_The Voyage Along the Lakes_.
The Embarcation. Equipment of the Griffin. Voyage through the Lakes and
Straits. The Storm. Superstition of the Voyagers. Arrival at Mackinac.
Scenery there. Friendship of the Indians. Sail on Lakes Huron and
Michigan. Arrival at Green Bay. The well-freighted Griffin sent back.
On the 7th of August, 1679, the Griffin spread her sails for her
adventurous voyage into the vast unknown. Her armament consisted of
five small cannon, two of which were of brass, and three clumsy guns
called arquebuses. The vessel was of but sixty tons burden. Most of the
men had muskets for taking game. The current in the river, where the
vessel was moored, was very rapid. But by aid of a fair wind, and
twelve men pulling by a rope on the shore, all difficulties were
overcome, and the Griffin entered triumphantly the broad expanse of
Lake Erie.
As the anchor was raised and the canvas spread, a simultaneous salute
was fired from the five cannon, the three arquebuses, and all the
muskets. Such an uproar was never before heard in those silent wilds.
An immense number of Indians crowded the shore. They gazed with
astonishment, awe, and indefinable dread upon the novel spectacle. The
whole company of Frenchmen embarked, being thirty-four in number. None
were left at Erie. But at Niagara, as the magazine at Queenstown was
called, Father Melethon remained, with one or two laborers, to receive
such supplies as might be forwarded to that place.
Three missionaries accompanied the expedition, Fathers Hennepin,
Zenobe, and Ribourde. They were venerable and good men, ready at any
moment to lay down their lives in advocacy of the Christian faith. Lake
Erie is about two hundred and sixty miles long, and from ten to sixty
broad. They ran along the northern shore of this majestic inland sea,
and on the third day reached its western bounds, where they cautiously
entered the mouth of the strait through which flows the waters of all
the upper lakes. It was about twenty-eight miles long, and one mile
broad. As canoes alone had thus far passed over its surface, it was
necessary for them to feel their way with much care. La Salle gave the
strait the name of Detroit. Soon entering another lake, twenty-four
miles long by thirty broad, he gave it the name of St. Clair, in honor
of the saint whose name appears in the calendar of the church for that
day.
Passing safely over the shallow waters, the Griffin entered another
strait, about thirty miles long, to which La Salle gave the name of St.
Clair River. The current was strong, and the navigation perilous.
Gigantic steamers now run through from Lake Erie to Lake Huron in a few
hours. It required thirteen days for the Griffin to accomplish the
passage. The whole distance is about ninety miles.
Lake Huron opened magnificently before them. The route along the shore
of the lake to its head, where it receives the waters of Michigan and
Superior, is about three hundred and sixty miles. Its greatest breadth
is one hundred and sixty miles. The progress of the voyagers was slow.
They were impeded by calms and head winds. It was often necessary to
cast the lead and to watch for rocks and sand-bars. They had but just
entered upon Lake Huron when they encountered one of the severest
tempests which ever swept that stormy lake. The whole ship's company
were devout Catholics.
In those dark days both the fathers and the crew were alike disposed to
call upon the Virgin Mary and the saints to aid them, rather than upon
God. Father Hennepin tells us that the stout soul of La Salle quailed
before the horrible tumult which threatened to engulf him. They all
alike fell upon their knees and addressed their prayers and their cries
to St. Anthony of Padua. They solemnly vowed that if he would intercede
with God and obtain their rescue, they would, in the newly-discovered
countries, erect a chapel in his name. St. Anthony was called the
patron of mariners, and therefore his aid was especially invoked.
Greatly was their confidence in the saint's intercession increased, as
the wind lulled, the clouds dispersed, the sun shone forth in all its
autumnal glory, and with a fair wind pressing their sails they glided
along over a smooth sea, skirting the southern shore of the lake, past
mountains and valleys, prairies and forest, which presented every
variety of picturesque beauty.
At the extreme northwestern extremity of Lake Huron, near the point
where the lake receives the waters of Lakes Michigan and Superior,
there was a large island, whose swelling hills were crowned with a
dense forest. This island was called by the Indians, from its peculiar
form, Mackinac, or the Turtle, sometimes Michilimackinac, or the big
Turtle. On the 27th of August, 1679, the Griffin ran into a beautiful
little bay in this island. It was a lovely summer's day, serene, sunny,
and cloudless. The waters of the bay, fringed with forest-crowned
hills, were as placid as a mirror. There was quite a village there of
wigwams. Naked children were sporting upon the beach. Buoyant birch
canoes, driven by the paddles of gayly-dressed men and women, were
gliding swiftly in all directions. The scene opened before the eyes of
the voyagers like a vision of enchantment.
Nearly ten years before, Father Marquette, inspired by apostolic zeal,
had traversed this whole distance in a birch canoe. Several Indians
accompanied him as boatmen and interpreters. Upon the main land, across
a narrow strait, he had established a mission-post among the Hurons.
The Indians at Mackinac thus knew something of the white men. With
wonder they gazed upon the "great wooden canoe." They crowded on board
the Griffin with every testimonial of confidence and friendship, and
when one of the cannon was fired, and its roar reverberated through the
forest, they were astonished, but not frightened.
Though this remote village seemed so peaceful and happy, the strong
palisades which surrounded it proved that the voyagers had not yet got
beyond the vestiges of Adam's fall. Those defences spoke of midnight
assaults, of savage yells, of tomahawks, scalps, blood, misery, and
death. La Salle, aware of the influence of outward appearance upon the
minds of men, dressed himself in a very rich scarlet cloak fringed with
gold lace. With a plumed military cap upon his head, a long sword at
his side, and an imposing escort of well-dressed and well-armed men, he
was rowed ashore, to make a visit of ceremony to the chief. His
reception was as hospitable and friendly as those untutored men were
capable of giving.
La Salle had sent forward several canoes of men, to collect all the
furs they could on their way, and store them at Mackinac. These furs,
upon his arrival, La Salle would transfer to the Griffin and send them
back to Fort Frontenac, to be thence transported to Europe. But these
men had bitterly disappointed him. Some of them had run away and joined
the Indians, attracted by the apparently careless, easy life which the
wigwam presented. Others had been bribed, by higher wages, to join
rival trading parties. One of the canoes of deserters had pushed on to
the Falls of St. Mary. These falls, quite renowned in the early
explorations of these remote regions, were situated on the strait which
connects Lake Superior with Huron.
After a short tarry at Mackinac, the sails of the Griffin were again
spread, and passing through the strait between Mackinac and the main
land, they entered the head of Lake Michigan. They coasted along its
northern border in beautiful summer weather, and within pleasant view
of the shore, until they came to an island where there was a pleasant,
sheltered cove, at the mouth of Green Bay, a sheet of water which,
through a broad entrance studded with islands, spread out on the west
of Michigan, a hundred miles in length, by about twenty in breadth.
A tribe of Indians, called Pottawatomies, inhabited this island. Here
it was La Salle's good fortune to find one of his large canoes, well
freighted with furs. He had also laid in a large store at Mackinac. As
he was soon to leave the Griffin, to cross the land by portages, and
paddle in birch canoes down distant and unknown rivers, he decided to
send back the Griffin to Erie, with her rich freight of furs. At Erie
they would be carried on men's shoulders around the falls to Niagara,
thence reshipped to Frontenac, and thence sent to Europe. He remained
at the island a fortnight, freighting his ship. She commenced her
return voyage with a pilot and five mariners. The value of the cargo
was such as to make La Salle a rich man. Notwithstanding all his
discouragements, his voyage had thus far been a success. Cheered with
hope, he now prepared to resume his adventurous explorations in birch
canoes.
La Salle, having despatched the richly freighted Griffin from the mouth
of Green Bay to his abandoned ship-yard at Erie, resumed his voyage in
four heavily laden birch canoes. The company remaining with him
consisted of seventeen men. His freight consisted of a blacksmith's
forge, mechanic tools, household utensils, merchandise, arms, and
ammunition. A very skilful and intelligent Indian accompanied the party
as interpreter and hunter. They paddled down the western shore of Lake
Michigan, landing every night to build their camp, kindle their fire,
and cook their supper. Immediately upon landing, the Indian, with his
musket on his shoulder, disappeared in the forest, and almost
invariably soon returned with an ample supply of game.
It was the 19th of September, 1679, when the canoes left the mouth of
Green Bay. The stormy days of autumn were approaching, when these
northern lakes were often ploughed by fierce gales. The island from
which they set out was several leagues from the main land. They had no
sails. Their boats were propelled only by the paddle. The first night,
before they reached the main land, dense clouds seemed hurrying through
the skies and thickening over their heads. The wind increased into a
gale. The blackened waters of the lake were lashed into foam-crested
billows. The sun went down, and gloomy darkness curtained the sky and
enveloped the sea. The spray dashed over them. Occasionally a wave
would break into the canoes. At length they discerned the dim outline
of the shore. It was a long sandy beach, with no cove, no indentation,
into which they could run their boats. The surges, driven by the
northeast storm, struck the shore so furiously that it seemed
impossible to effect a landing; and yet every moment they were
threatened with destruction. In the darkness they kept as near together
as they could, to help one another in case of disaster. Thus hour after
hour passed; as our voyagers, weary, hungry, cold, and drenched,
struggled against the waves. A little after midnight the wind lulled.
Watching their opportunity they ran their canoes upon the shore, and
leaping into the water, carefully dragged them above the waves. The
rain still fell. They unloaded each canoe, and so packed the precious
contents that they could protect them from the rain by covering them
with the canoes turned upside down. With their axes they soon
constructed a frail camp. With the flash of powder they with difficulty
kindled a fire, for everything was dripping with moisture, and every
log was soaked.
They threw themselves down to sleep upon the wet ground, and in their
drenched garments, but with, their feet toward roaring fires.
Accustomed as they were to exposure, these hardships must have caused
severe suffering. The lurid morning revealed to them but a raging sea
and a bleak and barren expanse, where no game could be found. Here, in
their cheerless camp, they were detained by the wind and the rain four
days. The only game their Indian hunter brought in, was a single
porcupine. They found its flesh savory, though it afforded scarcely a
mouthful for each man.
The storm at length ceased. Again they launched their fragile canoes,
and paddled along the placid waters. Soon another storm arose suddenly,
and so severe, that they were glad to take shelter upon the lee side of
a rocky island. There was no growth of timber with which they could
build a camp, and scarcely sufficient fuel for a fire. Here, like
shipwrecked mariners, they remained for two days, wrapped in their
blankets, and huddled for shelter in the cavities of the rocks.
Mercilessly they were pelted with rain mingled with snow.
But again the clouds were dispelled; the sun shone brightly. The
mirrored waves of the lake invited them to its surface. Though sobered
by their sufferings, they paddled rapidly along, hoping that a long
calm was to succeed the storm. Their voyage was cheered by one bright
and sunny day, when the angry clouds again began to gather to do them
battle. The tempest rose so suddenly that they had no time to seek a
harbor, but had to run their canoes through the surf on the shore. All
had to leap into the waves to save the frail boats from being broken on
the stony beach. This, their third landing, was near the point where
the River Milwaukie enters the lake.
They had not taken a large supply of provisions with them in their
canoes, for they had hoped to find a supply of game by the way. Nearly
all their store of corn and vegetables was now exhausted. Two or three
Indians were seen in the distance; but they did not venture to approach
so formidable a looking band. Three men were sent, with the calumet of
peace, to search for their villages and obtain food. They came to a
cluster of deserted wigwams, where the sagacity of their Indian guide
showed them an abundance of corn, concealed from the ravages of wild
beasts, in cells under ground. These honest or politic men took all
they wanted, and left behind them ample payment.
In the evening twilight, as the boatmen were gathered around their camp
fire, quite a group of Indians was seen cautiously approaching. La
Salle advanced to meet them, with the calumet uplifted in his hands. As
soon as the Indians saw this emblem of peace, all their fears were
dispelled. They rushed forward like a joyous band of children, singing
and dancing. They had been to their wigwams, found the treasures which
had been left there, and their joy was inexpressible. They returned
late in the evening to their homes; but in the morning the grateful
creatures returned, bearing an abundant supply of game and corn. La
Salle richly rewarded them.
Nature seemed in sympathy with these blessings of peace, for the sun,
emerging from the clouds, shone down serenely upon these children of a
common Father, and the weary voyagers, greatly cheered, again launched
their canoes upon the solitary lake.
Thus they continued, day after day, paddling along the apparently
interminable journey to the South. They passed the spot where the
majestic city of Chicago now stands. It was two hundred years ago. Not
even an Indian wigwam was seen to break the expanded and dreary
solitude. A constant succession of storms was encountered until they
reached the foot of the lake. Any one who has witnessed the grandeur
with which the ocean-like billows of Lake Michigan often break upon the
western shore, will wonder how it was possible for those frail canoes
to ride over such surges. Every night it was necessary to land, and
often the storm detained them for many hours.
Having reached the foot of the lake, they turned to the eastward. Here
they found a milder clime and more tranquil waters. Deer and wild
turkeys were very abundant, and their Indian hunter kept them supplied
with game. The trees were festooned with grape-vines, which were laden
with the richest clusters of the delicious fruit. They found a spot at
the foot of the lake so attractive in its landscape beauty, so
abounding in fruit and game, that, weary as they were with their
arduous voyage, they drew their canoes on shore for a few days of rest.
The labor of one or two hours constructed a comfortable cabin for the
accommodation of all. Fuel was abundant for the cheering camp fire. The
lake furnished the choicest fish, and the forest supplied them with
venison and every variety of game. Having feasted upon the most
delicious of hunters' fare, they wrapped themselves in their blankets,
and enjoyed that rich sleep which is one of the greatest blessings of
the worn and the weary.
Moccasined footprints had been seen on the sands of the beach,
indicating that there were Indians near. One of the men out hunting at
a little distance from the camp, came upon a large black bear, which
had climbed a high tree, and was feeding upon the luscious grapes.
Taking deliberate aim he sent a bullet through the head of the bear,
and the huge animal tumbled lifeless to the ground. It so happened that
there was a large party of Indian hunters not far off, who heard the
report of the gun. It was to them a very unusual sound; for they were
armed only with bows and arrows. Carefully concealing themselves, they
followed the man as he dragged the carcass to the camp. It was evening.
A brilliant fire illuminated the whole scene. They examined the
encampment, counted the number of men, and saw at some distance on the
beach, piles of precious goods, screened from rain by the canoes which
were turned bottom upward over them.
In the darkness of the night, two or three of them crept noiselessly to
the unguarded canoes, and stole several articles of value. A wakeful
eye chanced to catch a glimpse of the shadowy form of an Indian
stealing through the forest, and gave the alarm. All sprang to arms. La
Salle had, as we have said, an Indian guide and hunter with him, from
Green Bay. The Indian band proved to be from that vicinity. They soon
entered into a conference with La Salle's guide. The savages assumed
great frankness and friendliness. One of the chiefs said:
"We heard the gun and feared that a party of our enemies was
approaching. We crept near your camp to ascertain whether you were
friends or foes. But now that we know that we are among Frenchmen, we
are with our brothers. We love Frenchmen, and wish to smoke with them
the pipe of peace."
La Salle was cautious. He replied, "Let four of your men, and four
only, come in the morning to our camp." In the meantime he kept a
careful watch. Four venerable men came in the morning, smoked their
pipes and proffered friendship. Mutual pledges were exchanged, and they
departed. It was not until after they had left, that the discovery was
made that several valuable articles had been stolen. This entirely
changed the aspect of affairs. La Salle, as energetic as he was
conciliatory, resolved to have satisfaction.
Fearing that if the affront were unavenged he would be exposed to new
insults, he took several well-armed men, penetrated the woods and
captured two Indians. Having led them as prisoners to his camp, he
liberated one, and sent him to the chiefs of the band to say, that if
the stolen goods were not immediately restored, the other captive would
be put to death.
The Indians, who seemed to have set a high value upon life, were
appalled. They could not restore the goods. Many of them had been
destroyed. The chiefs returned this reply. As the Indians greatly
outnumbered the Frenchmen, they resolved to attempt to rescue the
captive by force. In strong military array they advanced to the attack.
La Salle marshalled his little force upon a mound, surrounded by a
sandy plain, where there was neither tree, rock, nor shrub, to protect
the assailants. The bullet could be thrown much farther than the arrow.
The hostile forces stood gazing at each other for some time. The chiefs
saw that an attack was hopeless, and that advance was certain death. La
Salle had no wish to redden his hands with their blood.
In this emergence Father Hennepin in the peaceful garb of a priest went
forward with the Indian interpreter and solicited a conference. Two old
men advanced to meet him. With unexpected intelligence they proposed
that the goods which could be restored, should be sent back, and that
the rest should be amply paid for. This brought peace. Rich presents
were interchanged, the Indians giving several beaver-skin robes. There
were feasting and dancing and speech-making. All hearts were happy.
Again the canoes were put afloat. Coasting up the eastern shore of the
lake fifty or sixty miles they reached the mouth of St. Joseph's River,
then called the River of the Miamis. This is the second river in
importance in the State of Michigan. It has a good harbor at its mouth,
flows through an expanse of two hundred and fifty miles, and affords
boat navigation for a distance of one hundred and thirty miles. Here
the weary travellers found a port, after a voyage of forty days from
Green Bay.
Gloomy clouds of trouble now darkened around. His men, weary of their
hardships, became mutinous. They remonstrated against continuing their
journey into the depths of the unexplored wilderness, peopled by they
knew not what hostile tribes. La Salle had ordered Lieutenant Tonti,
with twenty men, to cross the head of the lake and meet him at that
point by a much shorter route. The lieutenant had not arrived. It was
feared that he was lost. At length he came. But he brought no tidings
of the Griffin. Two months had elapsed since that vessel sailed from
Green Bay. Her orders were, after discharging her freight at Niagara,
to return immediately to St. Joseph's, for another cargo of furs. La
Salle had embarked more than all his fortune in that vessel. There was
no insurance in those days. He was deeply in debt to the traders in
Quebec and Montreal.
Fearful were his apprehensions that the vessel was lost. If so he was
ruined, a hopeless bankrupt. The vessel was lost. No tidings of her
ever reached any human ears. In some dreadful tragedy, witnessed only
by God, the vessel and its crew sunk in the depths of the waters. While
thus harassed with anxiety, the cold blasts of approaching winter swept
the bleak plains. The rivers would soon be closed with ice. His
provisions were exhausted, so that his party was entirely dependent for
food upon such game as could be taken. Under these adverse
circumstances the resolution of this indomitable man remained unshaken.
Gathering his murmuring companions around him, he said:
"I have set out to explore the Mississippi. If you abandon me I cannot
proceed. But I shall remain here with the missionaries. You may find
your way back as you can, or disperse through the forest as you
please."
The men continued to murmur. But for their own protection they worked
diligently upon the fort. From this point La Salle intended to
establish communication with his depot at Niagara. The boatmen also,
who were earnestly devoted to the ritualism of the church, under the
direction of the missionaries built a log chapel, where religious
services were daily held. A numerous tribe of Indians, the Miamis, but
to which the missionaries gave the name of St. Joseph's band, had a
flourishing village here. There were very friendly. From the fine boat
harbor they could fish upon the lake, or, in pursuit of game, could
paddle hundreds of miles up the forest-crowned river and its numerous
tributaries. Day after day La Salle watched the horizon of the lake,
hoping to catch a glimpse of the sails of the returning Griffin,
bringing him supplies, and the tidings that his precious furs were safe
and his fortune secure. Night after night he placed his head upon his
pillow, the victim of that hope deferred which maketh the heart sick.
Thirty-three days of anxiety and toil thus passed away. The boatmen,
who had come with Lieutenant Tonti, increased his number to over thirty
men. At the point of land where the river entered the lake, there was a
bluff, of considerable elevation and of triangular form, containing an
acre or more of pretty level land. It was at that time covered with
trees. This commanding position was chosen for the fort. Two sides were
bounded by water. On the third or land side of the triangle there was a
deep ravine. A breastwork of hewn logs was raised several feet high,
enclosing a space eighty feet long by forty feet broad. And this all
was surrounded by stout palisades.
The fortress was artistically constructed, and could bid defiance to
any attack by the Indians. It was also admirably selected to give the
French command of the region, against any encroachments of the English.
Through the whole month of November the men toiled upon these works,
fed only upon the flesh of turkeys, deer, and bears, which their Indian
hunter brought in. It was learned that the Griffin, which, it will be
remembered, sailed from Green Bay, bound first to Mackinac, did not
reach that port. The vessel must have foundered somewhere by the way.
The natives on the coast had heard nothing of the vessel. Seventy days
had now elapsed since she sailed, and all hopes of ever hearing from
her again were relinquished.
On the 3d of December the whole party of thirty-three persons, in eight
canoes, left Fort Miami, as La Salle called his works, and paddled up
the river, a distance of seventy miles, toward the south. Considerable
time was lost in the endeavor to find the trail or portage which led
across, westerly from the St. Joseph's River, to the head waters of the
Kankakee, which is the eastern branch of the Illinois River.
La Salle, imprudently exploring alone, became lost in the forest. The
darkness of a stormy night, with falling snow, overtook him. He fired
his gun as a signal of distress; but silence was the only answer. Soon
he espied, in the distance, the light of a fire. It was the encampment
of a solitary Indian, who had formed for himself a soft bed of leaves.
Alarmed by the report of the gun, he had fled. La Salle appropriated to
himself the cheerless quarters and slept soundly until morning. All the
forenoon of the next day he wandered, and it was not until the
afternoon that he rejoined his companions. He came in with two opossums
hanging at his belt, which he had killed.
At length their Indian hunter found the trail. They had gone too far up
the river. The men took the canoes and the freight upon their
shoulders, and carried them over the portage, of five or six miles,
which the Indians had traversed for countless ages. Dreary in the
extreme was the wintry landscape which now opened before them. The
ground was frozen hard. Ice fringed the stream, and the flat marshy
expanse was whitened with snow. For nearly a hundred miles the sluggish
Kankakee flowed through a morass, which afforded growth to but little
more than rushes and alders. Their provisions were nearly exhausted. No
game could be found. They were hungry. Each night they landed, built
their fires, and with scarcely any shelter wrapped themselves in their
blankets for almost comfortless sleep.
At length the river emerged from these dreary marshes and entered upon
a large undulating prairie, treeless, but whose fertility was attested
by the tall, yet withered grass. The scene became far more cheering.
Though most of the herds, which in summer grazed these rich fields, had
wandered far away to the south, their indefatigable hunter succeeded in
shooting two deer and a stray buffalo, which was found mired. He also
took several fat turkeys and swans.
Thus, with revived spirits, the party, having paddled three hundred
miles down the infinite windings of the Kankakee, entered the more
majestic and beautiful river Illinois. The length of the stream from
this point to its entrance into the Mississippi is two hundred and
sixty miles, exclusive of its windings. As they were swept down by the
current, they came to a large Indian village on the right bank of the
river, near the present town of Ottawa. There were four or five hundred
cabins, very substantially built, and covered with thick mats very
ingeniously woven from rushes. Extensive corn-fields were near the
village, but the harvest had been gathered in.
Silence and solitude reigned there. Not a living being was to be seen.
The inhabitants had all migrated, according to their custom, to spend
the winter in more southern hunting-grounds. Large quantities of corn
were stored away for summer use in dry cellars. La Salle removed fifty
bushels to his canoes, hoping to find the owners farther south and
amply repay them. It would have been of no avail to have left payment,
for it would be carried away by any band of Indians who chanced to be
passing by. The hunger of his men, in his judgment rendered the taking
of the corn a necessity. This spot was probably near the site of Rock
Fort, in La Salle county, Illinois.
For four days they continued their course without coming in sight of
any human being or any habitation. Yet they passed through scenery
often very charming, presenting a wide-spread ocean of undulating land,
with groves and lawns and parks smiling so peacefully in the bright
sunshine.
The morning of the 1st of January, 1680, came. All gathered around the
missionaries to commemorate the opening of the new year by religious
services. Prayers were offered, hymns were chanted, sins were
confessed, and the blessing of God was invoked upon their enterprise.
At the conclusion of these devotions the canoes were again pushed out
into the stream. On the fourth of the month they entered an expansion
of the river where the breadth of water assumed the dimension of a
lake. This sheet of water, now called Peoria Lake, was twenty miles
long and three broad.
At its foot they came upon a very large Indian encampment. La Salle
presented the calumet of peace, and fraternal relations were immediately
established. At this point he decided to build a large boat to sail
down the river. The loss of the Griffin, thus depriving him of his
supplies, had frustrated all his plans. He built a strong fort, which
he called, from his own grief, "Crèvecoeur," or the Broken Hearted.
Here this extraordinary man left most of his company, and with five
men, in mid-winter, set out to cross the pathless wilderness on foot,
a distance of twelve hundred miles, along the southern shores of Erie
and Ontario to Fort Frontenac. The wonderful journey, through storms
of snow and rain, across bleak plains and morasses and unbridged rivers,
was safely accomplished in about seventy days. He obtained the needful
supplies, freighted several canoes, engaged new voyagers, and after
innumerable perils again reached the head waters of the Illinois. Here
he learned that his garrison at Crèvecoeur was dispersed and the
fort destroyed. This ended his hopes. He went back to Frontenac a
disappointed but indomitable man, and the enterprise was for the time
relinquished.
Here we must leave La Salle for a time, while we give an account of the
expedition from Crèvecoeur, up the Mississippi, and of the destruction
of the colony.