Changes produced in the navigation of the Mississippi since the
introduction of Steam—Arrival at Kaskaskia—The Canadians and
Indians—Singular meeting with a young Indian educated among the
Whites, and returned to savage life—Indian Ballad—State of
Illinois—Departure from Kaskaskia—Separation of General Lafayette
and the Louisiana deputation.
Governor Coles, who had embarked with us, requested of General Lafayette
and obtained his consent, that he would not leave the river Mississippi
without visiting the state of Illinois, along which we were to pass in
descending the river. It was decided that we should stop at Kaskaskia, a
large village of that state, and, although nearly eighty miles distant,
we arrived there a little while before noon, so fortunate and rapid was
our navigation. Since the application of steam to navigation, the
changes produced in the relations of the towns on the Mississippi is
prodigious. Formerly the voyage from New Orleans to St. Louis required
three or four months of the most painful toil that can be imagined; the
action of the oar was not always sufficient to overcome the resistance
of the current. They were often obliged to warp the boat by hand,
advancing from time to time with a small boat to tie a rope to a tree or
stone on the shore.[14] This slow and painful operation, the consequent
privations and bad diet, caused diseases among the boatmen, which
ordinarily destroyed one third of the crew. At present the same passage
which is nearly fifteen hundred miles, is made in ten days, without
fatigue, without privations, between a good bed and a good table, and
often in very good company; the return is commonly made in five days; so
that New Orleans and St. Louis, separated by so great a distance, are
now considered as neighbouring cities, whose inhabitants are better
acquainted and visit each other oftener than those of Paris and Bordeaux
can do.
General Lafayette was not expected at Kaskaskia, and nothing had been
prepared for this unforeseen visit. While we were landing some one ran
to the village, which stands a quarter of a mile from the shore, and
quickly returned with a carriage for the general, who, an instant after,
was surrounded by many citizens, who ran before to receive him. In the
escort which formed itself to accompany him, we saw neither military
apparel nor the splendid triumphs we had perceived in the rich cities;
but the accents of joy and republican gratitude which broke upon his
ear, was grateful to his heart, since it proved to him that wherever
American liberty had penetrated, there also the love and veneration of
the people for its founders were perpetuated.
We followed the general on foot, and arrived almost at the same time at
the house of General Edgar, a venerable soldier of the revolution, who
received him with affectionate warmth, and ordered all the doors to be
kept open, that his fellow citizens might enjoy, as well as himself, the
pleasure of shaking hands with the adopted son of America. After a few
minutes had been accorded to the rather tumultuous expression of the
sentiments which the presence of the general inspired, Governor Coles
requested silence, which was accorded with a readiness and deference
that proved to me that his authority rested not only on the law, but
still more on popular affection. He advanced towards Lafayette, about
whom the crowd had increased, and addressed him with emotion in a
discourse in which he depicted the transports his presence excited in
the population of the state of Illinois, and the happy influence which
the remembrance of his visit would produce hereafter on the youthful
witnesses of the enthusiasm of their fathers, for one of the most
valiant founders of their liberty.
During an instant of profound silence, I cast a glance at the assembly,
in the midst of which I found myself, and was struck with astonishment
in remarking their variety and fantastic appearance. Beside men whose
dignity of countenance, the patriotic exaltation of expression, readily
indicated them to be Americans, were others whose coarse dresses,
vivacity, petulance of movement, and the expansive joy of their visages,
strongly recalled to me the peasantry of my own country; behind these,
near to the door, and on the piazza which surrounded the house, stood
some immovable, impassable, large, red, half naked figures, leaning on a
bow or a long rifle: these were the Indians of the neighbourhood.
After a pause of some seconds, the governor resumed his address, which
he concluded by presenting, with great eloquence, a faithful picture of
the benefits which America had derived from its liberty, and the happy
influence which republican institutions would one day exercise on the
rest of the world. When the orator had finished, a slight murmur of
approbation passed through the assembly, and was prolonged until it was
perceived that General Lafayette was about to reply, when an attentive
silence was restored.
After these reciprocal felicitations, another scene not less interesting
commenced. Some old revolutionary soldiers advanced from the crowd, and
came to shake hands with their old general; while he conversed with
them, and heard them, with softened feelings, cite the names of those of
their ancient companions in arms, who also fought at Brandywine and
Yorktown, but for whom it was not ordained to enjoy the fruits of their
toils, nor to unite their voices with that of their grateful country.
The persons whom I had remarked as having some likeness in dress and
manners to our French peasants, went and came with vivacity in all parts
of the hall, or sometimes formed little groups, from the midst of which
could be heard, in the French language, the most open and animated
expressions of joy. Having been introduced to one of these groups by a
member of the committee of Kaskaskia, I was received at first with great
kindness, and was quickly overwhelmed with a volley of questions, as
soon as they found I was a Frenchman, and accompanied general Lafayette.
“What! are you also come from France? Give us then some news from that
fine, that dear country. Are people happy there? Are they free as they
are here? Ah! what pleasure to see our good Frenchmen from _grand
France_!” and the questions followed with such rapidity, that I knew not
which to understand. I was not long in perceiving that these good men
were as ignorant of the things which concerned their mother country, as
they were enthusiastic. They are acquainted with France only by
tradition from the reign of Louis XIV. and they have no idea of the
convulsions which, during the last forty years, have torn the country of
their fathers. “Have you not had,” said one of them to me, who had just
asked me many questions about General Lafayette, which would not have
been asked by an American child ten years of age, “have you not had
another famous general, called Napoleon, who has made many glorious
wars?” I think if Napoleon had heard such a question asked, his vanity
would have been somewhat shocked by it. He, who believed he filled the
universe with his name, because he had overturned some old thrones of
Europe, and destroyed the liberty of France, was yet hardly known on the
banks of the Mississippi; not more than two thousand leagues from the
theatre of his glory, his name is pronounced with an expression of
doubt! Indeed, there is in this something to damp the most ardent
passion for celebrity: I did my best to reply to the question of my
Canadian, to make him comprehend, as well as those who surrounded him,
who was this _famous General Napoleon_. At the recital of his exploits,
they at first clapped their hands, and assumed an air of superiority, in
saying, “These are our brave Frenchmen. It is only among them that men
like these are to be found!” But when I came to tell them how this
famous general caused himself to be made consul; how he made himself
emperor; how he had successively destroyed our liberty, and paralyzed
the exercise of our rights; how, finally, he had himself fallen, leaving
us, after twenty years of war, nearly at the same point whence we had
started at the commencement of our revolution, they all became sad as if
about to weep, and exclaimed: “And you have suffered all that! How, in
beautiful France, and grand France, are they not free as in the state of
Illinois? Good heavens! is it possible? What, can you not write whatever
you please? Cannot you go every where without passports? Is it not you
who nominate the mayors of your towns and villages? Is it not you who
choose your governors, or your prefects of departments or provinces?
Have you not the right to elect your representatives to the national
assembly? Are none of you called to the election of the chief of the
government, although you pay the whole of such heavy taxes? Alas! our
good Frenchmen of grand France are then more to be pitied than the negro
slaves of Louisiana, who are, indeed, miserable enough! for if these
exercise none of the rights which we all exercise here, they at least
pay no money, and have masters that support them.” During these
exclamations, I did not know what to say. The colour mounted to my
cheeks, and I confess that my national vanity suffered singularly to
hear ignorant Canadians express sentiments of pity for my countrymen,
and draw a parallel to their disadvantage between them and miserable
slaves; but these sentiments were too well founded to admit of my
complaining, and I was silent. I only made a promise to myself to be
more discreet for the future, and not to speak with so much freedom of
the political situation of my country before freemen.
While I was occupied with the Canadians, the crowd, influenced by a
feeling of delicacy and kind attention, insensibly withdrew, to leave
General Lafayette time to take a few moments’ repose while waiting for
the banquet which the citizens had hastily prepared. Wishing to profit
by the short time we had to remain at Kaskaskia, Mr. George Lafayette
and myself went out to view the environs of the village, in company with
some of the inhabitants, and left the general with our other travelling
companions and some old revolutionary soldiers, at Colonel Edgar’s. At
the public square we found nearly all the citizens walking about, and
joyously conversing upon the event of the day. We found in their groups
the same variety of physiognomy that had struck me in the hall. While
Mr. George gathered from an American, the details of the origin and
present situation of Kaskaskia, I approached a small circle of Indians,
in the centre of which was a man of high stature and singular aspect.
His face, without being coppery like that of the Indians, was still very
swarthy. His short dress, his long belt, to which hung a powder-horn,
his long leather leggings, extending above his knees, and all his
equipage, announced a hunter of the forest. He was leaning on a long
rifle, and appeared to inspire by his discourse a lively interest in his
hearers. When he observed me, he came to me without forwardness, but
with marked kindness. He extended his hand, and I gave him mine, which
he shook cordially. I had a moment’s hesitation in addressing him, not
knowing whether he understood English or French; but he spoke to me
first in French, and I soon found myself quite at ease with him. He
informed me that he was of mixed blood, that his mother was of the
Kickapoos tribe, and that his father was a Canadian. He lives among the
Indians of the neighbourhood, who have a great friendship and respect
for him, because, notwithstanding fifty years and fatigue have begun to
whiten his head, he yet equals them in hunting and all the exercises of
the body, and because he often serves them as a mediator between them
and the whites, whose language he perfectly understands, although his
common language is Indian. Those who surrounded him were not all
similarly clothed, nor similarly painted. It was easy to distinguish
some differences in their features and manners. I concluded that they
were not all of the same tribe. The hunter confirmed me in this opinion
by telling me that at this moment, there were about Kaskaskia three or
four camps of Indians, come to sell the furs obtained by their great
hunting during the winter. He named the different tribes who occupied
the camps; but their names were so barbarous, or so badly pronounced,
that I could not comprehend them; I understood distinctly only that of
_Miami_, which, repeated three or four times, roused from his apathy a
little man, who until then stood motionless before me, wrapped in a
blanket; his face, bloated by intemperance, was painted red, blue, and
yellow. At the name of Miami, he raised his head, assumed an air of
ridiculous dignity, and said, “I should be the chief of the Miami
nation. My grandfather was chief, my father was chief; but the Miami
have unjustly decided that I should not succeed my father, and now,
instead of having a great quantity of furs to sell, I have none; I shall
quit Kaskaskia without being able to buy arms, powder, or tobacco.”
While he thus spoke, a man painted in the same way, but of a very lofty
stature and athletic form, regarded him with a disdainful air, and said,
after tapping him on the shoulder, “Dare you to complain of the justice
of the Miami? Thy grandfather was our chief, sayest thou? thy father was
also? But hast thou then forgotten that thy grandfather was the bravest
of our warriors, and that the wisdom of thy father was heard in our
councils as the voice of the Great Spirit? But, by what title wouldst
thou command among men? Feeble as an old woman, thou hast not even the
courage to hunt to satisfy thy wants, and thou wouldst sell us to the
whites for a bottle of whiskey.” A contemptuous gesture terminated this
rude apostrophe, which was translated into French for me at the time by
the stout hunter; and the fallen prince, sadly leaning on a small bow,
similar to those with which the Indian boys exercise, kept silence. His
fate seemed to me truly deserving of pity; I could not, however, avoid
feeling a sentiment of esteem for the Miami nation, who do not believe
that legitimacy in a prince can supply the place of all the virtues.
I was still among the Indians, questioning the hunter as to the
situation and force of their tribes, which civilization is rapidly
diminishing, when I saw the secretary of the governor of Louisiana, Mr.
Caire, approach, who came to propose that I should go with him to visit
an Indian encampment, at a very short distance from the village. I
consented, and we set off immediately, in order to return by the dinner
hour. Leaving Kaskaskia, we crossed a river of the same name, on a
wooden bridge solidly built and firmly connected. We then marched about
twenty minutes on the plain, to the entrance of a forest, which we
penetrated by a straight path traced along a rivulet. As we advanced,
the ground suddenly elevated itself to the right and left, and we
quickly found ourselves in a kind of pass, formed by a succession of
small hills, covered with thickets. After about a quarter of an hour’s
walk, we arrived at a fence, which we climbed, and behind which two
horses attracted our attention by the noise of the bells hung round
their necks. A little further on, the pass enlarging, formed a
delightful little valley, in the middle of which some huts of bark were
raised in a half circle; this was the Indian camp we sought. The
openings of these huts were all towards the centre of the circle, and
the planks elevated about three feet from the ground, were slightly
inclined, like the cover of a field bed. With the exception of a very
old woman cooking at a fire in the open air, we found no person in the
camp. Either from spite, or because she neither comprehended French nor
English, this woman would reply to none of our questions, and saw us
with the greatest indifference, look at, and even handle, all the
objects which attracted our curiosity in the huts. All was arranged with
sufficient order, and it was easy to recognize the places occupied by
the women, by the little utensils of the toilet, such as
looking-glasses, pins, bags of paint, &c. which we remarked there. After
a minute examination of this little camp, we were about to leave it,
when I was arrested on the border of the streamlet which ran through it,
by the sight of a small mill-wheel, which appeared to have been thrown
on the bank by the rapidity of the current. I took it up and placed it
where I thought it had originally been put by the children, on two
stones elevated a little above the water; and the current striking the
wings, made it turn rapidly. This puerility, (which probably would have
passed from my memory, if, on the same evening, it had not placed me
before the Indians, in a situation sufficiently extraordinary,) greatly
excited the attention of the old woman, who, by her gestures, expressed
to us a lively satisfaction.
On returning to Kaskaskia, we found Mr. de Syon, an amiable young
Frenchman of much intelligence, who, on the invitation of General
Lafayette, left Washington city with us to visit the southern and
western states. Like us he had just made an excursion into the
neighbourhood, and appeared quite joyous at the discovery he had made;
he had met, in the midst of the forest, at the head of a troop of
Indians, a pretty young woman, who spoke French very well, and expressed
herself with a grace at which he appeared as much astonished as we were.
She had asked him if it was true, that Lafayette was at Kaskaskia, and
on his replying affirmatively, she manifested a great desire to see him.
“I always carry with me,” said she to Mr. de Syon, “a relique, that is
very dear to me; I would wish to show it to him; it will prove to him
that his name is not less venerated in the midst of our tribes, than
among the white Americans, for whom he fought.” And in speaking thus,
she drew from her bosom a little pouch which enclosed a letter carefully
wrapped in several pieces of paper. “It is from Lafayette,” said she,
“he wrote it to my father a long time since, and my father, when he
died, left it to me as the most precious thing he possessed.” At the
sight of this letter, Mr. de Syon proposed to the Indian girl to go with
him to Kaskaskia, assuring her that General Lafayette would be very much
pleased to see her; but this proposition seemed to embarrass her, and
under various pretexts, she refused to come. “However,” she added, “if
you have any thing to say to me this evening, you will find me in my
camp, which is close by the village; any one can direct you the way, for
I am well known at Kaskaskia. My name is Mary.”
This recital of Mr. de Syon excited my curiosity keenly, and I would
have willingly returned with him immediately to search for Mary; but, at
this moment, a member of the committee of Kaskaskia came to inform me
that they were about to sit down to dinner, and we saw General Lafayette
going out of Colonel Edgar’s, escorted by many citizens and crossing to
Colonel Sweet’s house where we were to dine. We joined the procession
and took our places at table, where the general was seated under a
canopy of flowers prepared by the ladies of Kaskaskia, with much skill
and taste; and which produced, by the blending of the richest and most
lively colours, the effect of a rainbow.
I spoke to General Lafayette of the meeting with the young Indian girl;
and from the desire he manifested to see her, I left the table with Mr.
de Syon, at the moment when the company began to exchange patriotic
toasts, and we sought a guide to Mary’s camp. Chance assisted us
wonderfully, in directing us to an Indian of the same tribe that we
wished to visit. Conducted by him, we crossed the bridge of Kaskaskia,
and notwithstanding the darkness, soon recognized the path and rivulet I
had seen in the morning with Mr. Caire. When we were about to enter the
enclosure, we were arrested by the fierce barking of two stout dogs
which sprang at, and would probably have bitten us, but for the timely
interference of our guide. We arrived at the middle of the camp, which
was lighted by a large fire, around which a dozen Indians were squatted,
preparing their supper; they received us with cordiality, and, as soon
as they were informed of the object of our visit, one of them conducted
us to Mary’s hut, whom we found sleeping on a bison skin. At the voice
of Mr. de Syon, which she recognized, she arose, and listened
attentively to the invitation from General Lafayette to come to
Kaskaskia; she seemed quite flattered by it, but said before deciding to
accompany us she wished to mention it to her husband. While she was
consulting with him, I heard a piercing cry; and turning round I saw
near me the old woman I had found alone in the camp in the morning: she
had just recognized me by the light of the fire, and designated me to
her companions, who, quitting immediately their occupations, rushed
round me in a circle, and began to dance with demonstrations of great
joy and gratitude. Their tawny and nearly naked bodies, their faces
fantastically painted, their expressive gesticulations, the reflection
of the fire, which gave a red tinge to all the surrounding objects,
every thing gave to this scene something of an infernal aspect, and I
fancied myself for an instant in the midst of demons. Mary, witnessing
my embarrassment, put an end to it, by ordering the dance to cease, and
then explained to me the _honours_ which they had just rendered me.
“When we wish to know if an enterprize we meditate will be happy, we
place in a rivulet a small wheel slightly supported on two stones; if
the wheel turns during three suns, without being thrown down, the augury
is favourable: but if the current carry it away, and throws it upon the
bank, it is a certain proof that our project is not approved by the
Great Spirit, unless however a stranger comes to replace the little
wheel before the end of the third day. You are this stranger who have
restored our _manitou_ and our hopes, and this is your title to be thus
celebrated among us.” In pronouncing these last words, an ironical smile
played on her lips, which caused me to doubt her faith in the _manitou_.
“You do not appear to be very much convinced,” said I to her, “of the
efficacy of the service which I have rendered you in raising the
_manitou_?” She silently shook her head; then raising her eyes, “I have
been taught,” said she, “to place my confidence higher;—all my hopes are
in the God I have been taught to believe in; the God of the Christians.”
I had at first been much astonished to hear an Indian woman speak French
so well, and I was not less so in learning that she was a Christian;
Mary perceived it, and to put an end to my surprise, she related to me
her history, while her husband, and those who were to accompany her to
Kaskaskia, hastily took their supper, of maize cooked in milk. She
informed me that her father, who was a chief of one of the nations who
inhabited the shores of the great lakes of the north, had formerly
fought with a hundred of his followers under the orders of Lafayette,
when the latter commanded an army on the frontiers. That he had acquired
much glory, and gained the friendship of the Americans. A long time
after, that is, about twenty years ago, he left the shores of the great
lakes with some of his warriors, his wife and daughter; and after having
marched a long time, he established himself on the shores of the river
Illinois. “I was very young, then, but have not yet, however, forgotten
the horrible sufferings we endured during this long journey, made in a
rigorous winter, across a country peopled by nations with whom we were
unacquainted; they were such, that my poor mother, who nearly always
carried me on her shoulders, already well loaded with baggage, died
under them some days after our arrival; my father placed me under the
care of another woman, who also emigrated with us, and occupied himself
in securing the tranquil possession of the lands on which we had come to
establish ourselves, by forming alliances with our new neighbours. The
Kickapoos were those who received us best, and we soon considered
ourselves as forming a part of their nation. The year following my
father was chosen by them, with some from among themselves, to go and
regulate some affairs of the nation with the agent of the United States,
residing here at Kaskaskia; he wished that I should be of the company;
for, although the Kickapoos had shown themselves very generous and
hospitable towards him, he feared that some war might break out in his
absence, as he well knew the intrigues of the English to excite the
Indians against the Americans. This same apprehension induced him to
accede to the request made by the American agent, to leave me in his
family, to be educated with his infant daughter. My father had much
esteem for the whites of that great nation for whom he had formerly
fought; he never had cause to complain of them, and he who offered to
take charge of me inspired him with great confidence by the frankness of
his manners, and above all, by the fidelity with which he treated the
affairs of the Indians; he, therefore, left me, promising to return to
see me every year after the great winter’s hunt; he came, in fact,
several times afterwards; and I, notwithstanding the disagreeableness of
a sedentary life, grew up, answering the expectations of my careful
benefactor and his wife. I became attached to their daughter, who grew
up with me, and the truths of the Christian religion easily supplanted
in my mind the superstition of my fathers, whom I had scarcely known;
yet, I confess to you, notwithstanding the influence of religion and
civilization on my youthful heart, the impressions of infancy were not
entirely effaced. If the pleasure of wandering conducted me into the
shady forest, I breathed more freely, and it was with reluctance that I
returned home; when, in the cool of the evening, seated in the door of
my adopted father’s habitation, I heard in the distance, through the
silence of the night, the piercing voice of the Indians, rallying to
return to camp, I started with a thrill of joy, and my feeble voice
imitated the voice of the savage with a facility that affrighted my
young companion; and when occasionally some warriors came to consult my
benefactor in regard to their treaties, or hunters to offer him a part
of the produce of their chase, I was always the first to run to meet and
welcome them; I testified my joy to them by every imaginable means, and
I could not avoid admiring and wishing for their simple ornaments, which
appeared to me far preferable to the brilliant decorations of the
whites.
“In the meanwhile, for five years my father had not appeared at the
period of the return from the winter’s hunting; but a warrior, whom I
had often seen with him, came and found me one evening at the entrance
of the forest, and said to me: ‘Mary, thy father is old and feeble, he
has been unable to follow us here; but he wishes to see thee once more
before he dies, and he has charged me to conduct thee to him.’ In saying
these words he forcibly took my hand, and dragged me with him. I had not
even time to reply to him, nor even to take any resolution, before we
were at a great distance, and I saw well that there was no part left for
me, but to follow him. We marched nearly all night, and at the dawn of
day, we arrived at a bark hut, built in the middle of a little valley.
Here I saw my father, his eyes turned towards the just rising sun. His
face was painted as for battle. His tomahawk ornamented with many
scalps, was beside him; he was calm and silent as an Indian who awaited
death. As soon as he saw me he drew out of a pouch a paper wrapped with
care in a very dry skin, and gave it me, requesting that I should
preserve it as a most precious thing. ‘I wished to see thee once more
before dying,’ said he, ‘and to give thee this paper, which is the most
powerful charm (_manitou_) which thou canst employ with the whites to
interest them in thy favour; for all those to whom I have shown it have
manifested towards me a particular attachment. I received it from a
great French warrior, whom the English dreaded as much as the Americans
loved, and with whom I fought in my youth.’ After these words my father
was silent, next morning he expired. Sciakape, the name of the warrior
who came for me, covered the body of my father with the branches of
trees, and took me back to my guardian.”
Here Mary suspended her narrative, and presented to me a letter a little
darkened by time, but in good preservation. “Stay,” said she to me,
smiling, “you see that I have faithfully complied with the charge of my
father; I have taken great care of his _manitou_.” I opened the letter
and recognized the signature and handwriting of General Lafayette. It
was dated at head quarters, Albany, June, 1778, after the northern
campaign, and addressed to Panisciowa, an Indian chief of one of the Six
Nations, to thank him for the courageous manner in which he had served
the American cause.
“Well,” said Mary, “now that you know me well enough to introduce me to
General Lafayette, shall we go to him that I may also greet him whom my
father revered as the courageous warrior and the friend of our nations?”
“Willingly,” I replied, “but it seems to me that you have promised to
inform us in what manner, after having tasted for some time the sweets
of civilization, you came to return to the rude and savage life of the
Indians?” At this question, Mary looked downwards and seemed troubled.
However, after a slight hesitation, she resumed in a lower tone: “After
the death of my father, Sciakape often returned to see me. We soon
became attached to each other; he did not find it difficult to determine
me to follow him into the forest, where I became his wife. This
resolution at first very much afflicted my benefactors; but when they
saw that I found myself happy, they pardoned me; and each year, during
all the time that our encampment is established near Kaskaskia, I rarely
pass a day without going to see them; if you wish, we can visit them,
for their house is close by our way, and you will see by the reception
they will give me, that they retain their esteem and friendship.” Mary
pronounced these last words with a degree of pride, which proved to us
that she feared that we might have formed a bad opinion of her, on
account of her flight from the home of her benefactors with Sciakape. We
accepted her proposition, and she gave the signal for departure. At her
call, her husband and eight warriors presented themselves to escort us.
M. de Syon offered her his arm, and we began our march. We were all very
well received by the family of Mr. Mesnard; but Mary above all received
the most tender marks of affection from the persons of the household.
Mr. Mesnard, Mary’s adopted father, was at Kaskaskia, as one of the
committee charged with the reception of Lafayette, and Mrs. Mesnard
asked us if we would undertake to conduct her daughter to the ball which
she herself was prevented from attending by indisposition. We assented
with pleasure; and, while Mary assisted Miss Mesnard to complete her
toilet, we seated ourselves round a great fire in the kitchen. Scarcely
were we seated, when I saw moving in the corner, a black mass, of which
I had at first a difficulty in recognising the nature and form; but,
after an attentive examination, I found it was an old negro doubled by
age. His face was so much wrinkled and deformed by time, that it was
impossible to distinguish in it a single feature, and I guessed the
place of his mouth by the little cloud of tobacco-smoke which escaped
thence, from time to time. This man appeared to give great attention to
the conversation which took place between us and a young man of Mr.
Mesnard’s family; when he understood that we travelled with General
Lafayette, and that we came from St. Louis, he asked if we had found
many Frenchmen there. I replied that we had seen some, and, among
others, Mr. Choteau, the founder of the town. “What!” cried he with a
loud voice, which seemed not to belong to so decrepid a body—“What! you
found the _little Choteau_? Oh! I know him well, so I do, that little
Choteau; we have travelled a great deal together on the Mississippi, and
that at a time when very few of the whites had come this far.” “But do
you know,” said I, “that he whom you call the little Choteau is very
old, that he is certainly more than ninety years of age?” “Oh! I believe
that well! but what of that? that does not prevent that I should know
him well, when a child.” “Of what age are you, then?” “Of that I know
nothing, as they never taught me to count. All that I know is, that I
left New Orleans with my master, who made part of the expedition sent by
the Navigation Company of the Mississippi, under the orders of the young
Choteau, to go and build a fort high up the river. Young Choteau was
hardly seventeen, but he was commander of the expedition, because his
father was, they said, one of the richest proprietors of the company.
After having rowed a long time against the current and suffered great
fatigue, we arrived at last not far from here, where we set about
building Fort Chartres. It seems as if I was now there; I see from here
the great stones which bore the great arches we built. Every one of us
said, ‘Here is a fort will last longer than us all, and longer than our
children.’ I also believed it well, and yet I have seen the last of it;
for it is now in ruins, and I am yet living. Do you know, sir, how many
years it is since we built Fort Chartres?” “At least eighty years, if I
am not deceived.” “Well, count, and you will know very nearly my age. I
was then at least thirty years old, for the little Choteau appeared to
me a child; I have already served three masters, and I have suffered a
great deal.” “According to that account, you are a hundred and ten years
old, Daddy Francis.” “Yes, indeed, I believe I am at the least that, for
it is a long time that I have laboured and suffered.” “How!” said the
young man who was seated near him, “do you suffer now, Francis?” “Oh!
pardon me, sir, I speak not of the time I have lived in this house.
Since I belonged to Mr. Mesnard it is very different; I am now happy.
Instead of serving others, they all serve me. Mr. Mesnard will not even
allow me to go and bring in a little wood for the fire; he says I am too
old for that. But I must tell the truth, Mr. Mesnard is not a master to
me; he is a man—he is a friend.”
This homage of the old slave, rendered to the humanity of his master,
gave us a high idea of the character of Mr. Mesnard. While we were yet
listening to old Francis, Mary and Miss Mesnard came to inform us that
they were ready, and asked us if we would be on our way, as it began to
grow late. We took leave of Mrs. Mesnard, and found our Indian escort
who had waited patiently for us at the door, and who resumed their
position near us at some distance in front, to guide and protect our
march, as if we had been crossing an enemy’s country. The night was
quite dark, but the temperature was mild, and the fire-flies illuminated
the atmosphere around us. M. de Syon conducted Miss Mesnard, and I gave
my arm to Mary, who, notwithstanding the darkness, walked with a
confidence and lightness which only a forest life could produce. The
fire-flies attracted and interested me much; for, although this was not
the first time I had observed them, I had never before seen them in such
numbers. I asked Mary if these insects, which from their appearance seem
so likely to astonish the imagination, had never given place among the
Indians to popular beliefs or tales. “Not among the nations of these
countries, where every year we are familiarised with their great
numbers,” said she to me, “but I have heard that among the tribes of the
north, they commonly believe that they are the souls of departed
friends, who return to console them or demand the performance of some
promise. I even know several ballads on this subject. One of them
appears to have been made a long time since, in a nation which lives
farther north and no longer exists. It is by songs that great events and
popular traditions are ordinarily preserved among us, and this ballad,
which I have often heard sung by the young girls of our tribe, leaves no
doubt as to the belief of some Indians concerning the fire-fly.” I asked
her to sing me this song, which she did with much grace. Although I did
not comprehend the words, which were Indian, I observed a great harmony
in their arrangement, and, in the very simple music in which they were
sung, an expression of deep melancholy.
When she had finished the ballad, I asked her if she could not translate
it for me into French, so that I might comprehend the sense. “With
difficulty,” she said, “for I have always found great obstacles to
translating exactly the expressions of our Indians into French, when I
have served them as interpreter with the whites; but I will try.” And
she translated nearly as follows:
“The rude season of the chase was over. Antakaya, the handsomest, the
most skilful, and bravest of the Cherokee warriors, came to the banks of
the Avolachy, where he was expected by Manahella, the young virgin
promised to his love and bravery.
“The first day of the moon of flowers was to witness their union.
Already had the two families, assembled round the same fire, given their
assent; already had the young men and women prepared and ornamented the
new cabin, which was to receive the happy couple, when, at the rising of
the sun, a terrible cry, the cry of war, sent forth by the scout who
always watches at the summit of the hill, called the old men to the
council, and the warriors to arms.
“The whites appeared on the frontier. Murder and robbery accompanied
them. The star of fertility had not reached its noontide height, and
already Antakaya had departed at the head of his warriors to repel
robbery, murder, and the whites.
“Go, said Manahella to him, endeavouring to stifle her grief, go fight
the cruel whites, and I will pray to the Great Spirit to wrap thee with
a cloud, proof against their blows. I will pray him to bring thee back
to the banks of the Avolachy, there to be loved by Manahella.
“I will return to thee, replied Antakaya, I will return to thee. My
arrows have never disappointed my aim, my tomahawk shall be bathed in
the blood of the whites; I will bring back their scalps to ornament the
door of thy cabin; then I shall be worthy of Manahella; then shall we
love in peace, then shall we be happy.
“The first day of the moon of flowers had brightly dawned, and many more
had passed away, and none had heard from Antakaya and his warriors.
Stooping on the shores of the Avolachy, the mournful Manahella every
evening raised to the evil spirits little pyramids of polished pebbles,
to appease their anger and avert their resistance to her well beloved;
but the evil spirits were inflexible, and their violent blasts overthrew
the little pyramids.
“One evening of the last moon of flowers, Manahella met on the banks of
the river a pale and bloody warrior. ‘Die, poor ivy,’ said he to
Manahella; ‘die! the noblest oak of the forest, that proud oak under
whose shade thou hoped to enjoy repose and happiness, is fallen! It has
fallen under the redoubled strokes of the whites. In its fall it has
crushed those who felled it, but it is fallen! Die, poor ivy, die! for
the oak which was to give thee support is fallen!’—Two days after,
Manahella was no more.
“Antakaya, whose courage had been deceived by fate, had fallen covered
with wounds into the hands of the whites, who carried him far away. But
he escaped; and after wandering long through the forest, he returned to
mourn his defeat and meditate vengeance with Manahella. When he arrived,
she was no more. Agitated by the most violent despair, he ran in the
evening to the banks of the Avolachy, calling Manahella, but the echo
alone replied to the accents of his grief.
“O Manahella! he exclaimed, if my arrows have disappointed my skill, if
my tomahawk has not spilt the blood of the whites, if I have not brought
thee their scalps to ornament the door of thy cabin, forgive me! It is
not the fault of my courage, the evil spirits have fought against me.
And yet I have suffered no complaint to escape me, not a sigh, when the
iron of my enemies tore my breast; I have not abased myself by asking my
life! They preserved it against my will, and I am only consoled by the
hope of one day avenging myself, and offering thee many of their scalps.
O Manahella! come, if but to tell me that thou pardonest me, and that
thou permittest me to follow thee into the world of the Great Spirit.
“At the same instant a vivid light, pure and lambent, appeared to the
eyes of the unfortunate Antakaya. He saw in it the soul of his beloved,
and followed it through the valley during all the night, supplicating it
to stay and to pardon him. At the dawn of the day he found himself on
the border of a great lake; the light had disappeared, and he believed
that it had passed over the water. Immediately, although feeble and
fatigued, he made a canoe of the trunk of a tree which he hollowed, and
with a branch he made a paddle. At the end of the day his work was
achieved. With the darkness the deceptive light returned; and during all
the night Antakaya pursued the delusion on the face of the unsteady
waters. But it again disappeared before the light of the sun, and with
it vanished the slight breath of hope and the life of Antakaya.”
Mary ended her ballad, and I expressed to her my thanks as we arrived at
the bridge of Kaskaskia. There, Sciakape collected his escort, said a
few words to his wife, and left us to enter the village alone. We
approached the house of Mr. Morrison, at which the ball was given to
General Lafayette. I then felt that Mary trembled; her trouble was so
great that she could not conceal it from me. I asked her the cause. If
you would spare me a great mortification, she said, you will not conduct
me among the ladies of Kaskaskia. They are now without doubt in their
most brilliant dresses, and the coarseness of my clothes will inspire
them with contempt and pity, two sentiments which will equally affect
me. Besides I know that they blame me for having renounced the life of
the whites, and I feel little at ease in their presence. I promised what
she desired, and she became reassured. Arrived at Mr. Morrison’s, I
conducted her into a lower chamber, and went to the hall to inform
General Lafayette that the young Indian girl awaited him below. He
hastened down, and several of the committee with him. He saw and heard
Mary with pleasure, and could not conceal his emotion on recognizing his
letter, and observing with what holy veneration it had been preserved
during nearly half a century in a savage nation, among whom he had not
even supposed his name had ever penetrated. On her part, the daughter of
Panisciowa expressed with vivacity the happiness she enjoyed in seeing
him, along with whom her father had the honour to fight for the _good
American cause_.
After a half hour’s conversation, in which General Lafayette was pleased
to relate the evidences of the fidelity and courageous conduct of some
Indian nations towards the Americans, during the revolutionary war, Mary
manifested a wish to retire, and I accompanied her to the bridge, where
I replaced her under the care of Sciakape and his escort, and bade them
farewell.
At midnight, the general received the farewell of the ladies and
citizens of Kaskaskia, who were assembled at Mr. Morrison’s, and we
returned on board our boat, to continue immediately our navigation
towards the mouth of the Ohio. Governor Coles greatly wished that we
should cross that part of the state of Illinois comprised in the angle
formed by the two great rivers, and meet the boat again at Shawneetown,
where we should have been able to visit the salt mines, which are said
to be very fine; but besides that this would have taken more time than
he could devote to this visit, this route did not accord with the plan
of ascending the Cumberland river to Nashville, where the envoys from
Tennessee were charged to conduct him. Mr. Coles embarked with us to
accompany the general to the state of Tennessee, and we felt a real
pleasure on account of it, for he is a man of agreeable conversation and
extraordinary merit. All persons agree in saying that he fulfils his
duties as governor with as much philanthropy as justice. He owes his
elevation to the office of governor, to his opinions on the abolition of
the slavery of the blacks. He was originally a proprietor in Virginia,
where, according to the custom of the country, he cultivated his lands
by negro slaves. After having for a long time strongly expressed his
aversion for this kind of culture, he thought it his duty to put in
practice the principles he had professed, and he decided to give liberty
to all his slaves; but knowing that their emancipation in Virginia would
be more injurious than useful to them, he took them all with him into
the state of Illinois, where he not only gave them their liberty, but
also established them at his own expense, in such a manner that they
should be able to procure for themselves a happy existence by their
labour. This act of justice and humanity considerably diminished his
fortune, but occasioned him no regrets. At this period, some men, led
astray by ancient prejudices, endeavoured to amend that article of the
constitution of the state of Illinois, which prohibits slavery: Mr.
Coles opposed these men with all the ardour of his philanthropic soul,
and with all the superiority of his enlightened mind. In this honourable
struggle, he was sustained by the people of Illinois; justice and
humanity triumphed, and soon after Mr. Coles was elected governor, by an
immense majority. This was an honourable recompense, and to this there
is now joined another which must be very grateful to him; his liberated
negroes are perfectly successful, and afford a conclusive argument
against the adversaries of emancipation.
Some hours after our departure from Kaskaskia, we were at the mouth of
the Ohio, which we ascended to the mouth of Cumberland river, where we
arrived before night. There we awaited the steam-boat Artizan, to take
us to Nashville. When it was necessary for us to quit the Natchez, and
our travelling companions from Louisiana, we experienced an oppression
of feeling as if we were quitting our family and home. This feeling will
be easily comprehended, when it is understood that we had passed nearly
a month and travelled nearly eighteen hundred miles on board this boat,
in the midst of a society, amiable, intelligent, and obliging, and of
which each individual had become for us an amiable friend. On their
side, Messieurs Morse, Ducros, Prieur, and Caire, manifested to us
regrets not less sincere. Notwithstanding their long absence from New
Orleans, they would have voluntarily prolonged their mission, to pass a
longer time with their dear Lafayette; and our excellent Captain Davis
warmly expressed his regrets at seeing another vessel than his own about
to receive the nation’s guest; but on the other hand, the envoys from
Tennessee were not disposed to cede to others the right of doing the
honours of their state; and even if they had chosen to accept the
services of Captain Davis, they were forced to renounce them, because
the Natchez was unfit to navigate the shallow waters of the Cumberland.
We were, therefore, obliged to take leave of the Louisianian committee,
and that of the state of Mississippi, with great regret, and go on board
of the Artizan, where we were received and treated in a manner that
foretold we would soon experience a renewal of our sorrow in separating
from our new companions.