Chapter XI: Part 11

“With this first gift, O Sachem, do I march in peace to visit the nations on the great river, which courses to the sea. With this second, I declare that God, the mighty creator, has pity on you, and it is for you to acknowledge and obey him. With this third, I declare that the Great Chief of the French informs you that he has spread peace everywhere, and has overcome the Iroquois, the enemies of you all, and has put them down forever. With this fourth I beg you to tell me the way to the sea, so that I can reach it without having trouble with the nations which I must pass in order to reach it.”

This speech pleased the Great Sachem mightily, and rising, he laid his hand upon a small Indian child, saying:

“I thank thee, Black Gown and thee, Frenchmen, for taking so much pains to come and visit us. Never has the earth been so lovely nor the sun so bright as to-day. Never has our river been so calm or so free from rocks, for your canoes have removed them as they passed. Never has our tobacco had so fine a flavor, nor our corn appeared so beautiful as we behold it to-day. Here is my son that I give thee, so that thou mayest know my heart. I pray thee to take pity on me and all my nation. Thou knowest the Great Spirit who has made us all, then speak thou to him and hear thou his words; ask thou him to give me life and health, and to come and dwell amongst us, that we may know him.”

Saying this, he gave the little Indian boy to Marquette and then presented him with a calumet, or peace pipe. He then urged the Frenchmen to proceed no farther and not to expose themselves to the dangers that would meet them with hostile tribes:

“I would esteem it a great happiness to lose my life for the glory of Jesus Christ,—he who has made us all,” replied Marquette.

The old Sachem marveled much at this answer.

After several days of pleasant intercourse with the Illinois, the voyagers again took to their canoes and sailed southward towards the mouth of the Mississippi. Marquette left the little Indian boy behind him, for he did not wish to take him from his father. They had not gone very far, when they passed a rocky promontory where two great monsters had been painted upon the brown stones by some Indian artist.

“They are as large as a calf,” says Marquette in his diary. “They have horns on their heads like those of a deer, a horrible look, red eyes, a beard like a tiger, a face somewhat like a man’s, a body covered with scales, and so long a tail that it winds all around the body, passing above the head and going back between the legs, ending somewhat like a fish’s tail. Green, red, and black are the colors composing this picture.”

Fortunately there were no monsters in the country similar to these awful pictures, and the worst that the explorers encountered were dangerous masses of fallen trees, through which the canoes had a difficult time to wend a tortuous passage.

Near the mouth of the Ohio River the Frenchmen passed a part of the shore much dreaded by the redskins, who thought that an evil Manitou lived there, who devoured all travelers. The Illinois had warned the good priest to avoid the place. Yet the evil monster turned out to be a small bay full of dangerous rocks, through which the current of the river whirled about with a furious commotion, driving the canoes through a narrow channel filled with frothing spray and whirling spume. The _couriers de bois_ sat tight, paddled hard, and pulled away from this peril.

Yet death soon stared the navigators in the face, for, when they reached the mouth of the Arkansas, armed warriors saw them, plunged into the river, and approached the two canoes, uttering fierce battle cries. Others came from the bank in wooden boats, hurling wooden clubs at the Frenchmen. Many redskins on the shore seized bows and arrows, pointing them at the explorers in a menacing manner. It was certainly a ticklish position and one that called for all the presence of mind that brave Pere Marquette possessed.

Rising in his canoe, the good priest held up the calumet, or peace pipe, which the Illinois had given him.

It apparently had no effect on the young braves, and they came swimming along, knives held in their teeth, ready and eager for a hand-to-hand battle in the muddy water.

Again the good priest raised the pipe of peace.

This time it had some effect, for some old men on the bank called to the young braves to desist in their attack, saying:

“Brothers, our young men shall not hurt you. Come ashore and we will have a big feast. Ugh! Ugh! You are welcome here.”

So the voyagers heaved sighs of relief, paddled ashore, and had a grand banquet. Next day, ten of the men of this tribe guided them farther down the stream, and introduced them to the next tribe, which lived opposite the mouth of the Arkansas River.

They seemed to like good eating as well as do the natives of Arkansas in our day, for they had a noble banquet at which was served boiled dog, roast corn, and watermelon.

As I have said before, Father Marquette was suffering much with fever. As for his companions, they wished to return, for, said one: “If we go farther south, some Spaniards will capture us, or we will be killed by fiercer Indians than we have yet met with.”

So they started to ascend the muddy river, toiling terribly against the current, but ever watchful of a night attack, and careful to sleep in the canoes, well away from the bank. Yet on, on, they went towards the north until the mouth of the river Illinois was reached. Into this they turned, paddled to its source, portaged into gray Lake Michigan, and soon were homeward bound for the busy post of Sault Ste. Marie. Marquette was quite ill with the fever and worn out with the exertion of the long journey, so at Green Bay he remained at the Jesuit mission of St. Francis Xavier, established there some years before. Joliet, on the other hand—apparently an iron man—was feeling splendidly. He had traveled only 2,767 miles in a birch canoe and was as well and hearty as when he had started. A true athlete, this Joliet, and one who must have had muscles of steel!

It was now September, and the explorers had been away for five months. It was also the time of stress and of storm on the Great Lakes, so it was thought best to pass the winter quietly at the little mission, there to write up the report of this wonderful journey. Both adventurers, therefore, sat down to rest, busying themselves in editing their journals. Marquette’s alone has been preserved; as for Joliet’s, his was upset in his canoe, when returning to Quebec in the following Spring, and all of his papers were lost in the frothing current of the raging La Chine rapids of the Ottawa River, near Montreal. Marquette’s account, with maps drawn from memory, reached his superiors in the Jesuit mission at Quebec, and they are to-day of great interest to historians, geographers, and antiquarians.

On the way to Green Bay, the good priest had promised the Illinois Indians that he would return to them in the Spring, in order to preach the gospel. Although much shattered in health, because of the fever which had fastened itself upon him, he again started south in October, 1674. Dismissing his great accomplishment from his mind, again he turned to teach the savages the words of Christ. Reaching the Chicago River, he found it covered with ice, so he remained at a poor log cabin, near the shore of Lake Michigan. He was ill, but brave, and, when the warm breath of Spring again brought tassels to the willows, this noble priest of God pushed southward to the country of the friendly Illinois.

The redskins loved the peaceful soldier of the cross and welcomed him, “as an angel from Heaven.” Easter time soon came, and a great service was held for the red men and their wives and children. First the priest presented the chiefs with gifts of wampum to attest his love and the importance of his mission, then he explained the doctrine of Christianity and his reason for journeying to this wild and distant land. “I cannot stay longer,” he said, in conclusion, “but the peace of God be with you.”

The children of the forest listened to him with great joy and appreciation, and, at the conclusion of his address, begged him to return to them again. They escorted him to his canoe with great pomp and ceremony, many of the warriors accompanying him for thirty miles. Then they waved “good-bye” saying: “Come again to us, good father, for we love you right well. Come again, for you are truly a brother of the Great Spirit.”

Alas! the good priest’s strength now began to fail him and he became so ill and weak that he had to be carried by his faithful attendants. The season was stormy, and, as the Frenchmen paddled northward towards Green Bay, they had to wait in the land-locked harbors of the St. Joseph River, the Kalamazoo, the Grand, and the Muskegon. The white-caps raged on Lake Michigan, so that it was not safe for the frail birch-bark canoe to venture upon the tossing waves.

Poor Father Marquette! your journeys are almost over! Ill, weak, exhausted, the gentle priest had to be carried upon the shoulders of his faithful _couriers de bois_.

“Take me to the shore,” he said, weakly. “Build me a cabin and let me there give up my soul to Christ. I cannot live much longer and it is well. God’s will be done.”

Near the present city of Ludington, upon a plot of rising ground, the expiring Marquette selected a place to die. His companions made a rude, log cabin, laid him upon a bed of evergreens, over which were stretched his blankets, and, as the white-breasted woodthrush sang a soft cadence from the branch of the wild apple tree, the gentle soul of the explorer and Jesuit Missionary went to the Great Beyond. His rough boatmen clustered about him with tears in their eyes, and they have said that, as the noble man-of-God awaited Death, his countenance beamed and was aglow with the spark of a curious and brilliant radiance.

Spring came. Some Huron Indians, whom Marquette had instructed at his mission at La Pointe, heard of his death and burial as they were returning from a hunt in the vast woods of northern Michigan. They sought the grave of this good man, whom they had so tenderly loved. With reverent hands they removed him from his forest sepulchre, carried him to their canoe, and started back to the little chapel which he had built at St. Ignace.

Thirty canoes formed a funeral procession which passed along the Great Lakes for nearly two hundred and fifty miles. When the mission was reached, the cortége approached the land, where a vast concourse of Indians, trappers, soldiers, priests, and half-breeds, paid reverence to this sweet-souled Jesuit missionary. Here, in the little church, he was laid to rest, and here, in 1877, a splendid monument was erected to the memory of that noble Christian gentleman, who had floated down the turbid current of the Mississippi in a memorable journey of exploration. _Pax vobiscum, Pere Marquette!_

THE BURIAL OF GOOD FATHER MARQUETTE.

Lift him gently, redskinned brothers, let no voice disturb his rest,
Peace is here, the great blue heron wings his way from out the West.
The tiny wren is gently trilling; the swallow dips and darts around,
As the veery carols sweetly: “True! His equal ne’er’ll be found.”

Softly, softly, tread so lightly, to the border of the lake;
Bow your heads and keep the silence, as the bending branches shake.
Place him in the birch barque’s bottom, cover him with blankets fine,
Paddle gently, oh, so gently, as the wind sobs through the pine.

Yea! the wind speaks, and it whispers, as the cortége wanders past,
“Marquette! Marquette! Son of Jesus! You have reached the land of
rest!
In the Kingdom of the Blessed, in the Vale of shadows dim,
Marquette! Marquette! Son of Jesus! You will rest at last with Him.”

And the wild goose—Old Shebogah—honks a pæan from the sky,
Saying: “Farewell, farewell, brother, would that I, myself could die,
So that I could wander with you through the vale of shadowy tears,
Would that I could traverse with you, through the mist of golden
years!”

And the squirrel—little Ooquah—chatters shrilly from the glade;
“Farewell! Farewell! Father, when you are gone I’ll be afraid.
Yea, I’ll hide from men and maidens, for my friend has passed away,
Farewell! Farewell! Father! Sad the scene and sad the day!”

And the beaver, sleek and square-tailed, casts his brown eyes on the
lake,
Sobbing, mutt’ring; “Farewell! Father! All my kin obeisance make.
You, a good man, never harmed us; you, a brave man, never killed;
Farewell! Farewell! Father! Man of God in kindness skilled.”

And the blue jay—bad Mootsito—scolding cries out from the oak,
“Good night! Good night! Father! Would that I could be your cloak,
Would that I could travel with you, would that I could shield from
harm,
Good night! Farewell! Father! The woods are cold. They’ve lost their
charm.”

Gently! Gently! Paddling northward, past the shallow pebbled bays,
See the cortége wanders slowly, near the scenes of other days,
When the good priest taught the Hurons how to live in peace and love,
Taught them how to like each other, true to Him who is above.

So they journey, while the forest echoes with the psalm of Death,
So they journey, sad and lonely, ’midst the balsam’s balmy breath.
Then, at last, they reach the Mission, here sad rites they chant for
him
Who has led them gently onward, through the glades of ignorance dim.

Trappers, soldiers, priests and redskins, bare their heads at
St. Ignace,
Weeping, sobbing, bid him “Farewell!” he, the leader of their race.
Weeping, sobbing, cry out: “_Vale!_” While the heron wings away,
Croaking: “Good night, good night, Father! Sad the scene and sad the
day!”

ROBERT DE LA SALLE:

FRENCH ADVENTURER, AND EXPLORER OF
THE VALLEY OF THE MISSISSIPPI.

(1643-1687)

_From Tadoussac the eagles scream; their wild cries sound alarming,_
_As up the stream a vessel sails, her steersman a Prince Charming._
_A man of iron—valiant, strong, his name the Sieur La Salle,_
_Who loved the hemlock forests from Lachine to Roberval._
_Alas! he ventured to the West where redskins wish to kill,_
_There left his bones—’neath barren stones—where Frenchmen wander
still._

ROBERT DE LA SALLE:

FRENCH ADVENTURER, AND EXPLORER OF THE VALLEY OF THE MISSISSIPPI.

(1643-1687)

WHILE good Father Marquette was gliding over the muddied waters of the Mississippi, gazing at wonderful sights which no Frenchman had dreamed of heretofore, a man lived upon the banks of the St. Lawrence who brooded over projects of peril and adventure and gazed wistfully towards the Far West. This was no other than Robert, Chevalier de La Salle, a Frenchman who had come to Canada about the year 1667. He had been born at Rouen, in Normandy, of a noble family, and had been well educated in a Jesuit seminary.

Urged onward by a desire for both adventure and money, this vigorous young blade emigrated to Canada. Here he traveled up and down the great river St. Lawrence from Tadoussac to Sault Ste. Marie, and busied himself in trading European merchandise for beaver, bear, and other skins. He built houses for the storage of furs and merchandise, made excursions among the Indian tribes bordering on the shore of Lake Ontario, and penetrated as far as the Huron country in the north, where he lived for some time among the redskins, learning their life, their manners, and their language.

Perhaps some of you have taken the steamer at Toronto, have threaded your way among the beautiful Thousand Isles, and have shot through the foaming spray of the Lachine rapids, before reaching the city of Montreal. This seething cataract was named by the adventurous La Salle, for he hoped to find the St. Lawrence leading into the China Sea, and, to commemorate this anticipation, called the trading station, upon the Island of Montreal—La Chine (or the China) a name which has fastened itself to the rapids, and a name which it has borne to the present day.

Here the adventurous Frenchman was resting when word was brought to him of the expedition of Marquette and Joliet. He felt certain that the Mississippi discharged itself into the great Gulf of Mexico, a fact which inflamed his desire to complete the discovery of that mighty watercourse. He wished to found colonies upon its banks and to open up new avenues of trade between France and the vast countries of the West. Nor did he lose his visions of China and Japan. From the head-waters of the Mississippi, he still hoped to find a passage to those distant countries, and thus, stirred with ideas of conquest and glory for his beloved France, he made a voyage to his native shores towards the end of the year 1677, hoping to gain assistance from the King for his ambitious designs.

The French monarch gave a ready ear to the talk of the venturesome Canadian. He was authorized to push his discoveries as far as he chose to the westward, and to build forts wherever he should think proper. In order to meet the large expense of his labors he was given the exclusive traffic in buffalo skins. Yet he was also forbidden to trade with the Hurons and other Indians, who usually brought furs to Montreal, for fear that he would interfere with the established traders and incur their jealousy and displeasure.

La Salle had the true love of adventure, a passion for exploring unknown lands, and an ambition to build up a great name for himself which should rival that of the early discoverers and conquerors of the New World. He wished, in fact, to die great. Let us see how he succeeded!

Two months after receiving this patent, the adventurer sailed from the shores of France, accompanied by the Chevalier Tonty, the Sieur de La Motte, and a pilot, ship-carpenters, mariners and other persons, about thirty in all. He had also a quantity of arms and ammunition, with a store of anchors, cordage, and other materials necessary for rigging the small vessels which he had determined to construct for the navigation of the lakes.

He arrived at Quebec near the end of September; but here he remained no longer than was necessary to arrange his affairs, for he hastened forward, passed up the dangerous rapids of the St. Lawrence in canoes, and at length reached Fort Frontenac, which he had erected at the eastern extremity of Lake Ontario, where the St. Lawrence issues from that great, blue inland sea.

La Salle was eager for exploration. Busily he prepared to build and equip a vessel above the Falls of Niagara, so that he could navigate the upper lakes. His men worked hard and had, before long, fitted out a brigantine of ten tons in which they stowed away everything needed for the construction of a second vessel. This barque had been made at Fort Frontenac, the year before, with two others, which were used for bringing supplies. It was a small boat, but was suitable for the purpose.

In order to have any success in building a fort and a ship on the waters of the Niagara River, it was necessary to have the good will of the red men who lived in the surrounding country. The Senecas here had their hunting grounds, and they were a powerful tribe, excellent in the hunting field, bloodthirsty on the field of war. So La Motte had orders from La Salle to go on an embassy to this nation, to hold a council with the chiefs, explain his object, and gain their consent.

With some well-armed men, La Motte consequently traveled about thirty miles through the woods, and came, at length, to the great village of these redskins. Before a roaring council fire, around which the Indians gathered with their usual grave and serious countenances, both white men and red delivered many speeches. The French promised to establish a blacksmith at Niagara, who should repair the guns of the red men, and, as a result of this guarantee, the Senecas gave them permission to establish a trading place and fort in the wilderness. Well satisfied with the mission, La Motte and his companions went back to Niagara.

La Salle soon arrived, sailing thither from Fort Frontenac in one of his small vessels, laden with provisions, with merchandise, and materials for rigging the new ship: the first to glide over the waves of these great western lakes. In person he visited the Seneca Indians, and, by soft speech and flattering words, secured their friendship and good-will.

Yet he had enemies, too, for the monopoly which he had gained from the government and the large scale upon which he conducted his affairs, raised, against him, a host of traducers among the traders and merchants of Canada. In order to thwart his designs, they told the Indians that his plans of building forts and ships on the border was in order to curb their power. Agents were sent among the redskins in order to sow the seeds of hostility to this ambitious Frenchman.

These moves against him were well known to La Salle, yet it did not put an end to his plans. About two miles above the Falls of Niagara, he selected a place for a dock-yard at the outlet of a creek, on the western side of the Niagara River. Here the keel of the new vessel was laid, and, in a very short time, her form began to appear. An Indian woman brought word that a plot had been hatched to burn the vessel, while it was on the stocks, yet the redskins did not molest it, and soon she proudly glided into the water. She was called the _Griffin_, in honor of the Count de Frontenac, who had two griffins upon his coat of arms.

It was the month of August, a time of softness and mellow sunlight in the Canadian wilderness, when, bathed in a flood of radiance, the sails of the _Griffin_ were spread to the winds of Lake Erie. Heretofore, only birch-bark canoes had floated upon the surface of this wind-tossed sheet of water, now a real vessel was plowing a westward course over the rocking billows. The voyage was a prosperous one, and, on the 27th. day of August, the little company of explorers, thirty-four in all, reached the Island of Mackinac, where the redskinned denizens of the forest looked with wonder and amazement upon this ship, the first which they had ever seen, calling her the _great wooden canoe_.

The Sieur de La Salle dressed himself in a scarlet cloak, in order to make an impression upon the redskins, and, attended by some of his soldiers, made a visit of ceremony to the head men of the village. Here his missionaries celebrated mass, and here he was received and entertained with much civility by the red men. Yet, although the redskins showed him much courtesy on the surface, their minds had been poisoned by the lies which had been circulated among them by his enemies, and for the same reason several of his followers had deserted. Not deterred by this happening, La Salle again entered his ship, hoisted sail, and soon was coasting along the northern borders of Lake Michigan.

After a voyage of about a hundred miles the _Griffin_ reached Green Bay, where anchor was cast before a small island at its mouth. This island was inhabited by Pottawattomies, and here La Salle found several Frenchmen, who had preceded him in birch canoes, had gathered a supply of stores, and had also collected a vast quantity of furs. With these he loaded his vessel; sent it back to Niagara, for the purpose of satisfying his creditors; and ordered his navigators to return as soon as possible, and to pursue their voyage to the mouth of the Miami River at the south-eastern extremity of Lake Michigan.

The adventurers now remaining consisting of fourteen persons, who were soon paddling down the west shore of Lake Michigan in four bark canoes, laden with carpenters’ tools, a blacksmith’s forge, merchandise, and arms. After a stormy passage, they reached the mouth of the Miami River, since called the St. Joseph. Winter was approaching, hostile natives were near, so La Salle determined to build a fort. A hill was selected as the proper position for the stockade, the bushes were chopped down and logs were cut and hewn, so that a breastwork could be constructed, inclosing a space about eighty feet long, by forty broad. It was surrounded by palisades and was called Fort Miami.

All hands were thus kept busy during the month of November. In spite of this occupation, the men were very discontented, for they had no other food but the flesh of bears, which some Indian hunters killed in the woods. The Frenchmen did not like this, and wished to go into the woods in order to hunt deer and other game. This permission was refused by La Salle, as he saw that they were more bent upon desertion than upon assisting in improving the larder.

As they thus grumbled and worked at the edge of the wilderness, the Chevalier de Tonty came down the lake with two canoes well stocked with deer which he had recently killed. Hurrah! Here was a different kind of meat, at last, and this cheered the spirits of all the company. Yet there was bad news, also, for the good Chevalier brought word of the total loss of the ship which had brought them hither. No sight had ever been had of her, and, although the red men, who lived along the shores of Lake Michigan were closely questioned, no one brought any word of the ill-fated _Griffin_, which doubtless had been swallowed up by the waves of Lake Michigan, while on her way from the island of Mackinac. La Salle was much distressed, yet he had become accustomed to the buffeting of ill fortune in the wilderness, and, consequently turned again towards the wilderness with renewed courage and resolution to go onward, to explore, and to bring back news of these virgin forests and this interesting country.

An Indian hunter, who had been sent out to look for deer, came and told them where there was a portage to the head-waters of the Kankakee River. So, desirous of moving onward, they followed him down stream and paddled for a hundred miles on the muddy waters, which wound through marshes and a dense growth of tall rushes and alder bushes. The adventurers became much in need of provisions, for at this season the buffalo had traveled south; yet, they succeeded in killing two deer, several wild turkeys, and a few swans. Providence also came to their relief, for a stray buffalo was found sticking fast in a marsh, and it was therefore captured with ease.

At length the canoes floated upon the waters of the Illinois River, and, as they paddled onward, the voyagers came upon an Indian village where were great quantities of corn. The inhabitants had departed upon a hunt, so the ravenous Frenchmen appropriated a large store of grain for their own use. They kept on their way, reached a great lake, called Lake Peoria, and found a second Indian village upon the bank, the inhabitants of which met them with great friendliness and good will.

Here La Salle decided to build a fort. It was named Fort Crèvecœur, or the Broken Heart, so called because of the sadness which he had experienced at the loss of the good ship _Griffin_. The men also constructed a brigantine, forty-two feet long and twelve feet broad, in which it was hoped to make further discoveries in the Mississippi. When it had been completed, a priest, called Father Hennepin, was sent down the Illinois River to make further explorations, not in this boat, but in a canoe, accompanied by two Frenchmen and an Indian; while La Salle, himself, determined to begin an overland journey to Fort Frontenac, assisted by three Frenchmen and an Indian hunter. The Chevalier de Tonty was left in command of the fort, with sixteen men and two missionaries.

La Salle had quite an undertaking before him, but he did not quail. He was to travel over land, and on foot, through vast forests and through bogs and morasses, to Fort Frontenac, a distance of twelve hundred miles. He had to journey along the southern shores of Lake Erie and Lake Ontario, ford numerous rivers and cross others on rafts, all of this in a season when snow hid the ground and floating ice rendered traveling most fatiguing. Nothing seemed impossible to his strong heart and unbending resolution. Shouldering his knapsack and musket, he bade adieu to his companions of the wilderness, and set his face towards far distant Canada.

No record has been preserved of the incidents of his long and perilous journey from the slow-moving Illinois to the blue and sparkling St. Lawrence. At any rate, he arrived without mishap at Fort Frontenac, where he was chagrined and mortified to find his affairs in a condition of confusion that was deplorable. His heaviest loss, of course, was that of the _Griffin_, with her cargo valued at twelve thousand dollars; but, besides this mishap, he found that his agents had despoiled him of all the profits of his trade. Some of his employees, in fact, had stolen his goods and had run away with them to the Dutch of New York. A rumor had been circulated to the effect that he and his whole party had been drowned on their voyage up the lakes, so his creditors had seized upon his effects, and had wasted them by forced sales. All Canada seemed to have conspired against him. Many a less resolute heart than his own would have failed, but despair was never known to settle upon the mind of the Chevalier La Salle. He was the first Theodore Roosevelt of the United States.

The adventurer had still one friend left,—Count Frontenac, whose influence and authority was now exerted in his favor. They discussed together the Mississippi problem and determined to give up the plan of navigating this mighty water-course in a ship. Instead, La Salle decided to prosecute his explorations with canoes.

He engaged more men, left Fort Frontenac on the 23d. day of July, 1680, and, although detained by head winds on Lake Ontario, reached Mackinac during the month of September. By offering brandy in exchange for Indian corn, he soon had enough to satisfy his needs, and, embarking on the rough waters of Lake Michigan, at length arrived at the mouth of the river Miami. The fort which he had left there had been plundered and dismantled!

Journeying south, La Salle reached the villages of the Illinois, which he found had been sacked and burned by the Iroquois during his absence. He saw nothing of Tonty and those Frenchmen whom he had left behind him, a proof that they had either been killed or dispersed. So he returned to the Miami River and here spent the winter, visiting the Indian tribes near Lake Michigan. Here he learned that the Iroquois had attacked the settlements of the Illinois with vindictive ferocity, during his absence, driving the red men far westward across the Mississippi. As for the Frenchmen, whom he had left behind him, no one seemed to know what had become of them.

Towards the end of May, 1681, the vigorous explorer left the Miami River, and, after a prosperous voyage, once more entered the harbor of Mackinac. What was his joy to here find the Chevalier Tonty and those Frenchmen, whom he had last seen in the wilderness. They had passed through great dangers, but had at length escaped from the bloodthirsty Iroquois and had reached the French fortress, lean, haggard, but praising God that they had escaped with their lives. La Salle embraced them all, gave them presents of firearms and blankets, and begged them to accompany him again into the wilderness.

The Chevalier was now determined to journey down the entire length of the Mississippi, and, with this end in view, took into his service a company of Frenchmen, together with a number of eastern Indians, Abenakis, and Loups, or Mahingans, as they were called by the French writers. Putting Fort Frontenac in command of the Sieur de La Forest, he journeyed by canoe to Niagara, where a stockade had recently been built, called Fort de Tonty, and thence embarked with his entire company in canoes for the Miami River, which he reached in safety. Six weeks were now spent in making arrangements for the great trip down the river.

There were twenty-three Frenchmen in the party, eighteen savages, ten Indian women, and three children. The redskins insisted on taking these women with them to prepare their food, according to their custom, while they were fishing and hunting. When all was ready the adventurers started for the mouth of the Chicago River, which was found to be frozen.

Undaunted, the explorers passed down the water-course on sleds, down the Illinois to Lake Peoria, and thence to the muddy waters of the Mississippi. They had a peaceful passage southward, hunting much and fishing in the stream, and eventually arrived at the Chickasaw Bluffs. Here redskins were met with, who gave them kind treatment, and, pushing on, the little party soon arrived at a mighty village of the Arkansas Indians.

LA SALLE AT THE MOUTH OF THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER]

These redskins were a frank and open-hearted people of gentle manners, and very hospitable. The Sieur de La Salle was treated with marked deference and respect. He took possession of the country in the name of the King of France, erected a cross, and adorned it with the arms of his native country. This was done with great pomp and ceremony, the savages believing that it was a ritual for their amusement. Two weeks were pleasantly spent among the red men and then the voyagers kept on their way.

The journey to the mouth of the mighty water-course was easy and pleasant. Many Indian tribes were met with, but no battles occurred. Finally, on the 6th. day of April, the river was observed to divide itself into three channels, so the Sieur de La Salle separated his company into three divisions and, putting himself at the head of one of them, he took the western channel, the Chevalier de Tonty the middle, and the Sieur Dautray the eastern. The water soon became brackish, then salt, until, at last, the broad ocean opened up before them. La Salle encamped for the night about twelve miles above the mouth of the western branch, and the next day he and Tonty examined the shores bordering on the sea in order to ascertain the depth of the waters in the two principal channels. The day following was employed in searching for a dry place, removed from the tide and the inundation of the rivers, on which to erect a column and a cross. Next day this ceremony was performed.

All the Frenchmen were drawn up under arms, while a column was erected with this inscription:

“_Louis the Great, King of France and Navarre, reigns; the 9th. of April, 1682._”

The _Te Deum_ was now chanted and the soldiers discharged their muskets with shouts of _Long Live the King!_ La Salle then made a formal speech, taking possession of the whole country of Louisiana for the French King, the nations and people contained therein, the seas and harbors adjacent, and all the streams flowing into the Mississippi, which he called the great river St. Louis. A leaden plate was then buried at the foot of a tree, with a Latin inscription, containing the arms of France and the date, and stating that La Salle, Tonty, Lenobe, and twenty Frenchmen were the first to navigate the river from the Illinois to its mouth. The cross was then erected with appropriate ceremonies. At the same time an account of these proceedings was drawn up, in the form of a Proces Verbal, certified by a Notary and signed by thirteen of the principal persons of the expedition.

La Salle felt happy, for he had seen, he had come, he had conquered!

Although the journey up the Mississippi was without danger, La Salle, when he reached the upper courses, was seized with a dangerous illness which made it impossible for him to go forward for forty days. The Chevalier de Tonty was dispatched to Mackinac in order to inform the Count de Frontenac of the particulars of the voyage, and then, by slow stages, La Salle reached the Miami River, where he arrived by the end of September.

Tonty was faithful and accurate in executing his orders, so faithful that, shortly afterwards, when La Salle was well enough to sail for France, he left him in charge of all his interests during his absence.

The explorer met with a favorable reception in the old world, and it was decided that an expedition should be fitted out, for which the Government should provide vessels, troops, munitions, and such other supplies as were wanted: the whole to be under his command. He was authorized to establish colonies in Louisiana, and to take command of the immense country and all of its inhabitants from Lake Michigan to the borders of Mexico. He was given four vessels and was furnished with two hundred and eighty men.

Certainly his own government thought well of him, even if other people did not, so he and his men started for the Gulf of Mexico, determined to there found a colony which would perpetuate the name of France for all time in the Western Hemisphere.

The history of this expedition is an unfortunate one. In four vessels the adventurers crossed the ocean, intending to land at the mouth of the Mississippi. There were about two hundred and eighty persons in all, including many missionaries and soldiers, the latter being an assemblage of vagabonds and beggars from the streets, some of whom had never handled a musket. The vessels touched at the island of Santo Domingo, then crossed over into the Gulf of Mexico, heading, as all thought, for the mouth of the Mississippi. But such was not the case, and the explorers touched land near the borders of Mexico, at the Magdalen River, where the soil was barren and sandy, and where there was little game.

At different times, parties landed, hunted the wild buffalo, and explored the flat and somewhat desolate country. They constructed a fort with the timbers and planks of one of their ships, which floated ashore after the vessel went to pieces, and also with drift wood from the beach. After this was done, the Sieur de La Salle, taking fifty men with him, set out on a tour of discovery, finding a flat game-filled country and a noble river which he called the Vaches, because of the great numbers of wild cows, or buffaloes, seen upon its banks. This name it still retains.

After a journey of considerable length, the Chevalier returned, built a new fort, and then set out upon another journey of discovery. Many of his men died of exposure and rattlesnake bites, but this never disturbed the even calm of his manner. He pressed on, found the great Colorado River, and crossed it, penetrating into the wilderness for many miles. After an absence of more than four months, La Salle was again received with joy by the colonists at the fort. His men were ragged in dress, some without hats, and all were haggard and worn by exposure.

The Indians had always shown themselves to be hostile and had murdered several of the French explorers when they had strayed away from their companies. Of the four vessels which had brought over the expedition, three had returned, and the last, the _la Belle_, had been destroyed by a storm. The Sieur de La Salle was thus cut off from all supplies in a new country, two thousand miles from any civilized settlement to which he could look for succor, and surrounded on every side by hostile savages. It is no wonder that many of his followers were dissatisfied and miserably unhappy, some even plotted to kill their great and gallant leader.

Of the many expeditions which I have taken into the wilderness, with parties of men, none has ever been tranquil throughout. There is always some evil dispositioned fellow along, who raises a disturbance, makes others unhappy, and, by his surly manner, creates uneasiness and distrust, so that all are happy when the settlements have been reached and the malcontents have been allowed to go their ways in peace. So it was here. There were several Frenchmen of a jealous and mean disposition, who, feeling ill-humored because of their hardships in the wilderness, felt it their duty to murder the only true man among them all: the valiant leader. It was easy to succeed in their evil design.

Somewhere on the Mississippi River was the Chevalier Tonty, the staunch friend and companion of La Salle, and a man who was as brave and as valiant as this courageous Frenchman. Why not go in search of him? The proposition was a good one, and La Salle determined to take only the bravest and the strongest; to travel eastward; to reach the Mississippi, and to there find, if possible, his brave and noble companion-in-arms.

This was a wonderful trip. The valiant Frenchman and his companions crossed unknown rivers, broad prairies, and flat plateaus. A crocodile seized one of the soldiers by the leg and dragged him to destruction, in one instance; in another, several of the French adventurers were badly gored by buffalo.

La Salle finally reached the land of the Cencis Indians, the future home of many a Daniel Boone, a perfect paradise for the sportsman and a land of noble rivers, beautiful valleys, and much wild game. He was charmed with it, he reveled in its scenery, its beautiful valleys, its wonderful water courses, yet, here it was that he was to meet his end, an event as sad and tragic as any of the great events of American history.

On the 15th. day of March, 1687, the adventurers came to a place where the Sieur de La Salle had buried a quantity of Indian corn and beans on his last journey, and he ordered his followers, Duhaut, Hiens, Liolot, Larcheveque, Teissier, Nika, and his footman Saget, to go and bring it away. They found the place, but the corn and the beans were spoiled. Nika was fortunate in killing two buffalo, and the others dispatched Saget to inform the commander of this fact, and requested him to send horses for the meat. La Salle, consequently, directed Moraquet, De Marie, and Saget to return with horses and to send back one of them loaded with the flesh of the buffalo, for immediate use, and to wait until the rest was dried.

Moraquet arrived, found that the meat had been smoked, though it was not dry enough for this process, and Duhaut and the others had laid aside certain parts to be roasted for themselves, which, it seems, was the custom on similar occasions. Moraquet, in a passionate manner, reprimanded them for what they had done, and took away, not only the smoked meat, but the pieces which they had reserved, saying, in a menacing tone:

“Comrades, I will do with it as I please!”

This irritated the rest. Duhaut had an old grudge against Moraquet, and was quite ready to take revenge. He brought over Liolot and Hiens to help him accomplish his purpose, and finally the others, and they determined to murder Moraquet, Nika and Saget. In the night, when the unsuspecting victims were asleep, they were butchered with an ax.

The bloody work had commenced, why not let it continue? The conspirators laid a scheme, on the spot, to destroy the Sieur de La Salle. They would shoot him.

Meantime, the courageous leader of the expedition expressed anxiety at the long absence of Moraquet, and seemed to have forebodings of some unhappy event. He feared, indeed, that the whole party might have been cut off by the savages. He determined, finally, to go in search of them, leaving the camp on the 19th. day of March, in charge of Jontel. With Father Anastase, and two natives who had served him as guides, he started out to look for his companions in arms.

The valiant French explorer traveled for about six miles, when he found the bloody cravat of Saget, one of the murdered men, near the bank of a river, and, at the same time, two eagles were seen hovering over their heads, as if attracted by food somewhere on the ground.

La Salle thought that the party must be near, and fired his gun to draw the attention of those whom he wished to find. Duhaut and Larcheveque immediately came across the river and advanced to meet him. La Salle approached, saying:

“Where is the good Moraquet? Has anything happened to him?”

“He is along the river,” answered Larcheveque.

At that moment, Duhaut, who was concealed in the high grass, discharged his musket, and shot the unsuspecting Chevalier through the head. He fell forward upon his face, and Father Anastase, who was standing at his side, expected to share the same fate, until the conspirators told him that they had no design upon his life.

La Salle lived for about an hour, unable to speak, but continually pressed the hand of the good priest to signify that he understood what was said to him. Finally he passed away, and was buried by the kind father, who shed tears over the body of this brave and valiant adventurer.

Thus perished the wise Chevalier: generous, engaging, adroit, skillful, and capable of any accomplishment. He died in the full vigor of life, in the midst of his career and his labors, without the consolation of having seen the results of his great explorations. In some of the higher attributes of character, such as personal courage and endurance, undaunted resolution, patience under trials, and perseverance in contending with obstacles and struggling through embarrassments that might appall the stoutest heart, there is, I believe, no man who surpassed this Sieur de La Salle. He was cool and intrepid at all times, never yielding for a moment to despair, or even to despondency, and he bore the heavy burden of his responsibilities manfully until the end. To him and to good Father Marquette must be mainly ascribed the discovery of the vast regions of the Mississippi Valley and its subsequent occupation and settlement by the French. His name must therefore always hold a high position among those adventurous souls who struggled to conquer, to colonize, and to explore the vast American Continent, when it was a wilderness inhabited by wild men and wild beasts, and unknown to those of a white complexion.

A SONG OF THE MISSISSIPPI

Down where the muddied waters run and boil in a rushing flood,
On the banks of the stream, as if in a dream, a stalwart Frenchman
stood.
And the mocking bird from a blossoming spray sang a song which was
joyous and gay;
As the welcoming sun shone on cutlass and gun, these words he trilled
through the day:

“_La Salle! La Salle! O brave La Salle!_
_You’re a man of France, I know,_
_La Salle! La Salle! O good La Salle!_
_You can shoot with the gun and the bow._
_La Salle! La Salle! O true La Salle!_
_I salute your courage and love,_
_For the lilies of France, may they wave, may they dance, o’er this
watery waste from above._”

And the Frenchman raised his eyes on high and sighed as he gazed afar,
Where the buffalo grunted and roared on the plain, and the dun-colored
prong-horns are.
And he swore an oath, it was round and long, to protect this land for
France,
By hook and crook, by sword and book, by pike and silvery lance.

“_La Salle! La Salle! O brave La Salle!”_
_Sang the bird on the waving branch,_
_“La Salle! La Salle! O good La Salle!_
_You’re a soldier true and staunch._
_O take this land, with its silvery sand, for the King and Queen you
serve;_
_And bring us peace; make the redskins cease,_
_From warfare make them swerve._”

So the Frenchman stayed, and his men were afraid to leave the land
he’d found,
Yet they hated their leader bold and brave, and determined to have him
downed.
And they hatched a plot, the bloodthirsty lot, to shoot the bold and
good,
Alas! ’twas sad that men were so bad, for they killed him where he
stood.

And the Mississippi gurgled on; it romped, it waved, it ran,
It pushed by silvery beaches, and it curled by the homes of man,
While the mocker sat on the whispery branch, it sang and caroled away:

“_La Salle! La Salle! O brave La Salle!_
_Too bad! Too bad! Good day!_”

ROBERT EDWIN PEARY:

DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH POLE.

(1856-)

_Where the green bergs go careening past,_
_ And the white bears gambol and fight,_
_Where the little auks whimper and whisper a tale_
_Of the Ice King’s palace of white._
_Where the musk-oxen frisk and frolic,_
_Where the walrus fondles his mate,_
_’Tis there that a man, who was built on a plan_
_Of steel, went forth to his fate._

_O’er the glittering hills of the ice-pack,_
_O’er the floe and the treacherous lead,_
_The brown dogs hauled the loaded sledge_
_With courage and quickening speed._
_With Eskimos tried and trusted,_
_With a negro of steadfast soul,_
_He shook out the flag of the U. S. A._
_And placed it on top of the Pole._

ROBERT EDWIN PEARY:

DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH POLE.

(1856-)

IMAGINE the sensation which was caused when there suddenly appeared in the newspapers the following telegram:

“April the 6th., 1909. Stars and Stripes nailed to the Pole.

PEARY.”

People were astonished and looked amazed. Could it be possible that the North Pole had at last been discovered, after hundreds of years of effort upon the part of numerous adventurers, many of whom had never come back to tell the tale? Was it true that, after twenty-three years of effort, Commander Peary had at last reached the most northern point upon the earth’s surface? Yes, it seemed to be the fact. At last the North Pole had been trod upon by the foot of a white man.

Instantly the news was scattered from St. John’s, New Brunswick, and from New York, to the four corners of the globe, and a great shout of enthusiastic congratulation went up from every place where civilized men were gathered together, for all the world had been watching the plucky commander of the United States Navy, who, for twenty-three years, had been working upon the problem of how to reach the North Pole. “Hurrah! Hurrah for Peary!” was heard on every side. “He has been victorious where hundreds have failed. Again Hurrah!”

Those who disbelieved the first telegram were soon assured by others that the Pole had really been reached, for Mr. Herbert L. Bridgman, Secretary of the Peary Arctic Club, was telegraphed to as follows:

“Pole reached. _Roosevelt_ safe.

PEARY.”

And, still later, the Commander’s devoted wife at South Harpswell, Maine, received the message:

“Have made good at last. I have the old Pole. Am well. Love. Will wire again from Chateau.

BERT.”

Now there could be no doubt that the great feat had really been accomplished and soon a wireless message from Indian Harbor, Labrador, told that the good ship _Roosevelt_ was there with all safe on board, and was steaming southward as fast as she was able.

At length she arrived at New York. A throng of newspapermen and citizens gathered immediately around the bold explorer, who, with his companions, was given a royal welcome home. This was as it should have been, for Peary was the only man who had really stood upon the very top of this sphere upon which we live.

_Copyright by Harris and Ewing._

ROBERT EDWIN PEARY]

Robert Edwin Peary, who “nailed the Stars and Stripes to the North Pole,” was born in Cresson, Pennsylvania, May 6th., 1856. When still a mere lad he moved to Portland, Maine, and, after studying in private schools and an academy in North Bridgton, Maine, he entered Bowdoin College, graduating in 1877. He now became a draughtsman in the U. S. Coast and Geodetic Survey, then passed a stiff examination and entered the United States Navy as a Civil Engineer, ranking as a Lieutenant. In 1884, or three years later, he was an assistant government engineer in the surveys for the proposed route for the Nicaragua Canal, inventing several rolling locks for the use of the workmen. He became engineer-in-chief of the Nicaragua Survey.