_Life with the Savages_.
Ascending the River with the Savages. Religious Worship. Abundance of
Game. Hardihood of the Savages. The War-Whoop. Savage Revelry. The
Falls of St. Anthony. Wild Country Beyond. Sufferings of the Captives.
Capricious Treatment. Triumphal Entrance. The Adoption. Habits of the
Savages.
Father Hennepin and his two companions reëmbarked in their canoe, and,
oppressed with varied feelings of anxiety and curiosity, recommenced
their journey up the river. The thirty large canoes, filled with their
captors, surrounded them. The current was rapid; the savages were
seldom in a hurry, and their progress was slow. At night they always
landed and slept in the open air, unless it was stormy, when they would
sometimes construct for themselves a frail shelter.
The devout ecclesiastic felt in duty bound daily to say his office, as
it was called, in accordance with the rules of the Catholic Church. He
had his breviary, composed of matins, lauds, vespers, and compline, or
last prayer at night. These exercises he scrupulously performed. The
superstitious Indians, seeing him open his book, and move his lips,
imagined that he was practising some sort of incantation against them.
Angrily they cried out against it, exclaiming, in their own language,
"witchcraft."
Michael Ako, who had no ambition to receive a martyr's crown, entreated
him, if he must say his prayers, to say them in secret. "If you persist
in this course," said he, "you will so provoke the Indians, that we
shall all be inevitably killed." Auguelle, who was more religiously
inclined, joined in these entreaties, begging him to retire apart,
morning and evening, into the forest for his devotions.
But the suspicions of the Indians were aroused. They had a great dread
of diabolical influences. Whenever he entered the woods a party
followed him. He could get no chance to pray out of their sight. At
length he said to his companions:
"I cannot dispense with my prayers, whatever may be the consequences.
If we are all massacred, I shall be the innocent cause of your death,
as well as of my own."
To accustom the Indians to his mode of worship, he commenced chanting
the litany of the Virgin. He had a well-trained, melodious voice. The
Indians were pleased with the novel strains floating over the still
waters. Paddle in hand they paused to listen. Adroitly, he led them to
believe that the Good Spirit had taught him to sing, and had sent him
to them for their diversion. It would seem, on the whole, that the
Indians treated their captives with remarkable kindness. The canoe of
the Frenchmen was heavily laden with articles for trade, and there were
but three to paddle. They therefore found it very difficult to keep up
with the well-manned war canoes of the savages. The chief placed one or
two warriors on board the Frenchmen's boat, to help them stem the
current. It was with difficulty that the little fleet accomplished more
than twenty or twenty-five miles a day.
The savages were collected from various villages, and it was quite
evident that they were still divided in opinion respecting the
disposition to be made of their prisoners. One of the chiefs took the
Frenchmen under his special protection. He caused them, at each
encampment, to occupy the same cabin with him, or to sleep by his side.
But there was another chief who clamored for their death. He had lost a
son, killed by the Miamis. Every night his dismal howlings were heard,
as he wailed piteously, endeavoring to stimulate his own passions, and
to rouse his comrades to kill the Frenchmen, so as to seize their arms
and avenge themselves upon the Miamis.
But others, who were far more considerate, said, If we kill or rob
these Frenchmen, we shall soon use up the few goods they have in their
canoe, and no other Frenchmen will dare to visit us to bring us more.
But, if we treat them kindly, and purchase their goods fairly, others
will come, bringing a great abundance. Thus we can all sell our skins
and furs, and supply the whole tribe with the things we so greatly
need.
As they were paddling along one day, a large flock of turkeys was seen
feeding near the river. Cautiously Father Hennepin paddled near them,
and one of his boatmen, taking careful aim, struck down three with a
single shot. The savages, who had watched the proceeding with intense
interest, were amazed. Many of them, perhaps all, had never seen a gun
discharged before, though the knowledge of the arrival of the French,
and the wonderful power of their guns, had been widely spread through
the tribes. The canoes were all paddled to the shore. With the deepest
interest they examined the dead turkeys, and reëxamined the musket. The
unseen bolt had struck them down at twice the distance their arrows
would reach. An arrow could have killed but one. The bullet had killed
three. "Manza ouacangege," exclaimed one of the chiefs, in astonishment,
which signified, _The iron has understanding_.
The situation of the Frenchmen was very peculiar, as they hardly knew
whether the savages regarded them as prisoners or not. Father Hennepin
was still pursuing his original design of exploring the sources of the
Mississippi. If the Indians were truly friendly, their companionship
was an element of safety, and was to be desired. In order to test the
question whether he was his own master, and could follow his own will,
he suggested to the chief his design of turning back and following down
the Mississippi to its mouth. He might thus find a short passage to the
Indies, though he admits that he thought it more probable that it
emptied into the Gulf of Mexico, than into the Red Sea. The chiefs
however, promptly signified that they could not consent to be thus
deprived of the pleasure of his company.
Though the Indians paddled all day long, with great vigor, against the
current, not stopping even to eat until their night's encampment, they
never seemed at all fatigued. There was an ample supply of game for
food. Having reared their frail shelters, if it rained, kindled their
fires and cooked their suppers, they invariably had a war dance, each
smoking in turn the war calumet. This was distinguished from the peace
calumet by different colored feathers. Their whoops and yells were
hideous. And there was something indescribably mournful in the wailings
of those who had lost relatives during the war.
Fortunately for the French, all their expeditions had thus far been
conducted under the control of religious men. Not an Indian had been
killed or wronged by them. They had proved only great benefactors to
the Indians. Had a solitary Indian been killed by any Frenchmen, these
captives, in revenge, would have been put to death with tortures of the
most diabolical cruelty. Had any Miami warriors fallen into the hands
of these savages, awful would have been their doom. Father Hennepin and
his companions could not but shudder as they listened to the wailing
yells of those who mourned their dead, and witnessed the fiend-like
expression of their countenances and gestures.
With the earliest dawn, after the night's encampment, some one gave a
whoop, which instantly brought every man to his feet. No time was lost
in washing or dressing. They generally, as a measure of protection
against their enemies, endeavored to encamp upon the point of an
island. While some went out to hunt for game, others replenished the
fires, and cooked the breakfast, while still others sought the
neighboring eminences to discover whether there were any smoke or other
indications of a lurking foe. They then entered their birch canoes,
which they did not leave until the close of the afternoon, when they
landed for another night's encampment.
Thus for nineteen days they continued ascending the river. Father
Hennepin estimated that they had made between three and four hundred
miles.
One afternoon, as the thirty canoes were being paddled up the stream in
a long line, a large bear was seen swimming across the river, a little
above them. The canoes in advance promptly surrounded him, and he was
speedily killed. Upon dragging him ashore he proved to be a monster in
size, and very fat. It so happened that they were opposite a very
beautiful prairie. The head chief, whose name was Aguipaguetin, ordered
all the canoes ashore for a grand feast. The warriors decorated
themselves with paint and feathers, and after partaking of what they
considered a sumptuous feast, commenced the wild orgies of the war
dance, with hideous yellings and contortions. They all leaped about on
the greensward of the prairie, with their arms akimbo, and violently
beating the ground with their feet, in measured tread.
The wailing for the dead was blended with their discordant cries. One
of the chiefs who was very loud in his demonstrations of grief for his
lost son, and who had previously urged putting the Frenchmen to death,
frequently in the course of the frantic dance approached the Frenchmen,
and placing his hands on each one of their heads, uttered the most
piercing dirge-like cries. Father Hennepin could not understand the
significance of this strange ceremony, but he had many fears that it
indicated violence to come.
Hoping to conciliate the chief, he made him a very valuable present of
knives, axes, beads, and tobacco in honor of the son whose loss he so
deeply deplored. By these frequent presents, the small store of goods
which the canoe could hold was rapidly disappearing. They were then on
the borders of a wide expansion of the Mississippi resembling a lake.
Father Hennepin gave it the name of Pepin, or the Lake of Tears, from
the lugubrious cries of the chieftain in the funereal dance. The next
day, or day after, quite a large herd of buffaloes was seen swimming
across the river. The enormous creatures, thus taken at disadvantage,
were easily killed. Thirty or forty, pierced by arrows and javelins,
were soon dragged ashore. The savages had another feast, from the
tongues and other most delicate morsels of the animal. All the
remainder was left to putrefy, or be devoured by wild beasts. The frail
canoes were so crowded that there was no room to store away any game.
Neither was there need to do so, for every day brought almost
invariably a full supply. It required hunger, and an acquired appetite
for such food, to make it palatable; for it was eaten without bread or
salt, or any other seasoning.
Some days the Indians seemed very good natured. Again, with no known
cause, they were morose and threatening. Even the chief who had
protected them was as capricious in his conduct as a child. He would at
times feed them abundantly, minister to all their wants, and caress
them. Again he would allow them, in a stormy night, to be driven from
his cabin, to find such shelter as they could. Usually some Indians
would be placed in their canoe to help them paddle. Again they would be
left to struggle unaided against the rushing flood. The Frenchmen could
not speak a word of the language of their captors, or understand a word
spoken to them. It is probable that they often misunderstood the
significance of signs. But there was no difficulty in perceiving the
difference between smiles and frowns, between blessings and curses.
On the nineteenth day of their navigation, the Indians reached one of
their villages on the river banks. It was afterwards found that this
spot was about twenty-five miles below a remarkable fall in the river,
to which Father Hennepin gave, in honor of his patron saint, the name
of the Falls of St. Anthony. This hamlet, far away in the north, was a
cold and cheerless assemblage of savage homes. The families, in the
culture and comforts of life, were but slightly elevated above the
brutes around them. There were several chiefs who had lost sons during
the war. The captives were given one to each of three of them.
Nominally, they were to be adopted in the place of the lost ones. In
reality, they were slaves, to be driven farthest from the fire, to have
the most scanty supply of food, in case of want, and in all things to
endure the hardest fare.
Having thus distributed their captives, the savages seized their
property and divided it among themselves. They probably did not
consider this an act of robbery, but since the Frenchmen had been
graciously received as sons of the tribe, their goods should be
appropriated to the public welfare. The village near the Falls of St.
Anthony was but a temporary encampment. The tribe into whose hands the
captives had fallen, was called Issatis. Their principal village was
still farther up the river, nearly a hundred and fifty miles in a
northwesterly direction. Probably in consequence of the innumerable
windings of the stream, they abandoned their canoes at the Falls, and
commenced the journey on foot, traversing an Indian trail which led
through forest and moor, over prairie and mountain. It was indeed a
wearisome and almost fatal journey to those newly adopted into such
hardships of barbarian life. In those early days of spring, and in
those high latitudes, it was often bitterly cold. There were remaining
snow drifts, and deeper clammy mud and pools of water to be waded,
skimmed over with ice, and freezing storms of rain and sleet. They
encountered many rivers and swollen brooks, which they were compelled
either to swim or ford.
These streams, flowing down from unknown regions in the north, were
often encumbered with large blocks of ice. There was but little game in
those dismal forests, and on those sear and bleak prairies. The savages
were pitiless, and would often give but a meagre portion to their
adopted brethren. Father Hennepin often divested himself of his
clothes, bound them upon his head, and swam across these streams. Upon
reaching the shore, his limbs would be so chilled and benumbed that he
could scarcely stand. The blood would trickle down his body and limbs,
from wounds inflicted by the sharp edges of the ice. The trail
invariably led to spots where the crossings of the swollen streams were
not very wide. Several of the Indians were men of gigantic stature.
Father Hennepin was a tall man, but his companions were very short, and
neither of them could swim. When they came to a ford where the water
was over the heads of the short men these tall Indians would carry them
across on their shoulders. When all were compelled to swim they would
help the unfortunate men across on pieces of drift wood.
The Indians seemed to have sinews of steel. They were alike insensible
to hunger, to drenched garments, and to freezing blasts. The celerity
with which they pressed on their way, astonished the Europeans. On
several occasions Father Hennepin, while traversing the broad bleak
prairie, was quite in despair. His trembling, tottering limbs would
scarcely support his body. Once, feeling unable to take another step,
he threw himself upon the ground, declaring that there he must die. The
rank and withered grass of the prairie was five or six feet high. Very
deliberately one of the savages set fire to the grass. It burst forth
in a consuming flame. "Now," said he, "you may follow us or be burned
to death."
On one occasion, when Father Hennepin had thrown himself upon the
ground, in utter exhaustion, one of the chiefs of the party came to
him, and pulling up a quantity of dried grass, made a soft bed for him
to lie down upon. Then seating himself by his side, he took from his
pocket two pieces of wood, very dry. One was a small block of cedar,
with an indentation in the centre, about two thirds of an inch in
diameter. The other was a round peg, five or six inches long, which
fitted into the hole in the block. This block he placed upon his knee,
and fitting the peg into the socket, spun it round with wonderful
rapidity between his two palms. Soon smoke began to appear, then a few
sparks were elicited, and then a gentle flame rose from the dust of the
charred wood. He lighted his pipe, and after smoking for a moment, gave
it Father Hennepin to smoke. He then put his hands affectionately on
the Frenchman's head, and moaned and wept.
What did this all mean? Were the sympathies of the savage excited, in
view of the sufferings of the white man? Were his tears caused to flow
in anticipation of torture at the burning stake, to which he might
suppose the victim to be doomed? Or was this an act of barbarian
mourning over some loved one lost in battle? Father Hennepin could not
interpret the deed. But he greatly feared that it indicated dreadful
woes to come--sufferings, the thought of which was sufficient to
agitate even a savage breast.
After a weary journey of five days, this party of forty or fifty
warriors, with their captives, approached their destined village. It
was far away in the northern wilderness, east of the Mississippi, which
majestic stream had there dwindled into a rivulet. They were near the
head waters of a river, since called the St. Francis. It was indeed a
dreary and savage wild which they had penetrated, and from whose glooms
the captives could not expect ever to emerge. In some way the
inhabitants of the village had heard of the approach of the warriors,
and quite a number of the women and children came out to meet them.
In a sort of triumphal entrance, like that of the ancient Romans, they
took Auguelle, dressed him as gorgeously as they could, in Indian
costume, painted his face, daubed his hair with grease, and fastened
upon his head a plume of eagle's feathers, brilliantly colored. They
placed a gourd in his hand, containing a number of round pebbles, which
he was directed to shake for music, with the accompaniment of his
voice, shouting a French song. The Frenchmen, in dreadful incertitude
respecting their fate, were agreed in the conviction that it was good
policy to do every thing in their power to conciliate their captors.
The warriors were much chagrined in returning from their expedition
without a single scalp, without a single captive from their enemies,
without having even struck a blow. It was necessary for them therefore
to make as much parade as they could of their French prisoners. Yet the
most ignorant Indian of them all could not but perceive that there was
not much to be boasted of in a hundred and twenty warriors having
picked up three peaceful canoe men, who had made no resistance, who had
never done them any harm; who had come into their country as friends,
making them rich presents, and who undeniably desired only to do them
good.
They could not utter the scalp halloo, nor the yell announcing that
they were bringing victims for the stake. But they made the forest
resound with their war-whoops, and with their shouts of triumph. During
the absence of the war party, the women and the old men had planted
several stakes, and had gathered around their large quantities of dried
grass, with which they intended to scorch and blister and consume the
prisoners, whom they doubted not the victors would bring back. They
were anticipating a grand gala day in dance and yell, as they witnessed
the writhings of their victims and listened with delight to the shrieks
which agony extorted.
Father Hennepin and his companions were appalled as they looked at
these stakes and these preparations for torture, and feared that they
were to occupy the places prepared for the Miamis. They, however,
concealed their fears, carefully abstained from the slightest
indication of anxiety, and assumed that they were contented and beloved
members of the tribe which had adopted them.
It was about the 21st of April, 1680, when these unfortunate men, who
had been cradled in France, were led into the miserable hovels of this
village of savages. They were all conducted into the wigwam of the
principal chief. Here, much to their encouragement, the chief presented
them his own peace calumet, to smoke. He then gave them, in a birch
bark dish, some boiled wild rice, seasoned with dry whortleberries.
Half-famished as the Frenchmen were, this was by no means unpalatable
food.
After this feast each one was conducted to the wigwam of the Indian by
whom he had been adopted. These Indians lived in different villages
several miles apart. The captives now found, much to their sorrow, that
they were to be separated. Father Hennepin was adopted by the chief
Aquipaguetin, and was conducted nearly three miles, often through
marshes knee-deep with mud and water, till they came to a considerable
stream, probably one of the upper tributaries of the St. Francis River.
Here five wives of the chief, with their canoes, were obsequiously
waiting the approach of their lord and master. A young son of the chief
was also with them. The chief informed them all that he had adopted the
white man in the place of the child he had lost; and that his wives
were to call him their son, and that his son was to call him brother.
The women paddled the canoes down the dark stream fringed with gloomy
evergreens and tangled underbrush, until they came to an island upon
which there was a small cluster of cabins. Here was the residence of
the chief. His wigwam was large, though but a single room, and was
crowded with his wives and children. Father Hennepin was immediately
presented with some boiled fish on a birch bark plate. But he was so
very weak, from exposure, toil, and emaciation, that he could not rise
from the ground without assistance.
The medical practice of the chief was peculiar; but either in
consequence of it, or in spite of it, the sick man got well. A small
hut, called a sweating cabin, was built, very tight. This was made more
impervious to the air by covering it with buffalo skins. A large number
of stones heated red hot were placed inside, which raised the
temperature almost to that of an oven. The sick man crept in, followed
by four medical practitioners. The entrance was closed. The Indians
then began to wail and howl, probably to frighten off the evil spirits,
who they supposed had invaded the sick man's body. At the same time
they commenced rubbing their patient violently from head to foot. The
perspiration oozed from every pore, and fell from him like rain drops.
The heat was intolerable. He nearly fainted, and was for the time
greatly debilitated. This regimen was followed three times a week for
two or three weeks, when, Father Hennepin writes:
"I felt as strong as ever."