bay. It
was ninety miles from Kankakee to the southern extremity of Lake
Michigan. They could paddle in canoes over a portion of the route. But
there were also weary miles of portage which they had to pass over,
through Indian trails, carrying their canoe, and all their effects,
upon their backs. It was a severe undertaking for a sick man, who was
so feeble that even if a horse could have been provided for him to
ride, he could scarcely have held himself upon the saddle.
A large party of the Indians accompanied the father, on this weary
journey to the lake. They administered to his wants with the tenderest
care, relieving him of every burden, and aiding him over the rough
ways. At the night encampments, they provided for him a shelter,
kindled his fire, cooked his food, and spread for him a couch of leaves
and twigs. When they reached a small stream, which ran into the lake,
they placed him as comfortably as possible in his canoe, and intrusting
him to the care of his two faithful boatmen, Jacques and Pierre, bade
him an affectionate farewell.
The savages, after these deeds of almost Christian kindness, returned
to their wigwams, to sharpen the edges of their tomahawks, the points
of their javelins, the barbs of their arrows; and were soon, with
hideous yells, rushing upon their foes the Miamis, burning, killing,
scalping--performing deeds of cruelty which ought to cause even demons
to blush.
Father Marquette was too weak to wield the paddle. He reclined in the
bottom of the canoe, with his head slightly elevated, so that he could
see all the beauties of the scenery through which they were passing.
His prayer-book was in his hand; his talk was of heaven; he was
cheerful and happy. His companions have testified to the wonderful
amiability, gentleness, and joy he maintained. He told them plainly
that he should die upon the voyage, but encouraged them to bear
courageously all the hardships they were to encounter on the way,
assuring that the Lord would not forsake them.
As his attendants plied their paddles he read prayers to them, sang
sweet hymns of devotion, and in many fervent utterances commended them
and himself to God. He was in no pain. His eye sparkled with animation.
His soul was triumphant. It may be doubted whether, on the broad
continent of North America, there were, in these hours, an individual
to be found more happy than he.
It was one of the mornings of lovely May, when this frail birch canoe,
with its three inmates, emerging from a small stream, entered upon the
ocean-like expanse of Lake Michigan. On the north and the east the
majestic inland sea spread out to the horizon, with no bounds but the
sky. For some unexplained reason they decided to take the eastern shore
of the lake, on their return voyage, though their outward voyage had
been by the western shore. They had still a journey of three hundred
miles before them.
Father Marquette was so weak that he could no longer help himself. He
could neither move nor stand, and had to be carried from the canoe to
the shore like an infant. At each encampment the attendants would draw
the canoe, with Father Marquette in it, gently upon the beach. They
would then hastily rear a shelter, spread for him a couch of the long
and withered herbage, and lay him tenderly upon it. The only food they
could prepare for the fainting invalid, was corn pounded into coarse
meal, mixed with water, and baked in the ashes, with perhaps a slice of
game broiled upon the coals.
Thus they moved along, day after day, expecting almost every hour that
the death summons would come. On Friday evening, the 27th of May, 1675,
he told them, with a countenance radiant with joy, that on the morrow
he should take his departure for his heavenly home.
He gave them minute instructions respecting the place he wished to be
selected for his burial; directed how to arrange his hands and feet,
and how to wrap him in his robes, for he could have no coffin. While
one was to read the burial service the other was gently to toll the
small chapel bell which he bore with him on his mission. The canoe was
gliding along near the shore, as the father gave these instructions,
reclining upon his mat. The setting sun was sinking apparently into the
shoreless waters of the lake, in the west. They were all examining the
land, the boatmen searching for a suitable spot for their night's
encampment, and the father looking for a good place for his dying bed
and his burial.
They came to the mouth of a small, pleasant river, which presented a
sheltered cove for their canoe. There was an eminence near by, crowned
by a beautiful grove, and commanding a wide prospect of the lake and of
the land. It had a sunny exposure, drained of moisture, and composed of
just such soil as seems suitable for a grave. Father Marquette pointed
to the eminence in the lone, silent, solitary wilderness, and said,
"There is the spot for my last repose."
The boatmen ran their canoe up the mouth of the river, a few rods, and
landed. Hastily they threw up a frail camp, kindled a fire, spread down
a mat for a couch, and placed their revered spiritual father upon it.
He was then left entirely alone, with his God, while his companions
were engaged in unloading the canoe. They were silent and sad, for they
could not but perceive that the dying hour was at hand.
When they returned, Father Marquette gave them his last instructions.
"I thank you, my dear companions," he said, "for all the love and
tenderness you have shown me during this voyage. I beg you to pardon me
for the trouble I have given you. Will you also say to all my fathers
and brethren in the Ottowa mission that I implore their forgiveness for
my imperfections. I am now very near my home. But I shall not forget
you in heaven. You are very weary with the toils of the day. I shall
still live probably for several hours. I wish you would retire and take
that rest which you so greatly need. I will call you as soon as the
last moments arrive."
They left the cabin with stricken hearts and weeping eyes. The dying
Christian was left alone with his God. Who can imagine the peace and
joy which must then have filled his heart and suffused his eyes. The
victory was won. Death was conquered. The chariot of Israel and the
horsemen thereof were waiting at the door of the humble cabin, to
transport the victor, through the pathways of the stars, to his throne
and his crown. Glorious death! Blissful journey!
Three hours passed away, and his feeble voice was heard calling his
companions to his side. He threw his arms around the neck of each one,
and drawing him gently down imprinted a kiss upon each cheek. Then,
taking the crucifix, which he ever wore around his neck, he placed it
in the hands of one of them, requesting him to hold that emblem of the
atoning sacrifice of his Saviour before his eyes until the last moment.
Then, inspired with the faith of Stephen the Martyr, clasping his hands
and fixing his eyes upon this memorial of God manifest in the flesh, in
fervent prayer he said:
"O Lord God, I thank Thee for the boundless grace Thou hast conferred
upon me in permitting me to die in the service of Jesus Christ Thy Son.
O God, I thank Thee, that I have been His missionary; and that I am
permitted to die, in a cabin, in the depths of the forest, and far
removed from all human aid."
There were a few moments of perfect silence. No sound fell upon the ear
but the gentle breathing of the dying man. He was then heard feebly to
say, "I know that my Redeemer liveth." Again he said, in accordance
with the faith which he had received from childhood, "Mary! Mother of
Jesus my Lord, remember me."
Suddenly he raised his eyes from the crucifix and looked upward, as if
a vision of wonderful glory was bursting upon his entranced view. His
countenance shone radiant with joy. A sweet smile was upon his lips.
Without a struggle, without a sigh, his soul took its flight to its
home in heaven. He had fallen asleep.
"Asleep in Jesus! Far from thee,
Thy kindred and their graves may be.
But thine is still a blessed sleep,
From which none ever wake to weep."
His two bereaved companions wept bitterly. They laid out the body as
directed; wrapped it in the threadbare garments it so long had worn,
and having dug the grave, placed the revered remains within it. While
one devotedly covered the body with its mother earth, the other tolled
the little bell which had so often summoned them to prayer. They
remained upon the spot until the next day. A large cross was made, and
planted firmly in the ground, in a position which would attract the
attention of all passing along the shore of the lake. The two faithful
boatmen, Jacques and Pierre, then, after kneeling upon the grave in
fervent prayer, returned to their canoe and continued the long journey
to Green Bay. They reached the mission in safety, with their sad
tidings.
Father Marquette died at the early age of thirty-eight.
He had spent twenty-one years an earnest, self-denying minister of
Jesus Christ. Twelve of these were in France. Nine were devoted to the
savages of the New World. At the early age of nine years, he became an
earnest Christian. Every Saturday was, with this wonderful child, a day
of fasting and prayer.
There were quite a number of Christian Indians at the Mackinaw mission.
They had long known Father Marquette, and revered and loved him. A band
of these Indians were, some months after this, on the shores of Lake
Michigan, upon a hunting excursion. They sought out the grave of Father
Marquette. They took up the remains, carefully enclosed them in a box
of birch bark, placed them in one of their canoes, and paddled them,
three hundred miles, to the mission of St. Ignatius.
A convoy of canoes, thirty in number, in single file, formed this
wonderful funeral procession. It is doubtful whether such a scene was
ever before witnessed on this globe. For more than ten days this band
of Indian hunters, in their picturesque costume, silently and solemnly
paddled along the shores of the lonely lake, that the remains of their
beloved pastor might repose where they could visit the spot, and honor
them with their testimonials of gratitude.
As they approached the shore, where the mission was established, with
its cross-surmounted chapel, surrounded with Indian wigwams, a courier
was sent forward rapidly, in a canoe, to announce the arrival of the
cortége. The whole community promptly gathered upon the beach. A
funeral procession was formed, led by Fathers Nouvel and Pierson, who
were Superiors of the two missions, one to the Ottawas, and one to the
Hurons, which were located side by side. Interrogations were first made
to verify the fact, that the body they bore was really that of Father
Marquette.
The two ecclesiastics then chanted the sublime anthem,
"Out of the depths have I cried unto Thee, O Lord.
Lord, hear my voice; let Thine ears be attentive to the voice of
my supplications."
The canoes were still on the water, while quite a throng of the Indians
crowded the shore. With the customary religious ceremonies, the body
was conveyed to the chapel. It remained there for a day, covered with a
pall. On the morning of the next day, which was the ninth of June, the
remains were deposited in a grave, in the middle of the log chapel,
which we infer had no floor but the earth; there to repose until the
trump of the archangel shall sound, when all who are in their graves
shall come forth.