HUNTING THE MISSISSIPPI
Somewhere off to the east the Mississippi River was running down through
the Great Valley to the sea; and La Salle’s determination to find it
deepened with his discouragements. But first they must make the location
near the sea habitable as a supply station for further exploration. To
that end a rude fort had been erected near where they had landed, and
Joutel with part of the company had been left in charge while La Salle
explored the neighborhood. Soon he came upon a site a little farther up
the river which seemed more suitable for a permanent fort; and so he
sent back word to Joutel to square timbers ready for the new building
and join him later at this upper location.
In these widespread sandy plains of the Southland there was no high rock
like that of Fort St. Louis on the Illinois. But there was a rising hill
near the river, and here with his own hands La Salle laid the outline of
the fort and directed its construction. The new fort took rapid shape;
and La Salle, after his favorite saint, called it Fort St. Louis, and he
named the inlet where they landed the Bay of St. Louis.
Out of squared timbers the men built a large dwelling and divided it
into apartments. Around this they built a palisade, and set up the eight
precious cannon. It was a pleasant location. The river bathed the foot
of the hill on the north and northeast and ran on down to the bay.
Across the river was a marshy tract where birds innumerable sang in
their season. To the west and southwest, crossed and recrossed by herds
of shaggy buffalo, the plains stretched as far as the eye could reach.
Here and there were little groups of trees, including many which
remained green the whole year through. From a distance these bits of
foliage gave to the lonely colonists the pleasing picture of the groves
about country homes in far-away France. In their imaginings they seemed
to see the country peopled by white settlers instead of the Indians who
prowled about the new settlement and sometimes fell upon their wandering
hunters.
The colony had grown steadily smaller: during the summer more than
thirty had died of sickness; some had been killed by the Indians; and a
few had deserted. Among the sick was the Abbé Cavelier. La Salle,
consumed with the desire to hunt for his lost river, only waited for his
brother to recover sufficiently to go with him. By fall the priest was
well, the fort was established, and La Salle made ready to go. But
before he departed he called Joutel aside and gave him charge of the
colony, with careful instructions not to receive any of the exploring
party if they should come back unless they brought a letter from La
Salle himself containing the password: “In the name of the very blessed
Trinity.” Then as October of 1685 drew to a close, La Salle, with his
brother and a goodly number of men, amid the firing of cannon, set out
along the bay with all of the canoes and the bark La Belle to seek what
they might find to the eastward.
Joutel, who had been left with thirty-four persons,—men, women, and
children,—kept them all busy. Some he sent out as hunters and others he
put to carrying wood and completing their dwellings and storehouses. Now
and then Indians were seen, but they did not come near the fort. For
their better protection Joutel divided the night into watches and with
great care posted sentinels—a duty which even the women shared. Weeks
passed and the new year came upon them; and still La Salle had not
returned.
One evening in the middle of January the men and women, in from their
work, were gathered within the palisaded house on the hill, when
suddenly the sentinel cried out to them that he heard a voice calling
from the river. In great haste the men ran out of the house and down to
the shore. Out on the water they could see the outlines of a canoe and
in it one lone man, who called out at the twinkling lights of the
settlement, “Dominick!”
Dominick was the younger of the Duhaut brothers; and as the voyager
neared the shore the men from the fort saw that he was the elder Duhaut
who had set out with La Salle nearly three months before. Now he was
returning alone, and so Joutel questioned him closely. Had he a letter
from La Salle? No. Joutel pondered. “Let no one come back to the fort
unless he brings a letter from me with the password in it,” La Salle had
said in parting. Should he turn Duhaut away again into the wilderness,
or should he throw him into irons until the return of the leader? It was
a puzzling predicament which confronted Joutel; but at least he might
listen to the man’s story. When Duhaut had finally told of his
adventures, the good-hearted Joutel saw nothing wrong in taking him in
again as a member of the garrison.
La Salle, so said Duhaut, had coasted along the shore with canoes and
the Belle for many days. Once he sent out a party of six to reconnoiter
the land. They did not return, and later a search party found their dead
bodies along the shore where Indians had massacred them. La Salle was
discouraged but not completely disheartened. Gathering meat on shore and
drying it for preservation, he loaded it with other provisions on board
the Belle, and ordered a portion of his men to stay on the ship and
remain out in the bay until his return. Then with twenty men he went
ashore, sunk his canoes, and trailed inland—still hoping to come upon
the Great River.
The elder Duhaut was one of this exploring party, as was also Moranget,
who had orders from La Salle to bring up the rear. Now it so happened
that Duhaut’s knapsack and shoes were in bad condition and he stopped to
mend them. Moranget, coming up, urged him to move on; and Duhaut in turn
asked Moranget to wait for him. Moranget, however, would not stop, but
passed on with the rest of the company. Finally when Duhaut looked up he
found no one in sight. With hurried steps he followed in the direction
his companions had taken. When night fell he was still alone in a plain
full of weeds and buffalo tracks, but with no sign of men. He fired his
gun, but nothing save the echo answered the report. At last he lay down
under the open sky to sleep.
When morning came Duhaut rose with fresh hope and fired again several
times; but there was no answer. He was lost. All that day and night he
remained near the same spot, hoping that some of the party might return
to find him. At length, when no one came, he determined to hunt his way
back to Fort St. Louis. Leagues of wilderness lay between him and the
fort, and he well knew that in every clump of trees might lurk hostile
Indians.
Each day he lay in fear and suspense, hiding under logs and underbrush;
and by night he stumbled on toward home. His provisions gave out and he
must kill game for food—each time with difficulty and in great danger of
discovery by the Indians. Weeks of this nightly wandering passed before
he finally reached the place where La Salle had sunk the canoes.
Laboriously he raised one of the boats from its watery bed, and in it
paddled on down the bay. When the wind blew he hoisted his shirt for a
sail. At last he reached the fort after he had been a month on the way,
miraculously escaping death from Indian foes and suffering almost
incredible hardships. Joutel could not find it in his heart to refuse to
accept the man. He contented himself with watching him carefully for a
few days, but saw nothing to arouse suspicion or displeasure.
A favorite post of Joutel’s was the housetop, from which he could see in
every direction. It was from this lookout, about two months after
Duhaut’s return, that he saw, far off across the plains, a little group
of men. Hurrying down he gathered a few of his men, put them under arms,
and advanced to see who the newcomers might be. They were La Salle, the
Abbé, Moranget, and five or six others. Their clothes were ragged and
worn beyond description. Scarcely a hat was there in the party or a
whole garment, and the Abbé’s cassock hung upon him in tatters.
La Salle had sent some of his men to find the Belle. On the day after La
Salle’s return, they, too, came to the fort and reported that they could
not find the ship. Later it was learned that the bark had run aground
and the crew had been forced to desert it. Thus the last one of the
ships was gone and with it the hope of going to the West Indies for aid.
La Salle had traveled far, but he had found little to encourage him in
his journeyings. Yet like a will-o’-the-wisp the desire to find the
river would not let him rest. Hardly a month did he tarry at the fort.
It was during this month that Tonty was at the mouth of the Mississippi
hunting with heavy heart for his lost leader.
By the end of April, La Salle again ventured forth with a score of men,
this time on foot. Again the Abbé and Moranget were of the party; and
with them were Dominick Duhaut, a German buccaneer named Hiens, a
surgeon, and a dozen others fitted by constitution for hardship and
danger.
Once more Joutel was left in charge of the settlement which thrived
under his hand. All about the house he planted grain and vegetables and
melons. He repaired the buildings, and here and there trained climbing
vines. Father Membré kept a vegetable garden of his own. Game being
fairly plentiful, Gabriel Barbier was sent out as head of the
hunting-parties, and some of the women and girls went along to help
dress the game. At the fort there was target practice, and prizes were
offered for marksmanship. Being somewhat limited in ammunition, Joutel
instructed those who dressed the game on the hunt to search for the
bullet; and often the same ball was used to bring down several animals.
Sometimes the hunters had encounters with the Indians and once several
of the men were wounded; yet withal they were little molested. When in
the house at night the company kept in good cheer with music and
dancing. Thus the summer of 1686 passed comfortably enough.
Not until August did La Salle come back; and when he did come it was
with only a fragment of his band. A part of his men had become separated
from the rest and never returned—and the younger Duhaut was one of the
lost. This time La Salle brought back with him five horses, and reported
that he had traveled to the northeast as far as the villages of the
Cenis Indians. But he had not found the Mississippi River.
The undaunted leader now made plans to gather a party which, with
provisions and supplies loaded on the five horses he had bought, would
make for Fort St. Louis, on the Illinois River, where Tonty and his men
were waiting, and thence go on to Canada and France to bring aid and
supplies to the colony on the Gulf. He asked Joutel to join the party,
while Gabriel Barbier was put in charge of the fort and the men and
women who remained there.
He was a man with a story—this Gabriel Barbier. About eight years
before, while in the service of La Salle, he had been persuaded by other
men to desert with them. La Salle went on out to the Illinois country,
built Fort Crèvecœur, and in the spring of 1680 went back to Canada for
supplies. That summer Barbier came to him begging to be taken back, and
La Salle consented. He had gone down the Great River with his leader in
1682 and had been a valuable member of the party; and now, after being
further tried by the experiences of the expedition to the Gulf, he was
placed by his leader in a position of trust and power.