THE MIAMIS REPENT
The camp-fires of five hundred Iroquois glowed in the frosty night air,
the smoke hovering above like a drifting cloud under the moon. Some of
the five hundred lay sleeping, their weapons close to their hands, while
others were standing guard against possible danger. Many weeks had
passed since they had hounded the Illinois out of the valley of the
river that bore their name, and now all up and down its length was
quiet. No Illinois village along the shores sent the smoke of its
lodge-fires upwards. No winter hunting party camped by the frozen
stream. At the same time, though deserted by its ancient dwellers, the
valley was not wanting signs of the thing which had caused their
departure. The moon which that night hung over the returning Iroquois
shone upon all the length of the river, revealing scenes for a hundred
leagues that spoke as plainly of the Iroquois passing as does the track
in fresh snow tell of the passing of a wolf.
The trail began at the great village of the Kaskaskias. Here the pale
light fell upon the half-burned ruins of lodges, the scattered contents
of the caches, the desecrated graveyard, and the wolves that with savage
howls still hung about the town their human cousins had ravaged. Down
the river went the trail marked by ashes of deserted camps, past the
lodges of the Peorias, the ruined Fort Crèvecœur, and the ribs of the
unfinished ship gleaming white in the moonlight. Then came the ashes of
more camps, always facing each other as they followed the river down to
the open meadow near the mouth where stood the grim figures of the
tortured Tamaroas.
No, the trail of the Iroquois was not hard to trace in the Illinois
Valley. Nor was it a difficult task for an Indian to find the route they
had taken when, after massacring the Tamaroas, they had moved across
country to the valley of the Ohio River many leagues to the southeast.
The Iroquois warriors, proud of their victories and glorying in their
cruel deeds, traveled with little fear. Laden with furs and plunder,
with scores of Illinois slaves in their camp, they did not know that
they were being followed. But they were. The Kaskaskia chief, Paessa,
who had set out with a war band against the Sioux before the Iroquois
raid, had now come back to the valley of his nation only to find ruins
and the well-marked trail of the Iroquois.
There were only a hundred in the band, but in their desire for revenge
they knew no such thing as numbers. With fury adding to their speed they
started upon the track of the enemy and now night by night through the
Ohio Valley their camp-fires were coming nearer to those of the
Iroquois. The Iroquois were moving on toward home. Far to the east lay
their villages of long houses in the land where the Ohio River had its
northern source. They had scattered the Illinois and devastated their
country. The weaker Miamis they had not harmed, perhaps because they had
not yet found it to their advantage. But now they were entering the
hunting-grounds of the Miamis who ranged from the Lake of the Illinois
south as far as the Ohio.
They happened one day upon a party of Miami hunters and without
hesitation the Iroquois fell upon them, killing some and adding others
to the Illinois prisoners whom they were carrying home. The winter
descended upon them with such vigor that they halted and built three
forts at the corners of a triangle, each fort at two leagues distance
from the others. Here the Miamis sent a delegation asking for the
release of their captives. But they were mocked at by the vainglorious
Iroquois. Then they offered a present of three thousand beaver skins as
a ransom for their men. The overbearing conquerors, having attacked
their own allies, now committed an unpardonable sin against Indian
custom. They accepted the gift of the Miamis, but refused to release
their captives. The Miamis sadly realized that they had deserted their
neighbors, the Illinois, only to ally themselves to a band of traitors.
The winter did not halt the avenging party under Paessa. And one night
the daring band slipped between two of the forts and pitched camp in the
middle of the Iroquois triangle. At daybreak some in those forts should
taste death for the outraged graveyard and for the trampled meadow where
Tamaroas had died.
But that same night two Iroquois hunters saw their camp-fire and
approached to see who they were. One of the two had entered the camp
when a young and rash Illinois brave, unable to contain himself, leaped
upon him and struck him dead. Quick as a flash the other was gone. Their
secret was out. Surprise was now impossible and the band prepared for a
terrific encounter. It came with the daylight. On every side the
Iroquois bore down upon them. Outnumbered five to one, the brave
Illinois held their ground all through the winter day. At evening both
sides withdrew. A third of the dauntless hundred were dead, among them
the gallant Paessa. Yet with the morning the unconquerable band again
took up the fight. Three times they hurled themselves upon the enemy. At
last, seeing the hopelessness of their battle, they drew away and
cleared themselves from the hated triangle.
The news of these battles in the Ohio Valley passed quickly throughout
the Miami tribes. The chiefs at the great village on the headwaters of
the Kankakee, near the foot of the Lake of the Illinois, pondered over
the situation in council with much concern. They had allied themselves
with the Iroquois against the Illinois, and now their Iroquois allies
had treacherously attacked them. In view of the indomitable courage
which the Illinois had just displayed in the battle of the triangle,
what would happen to the Miamis when the Iroquois were gone and the
Illinois tribes came back to avenge themselves upon their neighbors?
They had other important things to think about as well. A few leagues
north of their village, where the St. Joseph River emptied into the
Lake, there had lain for many months the ruins of Fort Miami, built a
year before by La Salle and demolished in April by the deserters from
Fort Crèvecœur. But now Fort Miami was rebuilt; for out of the East La
Salle had come again. Away back in July on distant Lake Ontario he had
found some of the Fort Crèvecœur deserters, shot two who showed fight,
and captured the rest. Then he had set out to the Illinois country to
rescue Tonty; but it was November before he landed at the mouth of the
St. Joseph River. On the day that his canoes touched shore, Tonty, sick
and more than half-starved, was struggling northward along the west
shore of the Lake, trying to reach the French settlements with the news
of the Iroquois raid.
La Salle left some of his men to rebuild the fort and pushed on down the
Kankakee, his anxiety for Tonty steadily increasing. At the Kaskaskia
village he struck the trail the Iroquois had left behind them, and
followed it down the river to the meadow of massacre near the mouth.
Nowhere did he find trace of Tonty, and with heavy heart he came back to
his men at Fort Miami. In his absence a band of New England Indians,
mostly Abenakis and Mohegans, had pitched their lodges about the fort,
and when La Salle appeared they joined themselves to his party and swore
to follow him as their chief.
One important fact now stood out clearly in the mind of La Salle. If he
was to accomplish anything in the exploration and settlement of the
Mississippi Valley, he must bring the Miamis, the Illinois, the
Shawnees, and other inhabitants of the Great Valley into such firm
alliance with each other and with himself that they need have no fear
from Iroquois or any other invaders. If he could get such an alliance
started, he would feel free to make his long-delayed trip to the mouth
of the Mississippi and open up trade by that means with France across
the seas. With this in mind he took fifteen men and set out on the 1st
of March to open communication with the Illinois, occasional bands of
whom were beginning to wander back into their valley.
The men traveled easily over the snow with their snowshoes, but the
glare of the sun was so intense that La Salle was stricken for several
days with snow-blindness. While he lay suffering, unable to see or to
sleep, some of his men came upon tracks which led them to the lodges of
a hunting party of Fox Indians, from whom they learned to their great
joy that Tonty was alive and had reached a village of Pottawattomies on
Green Bay. They also learned that Ako and Hennepin and the Picard had
returned safely to the settlements on the Lake.
Pressing on down the valley, not long afterwards, he met with a band of
Illinois. They told him the story of the Iroquois raid and showed him
letters from black-robed priests, which had been given them by the
Iroquois. These letters seemed to be in the nature of passports
safeguarding the Iroquois in case of their capture by the Illinois. The
Illinois added that their enemies had other letters addressed to Father
Allouez, and they interpreted the whole affair as meaning that the Black
Gowns wished them to be attacked.
Now La Salle had for many years disliked the Jesuits, and he had accused
them of trying to block his plans and wreck his enterprises. Especially
did he hate the black-robed Father Allouez. The priest knew this, and it
was the news of La Salle’s coming that had caused him to slip out of the
village of the Kaskaskias on that Christmas Eve of 1679. But now La
Salle wished to quiet the fears of the Illinois, and so he assured them
that their distrust of the black-robed priests was groundless. He told
them of his plans to start a colony in the Illinois Valley and settle
many French soldiers there to protect the tribes that made their homes
along the river; and he urged them to make friends again with the Miamis
and join forces with them against their common foe from the outside.
The Illinois were well pleased with the plans of La Salle, and they went
off promising to carry his message to their people. La Salle sent a
messenger to tell Tonty to wait for him at Mackinac, and then returned
to his fort on the St. Joseph. He had made a beginning with the
Illinois; his next step was to bring the Miamis into an alliance.
In the Miami village south of his fort, during this time, there was much
uncertainty. The Indians watched the white men’s movements with anxiety
and dreaded the wrath of the Illinois when they should return. Yet the
Iroquois still seemed to hold them under a spell. Into the Miami village
that spring came three Iroquois warriors, swaggering and boastful. But
in spite of their treachery the Miamis dared not harm them. The visitors
told of their feats of battle, derided the French, and urged the Miamis
to continue the war against the Illinois.
But one fine spring day La Salle himself, with ten of the despised
Frenchmen and a handful of New England Indians, entered the village.
With curious eyes the Miamis watched the boastful Iroquois. Would they
defy the French now? Upon the moment of La Salle’s arrival, the three
warriors made haste to visit him and pay him devout respect. But the
white chief received them coldly, threatened them, and dared them to say
in his presence what they had said before his coming. Abashed and silent
they slunk away and fled from the village that night.
The Miamis had had their lesson—a lesson which they had been slow to
learn. The discomfiture of the boasting Iroquois had broken the last tie
that held them to their false friends of the Five Nations. They came
together now in a grand council with La Salle in the lodge of the
principal chief, and in order that all might hear they stripped the bark
sides from the lodge and opened it up to the throng outside.