departure. Ammunition was scattered in the snow; guns which could not
be taken along were either burned or broken; canoes were prepared to be
launched; all the live stock, except one solitary pig, a few chickens,
and the dogs, was sacrificed for the feast. The soldiers cooked great
kettles of meat and kept the redskins from peering into the stockade,
lest they discover what was going on.
The evening of the second day arrived, and a great fire was kindled
in the outer inclosure of the fort, between the two walls, where
blankets were spread for the redskinned guests. Now the trumpets blew
a deafening blast, the Mohawks shouted, and the French clapped their
hands wildly. As the outer gates were thrown open, in trooped several
hundred Mohawk warriors, who seated themselves in a circle around the
fire, saying:
“Ugh! Ugh! We much hungry!”
Again the trumpets blared, and twelve enormous kettles of mince-meat
were carried around the circle of guests. All dipped deeply into the
steaming dish, while one Mohawk chieftain arose solemnly, saying:
“The French are the most generous people on earth. The Great Spirit
has indeed blessed the French, to make them so kind to the Mohawks. We
are truly glad to be at the feast with our white brothers.”
Other speakers arose, proclaiming the great virtues of the French; but,
before they had finished talking, there came a second and a third relay
of kettles. Here were plates of salted fowl, of venison, and of bear.
The Indians gorged themselves, each looking at his neighbor to see if
he could still eat.
“Cheer up! Cheer up!” cried Radisson, as he circled among the braves.
“If sleep overcomes you, you must awake! Cheer up! Cheer up! Beat the
drum! Blow the trumpet! Cheer up!”
The eyes of the Indians began to roll, for never before had they had
such a banquet. Some shook their heads and lolled backwards, others
fell over in the dead sleep which comes from long fasting, fresh air
and overfeeding. By midnight all were sprawled upon the ground in deep
slumber. The moment for action was at hand.
The French retired to the inner court, while the main gate was bolted
and chained. The Indians were all outside the French quarters, so they
could not see what was going on inside, even if they had been awake.
Through the loop-hole of the gate ran a rope attached to a bell which
was used to summon the sentry, and to this rope Radisson tied the
only remaining pig, so that, when the Indians would pull the rope for
admission, the noise of the disturbed porker would give the impression
of a sentry’s _tramp, tramp_ on parade. Stuffed soldiers were placed
around the palisades, so that, if an Indian should climb up to look
into the fort, he would still see Frenchmen there.
The baggage was now stowed away in flat boats, and dugouts were
brought out for the rest of the company. The night was raw and cold,
while a thin sheeting of ice had formed upon the margin of the river.
The fugitives were soon on board their craft, had pushed out into
the stream, and were off; while, behind them, the redskins still lay
around in a circle of stupid insensibility. Only the barking of a dog
disturbed the quiet of the evening.
Piloted by the crafty Radisson, the French left Onondago on the 20th.
day of March, 1678. On the evening of April 3d. they came to Montreal,
where they learned that New France had suffered intolerable insolence
from the Iroquois all winter. On the 23d., they moored safely under the
walls of the citadel of Quebec, where all laughed heartily at the good
trick which they had worked upon the bloodthirsty Mohawks.
When Spring came and canoes could venture up the river, couriers
brought word that the Mohawks at Onondago had been greatly deceived
by the pig and the ringing bell. The stuffed figures had led them to
believe that the French were there, for more than a week. Crowing of
cocks had come from the chicken yard, dogs had bayed in the kennels,
and whenever a curious brave had yanked the bell at the gate, he could
hear the measured march of the sentry.
When seven days passed by, and not a white man came from the fort:
“The black robes must be at prayers,” whispered the Mohawks.
But they could not pray on for seven days. Suspicions of trickery
flashed on the minds of the Iroquois, and a warrior climbed to the top
of the palisade. It was empty, and the French had gone!
Two hundred Mohawks immediately set out in pursuit, but there was much
ice and snow, so that they had to return, cursing their stupidity, and
the cleverness of Pierre Radisson.
* * * * *
Radisson did more than this, he discovered the Great Northwest.
When a captive among the Mohawks, he had cherished boyish dreams
of discovering many wild nations; and, when his brother-in-law,
Groseillers, asked him to take a journey with him far to the westward,
he only too readily acquiesced. Late one night in June, Groseillers and
he stole out from Three Rivers, accompanied by Algonquin guides. They
went as far as Green Bay, spent the winter there, then, when the Spring
sun warmed the land, they traveled westward, passed across what is now
the State of Wisconsin, and reached a “mighty river rushing profound
and comparable to the St. Lawrence.” It was the upper Mississippi, now
seen for the first time by white men.
The Spring of 1679 found the explorers still among the prairie tribes
of the Mississippi, and from them Radisson learned of the Sioux, a
warlike nation to the West, who had no fixed abode, but lived by the
chase and were at constant war with another tribe to the north, the
Crees.
The two Frenchmen pressed westward, circled over the territory now
known as Wisconsin, eastern Iowa and Nebraska, South Dakota, and
Montana, and back over North Dakota and Minnesota to the north shore of
Lake Superior.
Then Radisson made a snow-shoe trip towards Hudson’s Bay and back
again, living on moose meat and the flesh of beaver and caribou.
Finally, after adventures exciting and hair-raising, he and Groseillers
found their way to Three Rivers.
Although Radisson was not yet twenty-eight years of age, his
explorations into the Great Northwest had won him both fame and fortune.
So this is the way that he spent his life. Voyaging, trapping, trading,
he covered all this great, wild country, paddled up her rivers, fished
in her lakes, smoked the pipe of peace in her settlements. In ten
years’ time he brought half a million dollars’ worth of furs to an
English trading company which employed him.
Yet, with all his explorations, all his adventures, all his trading, as
he grew old, he remained as poor as one of the _couriers de bois_ who
used to paddle him up the streams of New France. Until the year 1710
he drew an allowance of £50 a year ($250) from the English Hudson Bay
Trading Company, then payments seemed to have stopped. Radisson had
a wife and four children to support, but what happened to him, or to
them, is unknown to history.
Somewhere in the vast country of New France the life of this daring
adventurer went out. And somewhere in that vast possession lies the
body of this, the first white man to explore the Great Northwest.
Oblivion hides all record of his death, and only the cry of the
moose-bird, harsh, discordant—the true call of the wilderness—echoes
over the unknown spot where lie, no doubt, the bones of this trickster
of the Mohawks and explorer of the wastes of New France.
Memorial tablets have been erected in many cities to commemorate La
Salle, Champlain, and other discoverers. Radisson has no monument, save
the memory of a valiant man-of-the-woods, reverently held in the hearts
of all those who love the hemlock forests, the paddle, the pack, and
the magnetic call of the wilderness.
FATHER MARQUETTE:
TRUE MAN OF GOD, AND EXPLORER OF
THE MIGHTY MISSISSIPPI.
(1637-1675)
_The wild goose honked its message of fear,_
_As it winged away o’er the marshes sere,_
_And the little brown teal went, “quack, quack, quack,”_
_it fled from the man all dressed in black._
_But he, a priest, had a smile on his lips,_
_For he saw a stream with the sunset kissed,_
_And he raised aloft his hand, with a cross,_
_And blessed the waves, which the wild winds toss._
FATHER MARQUETTE:
TRUE MAN OE GOD, AND EXPLORER OF THE MIGHTY MISSISSIPPI.
(1637-1675)
MANY, many years ago, when the Indian tribes inhabited the wilderness
of North America, a good priest came among them to teach them the ways
of Christ. He was a Frenchman called Père, or Father Marquette, and he
had been born at Laon, France, June 1st., 1627.
Early choosing the profession of priesthood, he entered the Jesuit
College at Nancy, where he finally graduated, a man of saintly
character, accurate learning and distinguished culture. Yet, disdaining
to remain in France, he eagerly looked forward to adventure in the
wilderness of North America, and was consequently overjoyed to receive
an order to proceed to Canada, then termed New France. He set sail,
arrived at the struggling village of Quebec, September 20th., 1666,
and, in October of that same year, was sent to Three Rivers, to begin
the study of the Indian language and to obtain some knowledge of the
life of a missionary.
Some of you have doubtless camped in the Canadian wilderness, where
you have seen the Indians, trappers, and guides, who hover around
the outfitter’s store, where one buys his food for a canoe trip into
the woods. The Canadian wilderness, then, was much wilder than it is
now. In those days there were thousands of redskins, where now there
are only a few, and in those days the red men were really ferocious,
often engaging in great battles with each other, and torturing their
prisoners with fire-brands and also making them run the gauntlet.
The French were very kind to the redskins and sent many Jesuit
missionaries among them, so the red men liked the Frenchmen, even
as they disliked the English. The Englishmen treated them like some
inferior sort of dogs, whereas the French priests endeavored to
help them in every way possible; taught them medicine, cooking and
house-building, and looked after them when they were ill.
Father Marquette was accustomed to the refinement and culture of the
France of his day, so it must have been a curious experience for him to
be suddenly thrown into the wilderness life. Yet he settled down to his
career of a missionary with zeal and enthusiasm, taking up a residence
with one Father Drulettes, who lived in a log hut. Here he spent two
years of hard study and still harder life, eagerly learning woodcraft,
canoeing and the Indian language, which was to be of great assistance
to him in later years.
Time passed pleasantly by. Finally it was agreed that young Father
Marquette knew sufficient “Indian talk” to make himself understood by
the redskins, so, in April, 1668, he was sent forth among the Ottawas.
With several others he left Three Rivers for Montreal, traveling by
canoe, and from this small settlement journeyed to the Sault de Sainte
Marie, a trading post built where the waters of Lake Superior rush
tumultuously through boiling rapids towards Lake Huron. Here was the
mission of St. Mary, the headquarters of the Jesuit fathers who labored
among the Ottawa Indians. Here also were many white fur traders, who
wished to barter with the red men.
The Indians were many. The Ottawa tribe consisted of the Chippewas,
Beavers, Creeks, Ottawas, Hurons, Menomonees, Pottawattomies, Sacs,
Foxes, Winnebagoes, Miamis, Illinois and the Sioux. The natives lived
along the shores of Lake Superior, Lake Huron, and through the woods
of Michigan and Wisconsin, near the banks of the many rivers in this
region.
The “Soo” or Sault Ste. Marie is a busy place to-day, and it was a
busy place then, for it was the heart of all Indian activity, being
the place from which all the redskins set out upon their trips to
the wilderness and to Quebec and Montreal. Now the great locks make
continuous travel by water possible between Buffalo and Detroit. In
our times as many ships pass this point as did birch-bark canoes in
the year of 1600. Yet then, there was as much trade and barter at the
“Soo,” in comparison to the Indian and white population, as there is
now, with the vast population which surrounds it.
Father Marquette enjoyed himself greatly among the redskins, and
particularly loved the long canoe trips in the beautiful rivers and
lakes. He was much respected by the Indians, who called him, “the good
brother,” and so successful was he in converting them to Christianity
that he was sent from Mission Sault Ste. Marie to Mission La Pointe,
on Lake Superior, where he arrived in September, 1669. Here he labored
among the peaceful red men until the post was abandoned in 1671,
because the warlike Sioux had determined to fight with the Hurons.
For the poor Hurons to accept the gauge of battle would have meant
their utter destruction, so they fled to the south, taking up their
residence at Michillimackinac, on Lake Huron. Thither went the noble
Father Marquette, and, seated among them in his black robe, took part
in all their many deliberations. He baptized their children, married
their young braves, and taught the gospel of Jesus Christ. Here he
established the Mission St. Ignace and built a beautiful chapel, to
which, years later, worn out and exhausted by his serious labors in the
wilderness, his body was carried by the redskins for burial.
As the good priest lived among the red men, he heard stories of a great
river which lay to the westward, so he determined to discover and
explore it. Wandering trappers brought him news of this stream, and,
as he now knew how to talk with these wild men of the north, he easily
learned all that they could tell him about it. His heart and mind were
stirred with the fever of the adventurer. He _must_, he _would_ go and
see what lay far to the westward where were ferocious redskins, wild
beasts, and unknown water-courses.
As dreams of exploration floated through the pure and boyish mind of
the good Jesuit missionary, a Frenchman, called Joliet, arrived from
Quebec. Ah, but he was a roving dog, this Joliet, and, when he heard
that the priest was contemplating a trip of exploration and adventure,
up went his hands, a smile came to his face, and he exclaimed, “Oh, my
good Father Marquette, I am the man to go with you! I, and I alone,
shall be your companion in this venture into the wilderness. Here’s my
hand upon it!”
So the two adventurers clasped hands, then set about to secure five
stout canoemen with backwoods experience, to paddle with them to the
great unknown. It was not difficult to find such fellows (_couriers de
bois_, they were called).
On May 17th., 1673, Marquette and Joliet, with five as staunch
Frenchmen as ever lifted a pack and poled a canoe, started upon an
ever-memorable journey of exploration. They went in but two canoes—big
birch-bark fellows to be sure—and carried with them guns, clothing,
food, robes, books, and scientific instruments. ’Twas a good load to
stow away in such small bateaux, but they must have been larger canoes
than we use to-day, where only three can comfortably travel. There were
two brave men at the head of this expedition; they loved God; they
loved France, and they strove to do something for God and Fatherland.
They succeeded in both.
From the little mission of St. Ignace the party of explorers followed
the right shore of Lake Michigan in a westerly and southerly direction.
They first stopped at Green Bay, where they visited the tribe of
Menomonees, so called after the wild rice which there grew luxuriously
in the rich mud bottoms and swamplands. The red men were very
hospitable and begged the good priest in his black robe not to proceed
farther. “You will meet a nation which never shows mercy to strangers,”
said one chieftain. “They will break your heads with their stone
hatchets. The great river which you look for is very dangerous. It is
full of horrible monsters which will devour your canoes. There is a big
Demon in the path which swallows all who approach him, and the heat is
so great that you will all die.”
To this the Jesuit missionary replied,
“I do not fear these things, my red brothers. My God is with me and he
will protect me from all these demons.”
So the voyagers bade the doubting redskins good-bye, turned the bows of
their canoes towards the setting sun, and went forth upon their journey.
The paddles drove the light birch-bark boats along the shore of Lake
Michigan. Many times the voyagers gazed at the magnificent scenery with
rapt attention, for they were in the heart of the wilderness, and, as
lovers of nature, they enjoyed the magnificence of wooded shore-line
and wave-tossed water. On, on, they went, passing from Green Bay to the
southern end, and down this into Lake Winnebago: blue, forest-hidden,
and shimmering in the rays of the brilliant sunlight.
At the end of this beautiful sheet of water was an Indian village,
where now is the town of Oshkosh. Here were many redskins, Mascoutens,
Miamis and Kickapoos, some of whom had migrated thither from Virginia
and Ohio. Pere Marquette was greeted hospitably, for many of these
Indians were Christians and had erected a handsome cross in the center
of their town, adorned with skins of the fox and the beaver, with red
belts, bows and arrows, all offerings to the Great Manitou, or God of
all Gods.
[Illustration: MARQUETTE AND JOLIET DISCOVERING THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER]
The wandering priest conducted religious services, then asked his
hearers for two guides to pilot them to the mighty river, which he
heard was to the westward. Joyfully the red men gave him two Miami
braves, who, leading him to the branches of the upper Fox, showed him
where to take to the land and portage across country to the head-waters
of the _Weskonsing_, now the Wisconsin River. The birch-bark boats
were soon floating past virgin forests, in which robins and cat-birds
caroled songs of welcome to these, the first white men who had ever
sailed past upon the surface of the stream, The Miami guides now
departed and the adventurers went forward alone.
For seven days the paddles drove the shallow canoes down the
slow-moving Wisconsin, and then, upon the morning of the eighth day,
the waters widened and the _couriers de bois_ with their venturesome
man-of-God suddenly paddled into the muddied current of the mighty
_Missi-sepi_, or Great River. It was a point where the Father of Waters
was a mile across and was fifty-three feet deep, so, as Pere Marquette
gazed upon the turbid current, he had “a joy which he could not
express.” For days he had journeyed westward to view the fabled river,
and now he saw that wonderful stream of which the wandering fur traders
and redskins had told him at the far distant mission of St. Ignace.
It was the tenth of June. Marquette had left the quiet mission on May
the seventeenth, nearly a month before this; the journey, so far, had
been pleasant, but what lay beyond? Hostile Indians, fever, treacherous
currents, death in the stream and death upon the shore! Yet, on, on,
went Pere Marquette until he had reached the mouth of the Arkansas.
Here he halted, for he believed that he was within three days’ journey
of the ocean. The good priest was feverish, for the malarial mosquito
hovered over the yellow current of the Mississippi then, even as he
does now. Yet, what cared he? His work had been well done and he had
added much to the glory of France and to the renown of the Jesuit
brotherhood.
Again and again, as they descended the stream, the canoes had struck
the backs of monster fish, the sturgeons, which looked and felt like
great tree trunks in the water. The boatmen had landed, every day, and
had shot wild turkeys, ducks and prairie hens. Near the spot where is
now the town of Rock Island, they saw great herds of bison, or buffalo,
and they marveled at their stupidity and their ugliness. Whenever
the explorers landed they kept a strict guard, for fear of an Indian
attack, and as each evening came on, they made a small fire on shore to
cook their meals, then entered the two canoes, paddled into the stream,
and slept as far from the bank as possible.
As the French adventurers came down the mighty Mississippi, there
were, of course, many meetings with the various Indian tribes which
had their homes upon its banks. On the 25th. day of June, they saw the
tracks of men upon the water’s edge and a narrow, beaten path across
the prairie. “It must be a road leading to a village,” said Marquette;
“we will reconnoiter it and see what is there!”
Recommending themselves to God, Marquette and Joliet undertook to
investigate, and silently followed the narrow path. They walked onward
for about two miles and then heard voices. Before them was an Indian
village. They halted, and then advanced, shouted with all their energy.
The redskins swarmed from their huts, much excited, but, seeing the
Black Robes, of whom the traveling Hurons had told them, they quieted
down, sending four of their old men to meet the white voyagers.
As the Indians approached, they bore, in their hands, tobacco pipes,
finely ornamented and adorned with various feathers. They walked
slowly, with the pipes raised to the sun and said nothing at all. These
were calumets, or peace pipes, which they carried. As Marquette and
Joliet walked towards the village, with an Indian on either side, they
saw before them an old man standing before a lodge, with his hands
outstretched and raised towards the sun. Looking intently at the priest
and his companion, he said:
“How beautiful is the sun, O Frenchmen, when you come to visit us! All
our town awaits thee, and thou shalt enter all our cabins of peace.
Welcome to the land of the Illinois. Welcome, thrice welcome!”
The visitors entered the cabin, where was a crowd of red men, who kept
silence, but eagerly gazed upon the strangers. Finally several spoke,
saying:
“Well done, brothers, to visit us!”
Now all sat down, the peace pipe was passed around, they smoked, and
then conversed in sign-language. But soon messengers arrived from the
Grand Sachem of the Illinois, inviting the Frenchmen to visit his town,
where he wished to hold a council with them.
So the seven explorers started for the village of the Grand Sachem,
attended by a vast crowd of red men, who, never having seen a Frenchman
before, could not apparently see enough of them. At length they reached
the lodge of the Grand Sachem, who stood in his doorway holding his
calumet, or peace pipe, towards the sun.
“Welcome, my white brothers,” said he. “Welcome to the land of the
Illinois.”
Marquette stepped forward, and, presenting the old man with four
separate gifts of beads and of knives, said:
“With this first gift, O Sachem, do I march in peace to visit the
nations on the great river, which courses to the sea. With this second,
I declare that God, the mighty creator, has pity on you, and it is
for you to acknowledge and obey him. With this third, I declare that
the Great Chief of the French informs you that he has spread peace
everywhere, and has overcome the Iroquois, the enemies of you all, and
has put them down forever. With this fourth I beg you to tell me the
way to the sea, so that I can reach it without having trouble with the
nations which I must pass in order to reach it.”
This speech pleased the Great Sachem mightily, and rising, he laid his
hand upon a small Indian child, saying:
“I thank thee, Black Gown and thee, Frenchmen, for taking so much pains
to come and visit us. Never has the earth been so lovely nor the sun
so bright as to-day. Never has our river been so calm or so free from
rocks, for your canoes have removed them as they passed. Never has our
tobacco had so fine a flavor, nor our corn appeared so beautiful as we
behold it to-day. Here is my son that I give thee, so that thou mayest
know my heart. I pray thee to take pity on me and all my nation. Thou
knowest the Great Spirit who has made us all, then speak thou to him
and hear thou his words; ask thou him to give me life and health, and
to come and dwell amongst us, that we may know him.”
Saying this, he gave the little Indian boy to Marquette and then
presented him with a calumet, or peace pipe. He then urged the
Frenchmen to proceed no farther and not to expose themselves to the
dangers that would meet them with hostile tribes:
“I would esteem it a great happiness to lose my life for the glory of
Jesus Christ,—he who has made us all,” replied Marquette.