_The Abandonment of Fort Crèvecoeur._
Departure of La Salle. Fathers Membré and Gabriel. Their Missionary
Labors. Character of the Savages. The Iroquois on the War Path. Peril
of the Garrison. Heroism of Tonti and Membré. Infamous Conduct of the
Young Savages. Flight of the Illinois. Fort Abandoned. Death of Father
Gabriel. Sufferings of the Journey to Mackinac.
It will be remembered that on the last of February, 1680, M. La Salle
left the fort at Crèvecoeur, with four Frenchmen and an Indian guide,
for his perilous journey of four hundred leagues, through the pathless
wilderness, to Frontenac, at the eastern extremity of Lake Ontario. His
chosen companion, Lieutenant Tonti, was intrusted with the military
charge of the garrison. Fathers Membré and Gabriel, both inspired with
the noblest spirit of missionary enterprise, were appointed to instruct
and, if possible, to convert the Indians.
They raised a pretty capacious log-cabin, which was both their
residence and their chapel. This humble sanctuary was every day crowded
with Indians from various tribes. A very large Indian village was on
the shores of Lake Peoria, about half a mile from the cabin of the
missionaries. Father Membré, a true apostle of Jesus Christ, wrote an
account of the momentous scenes which transpired. To his narrative we
are indebted for the facts which we now give.
One of the chiefs, Oumakouka, adopted, according to Indian custom,
Father Membré as his son. He ever welcomed him to a warm seat by his
wigwam fire, and presented him with tender morsels of game. While
Father Gabriel spent the most of his time in the fort with Lieutenant
Tonti and the workmen, Father Membré, who was soon quite familiar with
their language, devoted much of his time to the instruction of the
Indians in their wigwams. This was the arrangement which La Salle had
made. He felt that the wild and reckless spirits in the garrison needed
the restraints of the constant presence of their spiritual father.
Individuals might otherwise be guilty of violating the rights of the
Indians, and thus the whole of the little community might be involved
in ruin.
The large Indian village where Father Membré exerted his ministry
contained a population of about eight thousand souls. There were also a
large number of villages within a circle of fifty miles in diameter,
some of which belonged to other tribes. These the unwearied missionary
frequently visited. All these Indians made their wigwams of mats of
braided flat rushes. They were tall, well formed, and very skilful
archers. But the good father does not give a very flattering account of
the characters they developed. They were genuine loafers; idle,
excessively superstitious, quarrelsome, under scarcely any restraints
of law, and they would steal everything upon which they could lay their
hands. Their lands were exceedingly fertile that, with very slight
labor, they had an abundance of corn. Pounded corn, mixed with water
and baked in the ashes, would afford but a meagre repast in the
humblest log-cabin. It was deemed all-sufficient in the wigwam.
All who could afford it had several wives. They were as unfeeling as
brutes. If a wife displeased her lord and master, he would mercilessly
cut off her nose; and with apparently as little concern as a
dog-fancier trims the ears of a terrier. United with these execrable
traits of character, there were others, to which we have already
alluded, which were alluring. In the summer, the men often went without
any clothing, except moccasins made of buffalo hide.
These poor savages were engaged in almost incessant wars. Even the
religion of Jesus, whose great mission was to bring peace on earth and
goodwill to man, has not yet been able to obliterate these sanguinary
propensities from the human heart. England, France, Germany, are great
slaughterhouses, where millions of men have hurled themselves upon each
other in demoniac strife. What, then, could be expected of savages.
The Miamis of the north were organizing an expedition against the
Illinois. The rumor reached the Indian village at Crèvecoeur, and
created great consternation. Lieutenant Tonti endeavored to inspire the
Indians with a spirit of defence. He taught them how to surround their
village with palisades, and influenced them to build a fort with
intrenchments. Some of the French garrison, weary of the restraints of
the fort, deserted, and wandered away among the Indian tribes; and so
incorporated themselves with the savages, in dress, in war-paint, in
habits, and in taking Indian wives, that it required very close
scrutiny to distinguish them from the Indians.
The two missionaries, conscious that there was no substantial remedy
for the ills of humanity but in the regeneration of the soul which the
religion of Jesus enjoined, consecrated, with increasing zeal, all
their energies in the endeavor to make Frenchmen and Indians good men,
new creatures in Jesus Christ.
One of the Illinois chiefs, Asapista by name, became very strongly
attached to good Father Gabriel, and adopted him as his son. This was
quite a favor. The generality of the Indians, like the populace
everywhere, were exceedingly fickle. The friendship and caresses of
to-day might be hatred and the tomahawk to-morrow. The adoption of a
stranger into the tribe, as the son of a chief, was a great security
against any sudden outburst of suspicion, which might lead to massacre.
The Gospel of Christ makes slow headway against the wickedness of man.
As in our own enlightened times, the multitude listened, were
respectful to their teachers, even reverenced them, but did not heed or
obey.
"With regard to conversions," Father Membré writes, "I cannot rely on
any. There is in these savages such an alienation from the faith, so
brutal and narrow a mind, such corrupt and anti-Christian morals, that
much time would be needed to hope for any fruit. It is however true,
that I found many of quite docile character. We baptized some dying
children, and two or three dying persons who manifested proper
dispositions. As these people are entirely material in their ideas,
they would have submitted to baptism, had we liked, but without any
knowledge of the sacrament."
During the summer, the Indians wandered about in large hunting
expeditions. The missionaries accompanied these bands, seeking day by
day opportunities to teach them. Father Membré also visited several
remote tribes. He found much to discourage him. He said that their
blindness and obduracy were quite indescribable.
On the 10th of September, 1680, when the Indians had generally returned
from their hunting parties, and were loitering about in indolent
groups, with nothing to do, an Indian, from an allied tribe, came
rushing almost breathless into the village, with the tidings that a
united army of the Iroquois and the Miamis from the north, five hundred
in number, had already entered their territory, and were on the rapid
march to attack their village by surprise. He also made the astounding
assertion that M. La Salle himself was leading this band of hostile
warriors. There was no foundation for this last statement excepting
that the chief of the Iroquois wore a European coat and hat. This led
the courier to think he was La Salle, whom he had seen similarly
dressed.
The Indians, accepting this statement, of course believed that there
was treachery. Supposing the Frenchmen at Crèvecoeur were prepared to
join the invading army immediately upon its arrival, they resolved to
tomahawk them all. The peril of the French was great. The Indians, like
children, were apt to act first and think afterwards. The French were
entirely unprepared for such a sudden change of feeling.
But Lieutenant Tonti, whose presence of mind never forsook him even in
the greatest perils, ran from the fort to the village, and assured the
warriors that La Salle was not with their foes, and that he was ready
to muster his whole force, at the garrison, with their fire-arms, and
accompany the warriors to repel the enemy. This caused another change
of public sentiment. All looked to the French as their deliverers. In a
few hours several hundred warriors, with the French, were on the march.
The arrow from the bow is but a feeble weapon compared with the bullet
from rifle. The Iroquois, having had much intercourse with the French
in Canada, were many of them supplied with fire-arms. They were allies
of the French, and were very anxious to preserve friendship with them.
The Illinois Indians, being more remote, had not been able to obtain
the efficient European instruments of warfare.
The two parties approached each other; and the Illinois, guided by
Tonti, were placed in a commanding position to resist attack. The
allies were much disappointed in finding their plan of assailing the
village by surprise frustrated. They paused in the march; and the two
armies for some time looked each other in the face, neither venturing
to commence the assault. The result of the battle was at least
doubtful. So many of the Iroquois warriors were armed with muskets or
rifles, and had become so skilful in the use of them that, in Indian
warfare, dodging from rock to rock and from tree to tree, they were
fully equal to the French. Whatever might be the result of the battle,
it was certain that many on each side must be slain.
Lieutenant Tonti called the chiefs of the Illinois around him, and,
after quite an earnest colloquy, induced them to consent that he should
go to the Iroquois chiefs and endeavor to avert hostilities. It was a
perilous enterprise. While some of the Indian chieftains were of much
moral worth, there were many savages who were miserable wretches, and
over whom the chiefs had but very little control.
Lieutenant Tonti, partly from necessity, partly from choice, was
dressed mainly in Indian costume. As the European garments of the
Frenchmen were worn out, they were constrained to supply their place
with deer-skin jackets and leggins, generally painted and fringed after
the fashion of the natives. Thus Lieutenant Tonti, at the council of
the chiefs, in general appearance resembled the rest. But the Christian
Fathers always wore a long black gown. As we have mentioned, they were
called by that name among all the tribes, "The Black Gowns." Their
teachings, their ministerings at the couches of the sick and dying,
their utter renunciation of the character of warriors, and their
self-denying devotion to the welfare of the Indians, had caused them to
be generally revered. But, among the untutored tribes as in almost
every village of our land, there were "certain lewd fellows of the
baser sort," who hated the clergy.
Father Membré, with that calm, peaceful Christian chivalry which cannot
be surpassed amidst the tumult and carnage of the field of battle,
offered to accompany Lieutenant Tonti on his mission of peace.
The two opposing forces were facing each other, with the space of
perhaps an eighth of a mile between them. Both parties were concealed,
as far as possible, though occasionally the nodding plumes of a warrior
were visible, as he moved from one hiding-place to another. Lieutenant
Tonti, holding high above his head, as a flag of truce, the gorgeously
decorated calumet of peace, accompanied by Father Membré in his long,
flowing black robe, boldly moved forward toward the Iroquois
encampment. Several of the chiefs met him, and were surprised to find
that he was a Frenchman. He addressed them in their own language, in
substance as follows:
"I bring you the calumet of peace. The Illinois, against whom you are
waging war, are our brothers. They are the friends and allies of the
French. The great father in Canada is the protector both of the
Iroquois and of the Illinois. He cannot see one destroy the other."
The chiefs were deeply impressed by this statement. It would be ruinous
for them to bring down the terrible arm of the French power upon their
nation. The French could withhold entirely from them arms and
ammunition, and could supply their foes abundantly with these terrible
materials of war. Such were the thoughts of the considerate chieftains.
They perceived the necessity of heeding the remonstrance. But the
reckless young men, who had their reputation as warriors to make, and
whose hearts were glowing with the thought of returning to their
village waving gory scalps as the trophies of their heroism, were
resolved that there should be no peace. To render a battle inevitable
they determined to kill the two envoys from the Illinois camp.
A small band of these ferocious, savage young men, crept up, cautiously
and unperceived, to a spot within arrow-shot of the place where the
conference with the chiefs was held. Suddenly they discharged several
arrows upon Tonti and Membré, which whizzed by, fortunately, without
hitting them. The perfidious wretches then rushed forward, with
gleaming knives. The chiefs interposed to save those who were under the
sacred protection of the calumet.
One young Indian, with vigorous arm and a gleaming knife, aimed a blow
at the heart of Lieutenant Tonti. As by a miracle, he escaped from
death. The blow struck him to the ground, and the blood gushed forth
from a fearful gash. But the point of the knife glanced from a rib, and
did not penetrate the heart. All this was the work of an instant. The
chiefs, veteran warriors, who had a reputation for honor to sustain,
promptly drew their knives, surrounded the envoys with their
protection, and drove off the assassins. Tenderly they bound up the
wound of Tonti, expressed to him their grief and indignation, assured
him that hostilities should cease and that they would immediately
withdraw, with their warriors, back to their own village.
The wounded lieutenant, aided by his clerical friend, returned to the
Illinois camp, with the glad tidings that the Iroquois had consented to
peace. Several hours passed, and the Iroquois bands, instead of
retiring, were continually drawing nearer, in a very suspicious manner,
apparently with the intention of surrounding the Illinois, and cutting
off their retreat. The Illinois chief held another council, and
requested Father Membré to go back to the Iroquois and inquire into the
reason of their conduct. Father Membré writes:
"This was not a very agreeable mission to a savage tribe.
Nevertheless, I made up my mind, and God preserved me from all
harm."
The chiefs received him kindly. They were ashamed of the course which
the warriors, notwithstanding their remonstrances, were pursuing. They
said to him frankly:
"Our real trouble is that we are starving. We expected to find abundant
food in the Illinois village, and have consumed all we brought with us.
Our march has frightened away the game, so that we can expect to find
but little on our return. We are in danger of perishing for want of
food."
Membré brought back this message. At his suggestion an abundance of
food was immediately sent, on many heavily-laden shoulders, to the
Illinois camp. The good father accompanied this peaceful embassage, and
slept in the camp of the Illinois. Still the young savages were
determined, if possible, to bring on a fight. They longed for the
excitement of battle. The hideous war-whoop, with the shrieks of women
and children, falling beneath their tomahawks, was music to their ears.
The burning wigwams, the mangled bodies, the bloody scalps, were
pictures of beauty to their eyes. And, most glorious of all, to their
purely unangelic natures, was the triumphant return to their village
with prisoners to run the dreadful gauntlet; and to writhe, and perhaps
be forced to scream, beneath the fiend-like tortures of the stake.
The next morning the Iroquois warriors, instead of turning their steps
homewards, flocked, in large numbers, into the village of the Illinois.
They were evidently bent upon picking a quarrel. They swaggered through
the streets, insulted the women, trampled the corn-fields, and went
even so far as to disinter, and knock about the bones of the dead.
It soon became manifest to all, that a bloody conflict was inevitable.
The chiefs directed all the women and children to retire as silently
and unobserved as possible, and hide themselves in the forest, behind a
distant hill. Here they were in the vicinity of a trail which led quite
directly to the Mississippi River. If the Illinois were defeated in the
battle, they could by this line of retreat, cross the Great River, and
take refuge with a friendly tribe upon the other side. Then the
Illinois warriors, in a body, without venturing upon an engagement
abandoned the village to the Iroquois, and commenced a precipitate
flight to the Mississippi. They were not pursued. The Iroquois chiefs
would not lead the young men in an enterprise which they deemed so
dishonorable.
As we have said, the control of the chiefs over the daring and lawless
spirits of the young savages was feeble. The French garrison was
greatly weakened by death and desertion. There was much reason to fear
that the savages would fall upon them, and kill them all, for the sake
of the plunder they would find in the fort. There was nothing to detain
the missionaries. Upon the retirement of the Iroquois, they would be
left in a lone and silent wilderness.
Lieutenant Tonti, and his two clerical associates, Fathers Membré and
Gabriel, held a consultation, and decided upon an immediate withdrawal.
It was the 13th of September, 1680. Their desire was to go back to
Mackinaw, which station La Salle would necessarily revisit on his
return from Frontenac, with reinforcements and supplies. Their numbers
were so diminished, and their departure so hasty, that they all
embarked in one frail canoe. The chiefs so far restrained the young
savages, that no attack was made upon them. But the leaders of this
feeble little garrison were well aware, that in all probability bands
of the young men would pursue them, to lie in ambush at some narrow
passage of the river, and cut them off, if possible.
They left the fort about noon, packing in their canoe only a few
articles of absolute necessity. All the afternoon they plied their
paddles vigorously, ascending the Illinois River, and passing through
the broad expanse of Lake Peoria. Their canoe was leaky and heavily
laden. The current was strong, and their passage slow. They did not
venture to land until after dark, that the landing might not be seen by
any foe, skulking through the forest along the banks of the river. They
also took the precaution to seek their night's encampment on the side
of the stream opposite that which was occupied by the Iroquois band.
At an early hour the next morning they resumed their voyage, still
ascending the Illinois River. They had paddled along but a few hours,
and had reached a point between twenty-five and thirty miles above the
fort, when their dilapidated canoe leaked so badly, that they were
forced to land, that they might repair it. They were on the borders of
one of Illinois' most beautiful prairies. The smooth and verdant
expanse, extending to the horizon, was dotted with groves, presenting a
landscape of enchanting loveliness.
Father Gabriel, as he could be of no service in repairing the boat,
decided to walk into one of the groves at a little distance from the
river, with his prayer-book in his hand, that he might, alone in those
lonely solitudes, worship his Creator. It was a temple for devout
meditation and adoration such as no cathedral reared by man's hand ever
presented.
It took all day to repair the canoe. Hour after hour passed away, and
Father Gabriel did not return. His companions began to feel a little
solicitude about his safety. Toward evening Father Membré set out in
search of him. He was not in the grove. There were no traces of him to
be seen. There were several groves in the distance; and there were
gentle eminences in the rolling prairie, behind which he might be
concealed. The anxious father ascended one after another of these
eminences, but nowhere over the vast plain could he catch any sight of
the lost one. Again and again he shouted. The silence of the prairie
was the only response to his cry.
Greatly alarmed, he returned to his companions, who had now completed
their repairs of the canoe. The whole party then set out on the search.
They moved in various directions; hallooed, and fired their guns. All
was in vain. Night had settled over the prairie, when they reassembled
in great despondency at the canoe. Father Gabriel was greatly loved. He
was a gentle, self-sacrificing man, of kindly words and generous deeds.
The party crossed the river, as a precaution against an attack from any
band of the Iroquois who might be following them. They then built a
large fire, that its rays, shining far and wide over the prairie, might
arrest the eye of the lost one, and guide him on his return. The
morning dawned. Still there was no clue to the disappearance of Father
Gabriel. The voyagers returned to the other side of the river, and
lingered there until the middle of the forenoon.
Lieutenant Tonti then said that it was clear that their companion had
not wandered into the prairie and become lost; for from any of the
eminences he could have discerned the line of the river, nor could he
have wandered so far as neither to have heard the report of their guns
nor seen the light of their fire. It was certain that he had either
been cut off by some prowling band of savages, or that he had decided
to follow up the banks of the river on foot, intending to enter the
canoe when it came along. In either case it was their duty to press
forward on their journey as rapidly as possible.
For a long time they heard no more of Father Gabriel. Finally they
learned that some young savages, of the Kikapoo tribe, who were at war
with the Iroquois, were prowling about when they caught sight of the
father engaged in his devotions in the grove. His eyes were probably
closed, and his whole soul absorbed in prayer. There is one advantage
which the arrow has over the bullet. It performs its deadly mission
without making any noise. The wily savages, unseen and unheard, crept
near, and piercing him with their arrows he fell dead. They took his
scalp, threw the body into a ditch, covering it with a few leaves, and
fled. When they arrived at their village they very boastfully exhibited
the scalp of the defenceless missionary, as that of an Iroquois
warrior. To obtain this renown was the only object of the cowardly
assassins in their murderous deed.
Thus died Father Gabriel. He was the last scion of a noble family of
Burgundy. He had renounced his inheritance, and all the brilliant
prospects of a courtly life, to consecrate himself to the service of
his Saviour, the Son of God. In his own country, his family name, his
many virtues, and his entire devotion to the ministry upon which he had
entered, had elevated him to high positions of influence and honor. All
these he relinquished, after he had passed his three-score years, to
proclaim the Gospel of Jesus to the savages of North America. He landed
in Canada, in the summer of 1670. For some time he was employed as
chaplain of Governor Frontenac. Here he was untiring in his efforts to
instruct the Indians. Having become in a good degree familiar with
their language and customs, he embarked with La Salle to establish new
missions in the vast and unexplored regions he was about to penetrate.
The good old man was now seventy years of age. For forty years he had
been earnestly engaged in preaching the gospel of peace on earth, and
good will among men. And now the blessed hour had come when God sent
his angel to take the victor in many a hard-fought spiritual conflict,
to his home in heaven; for God can convert even the wickedness of man
into an agency for the accomplishment of His purposes.
How sublime the scene of his departure. It was a serene, beautiful
autumnal day. The deep blue of the overarching skies were embroidered,
as it were, with fleecy clouds. The waters of the river, clear as
crystal, flowed gently by. The luxuriant prairie, brilliant with the
bloom of autumn, almost entranced the eye as a garden of the Lord. In a
majestic grove the veteran Christian knelt, at peace with God, with
himself, and with all the world. His eyes were closed. His hands were
clasped. His soul was all absorbed in prayer. Suddenly a shower of
arrows pierce him, and he falls dead!
Dead! do I say? No! He awakes to a new life of inconceivable vitality
and grandeur. A retinue of angels are there, ready to receive him. In
their blest companionship he takes his rapturous journey to the bosom
of his Saviour and his God.
"Oh, 'tis a glorious thing to die
As dies the Christian, with his armor on."
The saddened voyagers, as they plied their paddles in ascending the
river, all unconscious of the fate which had overtaken the beloved
father, had still a journey of nearly two hundred and fifty miles
before them, ere they could reach their friends. The dilapidated canoe
soon failed them entirely, and they were compelled to abandon it. The
remainder of the long journey was to be made on foot. Their destitution
was alarming. They had no food but such as they could pick up by the
way. Their clothing was old, worn out, and very scant; for they had
been waiting for supplies to be brought them by La Salle. They had
neither companion nor guide. The route they were to follow was in a
northerly direction through the pathless forests, and over the pathless
prairies, many miles west of Lake Michigan, to the missionary station
at the foot of Green Bay.
Father Hennepin had left his cloak in the canoe. They cut up the
garment to repair their shoes and clothes. Often, in days of storm,
they wandered bewildered and lost. They found but little game, for they
were not professional hunters. Their food consisted mainly of acorns
and roots. After a journey of fifteen days, and when almost starved,
they were so fortunate as to kill a deer. Upon venison steaks they
feasted luxuriously.
At length they came to a little cluster of Pottawatomi wigwams. This
powerful tribe occupied an extensive territory southwest of Lake
Michigan. About ten years before, a delegation from the tribe had
visited the French, and friendly relations were established between
them. Very hospitably they received the worn, emaciate, and ragged
wanderers. They fed them with such morsels as could be fished from the
pots of the Indians. The wigwams were comfortable, affording ample
protection from wind and rain. The weary wanderers, who were scarcely
able to stand, threw themselves upon mats before the wigwam fires and
slept long, long hours of rich enjoyment.
Somewhat recruited by the repose of a few days, they again took up
their line of march. After the endurance of great fatigue and many
sufferings, they at length reached the missionary station at Green Bay.
Here they were received as brothers, and here they passed the winter.
Early in the spring, as soon as the ice had disappeared from the bay,
Lieutenant Tonti and Father Membré set out in a canoe, with a few
boatmen, for the station at Michilimackinac. After a prosperous voyage
of a few days, they reached that important point in safety. They had
been there but a short time, when a small fleet of canoes came paddling
into the harbor. It was about the middle of June. To their great joy
they found that it was an expedition of La Salle, and that he was on
board. He had a sad story to tell of disasters and sufferings, which we
must reserve for our next chapter.