After several days of pleasant intercourse with the Illinois, the
voyagers again took to their canoes and sailed southward towards the
mouth of the Mississippi. Marquette left the little Indian boy behind
him, for he did not wish to take him from his father. They had not gone
very far, when they passed a rocky promontory where two great monsters
had been painted upon the brown stones by some Indian artist.
“They are as large as a calf,” says Marquette in his diary. “They have
horns on their heads like those of a deer, a horrible look, red eyes, a
beard like a tiger, a face somewhat like a man’s, a body covered with
scales, and so long a tail that it winds all around the body, passing
above the head and going back between the legs, ending somewhat like
a fish’s tail. Green, red, and black are the colors composing this
picture.”
Fortunately there were no monsters in the country similar to these
awful pictures, and the worst that the explorers encountered were
dangerous masses of fallen trees, through which the canoes had a
difficult time to wend a tortuous passage.
Near the mouth of the Ohio River the Frenchmen passed a part of the
shore much dreaded by the redskins, who thought that an evil Manitou
lived there, who devoured all travelers. The Illinois had warned the
good priest to avoid the place. Yet the evil monster turned out to
be a small bay full of dangerous rocks, through which the current of
the river whirled about with a furious commotion, driving the canoes
through a narrow channel filled with frothing spray and whirling spume.
The _couriers de bois_ sat tight, paddled hard, and pulled away from
this peril.
Yet death soon stared the navigators in the face, for, when they
reached the mouth of the Arkansas, armed warriors saw them, plunged
into the river, and approached the two canoes, uttering fierce battle
cries. Others came from the bank in wooden boats, hurling wooden clubs
at the Frenchmen. Many redskins on the shore seized bows and arrows,
pointing them at the explorers in a menacing manner. It was certainly a
ticklish position and one that called for all the presence of mind that
brave Pere Marquette possessed.
Rising in his canoe, the good priest held up the calumet, or peace
pipe, which the Illinois had given him.
It apparently had no effect on the young braves, and they came swimming
along, knives held in their teeth, ready and eager for a hand-to-hand
battle in the muddy water.
Again the good priest raised the pipe of peace.
This time it had some effect, for some old men on the bank called to
the young braves to desist in their attack, saying:
“Brothers, our young men shall not hurt you. Come ashore and we will
have a big feast. Ugh! Ugh! You are welcome here.”
So the voyagers heaved sighs of relief, paddled ashore, and had a grand
banquet. Next day, ten of the men of this tribe guided them farther
down the stream, and introduced them to the next tribe, which lived
opposite the mouth of the Arkansas River.
They seemed to like good eating as well as do the natives of Arkansas
in our day, for they had a noble banquet at which was served boiled
dog, roast corn, and watermelon.
As I have said before, Father Marquette was suffering much with fever.
As for his companions, they wished to return, for, said one: “If we go
farther south, some Spaniards will capture us, or we will be killed by
fiercer Indians than we have yet met with.”
So they started to ascend the muddy river, toiling terribly against
the current, but ever watchful of a night attack, and careful to sleep
in the canoes, well away from the bank. Yet on, on, they went towards
the north until the mouth of the river Illinois was reached. Into this
they turned, paddled to its source, portaged into gray Lake Michigan,
and soon were homeward bound for the busy post of Sault Ste. Marie.
Marquette was quite ill with the fever and worn out with the exertion
of the long journey, so at Green Bay he remained at the Jesuit mission
of St. Francis Xavier, established there some years before. Joliet, on
the other hand—apparently an iron man—was feeling splendidly. He had
traveled only 2,767 miles in a birch canoe and was as well and hearty
as when he had started. A true athlete, this Joliet, and one who must
have had muscles of steel!
It was now September, and the explorers had been away for five months.
It was also the time of stress and of storm on the Great Lakes,
so it was thought best to pass the winter quietly at the little
mission, there to write up the report of this wonderful journey. Both
adventurers, therefore, sat down to rest, busying themselves in editing
their journals. Marquette’s alone has been preserved; as for Joliet’s,
his was upset in his canoe, when returning to Quebec in the following
Spring, and all of his papers were lost in the frothing current of the
raging La Chine rapids of the Ottawa River, near Montreal. Marquette’s
account, with maps drawn from memory, reached his superiors in the
Jesuit mission at Quebec, and they are to-day of great interest to
historians, geographers, and antiquarians.
On the way to Green Bay, the good priest had promised the Illinois
Indians that he would return to them in the Spring, in order to preach
the gospel. Although much shattered in health, because of the fever
which had fastened itself upon him, he again started south in October,
1674. Dismissing his great accomplishment from his mind, again he
turned to teach the savages the words of Christ. Reaching the Chicago
River, he found it covered with ice, so he remained at a poor log
cabin, near the shore of Lake Michigan. He was ill, but brave, and,
when the warm breath of Spring again brought tassels to the willows,
this noble priest of God pushed southward to the country of the
friendly Illinois.
The redskins loved the peaceful soldier of the cross and welcomed him,
“as an angel from Heaven.” Easter time soon came, and a great service
was held for the red men and their wives and children. First the
priest presented the chiefs with gifts of wampum to attest his love
and the importance of his mission, then he explained the doctrine of
Christianity and his reason for journeying to this wild and distant
land. “I cannot stay longer,” he said, in conclusion, “but the peace of
God be with you.”
The children of the forest listened to him with great joy and
appreciation, and, at the conclusion of his address, begged him to
return to them again. They escorted him to his canoe with great pomp
and ceremony, many of the warriors accompanying him for thirty miles.
Then they waved “good-bye” saying: “Come again to us, good father, for
we love you right well. Come again, for you are truly a brother of the
Great Spirit.”
Alas! the good priest’s strength now began to fail him and he became
so ill and weak that he had to be carried by his faithful attendants.
The season was stormy, and, as the Frenchmen paddled northward
towards Green Bay, they had to wait in the land-locked harbors of the
St. Joseph River, the Kalamazoo, the Grand, and the Muskegon. The
white-caps raged on Lake Michigan, so that it was not safe for the
frail birch-bark canoe to venture upon the tossing waves.
Poor Father Marquette! your journeys are almost over! Ill, weak,
exhausted, the gentle priest had to be carried upon the shoulders of
his faithful _couriers de bois_.
“Take me to the shore,” he said, weakly. “Build me a cabin and let me
there give up my soul to Christ. I cannot live much longer and it is
well. God’s will be done.”
Near the present city of Ludington, upon a plot of rising ground, the
expiring Marquette selected a place to die. His companions made a rude,
log cabin, laid him upon a bed of evergreens, over which were stretched
his blankets, and, as the white-breasted woodthrush sang a soft cadence
from the branch of the wild apple tree, the gentle soul of the explorer
and Jesuit Missionary went to the Great Beyond. His rough boatmen
clustered about him with tears in their eyes, and they have said that,
as the noble man-of-God awaited Death, his countenance beamed and was
aglow with the spark of a curious and brilliant radiance.
Spring came. Some Huron Indians, whom Marquette had instructed at
his mission at La Pointe, heard of his death and burial as they were
returning from a hunt in the vast woods of northern Michigan. They
sought the grave of this good man, whom they had so tenderly loved.
With reverent hands they removed him from his forest sepulchre, carried
him to their canoe, and started back to the little chapel which he had
built at St. Ignace.
Thirty canoes formed a funeral procession which passed along the Great
Lakes for nearly two hundred and fifty miles. When the mission was
reached, the cortége approached the land, where a vast concourse of
Indians, trappers, soldiers, priests, and half-breeds, paid reverence
to this sweet-souled Jesuit missionary. Here, in the little church, he
was laid to rest, and here, in 1877, a splendid monument was erected
to the memory of that noble Christian gentleman, who had floated
down the turbid current of the Mississippi in a memorable journey of
exploration. _Pax vobiscum, Pere Marquette!_
THE BURIAL OF GOOD FATHER MARQUETTE.
Lift him gently, redskinned brothers, let no voice disturb his rest,
Peace is here, the great blue heron wings his way from out the West.
The tiny wren is gently trilling; the swallow dips and darts around,
As the veery carols sweetly: “True! His equal ne’er’ll be found.”
Softly, softly, tread so lightly, to the border of the lake;
Bow your heads and keep the silence, as the bending branches shake.
Place him in the birch barque’s bottom, cover him with blankets fine,
Paddle gently, oh, so gently, as the wind sobs through the pine.
Yea! the wind speaks, and it whispers, as the cortége wanders past,
“Marquette! Marquette! Son of Jesus! You have reached the land of
rest!
In the Kingdom of the Blessed, in the Vale of shadows dim,
Marquette! Marquette! Son of Jesus! You will rest at last with Him.”
And the wild goose—Old Shebogah—honks a pæan from the sky,
Saying: “Farewell, farewell, brother, would that I, myself could die,
So that I could wander with you through the vale of shadowy tears,
Would that I could traverse with you, through the mist of golden
years!”
And the squirrel—little Ooquah—chatters shrilly from the glade;
“Farewell! Farewell! Father, when you are gone I’ll be afraid.
Yea, I’ll hide from men and maidens, for my friend has passed away,
Farewell! Farewell! Father! Sad the scene and sad the day!”
And the beaver, sleek and square-tailed, casts his brown eyes on the
lake,
Sobbing, mutt’ring; “Farewell! Father! All my kin obeisance make.
You, a good man, never harmed us; you, a brave man, never killed;
Farewell! Farewell! Father! Man of God in kindness skilled.”
And the blue jay—bad Mootsito—scolding cries out from the oak,
“Good night! Good night! Father! Would that I could be your cloak,
Would that I could travel with you, would that I could shield from
harm,
Good night! Farewell! Father! The woods are cold. They’ve lost their
charm.”
Gently! Gently! Paddling northward, past the shallow pebbled bays,
See the cortége wanders slowly, near the scenes of other days,
When the good priest taught the Hurons how to live in peace and love,
Taught them how to like each other, true to Him who is above.
So they journey, while the forest echoes with the psalm of Death,
So they journey, sad and lonely, ’midst the balsam’s balmy breath.
Then, at last, they reach the Mission, here sad rites they chant for
him
Who has led them gently onward, through the glades of ignorance dim.
Trappers, soldiers, priests and redskins, bare their heads at
St. Ignace,
Weeping, sobbing, bid him “Farewell!” he, the leader of their race.
Weeping, sobbing, cry out: “_Vale!_” While the heron wings away,
Croaking: “Good night, good night, Father! Sad the scene and sad the
day!”
ROBERT DE LA SALLE:
FRENCH ADVENTURER, AND EXPLORER OF
THE VALLEY OF THE MISSISSIPPI.
(1643-1687)
_From Tadoussac the eagles scream; their wild cries sound alarming,_
_As up the stream a vessel sails, her steersman a Prince Charming._
_A man of iron—valiant, strong, his name the Sieur La Salle,_
_Who loved the hemlock forests from Lachine to Roberval._
_Alas! he ventured to the West where redskins wish to kill,_
_There left his bones—’neath barren stones—where Frenchmen wander
still._
ROBERT DE LA SALLE:
FRENCH ADVENTURER, AND EXPLORER OF THE VALLEY OF THE MISSISSIPPI.
(1643-1687)
WHILE good Father Marquette was gliding over the muddied waters of
the Mississippi, gazing at wonderful sights which no Frenchman had
dreamed of heretofore, a man lived upon the banks of the St. Lawrence
who brooded over projects of peril and adventure and gazed wistfully
towards the Far West. This was no other than Robert, Chevalier de La
Salle, a Frenchman who had come to Canada about the year 1667. He had
been born at Rouen, in Normandy, of a noble family, and had been well
educated in a Jesuit seminary.
Urged onward by a desire for both adventure and money, this vigorous
young blade emigrated to Canada. Here he traveled up and down the great
river St. Lawrence from Tadoussac to Sault Ste. Marie, and busied
himself in trading European merchandise for beaver, bear, and other
skins. He built houses for the storage of furs and merchandise, made
excursions among the Indian tribes bordering on the shore of Lake
Ontario, and penetrated as far as the Huron country in the north, where
he lived for some time among the redskins, learning their life, their
manners, and their language.
Perhaps some of you have taken the steamer at Toronto, have threaded
your way among the beautiful Thousand Isles, and have shot through
the foaming spray of the Lachine rapids, before reaching the city of
Montreal. This seething cataract was named by the adventurous La Salle,
for he hoped to find the St. Lawrence leading into the China Sea, and,
to commemorate this anticipation, called the trading station, upon the
Island of Montreal—La Chine (or the China) a name which has fastened
itself to the rapids, and a name which it has borne to the present day.
Here the adventurous Frenchman was resting when word was brought to him
of the expedition of Marquette and Joliet. He felt certain that the
Mississippi discharged itself into the great Gulf of Mexico, a fact
which inflamed his desire to complete the discovery of that mighty
watercourse. He wished to found colonies upon its banks and to open up
new avenues of trade between France and the vast countries of the West.
Nor did he lose his visions of China and Japan. From the head-waters
of the Mississippi, he still hoped to find a passage to those distant
countries, and thus, stirred with ideas of conquest and glory for his
beloved France, he made a voyage to his native shores towards the end
of the year 1677, hoping to gain assistance from the King for his
ambitious designs.
The French monarch gave a ready ear to the talk of the venturesome
Canadian. He was authorized to push his discoveries as far as he
chose to the westward, and to build forts wherever he should think
proper. In order to meet the large expense of his labors he was given
the exclusive traffic in buffalo skins. Yet he was also forbidden to
trade with the Hurons and other Indians, who usually brought furs to
Montreal, for fear that he would interfere with the established traders
and incur their jealousy and displeasure.
La Salle had the true love of adventure, a passion for exploring
unknown lands, and an ambition to build up a great name for himself
which should rival that of the early discoverers and conquerors of
the New World. He wished, in fact, to die great. Let us see how he
succeeded!
Two months after receiving this patent, the adventurer sailed from the
shores of France, accompanied by the Chevalier Tonty, the Sieur de
La Motte, and a pilot, ship-carpenters, mariners and other persons,
about thirty in all. He had also a quantity of arms and ammunition,
with a store of anchors, cordage, and other materials necessary for
rigging the small vessels which he had determined to construct for the
navigation of the lakes.
He arrived at Quebec near the end of September; but here he remained
no longer than was necessary to arrange his affairs, for he hastened
forward, passed up the dangerous rapids of the St. Lawrence in canoes,
and at length reached Fort Frontenac, which he had erected at the
eastern extremity of Lake Ontario, where the St. Lawrence issues from
that great, blue inland sea.
La Salle was eager for exploration. Busily he prepared to build and
equip a vessel above the Falls of Niagara, so that he could navigate
the upper lakes. His men worked hard and had, before long, fitted out
a brigantine of ten tons in which they stowed away everything needed
for the construction of a second vessel. This barque had been made
at Fort Frontenac, the year before, with two others, which were used
for bringing supplies. It was a small boat, but was suitable for the
purpose.
In order to have any success in building a fort and a ship on the
waters of the Niagara River, it was necessary to have the good will of
the red men who lived in the surrounding country. The Senecas here had
their hunting grounds, and they were a powerful tribe, excellent in the
hunting field, bloodthirsty on the field of war. So La Motte had orders
from La Salle to go on an embassy to this nation, to hold a council
with the chiefs, explain his object, and gain their consent.
With some well-armed men, La Motte consequently traveled about thirty
miles through the woods, and came, at length, to the great village of
these redskins. Before a roaring council fire, around which the Indians
gathered with their usual grave and serious countenances, both white
men and red delivered many speeches. The French promised to establish
a blacksmith at Niagara, who should repair the guns of the red men,
and, as a result of this guarantee, the Senecas gave them permission to
establish a trading place and fort in the wilderness. Well satisfied
with the mission, La Motte and his companions went back to Niagara.
La Salle soon arrived, sailing thither from Fort Frontenac in one
of his small vessels, laden with provisions, with merchandise, and
materials for rigging the new ship: the first to glide over the waves
of these great western lakes. In person he visited the Seneca Indians,
and, by soft speech and flattering words, secured their friendship and
good-will.
Yet he had enemies, too, for the monopoly which he had gained from the
government and the large scale upon which he conducted his affairs,
raised, against him, a host of traducers among the traders and
merchants of Canada. In order to thwart his designs, they told the
Indians that his plans of building forts and ships on the border was in
order to curb their power. Agents were sent among the redskins in order
to sow the seeds of hostility to this ambitious Frenchman.
These moves against him were well known to La Salle, yet it did not
put an end to his plans. About two miles above the Falls of Niagara,
he selected a place for a dock-yard at the outlet of a creek, on the
western side of the Niagara River. Here the keel of the new vessel was
laid, and, in a very short time, her form began to appear. An Indian
woman brought word that a plot had been hatched to burn the vessel,
while it was on the stocks, yet the redskins did not molest it, and
soon she proudly glided into the water. She was called the _Griffin_,
in honor of the Count de Frontenac, who had two griffins upon his coat
of arms.
It was the month of August, a time of softness and mellow sunlight
in the Canadian wilderness, when, bathed in a flood of radiance,
the sails of the _Griffin_ were spread to the winds of Lake Erie.
Heretofore, only birch-bark canoes had floated upon the surface of
this wind-tossed sheet of water, now a real vessel was plowing a
westward course over the rocking billows. The voyage was a prosperous
one, and, on the 27th. day of August, the little company of explorers,
thirty-four in all, reached the Island of Mackinac, where the
redskinned denizens of the forest looked with wonder and amazement upon
this ship, the first which they had ever seen, calling her the _great
wooden canoe_.
The Sieur de La Salle dressed himself in a scarlet cloak, in order to
make an impression upon the redskins, and, attended by some of his
soldiers, made a visit of ceremony to the head men of the village.
Here his missionaries celebrated mass, and here he was received and
entertained with much civility by the red men. Yet, although the
redskins showed him much courtesy on the surface, their minds had
been poisoned by the lies which had been circulated among them by his
enemies, and for the same reason several of his followers had deserted.
Not deterred by this happening, La Salle again entered his ship,
hoisted sail, and soon was coasting along the northern borders of Lake
Michigan.
After a voyage of about a hundred miles the _Griffin_ reached Green
Bay, where anchor was cast before a small island at its mouth. This
island was inhabited by Pottawattomies, and here La Salle found several
Frenchmen, who had preceded him in birch canoes, had gathered a supply
of stores, and had also collected a vast quantity of furs. With these
he loaded his vessel; sent it back to Niagara, for the purpose of
satisfying his creditors; and ordered his navigators to return as soon
as possible, and to pursue their voyage to the mouth of the Miami River
at the south-eastern extremity of Lake Michigan.
The adventurers now remaining consisting of fourteen persons, who were
soon paddling down the west shore of Lake Michigan in four bark canoes,
laden with carpenters’ tools, a blacksmith’s forge, merchandise, and
arms. After a stormy passage, they reached the mouth of the Miami
River, since called the St. Joseph. Winter was approaching, hostile
natives were near, so La Salle determined to build a fort. A hill was
selected as the proper position for the stockade, the bushes were
chopped down and logs were cut and hewn, so that a breastwork could be
constructed, inclosing a space about eighty feet long, by forty broad.
It was surrounded by palisades and was called Fort Miami.
All hands were thus kept busy during the month of November. In spite of
this occupation, the men were very discontented, for they had no other
food but the flesh of bears, which some Indian hunters killed in the
woods. The Frenchmen did not like this, and wished to go into the woods
in order to hunt deer and other game. This permission was refused by
La Salle, as he saw that they were more bent upon desertion than upon
assisting in improving the larder.
As they thus grumbled and worked at the edge of the wilderness, the
Chevalier de Tonty came down the lake with two canoes well stocked with
deer which he had recently killed. Hurrah! Here was a different kind
of meat, at last, and this cheered the spirits of all the company. Yet
there was bad news, also, for the good Chevalier brought word of the
total loss of the ship which had brought them hither. No sight had ever
been had of her, and, although the red men, who lived along the shores
of Lake Michigan were closely questioned, no one brought any word of
the ill-fated _Griffin_, which doubtless had been swallowed up by the
waves of Lake Michigan, while on her way from the island of Mackinac.
La Salle was much distressed, yet he had become accustomed to the
buffeting of ill fortune in the wilderness, and, consequently turned
again towards the wilderness with renewed courage and resolution to go
onward, to explore, and to bring back news of these virgin forests and
this interesting country.