THE FATHER OF WATERS
"Look, Uncle Sam! See my lovely new muff. I wanted one ever so much.
My hands get cold, even in my woolen mittens. Father bought it for a
birthday present. He got home from Canada to-day."
"What did he bring you, Joe?" Uncle Sam asked after he had admired
Lucy's muff.
"A fur cap. It is a perfect beauty."
"Father says Canada is a great place for hunters, there are so many
wild animals in the forests. He was dreadfully cold while he was there.
He is glad to be home again."
"Yes, the weather is colder there than it is here, because it is
farther north. Yet the cold did not keep the Frenchmen from going to
live in Canada long ago. They were willing to suffer a little so long
as they could get rich by hunting and trapping, and trading with the
Indians.
"They were the first white people to settle in Canada. They called the
country 'New France.'
"They built stations here and there along the shores of the St.
Lawrence River. The Indians used to bring loads of furs to sell to
them. The white men paid for the furs with hatchets, and beads, and
pieces of cloth. That was the kind of money the Indians liked best.
"The savages of Canada were always friendly to the Frenchmen. They
found that the settlers did not wish to harm them and that they were
treated fairly. So there was no trouble.
"The Frenchmen loaded ships with the furs they bought and sent them
home to France. They wrote to their friends in the old country about
the gentle and friendly Indians. Some good French priests heard the
news. They said:
"'We will cross the ocean and go to live among the Indians. We will
teach them about God and about Christ, the Savior.'"
Uncle Sam was so busy talking, he did not notice Joe making signs to
his sister. These signs said: "We had better take off our coats and
spend the evening. I know Uncle Sam feels like telling a story."
[Illustration: FUR-TRADING WITH THE FRENCH]
Lucy understood her brother. In another minute she and Joe were
sitting on either side of the old man as he began to tell of the good
priest Father Marquette and what he found.
It was a long time ago that Father Marquette left France and came to
Canada. Unlike the fur traders, he had no wish to get rich. He was a
priest with a kind, loving heart. He cared only to teach and help the
Indians.
As soon as he reached Canada, he asked many questions about the Red
Men. The fur traders told him of some Indians who lived not far away.
They said:
"These Indians are kind and honest. They will treat you well."
Marquette went to see them at once. They liked him because he was
gentle and good. They took him into their homes. He lived with them for
three years.
While he was there, he heard of a wonderful river. The Indians called
it "The Father of Waters" because it was so long and wide. They said
it was far, very far, to the west of them. Other Indians had told them
about it. They thought it would not be safe to sail down this river.
Tribes of fierce savages lived on its shores. They would kill anyone
who came among them.
The good Marquette was not afraid. He only thought: "These savage
Indians have all the more need of my teaching. I must go to them."
A fur trader named Joliet, and five other men, went with the priest.
They traveled in canoes made of birch bark. On they went, and still on.
Many days passed by. No Indians were seen as yet.
At last, they saw huts along the shore. These must be the homes of the
Red Men. In another minute they heard cries of welcome. The Indians
came hurrying to meet their visitors. They had heard of the good
Marquette from their friends to the eastward.
They asked him to stay with them. They begged him to go no farther or
he would surely come to harm. They repeated the stories he had already
heard,—the stories of fierce Red Men and of wicked demons which would
destroy him. Still Marquette did not fear. He must not stop yet. He and
Joliet started out once more.
They traveled for many days before they reached the great Father of
Waters. At last it met their eyes. How different it was from the river
on which they had been traveling! The waters rushed along, making a
mighty noise. It was a wonder their little canoe could be kept upright.
The travelers now saw a path leading down to the shore. It must be an
Indian trail. They left the canoe and followed the trail. They came to
an Indian village. Its people were afraid of the white men and ran to
hide behind the trees.
Some of their chiefs were braver than the others and came out to meet
Marquette. They held out the pipe of peace to him and his friend. When
the white men had smoked it and handed it back, they knew there was
nothing to fear.
When the good priest asked about the great river, the Indians told the
same old story he had heard so many times before.
"You must go no farther. There are very bad Red Men and many frightful
monsters to the southward. They will kill you and eat you if you go
among them."
Marquette and Joliet paid no heed to these words. Before they went on
their journey, however, they sat down to a great feast which the women
had prepared for them. A dish of mush came first. The Indians fed it
to the white men with big wooden spoons. Broiled fish came next, but
before it was offered to the visitors the bones were carefully taken
out. After this a roasted dog was proudly set before them. It was a
great dainty to the Red Men, but Marquette and Joliet would not taste
it.
"It is very queer," thought the Indians. They could not understand how
anyone should refuse to eat roast dog.
As soon as the feast was over, Marquette asked the Great Spirit to
bless these kind Indians. Then he bade them good-bye and paddled away
in his canoe.
The river grew wider and wider. Herds of buffaloes were feeding along
its shores. Some of them stopped feeding long enough to look at the two
white men as they paddled past them.
The daring travelers now came to a place where high rocks reached up
from the banks. Strange figures were carved on the rocks. They were
painted in fearful colors. They had red eyes and long beards. They
had bodies like fishes. They were ugly to look at. These must be the
monsters the white men had heard so much about.
They were only pictures of monsters, however, and not real ones. Yet
the Indians all along the river were afraid of them. Whenever the
Red Men had to pass the place, they offered prayers to these hideous
figures.
On went the white men, and still on. The river was growing wider all
the time.
At last they came to a place where the Indians were savage and
unfriendly. The travelers learned that cruel Spaniards were not far
away. After Ponce de Leon discovered Florida the Spaniards had claimed
that country. They settled there as well as in other parts of the
south. They had some villages near the lower part of the Mississippi.
Savage Indians and cruel Spaniards together made the danger too great
for the travelers.
"We should only be made prisoners. Then we could not go back and tell
our friends about the wonderful river." That is what the good priest
said to his friend.
It was too bad, for they were told it would take only five days more to
reach the mouth of the river. They had made a wonderful voyage already,
so they turned about and started homeward.
Storms and cold weather now troubled them. They were weak and half
sick long before home was in sight. The gentle priest was at last too
ill to travel any farther. He stopped with some friendly Indians while
Joliet went on to Canada.
Everyone was filled with delight on hearing about the great river. "It
will belong to France, because Frenchmen have discovered it," they said.
Cannons were fired and bells were rung in the city. It was a time of
gladness.
Poor Father Marquette was sick for a whole year. Indeed, he was never
entirely well afterwards. He stayed among his Indian friends and taught
them till he died. They loved him very much and waited upon the sick
priest with the most tender care.
"But this is not the whole story of 'The Father of Waters,'" said Uncle
Sam when he came to the death of Marquette. "There was another brave
Frenchman who followed in the path of the priest. I know you will like
to hear about him."
The children nodded their heads and Uncle Sam began
THE STORY OF LA SALLE
Once upon a time there was a brave young man named Robert La Salle. He
lived in France. He was always ready for some new adventure. While he
was still young he thought:
"I will join my countrymen in Canada and see something of their strange
life among the Indians."
He was soon busy among the fur traders along the St. Lawrence River and
the great lakes. A piece of land was given to him and he began to build
a fort. He was proud that the French people held Canada. He wished to
do his part in making it strong so that all enemies could be kept out.
Joliet came back from his long journey. He told of the great
Mississippi River. La Salle was much excited over the news.
La Salle said, "Our people must not only claim this river, but we must
also build forts and stations along its shores. Then we can keep off
the English and Spaniards."
His friends in Canada thought La Salle was the very one to go back to
France and tell the king about Marquette's wonderful trip. He went to
his own country as soon as possible and stood before his ruler.
He painted a fine word-picture of what could be done. The Englishmen
and Spaniards had been satisfied to live near the eastern and southern
shores of America. They might not always stay there. Now was the chance
for the French to enter the heart of the country and make it their
very own.
The king was delighted at what he heard. He praised La Salle and told
the young Frenchman to go back to Canada and work out his plans.
La Salle lost no time in obeying the king. As soon as he arrived on the
St. Lawrence he went to one of the lakes and began to build a boat. He
thought:
"Canoes are not strong enough for the great work before me. I must sail
as far as possible along the chain of great lakes. Then I shall not be
far from 'The Father of Waters'."
He and his men worked hard. It was not long before the boat was ready
to launch. It seemed very large to the Indians who came to see it start
on its first voyage. Never before had such a large boat sailed on the
lakes.
La Salle had to make his way very carefully, for he knew nothing about
these strange waters. He sailed through one great lake and passed
safely into the next one. Everything went well. Wherever La Salle
stopped, he met friendly Indians. They were ready to trust their
visitors, for Marquette had been among them. How good he had been! How
tenderly they had loved him! All other white men must be good, too.
This was what the Indians thought.
The vessel soon reached Green Bay, where Marquette had spent a year
among the Red Men.
The Indians had many rich and beautiful furs which they were ready to
sell. La Salle ordered his men to load the vessel with these furs as
quickly as possible. Then they were to sail back to Canada and unload
them. He and a few others would go on their way in canoes.
Alas! nothing happened as La Salle had hoped. A terrible storm arose
soon after the vessel started back. The winds swept over the lake and
the little canoes drifted now one way, and now another. Every moment it
seemed as though people and boats must be destroyed.
After four days, however, the storm went down and the men reached the
shore. They were faint from need of food and wet from head to foot. No
Indians were to be seen and they could find nothing to eat. As soon as
they had dried themselves, they started on again. They hoped to find a
village not far away where they could get food.
The poor tired men paddled on for some time more but no signs of Red
Men nor of their huts could be seen.
"We will land and look about us," they said at last. The canoes were
hauled up on the shore while La Salle and his men searched around.
"Here are corn caves!" some one cried in delight.
Sure enough, stores of corn were hidden away among the rocks. The
hungry men helped themselves to the grain and made their way back to
their camp. They were careful to leave presents near the caves. They
would not think of stealing the corn. The Red Men must be paid for it.
A fire was soon blazing. The corn was ground and cooked and they all
sat down to eat. Suddenly they heard a noise and two Indians appeared.
The Red Men held up the beads and cloth that the white men had left as
pay for the corn. They were as happy over their presents as children
are after Santa Claus has paid them a visit.
It was surely time now for the vessel to return. La Salle watched for
it in vain. It was never heard of again. It must have been wrecked in
the terrible storm.
After many days of waiting, the men begged to turn back toward home.
They were such a small company! There were so many dangers around
them, and the ship would never come to their help.
Go back! La Salle could not think of such a thing. He told his men they
should set to work at once to build a fort. They had little courage,
but they did as he ordered.
As soon as they had finished Fort Break-Heart, as they called it
because they were so sad and discouraged, a few men were left to hold
it. The rest of the party went on their way into the wild west.
When they came to another good stopping place, the men built another
fort. It was hard work, for they were sick and lonely.
"It is of no use to go any further now," thought La Salle. "Ice and
snow are around us. The food is scarce. Nothing can be done till spring
comes again. I will divide our small party into two parts. Some of the
men must stay here to hold the fort. The rest of us will make our way
back to Canada to get provisions."
It was a hard journey. The lakes and rivers were caked with ice. The
ground was covered with snow. The brave La Salle and his men suffered
from cold and wet and hunger before they reached a place where white
men were living.
They told their story, got fresh stores, and once more started off. La
Salle did not know the word "Fail."
Sometimes he and his men paddled along in their birch canoes. Sometimes
they lifted their boats upon their shoulders and made their way through
the woods.
Danger was around them everywhere. Wild animals roamed through the
forest. Unfriendly Indians might take them by surprise at any moment.
There were no roads,—no paths even. One thought filled the mind of La
Salle:
"I must find the Mississippi. I must travel to its very mouth. That is
the only way by which France can claim all the country on its shores."
When the returning party reached Fort Break-Heart, they found it torn
down. Their friends were not there. They thought those left to guard it
must have been killed or made prisoners by the Indians.
It was of no use to stop. They pushed on with sad hearts.
At last they had their reward. The great Mississippi lay before them.
La Salle's heart was full of hope as the canoes were launched upon its
waters.
On and on he paddled as Marquette had done before him. He passed tribes
of friendly Indians. He came to others who were ready to kill the white
men. Still he pushed onward till the waters became salt and rushed
outward to the Gulf of Mexico. The Frenchmen had at last reached the
mouth of the great river.
Now came the homeward journey and the joy of telling the good news to
the people in Canada.
La Salle did not rest even now. The king of France must hear what he
had done. He made haste to sail across the ocean to his own country.
The king said that ships must be made ready at once. A large party of
people should go to the mouth of the river. They must build a fort and
settle there and take the country in the name of France. La Salle was,
of course, chosen to go with them.
They did not go by the way of Canada. They went as straight as possible
to the Gulf of Mexico. La Salle thought it would not be hard to find
the mouth of the river.
The voyage across the Atlantic was safely made. The ships entered the
Gulf of Mexico and sailed along its shores. But La Salle could not find
the entrance of the Mississippi. He searched long and carefully. Many
times he thought it was in sight. Many times he was disappointed.
The food became scarce. One of the ships was wrecked. The men said:
"We had better give up the search and go back to France."
La Salle was left with a few men on the shore of Texas. He still had
hopes of finding the mouth of the river.
He wandered about for some time. Even now he was not willing to give up.
One day a very sad thing happened. The brave leader, La Salle, was
killed. And he was not killed by the savages, but by one of his own
men. They were angry because he had brought them there. This was the
only reason they had for doing such a mean and cruel deed.
Such was the end of Robert La Salle.
He did not do all he had hoped to do. Yet he led the way for other
Frenchmen, who afterwards settled along the banks of the Mississippi.
"The story has a very sad ending," said Lucy, when Uncle Sam had
finished. "I don't like to have a story stop at such a sad place."
"I think it is one of the very best you have told us," said Joe. "I
wish I could have been with La Salle a part of the time. It must have
been exciting, paddling through a strange country and sleeping at night
by the side of a big camp-fire."
"I don't think you would have slept much at first, with wolves howling
and wildcats screeching not far away," replied Uncle Sam. "Then how
would you have enjoyed going without food for days together and having
your clothes soaked through in the heavy rains?"
Even this unpleasant picture did not seem to frighten Joe. He was a
"regular boy," as his mother said.
"If you are going to have adventures, you must take good and bad things
together as they come," he said.
Uncle Sam was pleased with the answer.
"That is true, my dear, but remember one thing: No one should risk his
life just for the sake of adventure alone. Yet, if he is trying to do
some great and useful thing, as La Salle did, and cannot help meeting
dangers, he should be praised for meeting them bravely and with a stout
and trusting heart."