FATHER LOUIS HENNEPIN
His Birth and Early Experiences.--His Description of Niagara
Falls.--His Great Fraud.--His Real Achievement.--Captured by the
Sioux.--Given to a Master.--Superstitious Fears of the Indians.--Goes
with a Hunting Party.--Sees and names the Falls of St.
Anthony.--Various Adventures.--Rescued and Freed.
We come now to tell the story of a man who was neither great nor good,
but was a most picturesque and entertaining scamp, and who withal
deserves some small place among the Pathfinders.
Imagine a burly friar, in robe of rough gray frieze, his head covered
by a pointed hood, his otherwise bare feet protected by sandals, in his
hand a stout cudgel, shuffling along on snow-shoes and dragging his
scanty possessions on a sled, or, if it was summer, paddling his canoe
from one lonely cabin to another, celebrating mass wherever he could
get together a half-dozen people, telling them the gossip of the river,
eating a robust meal, then pushing on to repeat the {290} experience
elsewhere, and you will have a good picture of Father Louis Hennepin, a
man whose books describing his travels, real or imaginary, had, in
their day, the widest popularity in Europe. Though he was an
unconscionable braggart, and though he had no scruples about falsifying
facts, yet, as the first person to publish an account of the Falls of
Niagara, and as the discoverer and namer of the Falls of St. Anthony,
he is fairly entitled to a place in a collection like this.
He was born in Belgium, about 1640, and in due time joined the
Franciscan monks. When he tells us that he was so passionately fond of
tales of adventure that he often skulked behind tavern-doors, though he
was sickened by the tobacco smoke, eagerly hanging on the words of the
old tars spinning yarns to each other, we do not wonder at finding him
on his way to the land of wonders, the New World, making the voyage in
company with La Salle. The wilderness, full of hardships and haunted
by treacherous savages though it was, had a fascination for him, and we
soon find him serving as an itinerant missionary on the frontier.
His experience in this work recommended him for appointment as
missionary at that loneliest of {291} outposts, La Salle's Fort
Frontenac. When La Salle returned successful from his efforts to
interest the court in his gigantic scheme of exploration, Father
Hennepin was selected to accompany him as the representative of the
Church. In preparation for the great undertaking, he was sent ahead
with La Motte, an officer in La Salle's service, to Fort Frontenac,
whence they proceeded in a small sailing vessel to Niagara River, under
orders to build a fort that was intended to be a link in the chain of
posts that La Salle purposed establishing.
Niagara Falls--"a vast and prodigious Cadence of Water," he calls
it--made a deep impression on the Father, and he proceeded to write in
his journal this description, which, when it was printed, was the first
published account of the cataract: "This wonderful Downfall is
compounded of two great Cross-streams of Water, and two Falls, with an
Isle sloping along the middle of it. The Waters which fall from this
vast height do foam and boil after the most hideous Manner imaginable,
making an outrageous Noise, more terrible than that of Thunder; for
when the wind blows from off the South, their dismal roaring may be
heard above fifteen Leagues off."
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The Seneca Indians, who regarded the Niagara River as belonging to
themselves, were jealous of the intruders and raised so strong
objections to the building of a fort, that La Motte and Hennepin made a
journey to their chief town, in the hope of overcoming their
opposition. Here they met with a hospitable reception from the
savages, who, Hennepin says, "wash'd our Feet, which afterwards they
rubb'd over with the Oil of Bears." They found here two faithful
Jesuit missionaries--members of an order, by the way, not especially
friendly to the one to which Hennepin belonged, the Franciscans--and,
at their invitation, the father preached to the Indians.
Next came a council with the elders of the tribe. These made a great
impression on Hennepin, who writes, "The Senators of Venice do not
appear with a graver countenance, and perhaps don't speak with more
Majesty and Solidity than those ancient Iroquese." [1]
With many cunning arguments and specious reasons, the white men stated
their case through their interpreter, making much of the point that the
new enterprise would open an easier {293} trade-route, by which goods
could be brought and sold to the natives at rates lower than those of
the Dutch, with whom these people were in the habit of dealing at Fort
Orange (Albany).
The wary old warriors accepted the presents offered them, listened to
the speeches, and reserved their decision until the next day, when they
plainly showed that they did not put much faith in the assurances of
their white brethren. In the end, La Motte and Hennepin went away
disappointed. La Salle, however, on his arrival, with his
extraordinary skill in dealing with Indians, secured the concessions he
needed and went on with his building and the subsequent exploration.
It would be superfluous to repeat the story of the expedition, down to
the building of Fort Crèvecoeur. It is not until this point that the
journal of Father Hennepin becomes an independent narrative.
From Fort Crèvecoeur La Salle dispatched the father, with two excellent
men, Accau and Du Gay, to follow the Illinois River to its mouth and,
on reaching the Mississippi, to turn northward and explore its upper
waters. Accau, who was an experienced _voyageur_ (French for {294}
traveler; a term applied to Canadians who traversed the forests and
lakes, bartering with the Indians), was the real head of the
expedition. But Hennepin, according to his wont, even when he was in
company with so great a genius as La Salle, in his account always gives
himself the foremost place.
If Father Hennepin had published no other writings than his account of
the journey on the Upper Mississippi, his reputation would be that of a
traveler who left a most interesting record of his experiences,
embellished with fanciful additions--a not uncommon practice, in those
days--but in the main reliable. Unfortunately for his good name, he
did something more which justly put such a blot upon his character that
many persons refused to believe his story in any of its particulars.
We must give a passing notice to this daring performance.
Fourteen years after this expedition, when La Salle was dead, and with
the evident purpose of robbing him of his just fame as the first white
man who explored the Mississippi all the way to the Gulf, Hennepin for
the first time put forth the astonishing statement that he and his two
companions, on reaching the Great River, turned {295} south and
followed its course all the way to the ocean, after which they ascended
it and explored its upper waters--a truly marvelous achievement, if it
were true, for three lonely men voyaging on an unknown stream among
fierce savages.
Even at the time of its publication, there were those who disallowed
this amazing claim. "Why has he so long kept silence about this heroic
feat?" they naturally asked. Hennepin had a ready answer: he was
afraid of the wrath of La Salle, who would have been furious if any
doubt had been cast upon his claim of being the first explorer.
How, then, do we know the story to be false? In several ways. First,
and chiefly, because what Hennepin alleged that he had done was simply
impossible. In his first book, which was published, let us remember,
during La Salle's lifetime, Hennepin said that he left the mouth of the
Illinois on March 12, and that he was captured by the Sioux, near the
mouth of the Wisconsin, five hundred miles above, on April 11. This
looks reasonable, and no doubt it was true. But, in the second story,
published fourteen years later, he stated that in that same interval of
time he had descended the Mississippi {296} to the Gulf, then,
returning, had traced its course as far as the mouth of the Wisconsin.
One month to accomplish a distance of 3,260 miles! An average of over
one hundred miles a day for three men paddling a canoe, up-stream for
the greater part of the distance! Surely, we may dismiss the whole
story as a colossal falsehood.
But if he did not go below the mouth of the Illinois, how did Hennepin
become possessed of the information which he gives in his usual
interesting way about the places and peoples all the way down the river
to the Gulf? His descriptions have all the appearance of truth. He
"cribbed" them. We are able to put our finger on a source from which
he drew without stint. It will be remembered that Father Membré
accompanied La Salle on his descent of the Mississippi, in 1681. He
kept a journal of their experiences. This journal was afterward
published by another friar, Le Clerc, but was suppressed by the French
government, because it gave offence to the Jesuits. A few copies,
however, are in existence to this day. Those who have examined one of
these say that Membré's journal is the original of Hennepin's stolen
narrative, sometimes whole pages agreeing word for word. Hennepin
seems {297} to have taken it bodily, with a few necessary alterations,
such as would make himself, not La Salle, the hero of the expedition.
This pirated account, written in Hennepin's picturesque style, met with
great success in Europe and was translated into several languages. We
are reminded of the sensation which was made by Amerigo Vespucci's
fanciful tales of the New World. (See "Pioneer Spaniards in North
America," p. 44.)
One more question. If Hennepin lied in saying that he descended the
Great River, how do we know that he really ascended it? Because this
part of his story is confirmed by an independent witness. The famous
trader and leader of fur-traders, Du Lhut, testified that he found
Hennepin and his two companions prisoners among the Sioux and rescued
them, precisely as we shall find Hennepin relating in his story of the
expedition.
We shall, therefore, reject the later-published account of the
imaginary journey down the Mississippi and confine our attention to the
probably authentic story of his adventures on the upper waters.
Hennepin and his two associates followed the Illinois to its mouth and
then turned their canoe {298} toward the head-waters of the Great
River. For a time all went well. Game was abundant, and the travelers
fared sumptuously on buffalo, deer, turkeys, and fish. Suddenly they
encountered a war-party of Sioux in a number of canoes. These fierce
rovers, members of the great Dakota family, whose range extended
westward a thousand miles from the Mississippi, enjoyed a reputation
which caused them to be called "the Iroquois of the West." Immediately
they surrounded the Frenchmen with a hideous clamor. Hennepin held up
the calumet; but one of them snatched it from him. Then he offered
some fine Martinique tobacco, which somewhat mollified them. He also
gave them two turkeys which were in the canoe. But, for all this, it
was evident that the Sioux were about to treat their prisoners with
their wonted ferocity. In fact, one of the warriors signified to the
friar in dumb show that he was to be brained with a war-club. On the
spot he hastened to the canoe and returned loaded with presents which
he threw down before them. This had the effect of so far softening the
savage breasts that the prisoners were given food and were allowed to
rest in quiet that night.
In quiet, indeed, but not sleeping, we may be {299} sure, for can a
more trying situation be imagined than that of knowing that one's life
or death is under debate, while one has not a chance to say a single
word of defence or argument? Some of the Indians, they gathered,
favored killing them on the spot and taking their goods. Others
contended that when they all wished to attract French traders to come
into their country and bring guns, blankets, and other such
commodities, it would be unwise to discourage them by killing these
prisoners.
Imagine the Frenchmen's joy, when, in the early morning, a young
warrior in full paint came to them, asked for the pipe which had
previously been rejected, filled and smoked it, and then passed it to
his companions to do the same. This pipe was the famous calumet, which
we have seen to be so efficacious in the case of Joliet and Marquette.
Smoking it was an intimation to the Frenchmen that there was to be
peace. They were also informed that they would be taken by the Sioux
to their village.
Shortly afterward the friar had a comical experience. When he took out
his breviary and began to read his morning devotions in a low tone, the
savages gathered around him with looks {300} of terror and frantically
signed to him to put away the book. They mistook it for some kind of a
fetish, that is, an object inhabited by a powerful spirit, and his
muttering they supposed to be a magic incantation. Then a happy
thought struck him. He began to sing the service in a loud and
cheerful voice. This delighted the savages, who fancied that the book
was teaching him to sing for their entertainment.
Now the journey up the river began. On the whole, the Frenchmen fared
tolerably well. They took care always to sleep near the young warrior
who had been the first to smoke the peace-pipe, and whom they regarded
as their protector. The hostile party among the Indians was headed by
a wily old fellow who frequently threw the prisoners into a panic by
frenzied appeals to the warriors to let him avenge on the white men the
death of his son, who had been killed by the Miamis. The Frenchmen
invariably met this excitement by fresh gifts. Thus, while they were
not openly robbed, they were gradually relieved of their earthly
possessions by a sort of primitive blackmail.
Day after day the paddles plied by sinewy arms drove the canoes up the
stream. A lake {301} was passed, which later was called Lake Pepin, in
honor of one of a party of their countrymen whom they met a short time
afterward.[2] On the nineteenth day after their capture, the prisoners
landed, along with their masters, on the spot where St. Paul now stands.
The three Frenchmen's troubles now began in real earnest. First they
must see their canoe broken to pieces, to prevent their escape, then
the remainder of their goods divided. After this their captors started
out for their abodes, which lay to the north, near the lake now called
Mille {302} Lacs. It was a hard experience for the Frenchmen to tramp
with these athletic savages, wading ponds and marshes glazed with ice
and swimming ice-cold streams. "Our Legs," says Hennepin, "were all
over Blood, being cut by the Ice." Seeing the friar inclined to lag,
the Indians took a novel method of quickening his pace. They set fire
to the grass behind him and then, taking him by the hands, they ran
forward with him. He was nearly spent when, after five days of
exhausting travel, they reached the homes of the Sioux.
Entering the village, Hennepin saw a sight that curdled his blood.
Stakes, with bundles of straws attached to them seemed in readiness for
burning himself and his comrades.
Imagine their amazement when, instead of being roasted, they were taken
into a lodge and treated to a kind of whortle-berry pudding _à la
sauvage_!
The next matter of interest was a noisy wrangle among the warriors as
to the distribution of the prisoners. To his great terror, Hennepin
was assigned to Aquipagetin, the wily old villain who had insisted on
the death of the Frenchmen and had persistently blackmailed them.
"Surely now {303} my time has come," the friar said to himself.
Instead, to his great surprise, he was immediately adopted by his new
master as a son, to replace the one whom the Miamis had lately killed,
a procedure quite in accordance with Indian custom. Hennepin thus
found himself separated from his two countrymen, who had other masters,
much to the relief of Accau, who heartily hated him.
The friar was now conducted by his adopted father to his lodge, which
stood on an island in a lake, was introduced as his son to some six or
seven of his wives, was given a platter of fish and a buffalo-robe, and
altogether was treated quite as a member of the family.
Now he had a period of rest in the Sioux village. The Indians
subjected him, greatly to his advantage, to a treatment such as seems
to have been in very general use on this continent and to have been the
most rational feature of Indian medical practice, which relied mainly
on charms and incantations. It was administered by placing the patient
in a tightly closed lodge and pouring water on heated stones, thus
producing a dense vapor which induced copious sweating, after which he
was vigorously rubbed.
The Sioux had a certain respect for him, on {304} account of magic
powers which he was supposed to possess, and his pocket-compass
inspired them with unbounded awe. On his side, he made himself useful
in various ways, such as shaving the children's heads and bleeding the
sick. The children had good reason to be thankful for having the friar
for their barber, since the native method, he says, was "by burning off
the Hair with flat Stones, which they heat red-hot in the Fire."
"Many a melancholy Day," says Hennepin, "did I pass among these
Savages." His coarse, filthy food was often of the scantiest, and his
work, which he was compelled to do with squaws and slaves--for, of
course, no warrior would stoop to labor--was of the hardest. Besides
his useful services, one thing that helped greatly to keep him alive
was the superstition of his masters. One of his belongings inspired
them with wholesome dread. "I had," he says, "an Iron Pot about three
foot round, which had the Figure of a Lion on it, which during our
Voyage served us to bake our Victuals in. This Pot the Barbarians
durst never so much as touch, without covering their Hands first in
something of Castor-Skin. And so great a Terror was it to the women,
{305} that they durst not come or sleep in the Cabin where it was.
They thought that there was a Spirit hid within, that would certainly
kill them."
At length the time came for the Indians to go on their annual hunt, and
they took Hennepin along. His countrymen were also of the party, and
thus he was again thrown with them. The friar gives this indignant
account of their outfit: "Our whole Equipage consisted of fifteen or
twenty Charges of Powder, a Fusil [gun], a little sorry Earthen Pot,
which the Barbarians gave us, a knife between us both, and a Garment of
Castor [beaver]. Thus we were equipped for a voyage of 250 Leagues."
The whole band, some two hundred and fifteen in number, descended Rum
River, the outlet of Mille Lacs, and encamped opposite its mouth, on
the bank of the Mississippi. Food was scarce. The whole camp was on
short rations, and the three Frenchmen could get little to eat but
unripe berries.
This condition of things was scarcely endurable, and Hennepin was happy
in securing permission from the head chief, who always acted in a very
friendly manner, to go with his countrymen to {306} the mouth of the
Wisconsin, where he said that he had an appointment to meet some French
traders who were coming thither with goods--a piece of pure invention
which, however, served its purpose very well. Accau refused to go,
preferring the savage life to traveling with the friar. But Du Gay
gladly joined him, and the two set off in a small canoe that had been
given them. They went swiftly down the river, and soon came to a
famous cataract, between the sites of St. Paul and Minneapolis, which
Hennepin called the Falls of St. Anthony, in honor of the saint whom he
particularly reverenced, St. Anthony of Padua. The name remains to
this day and keeps alive the memory of the eccentric friar.[3]
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We shall not follow the travelers through their wanderings and
adventures. Once, when they had been on very scant fare for several
days, they were almost trampled by a herd of buffalo rushing down the
bank to cross the river. Du Gay shot a young cow, and they feasted so
bountifully that they were taken ill and could not travel for two days.
In the meantime the weather was warm, their meat spoiled, and they were
soon again nearly famished, depending on catfish and an occasional
turtle. Hennepin thus describes one of their encounters: "I shewed
Picard [Du Gay] a huge Serpent, as big as a Man's Leg, and seven or
eight Foot long. She was working herself insensibly up a steep craggy
Rock, to get at the Swallows Nests which are there in great Numbers.
We pelted her so long with Stones, till at length she fell into the
River. Her Tongue, which was in form of a Lance, was of an
extraordinary Length, and her Hiss might be heard a great way."
At last the two Frenchmen joined a band of hunters and among them found
our friend Accau. {308} The hunt was very successful. But Hennepin's
attention was drawn in another direction by a strange story of five
"Spirits," that is to say, Europeans, who were in the neighborhood. A
few days later he met them at a little distance below the Falls of St.
Anthony.
The leader of the party was one of the most notable men among the early
pioneers. His name was Daniel Greysolon Du Lhut, or Du Luth. He was
leagued with Count Frontenac and some others in the fur-trade and was
equally noted for his success in that line of business, for his
coolness and skill in managing Indians and rough _coureurs de bois_,
and for his achievements as an explorer. He had come to the head of
Lake Superior, where a city perpetuates his name, and thence had
crossed to one of the tributaries of the Mississippi, when he heard of
the three Frenchmen and came to meet them. The encounter was a joyful
one on both sides, especially for the prisoners, whose release Du Lhut
secured by gifts to the Sioux.
[Illustration: Falls of St. Anthony]
The eight Frenchmen now accompanied the Sioux back to Mille Lacs and
were treated with great honor. Then they started east and, in due
time, reached the Jesuit missions at Green {309} Bay. And here we take
leave of Father Hennepin.[4]
[1] Hennepin's language in the passages which have been quoted is given
as it appears in an old English translation.
[2] Jonathan Carver, who journeyed up the river in 1766, was the
earliest traveler who made mention of ancient monuments in this region.
He says that a few miles below Lake Pepin his attention was attracted
by an elevation which had the appearance of an intrenchment. He had
served in the recent war between Great Britain and France and had an
eye to such matters. He says, "Notwithstanding it was now covered with
grass, I could plainly discern that it had once been a breast-work of
about four feet in height, extending the best part of a mile and
sufficiently capacious to cover five thousand men." It was
semi-circular in form, and its wings rested on the river, which covered
the rear. His surmise that it was built for the purpose of defence is
undoubtedly correct. He wonders how such a work could exist in a
country inhabited by "untutored Indians" who had no military knowledge
beyond drawing a bow. Since his time we have gained far more knowledge
of the aborigines, and it is ascertained beyond reasonable question
that, at one period, they reared extensive earth-works, probably for
the permanent protection of their villages.
[3] Jonathan Carver, who visited the Falls about a hundred years after
Hennepin, and from whose works the accompanying illustration is taken,
writes thus: "At a little distance below the falls stands a small
island, of about an acre and a half, on which grow a great number of
oak-trees, every branch of which, able to support the weight, was full
of eagles' nests." These birds, he says, resort to this place in so
great numbers because of its security, "their retreat being guarded by
the Rapids, which the Indians never attempt to pass," and because of
the abundant supply of food furnished by fish and animals "dashed to
pieces by the falls and driven on the adjacent shore."
About thirty mites below the Falls, he says, he visited a remarkable
cave, called by the Indians Wakon-teebe, that is, the Dwelling of the
Great Spirit. Within it he found "many Indian hieroglyphicks which
appeared very ancient." Near it was a burying-place of the Sioux.
[4] Hennepin relates that at the Falls of St. Anthony two of the men,
to the great indignation of Du Lhut when he learned of it, stole two
buffalo-robes which were hung on trees as offerings to the Great
Spirit. Striking natural objects seem to have been regarded by the
Indians as special manifestations of divinity. It is an interesting
confirmation, that Jonathan Carver relates that, at the same place, a
young warrior who accompanied him threw into the stream his pipe, his
tobacco, his bracelets, his neck ornaments, in short, everything of
value about him, all the while smiting his breast and crying aloud to
the Great Spirit for his blessing.
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