1687.
ASSASSINATION OF LA SALLE.
HIS FOLLOWERS.--PRAIRIE TRAVELLING.--A HUNTER'S QUARREL.--THE
MURDER OF MORANGET.--THE CONSPIRACY.--DEATH OF LA SALLE.--HIS
CHARACTER.
The travellers were crossing a marshy prairie towards a distant belt of
woods, that followed the course of a little river. They led with them
their five horses, laden, with their scanty baggage, and with what was of
no less importance, their stock of presents for Indians. Some wore the
remains of the clothing they had worn from France, eked out with deer-
skins, dressed in the Indian manner; and some had coats of old sail-cloth.
Here was La Salle, in whom one would have known, at a glance, the chief of
the party; and the priest, Cavelier, who seems to have shared not one of
the high traits of his younger brother. Here, too, were their nephews,
Moranget and the boy Cavelier, now about seventeen years old; the trusty
soldier, Joutel, and the friar, Anastase Douay. Duhaut followed, a man of
respectable birth and education; and Liotot, the surgeon of the party. At
home, they might, perhaps, have lived and died with a fair repute; but the
wilderness is a rude touchstone, which often reveals traits that would
have lain buried and unsuspected in civilized life. The German Hiens, the
ex-buccaneer, was also of the number. He had probably sailed with an
English crew, for he was sometimes known as _Gemme Anglais_ or "English
Jem." [Footnote: Tonty also speaks of him as "un flibustier anglois." In
another document he is called "James."] The Sieur de Marie; Teissier, a
pilot; l'Archevêque, a servant of Duhaut; and others, to the number in all
of about twenty,--made up the party, to which is to be added Nika, La
Salle's Shawanoe hunter, who, as well as another Indian, had twice crossed
the ocean with him, and still followed his fortunes with an admiring
though undemonstrative fidelity.
They passed the prairie, and neared the forest. Here they saw buffalo; and
the hunters approached, and killed several of them. Then they traversed
the woods; found and forded the shallow and rushy stream, and pushed
through the forest beyond, till they again reached the open prairie. Heavy
clouds gathered over them, and it rained all night; but they sheltered
themselves under the fresh hides of the buffalo they had killed.
It is impossible, as it would be needless, to follow the detail of their
daily march. [Footnote: Of the three narratives of this journey, those of
Joutel, Cavelier, and Anastase Douay, the first is by far the best. That
of Cavelier seems the work of a man of confused brain and indifferent
memory. Some of his statements are irreconcilable with those of Joutel and
Douay, and known facts of his history justify the suspicion of a wilful
inaccuracy. Joutel's account is of a very different character, and seems
to be the work of an honest and intelligent man. Douay's account is brief,
but it agrees with that of Joutel in most essential points.] It was such
an one, though, with unwonted hardships, as is familiar to the memory of
many a prairie traveller of our own time. They suffered greatly from the
want of shoes, and found for a while no better substitute than a casing of
raw buffalo-hide, which they were forced to keep always wet, as, when dry,
it hardened about the foot like iron. At length, they bought dressed deer-
skin from the Indians, of which they made tolerable moccasons. The rivers,
streams, and gulleys filled with water were without number; and, to cross
them, they made a boat of bull-hide, like the "bull boat" still used on
the Upper Missouri. This did good service, as, with the help of their
horses, they could carry it with them. Two or three men could cross in it
at once, and the horses swam after them like dogs. Sometimes they
traversed the sunny prairie; sometimes dived into the dark recesses of the
forest, where the buffalo, descending daily from their pastures in long
files to drink at the river, often made a broad and easy path for the
travellers. When foul weather arrested them, they built huts of bark and
long meadow-grass; and, safely sheltered, lounged away the day, while
their horses, picketed near by, stood steaming in the rain. At night, they
usually set a rude stockade about their camp; and here, by the grassy
border of a brook, or at the edge of a grove where a spring bubbled up
through the sands, they lay asleep around the embers of their fire, while
the man on guard listened to the deep breathing of the slumbering horses,
and the howling of the wolves that saluted the rising moon as it flooded
the waste of prairie with pale mystic radiance.
They met Indians almost daily; sometimes a band of hunters, mounted or on
foot, chasing buffalo on the plains; sometimes a party of fishermen;
sometimes a winter camp, on the slope of a hill or under the sheltering
border of a forest. They held intercourse with them in the distance by
signs; often they disarmed their distrust, and attracted them into their
camp; and often they visited them in their lodges, where, seated on
buffalo-robes, they smoked with their entertainers, passing the pipe from
hand to hand, after the custom still in use among the prairie tribes.
Cavelier says that they once saw a band of a hundred and fifty mounted
Indians attacking a herd of buffalo with lances pointed with sharpened
bone. The old priest was delighted with the sport, which he pronounces
"the most diverting thing in the world." On another occasion, when the
party were encamped near the village of a tribe which Cavelier calls
Sassory, he saw them catch an alligator about twelve feet long, which they
proceeded to torture as if he were a human enemy, first putting out his
eyes, and then leading him to the neighboring prairie, where, having
confined him by a number of stakes, they spent the entire day in
tormenting him. [Footnote: Cavelier, _Relation,_ MS.]
Holding a north-easterly course, the travellers crossed the Brazos, and
reached the waters of the Trinity. The weather was unfavorable, and on one
occasion they encamped in the rain during four or five days together. It
was not an harmonious company. La Salle's cold and haughty reserve had
returned, at least for those of his followers to whom he was not partial.
Duhaut and the surgeon Liotot, both of whom were men of some property, had
a large pecuniary stake in the enterprise, and were disappointed and
incensed at its ruinous result. They had a quarrel with young Moranget,
whose hot and hasty temper was as little fitted to conciliate as was the
harsh reserve of his uncle. Already, at Fort St. Louis, Duhaut had
intrigued among the men; and the mild admonition of Joutel had not, it
seems, sufficed to divert him from his sinister purposes. Liotot, it is
said, had secretly sworn vengeance against La Salle, whom he charged with
having caused the death of his brother, or, as some will have it, his
nephew. On one of the former journeys, this young man's strength had
failed; and, La Salle having ordered him to return to the fort, he had
been killed by Indians on the way.
The party moved again as the weather improved; and, on the fifteenth of
March, encamped within a few miles of a spot which La Salle had passed on
his preceding journey, and where he had left a quantity of Indian corn and
beans in _cache_; that is to say, hidden in the ground, or in a hollow
tree. As provisions were falling short, he sent a party from the camp to
find it. These men were Duhaut, Liotot, [Footnote: Called Lanquetot by
Tonty.] Hiens the buccaneer, Teissier, l'Archevêque, Nika the hunter, and
La Salle's servant, Saget. They opened the _cache_, and found the contents
spoiled; but, as they returned from their bootless errand, they saw
buffalo; and Nika shot two of them. They now encamped on the spot, and
sent the servant to inform La Salle, in order that he might send horses to
bring in the meat. Accordingly, on the next day, he directed Moranget and
De Marie, with the necessary horses, to go with Saget to the hunters'
camp. When they, arrived, they found that Duhaut and his companions had
already cut up the meat, and laid it upon scaffolds for smoking, though it
was not yet so dry as, it seems, this process required. Duhaut and the
others had also put by, for themselves, the marrow-bones and certain
portions of the meat, to which, by woodland custom, they had a perfect
right. Moranget, whose rashness and violence had once before caused a
fatal catastrophe, fell into a most unreasonable fit of rage, berated
and menaced Duhaut and his party, and ended by seizing upon the whole
of the meat, including the reserved portions. This added fuel to the
fire of Duhaut's old grudge against Moranget and his uncle. There is
reason to think that he had nourished in his vindictive heart deadly
designs, the execution of which was only hastened by the present outbreak.
He, with his servant, l'Archevêque, Liotot, Hiens, and Teissier, took
counsel apart, and resolved to kill Moranget that night. Nika, La
Salle's devoted follower, and Saget, his faithful servant, must die
with him. All were of one mind except the pilot, Teissier, who neither
aided nor opposed the plot.
Night came; the woods grew dark; the evening meal was finished, and the
evening pipes were smoked. The order of the guard was arranged; and,
doubtless by design, the first hour of the night was assigned to Moranget,
the second to Saget, and the third to Nika. Gun in hand, each stood his
watch in turn over the silent but not sleeping forms around him, till, his
time expiring, he called the man who was to relieve him, wrapped himself
in his blanket, and was soon buried in a slumber that was to be his last.
Now the assassins rose. Duhaut and Hiens stood with their guns cocked
ready to shoot down any one of the destined victims who should resist or
fly. The surgeon, with an axe, stole towards the three sleepers, and
struck a rapid blow at each in turn. Saget and Nika died with little
movement; but Moranget started spasmodically into a sitting posture,
gasping, and unable to speak; and the murderers compelled De Marie, who
was not in their plot, to compromise himself by despatching him.
The floodgates of murder were open, and the torrent must have its way.
Vengeance and safety alike demanded the death of La Salle. Hiens. or
"English Jem," alone seems to have hesitated; for he was one of those to
whom that stern commander had always been partial. Meanwhile, the intended
victim was still at his camp, about six miles distant. It is easy to
picture, with sufficient accuracy, the features of the scene,--the sheds
of bark and branches, beneath which, among blankets and buffalo-robes,
camp-utensils, pack-saddles, rude harness, guns, powder-horns, and bullet-
pouches, the men lounged away the hour, sleeping, or smoking, or talking
among themselves; the blackened kettles that hung from tripods of poles
over the fires; the Indians strolling about the place, or lying, like dogs
in the sun, with eyes half shut, yet all observant; and, in the
neighboring meadow, the horses grazing under the eye of a watchman.
It was the nineteenth of March, and Moranget had been two days absent. La
Salle began to show a great anxiety. Some bodings of the truth seem to
have visited him; for he was heard to ask several of his men, if Duhaut,
Liotot, and Hiens had not of late shown signs of discontent. Unable longer
to endure his suspense, he left the camp in charge of Joutel, with a
caution to stand well on his guard; and set out in search of his nephew,
with the friar, Anastase Douay, and two Indians. "All the way," writes the
friar, "he spoke to me of nothing but matters of piety, grace, and
predestination; enlarging on the debt he owed to God, who had saved him
from so many perils during more than twenty years of travel in America.
Suddenly," Douay continues, "I saw him overwhelmed with a profound
sadness, for which he himself could not account. He was so much moved that
I scarcely knew him." He soon recovered his usual calmness; and they
walked on till they approached the camp of Duhaut, which was, however, on
the farther side of a small river. Looking about him with the eye of a
woodsman, La Salle saw two eagles, or, more probably, turkey-buzzards,
circling in the air nearly over him, as if attracted by carcasses of
beasts or men. He fired both his pistols, as a summons to any of his
followers who might be within hearing. The shots reached the ears of the
conspirators. Rightly conjecturing by whom they were fired, several of
them, led by Duhaut, crossed the river at a little distance above, where
trees, or other intervening objects, hid them from sight. Duhaut and the
surgeon crouched like Indians in the long, dry, reed-like grass of the
last summer's growth, while l'Archevêque stood in sight near the bank. La
Salle, continuing to advance, soon, saw him; and, calling to him, demanded
where was Moranget. The man, without lifting his hat, or any show of
respect, replied in an agitated and broken voice, but with a tone of
studied insolence, that Moranget was along the river. La Salle rebuked and
menaced him. He rejoined with increased insolence, drawing back, as he
spoke, towards the ambuscade, while the incensed commander advanced to
chastise him. At that moment, a shot was fired from the grass, instantly
followed by another; and, pierced through the brain, La Salle dropped
dead.
The friar at his side stood in an ecstasy of fright, unable to advance or
to fly; when Duhaut, rising from his ambuscade, called out to him to take
courage, for he had nothing to fear. The murderers now came forward, and
with wild looks gathered about their victim. "There thou liest, great
Bashaw! There thou liest!" [Footnote: "Te voilà grand Bacha, te voilà!"--
Joutel, 203.] exclaimed the surgeon Liotot, in base exultation over the
unconscious corpse. With mockery and insult, they stripped it naked,
dragged it into the bushes, and left it there, a prey to the buzzards and
the wolves.
Thus, in the vigor of his manhood, at the age of forty-three, died Robert
Cavelier de la Salle, "one of the greatest men," writes Tonty, "of this
age;" without question one of the most remarkable explorers whose names
live in history. His faithful officer Joutel thus sketches his portrait:
"His firmness, his courage, his great knowledge of the arts and sciences,
which made him equal to every undertaking, and his untiring energy, which
enabled him to surmount every obstacle, would have won at last a glorious
success for his grand enterprise, had not all his fine qualities been
counterbalanced by a haughtiness of manner which often made him
insupportable, and by a harshness towards those under his command, which
drew upon him an implacable hatred, and was at last the cause of his
death." [Footnote: _Journal Historique_, 202.]
The enthusiasm of the disinterested and chivalrous Champlain was not the
enthusiasm of La Salle; nor had he any part in the self-devoted zeal of
the early Jesuit explorers. He belonged not to the age of the knight-
errant and the saint, but to the modern world of practical study and
practical action. He was the hero, not of a principle nor of a faith, but
simply of a fixed idea and a determined purpose. As often happens with
concentred and energetic natures, his purpose was to him a passion and an
inspiration; and he clung to it with a certain fanaticism of devotion. It
was the offspring of an ambition vast and comprehensive, yet acting in the
interest both of France and of civilization. His mind rose immeasurably
above the range of the mere commercial speculator; and, in all the
invective and abuse of rivals and enemies, it does not appear that his
personal integrity ever found a challenger.
He was capable of intrigue, but his reserve and his haughtiness were sure
to rob him at last of the fruits of it. His schemes failed, partly because
they were too vast, and partly because he did not conciliate the good-will
of those whom he was compelled to trust. There were always traitors in his
ranks, and his enemies were more in earnest than his friends. Yet he had
friends; and there were times when out of his stern nature a stream of
human emotion would gush, like water from the rock.
In the pursuit of his purpose, he spared no man, and least of all himself.
He bore the brunt of every hardship and every danger; but he seemed to
expect from all beneath him a courage and endurance equal to his own,
joined with an implicit deference to his authority. Most of his disasters
may be ascribed, in some measure, to himself; and Fortune and his own
fault seemed always in league to ruin him.
It is easy to reckon up his defects, but it is not easy to hide from sight
the Roman virtues that redeemed them. Beset by a throng of enemies, he
stands, like the King of Israel, head and shoulders above them all. He was
a tower of adamant, against whose impregnable front hardship and danger,
the rage of man and of the elements, the southern sun, the northern blast,
fatigue, famine, and disease, delay, disappointment, and deferred hope,
emptied their quivers in vain. That very pride, which, Coriolanus-like,
declared itself most sternly in the thickest press of foes, has in it
something to challenge admiration. Never, under the impenetrable mail of
paladin or crusader, beat a heart of more intrepid mettle than within the
stoic panoply that armed the breast of La Salle. To estimate aright the
marvels of his patient fortitude, one must follow on his track through the
vast scene of his interminable journeyings, those thousands of weary miles
of forest, marsh, and river, where, again and again, in the bitterness of
baffled striving, the untiring pilgrim pushed onward towards the goal
which he was never to attain. America owes him an enduring memory; for in
this masculine figure, cast in iron, she sees the heroic pioneer who
guided her to the possession of her richest heritage. [Footnote: On the
assassination of La Salle, the evidence is fourfold: 1st, The narrative of
Douay, who was with him at the time. 2d, That of Joutel, who learned the
facts immediately after they took place, from Douay and others, and who
parted from La Salle an hour or more before his death. 3d, A document
preserved in the Archives de la Marine, entitled _"Relation de la Mort du
Sr. de la Salle suivant le rapport d'un nominé Couture à qui M. Cavelier
l'apprit en passant au pays des Akansa, avec toutes les circonstances que
le dit Couture a apprises d'un Français que M. Cavelier avoit laissé aux
dits pays des Akansa, crainte qu'il ne gardât pas le secret,"_ 4th, The
authentic memoir of Tonty, of which a copy from the original is before me,
and which has recently been printed by Margry.
The narrative of Cavelier unfortunately fails us several weeks before the
death of his brother, the remainder being lost. On a study of these
various documents, it is impossible to resist the conclusion that neither
Cavelier nor Douay always wrote honestly. Joutel, on the contrary, gives
the impression of sense, intelligence, and candor throughout. Charlevoix,
who knew him long after, says that he was "un fort honnête homme, et le
seul de la troupe de M. de la Salle, sur qui ce célèbre voyageur pût
compter." Tonty derived his information from the survivors of La Salle's
party. Couture, whose statements are embodied in the _Relation de la Mort
de M. de la Salle_, was one of Tonty's men, who, as will be seen
hereafter, were left by him at the mouth of the Arkansas, and to whom
Cavelier told the story of his brother's death. Couture also repeats the
statements of one of La Salle's followers, undoubtedly a Parisian boy
named Barthelemy, who was violently prejudiced against his chief, whom he
slanders to the utmost of his skill, saying that he was so enraged at his
failures that he did not approach the sacraments for two years; that he
nearly starved his brother Cavelier, allowing him only a handful of meal a
day; that he killed with his own hand "quantité de personnes" who did not
work to his liking; and that he killed the sick in their beds without
mercy, under the pretence that they were counterfeiting sickness, in order
to escape work. These assertions certainly have no other foundation than
the undeniable strictness and rigor of La Salle's command. Douay says that
he confessed and made his devotions on the morning of his death, while
Cavelier always speaks of him as the hope and the staff of the colony.
Douay declares that La Salle lived an hour after the fatal shot; that he
gave him absolution, buried his body, and planted a cross on his grave. At
the time, he told Joutel a different story; and the latter, with the best
means of learning the facts, explicitly denies the friar's printed
statement. Couture, on the authority of Cavelier himself, also says that
neither he nor Douay were permitted to take any step for burying the body.
Tonty says that Cavelier begged leave to do so, but was refused. Douay,
unwilling to place upon record facts from which the inference might easily
be drawn that he had been terrified from discharging his duty, no doubt
invented the story of the burial, as well as that of the edifying behavior
of Moranget, after he had been struck in the head with an axe.]
The locality of La Salle's assassination is sufficiently clear from a
comparison of the several narratives; and it is also indicated on a
contemporary manuscript map, made on the return of the survivors of the
party to France. The scene of the catastrophe is here placed on a southern
branch of the Trinity.
La Salle's debts, at the time of his death, according to a schedule
presented in 1701 to Champigny, Intendant of Canada, amounted to 106,831
livres, without reckoning interest. This cannot be meant to include all,
as items are given which raise the amount much higher. In 1678 and 1679
alone, he contracted debts to the amount of 97,184 livres, of which 46,000
were furnished by Branssac, fiscal attorney of the Seminary of Montreal.
This was to be paid in beaver-skins. Frontenac, at the same time, became
his surety for 13,623 livres. In 1684, he borrowed 34,825 livres from the
Sieur Pen, at Paris. These sums do not include the losses incurred by his
family, which, in the memorial presented by them to the king, are set down
at 500,000 livres for the expeditions between 1678 and 1683, and 300,000
livres for the fatal Texan expedition of 1684. These last figures are
certainly exaggerated.