“You have stated Monsieur de Tonty’s case, and you have stated yours,” said Barbe. “I will now state mine. I will not be married to any man at a day’s notice.”
“May I ask what it is you demand, mademoiselle?” inquired the Abbé, with irony, “if you propose to re-arrange any marriage your relatives make for you.”
“I demand a week between the betrothal and the marriage.”
“A week, mademoiselle!” her uncle laughed. “We who set out must give winter a week’s start of us for such a whim! You will be married to-night or you will return with me to France. I will now send Monsieur de Tonty to you to be received as your future husband.”
“I will scratch him!” exclaimed Barbe, with a flash of perverseness, at which her uncle’s cassocked shoulders shook until he disappeared within doors.
She left the earthwork and went to the entrance side of the fort. There she stood, whispering with a frown,—”Oh, if you please, monsieur, keep your distance! Do not come here as any future husband of mine!”
She had, however, much time in which to prepare her mind before Tonty appeared.
All eyes on the Rock followed him. He shone through the trees, a splendid figure in the gold and white uniform of France, laid aside for years but resumed on this great occasion.
When he came up to Barbe he stopped and folded his arms, saying whimsically,—
“Mademoiselle, I have not the experience to know how one should approach his betrothed. I never was married before.”
“It is my case, also, monsieur,” replied Barbe.
“How do you like Fort St. Louis?” proceeded Tonty.
“I am enchanted with it.”
“You delight me when you say that. During the last four years I have not made an improvement about the land or in any way strengthened this position without thinking, Mademoiselle Cavelier may sometime approve of this. We are finding a new way of heating our houses with underground flues made of stone and mortar.”
“That must be agreeable, monsieur.”
“We often have hunting parties from the Rock. This country is full of game.”
“It is pleasant to amuse one’s self, monsieur.”
Tonty had many a time seen the silent courtship of the Illinois. He thought now of those motionless figures sitting side by side under a shelter of rushes or bark from morning till night without exchanging a word.
“Mademoiselle, I hope this marriage is agreeable to you?”
“Monsieur de Tonty,” exclaimed Barbe, “I have simply been flung at your head to suit the convenience of my relatives.”
“Was that distasteful to you?” he wistfully inquired.
“I am not fit for a bride. No preparation has been made for me.”
“I thought of making some preparation myself,” confessed Tonty. “I got a web of brocaded silk from France several years ago.”
“To be clothed like a princess by one’s bridegroom,” said Barbe, wringing her gown skirt and twisting folds of it in her fingers. “That might be submitted to. But I could not wear the web of brocade around me like a blanket.”
“There are fifty needlewomen on the Rock who can make it in a day, mademoiselle.”
“And in short, monsieur, to be betrothed in the morning and married the same day is what no girl will submit to!”
Tonty, in the prime of his manhood and his might as a lover was too imposing a figure for her to face; she missed seeing his swarthy pallor as he answered,—
“I understand from all this, mademoiselle, that you care nothing for me. I have felt betrothed to you ever since I declared myself to Monsieur de la Salle at Fort Frontenac. How your pretty dreaming of the Rock of St. Louisand your homesick cry for this place did pierce me! I said, ‘She shall be my wife, and I will bring home everything that can be obtained for her. That small face shall be heart’s treasure to me. Its eyes will watch for me over the Rock.’ On our journey here, many a night I took my blanket and lay beside your tent, thanking the saints for the sweet privilege of bringing home my bride. Mademoiselle,” said Tonty, trembling, “I will kill any other man who dares approach you. Yet, mademoiselle, I could not annoy you by the least grief! Oh, teach a frontiersman what to say to please a woman!”
“Monsieur de Tonty,” panted Barbe. “You please me too well, indeed! It was necessary to come to an understanding. You should not make me say,—for I am ashamed to tell,—how long I have adored you!”
As Tonty’s quick Italian blood mounted from extreme anguish to extreme rapture, he laughed with a sob.
Fifty needlewomen on the Rock made in a day a gown of the web of brocaded silk. The fortress was full of preparation for evening festivity. Hunters went out and brought in game,and Indians carried up fish, new corn, and honey from wild bee trees. All the tables which the dwellings afforded were ranged in two rows at opposite sides of the place of arms, and decorated with festoons of ferns and cedar, and such late flowers as exploring children could find.
Some urchins ascended the Rock with an offering of thick-lobed prickly cactus which grew plentifully in the sand. The Demoiselle Bellefontaine labored from place to place, helping her husband to make this the most celebrated fête ever attempted in Fort St. Louis.
As twilight settled—and it slowly settled—on the summit, roast venison, buffalo steaks, and the odor of innumerable dishes scented the air. Many candles pinned to the branches of trees like vast candelabra, glittered through the dusk. Crows sat on the rocks below and gabbled of the corn they had that day stolen from lazy Indian women.
There was no need of chapel or bell in a temple fortress. All the inhabitants of the Rock stood as witnesses. Colin brought Barbe from the dwelling with the greater part of the web of brocaded silk dragged in grandeur behind her. Tonty kissed her hand and led her beforethe priests. When the ceremony ended a salute was fired.
The Illinois town could hear singing on the Rock and see that stronghold glittering as if it had been carried by torches. Music of violin and horn, laughter, dancing, and gay voices in repartee sounded on there through half the hours of the night.
The morning star yet shone and the river valley was drenched with half frosty dew, and filled with silver mist when the Abbé Cavelier and his party descended to their canoes and set off up the river. They had made their farewells the night before, but Tonty and Greysolon du Lhut appeared, Tonty accompanying them down the descent. He came up with a bound before the boat was off, thundered at Bellefontaine’s door, and pulled that sleepy officer into the open air, calling at his ear,—
“What fellow is this in the Abbé’s party who kept out of my sight until he carried his load but now to the canoe?”
“You must mean Teissier, Monsieur de Tonty. He has lain ailing in the storehouse.”
“Look,—yonder he goes.”
Tonty made Bellefontaine lean over the eastern earthwork, but even the boat was blurred upon the river.
“That was Jolycœur,” declared Tonty, “whom Monsieur de la Salle promised me he would never take into his service again. That fellow tried to poison Monsieur de la Salle at Fort Frontenac.”
“Monsieur de Tonty,” remonstrated the subordinate, “I know him well. He was here a month. He told me he was enlisted at St. Domingo, while Monsieur de la Salle lay in a fever, to replace men who deserted. He is a pilot and his name is Teissier.”
“Whatever his real name may be we had him here on the Rock before you came, and he was called Jolycœur.”
“At any rate,” said Du Lhut, “his being of Abbé Cavelier’s company argues that he hath done La Salle no late harm.”
Tonty thought about the matter while light grew in the sky, but dismissed it when the priest of Fort St. Louis summoned his great family to matins. On such pleasant mornings they were chanted in the open air.
The sun rose, drawing filaments from the mass of vapor like a spinner, and every shred disappeared while the eye watched it. Preparations went forward for breakfast, while children’s andbirds’ voices already chirped above and below the steep ascent.
One urchin brought Tonty a paper, saying it was Monsieur Joutel’s, the young man who slept in the storehouse and was that morning gone from the fort.
“Did he tell you to give it to me?” inquired Tonty.
“Monsieur,” complained the lad, “he pinned it in the cap of my large brother and left order it was to be given to you after two days. But my large brother hath this morning pinned it in my cap, and it may work me harm. Besides, I desire to amuse myself by the river, and if I lost Monsieur Joutel’s paper I should get whipped.”
“I commend you,” laughed Tonty, as he took the packet. “You must have no secrets from your commandant.”
The child leaped, relieved, toward the gate, and this heavy communication shook between the iron and the natural hand. Tonty spread it open on his right gauntlet.
He read a few moments with darkening countenance. Then the busy people on the Rock were startled by a cry of awful anguish. Tontyrushed to the centre of the esplanade, flinging the paper from him, and shouted, “Du Lhut—men of Fort St. Louis! Monsieur de la Salle has been murdered in that southern wilderness! We have had one of the assassins hiding here in our storehouse! Get out the boats!”
Men and women paused in their various business, and children, like frightened sheep,gathered closely around their mothers. The clamorous cry which disaster wrings from excitable Latins burst out in every part of the fortress. Du Lhut grasped the paper and read it while he limped after Tonty.
With up-spread arms the Italian raved across the open space, this far-reaching calamity widening like an eternally expanding circle around him. His rage at the assassins of La Salle—among whom he had himself placed a man whom he thought fit to be trusted—and his sorrow broke bounds in such sobs as men utter.
“Oh, that I might brain them with this hand! Oh, wretched people on these plains! What hope remains to us? What will become of all these families, whose resource he was, whose sole consolation! It is despair for us! Thou wert one of the greatest men of this age,—so useful to France by thy great discoveries, so strong in thy virtues, so respected, so cherished by people even the most barbarous. That such a man should be massacred by wretches, and the earth did not engulf them or the lightning strike them dead!”[24]
Tonty’s blood boiled in his face.
“Why do you all stand here like rocks instead of getting out the boats? Get out the boats! They stripped my master; they left his naked body to wolves and crows on Trinity River. Get ready the canoes. I will hunt those assassins, down to the last man, through every forest on this continent!”
“You did not finish this relation,”[25]shouted Du Lhut at his ear. “Can you get revenge on dead men? The men who actually put their hands in the blood of La Salle are all dead. Those who killed not each other the Indians killed.”
Tonty turned with a furious push at Du Lhut which sent him staggering backward.
“Is Jolycœur dead? I will run down this forgiving priest of a brother of Monsieur de la Salle’s, and the assassin he harbored here under his protection he shall give up to justice!”
“Thou mad-blooded loyal-hearted Italian!” exclaimed Du Lhut, dragging him out of the throng and holding him against a tree, “dost thou think nobody can feel this wrong except thee? I would go with thee anywhere if it could be revenged. But hearken to me, Henri de Tonty; if you go after the Abbé it will appear that you wish to strip him of the goods he bore away.”
“He brought an order from Monsieur de la Salle,” retorted Tonty. “On that order I would give him the last skin in the storehouse. What I will strip him of is the wretch he carries in his forgiving bosom!”
“And you will put a scandal upon this younggirl your bride, who has this sorrow also to bear. Are you determined to denounce her uncle and her brother before this fortress as unworthy to be the kinsmen of La Salle? She has now no consolation left except in you. Will you burn the wound of her sorrow with the brand of shame?”
Tonty leaned against the tree, pallor succeeding the pulsing of blood in his face. He looked at Du Lhut with piteous black eyes, like a stag brought down in full career.
“The Abbé Cavelier,” Bellefontaine was whispering to one of the immigrants, “carried from this fortress above four thousand livres worth of furs, besides other goods!”
“And left mademoiselle married without fortune,” muttered back the other. “He did well for himself by concealing the death of Sieur de la Salle.”
Men and women looked mournfully at each other as Tonty walked across the fort and shut himself in his house. They wondered at hearing no crying within it such as a woman might utter upon the first shock of her grief. With La Salle’s own instinct Barbe locked herself within her room. It was not known to thepeople of Fort St. Louis, it was not known even to Tonty, how she lay on the floor with her teeth set and faced this fact.
Tonty sat in his door overlooking the cliff all day.
Clouds sailed over the Rock. The lingering robins quarrelled with crows. That glittering pinnacled cliff across the ravine shone like white castle turrets. Smoke went up from the lodges on the plains as it had done during the six months La Salle’s bones were bleaching on Trinity River; but now a whisper like the whisper of wind in September corn-leaves was rushing from lodge to lodge. Tonty heard tribe after tribe take up the lament for the dead.
Not only was it a lament for La Salle; but it was also for their own homes. He and Tonty had brought them back from exile, had banded them for strength and helped them ward off the Iroquois. His unstinted success meant their greatest prosperity. The undespairing Norman’s death foreshadowed theirs, with all that silence and desolation which must fall on the Rock of St. Louis before another civilization possessed it.
Night came, and the leaves sifted down in its light breeze as if only half inclined to theirdescent. The children had been quieted all day. To them the revelry of the night before seemed a far remote occasion, so instantly are joy and trouble set asunder.
The rich valley of the Illinois grew dimmer and dimmer under the starlight. Tonty could no longer see the river’s brown surface, but he could distinguish the little trail of foam down its centre churned by rapids above. Twisted pines, which had tangled their roots in everlasting rock, hung below him, children of the air. Some man of the garrison approached the windlass and let down the bucket with creak and rattle. He waited with the ear of custom for its clanking cry as it plunged, its gurgle and struggle in the water, and the many splashes with which it ascended.
His face showed as a pale spot in the dusk when he rose from the doorstep and came into the room to light a candle. Barbe must be brought out from her silent ordeal and comforted and fed.
Tonty set his lighted candle on a table and considered how he should approach her door. The furniture of the room had been hastily carried in that morning from its uses in the fête.The apartment was a rude frontier drawing-room, having furs, deer antlers, and shining canoe paddles for its ornaments.
While Tonty hesitated, the door on the fortress side opened, and La Salle stepped into the room.
Tonty’s voice died in his throat. The joy and terror of this sight held him without power to move.
It was La Salle; a mere shred of his former person, girt like some skeleton apostle with a buffalo hide which left his arm bones naked as well as his journey roughened feet. Beard hadstarted through his pallid skin, and this and his wild hair the wilderness had dressed with dead leaves. A piece of buffalo leather banded his forehead like a coarse crown, yet blood had escaped its pressure, for a dried track showed darkly down the side of his neck. Tonty gave no thought to the manitou of a waterfall from whose shrine La Salle had probably stripped that Indian offering of a buffalo robe. It did not seem to him incredible that Robert Cavelier should survive what other men called a death wound, and naked, bleeding, and starving, should make his way for six months through jungles of forest, to his friend.
Hoarse and strong from the depths of his breast Tonty brought out the cry,—
“O my master, my master!”
“Tonty,” spoke La Salle, standing still, with the rapture of achievement in his eyes, “I have found the lost river!”
He moved across the room and went out of the cliff door. His gaunt limbs and shaggy robe were seen one instant against the palisades, as if his eye were passing that starlit valley in review, the picture in miniature of the great west. He was gone while Tonty looked at him.
The whisper of water at the base of the rock, and of the sea’s sweet song in pines, took the place of the voice which had spoken.
A lad began to carol within the fortress, but hushed himself with sudden remembrance. That brooding body of darkness, which so overlies us all that its daily removal by sunlight is a continued miracle, pressed around this silent room resisted only by one feeble candle. And Tonty stood motionless in the room, blanched and exalted by what he had seen.
Barbe’s opening her chamber door startled him and set in motion the arrested machinery of life.
“What has been here, monsieur?” she asked under her breath.
Tonty, without replying, moved to receive her, crushing under his foot a beech-nut which one of the children of the fortress had dropped upon the floor. Barbe’s arms girded his great chest.
“Oh, monsieur,” she said with a sob, “I thought I heard a voice in this room, and I know I would myself break through death to come back to you!”
It is recorded that the Abbé Cavelier and his party arrived safely in France, and that he then concealed the death of La Salle for awhile that he might get possession of property which would have been seized by La Salle’s creditors. He died “rich and very old” says the historian,[26]though he was unsuccessful in a petition which he made with his nephew to the king, to have all the explorer’s seigniorial propriety in America put in his possession. Like Father Hennepin—who returned to France and wrote his entertaining book to prove himself a greater man than La Salle—the Abbé Cavelier was skilful in turning loss to profit.
It is also recorded that Henri de Tonty, at his own expense, made a long search with men, canoes, and provisions, for La Salle’s Texan colony—left by the king to perish at the hands ofIndians; that he was deserted by every follower except his Indian and one Frenchman, and nearly died in swamps and canebrakes before he again reached the fort on the Illinois.
To-day you may climb the Rock of St. Louis,—called now Starved Rock from the last stand which the Illinois made as a tribe on that fortress, a hundred years ago, when the Iroquois surrounded and starved them,—and you may look over the valley from which Tonty heard the death lament arise.
A later civilization has cleared it of Indian lodges and set it with villages and homesteads. A low ridge of the old earthwork yet remains on the east verge. Behind the Rock, slopes of milk-white sand still stretch toward a shallow ravine. Beyond that stands a farmhouse full of the relics of French days. The iron-handed commandant of the Rock has left some hint of his strong spirit thereabouts, for even the farmer’s boy will speak his name with the respect boys have for heroic men.
Crosses, beads, old iron implements, and countless remains of La Salle’s time, turn up everywhere in the valley soil.
Ferns spring, lush and vivid, from the lichened lips of that great sandstone body. The stunted cedars lean over its edge still singing the music of the sea. Sunshine and shade and nearness to the sky are yet there. You see depressions in the soil like grass-healed wounds, made by the tearing out of huge trees; but local tradition tells you these are the remains of pits dug down to the rock by Frenchmen searching for Tonty’s money. At the same time, local tradition is positive that Tonty came back, poor, to the Rock to die, in 1718.
Death had stripped him of every tie. He had helped to build that city near the Mississippi’s mouth which was La Salle’s object, and had also helped found Mobile. The great west owes more to him than to any other man who labored to open it to the world. Yet historians say the date of his death is unknown, and tradition around the Rock says he crept up the stony path an old and broken man, helped by his Indian and a priest, died gazing from its summit, and was buried at its west side. The tribes, while they held the land, continued to cover his grave with wild roses. But men may tread over him now, for he lies lost in the earth as La Salle was lost in the wilderness of the south.
No justice ever was done to this man who gave to his friends with both hand of flesh and hand of iron, caring nothing for recompense; and whom historians, priests, tradition, savages, and his own deeds unite in praising. But as long as the friendship of man for man is beautiful, as long as the multitude with one impulse lift above themselves those men who best express the race, Henri de Tonty’s memory must stand like the Rock of St. Louis.[27]
THE END.
FOOTNOTES:[1]Frontenac was the only man the Iroquois would ever allow to call himself their father. All other governors, English or French, were simply brothers.[2]“Henri de Tonty, surnommé Main-de-fer.” Notes Sur Nouvelle France.[3]The romancer here differs from the historian, who says Father Hennepin met La Salle at Quebec.[4]“This name was in Huron and Iroquois the translation of the name of M. de Montmagny (Mons maguns, great mountain). The savages continued calling the successors of Governor Montmagny by the same name, and even to the French king they applied the title ‘Great Ononthio.’” Translated from note on page 138, tome 1, Garneau’s Histoire du Canada.[5]The asceticism here attributed to Mademoiselle Jeanne le Ber was really practised by the wife of an early colonial noble. See Parkman’s Old Régime, p. 355.[6]Several historians identify Jolycœur with the noted coureur de bois and writer, Nicolas Perrot. But considering the deed he attempted, the romancer has seen fit to portray him as a very different person.[7]Historians return Father Hennepin to France in 1681.[8]Parkman.[9]Manuscript relating to early history of Canada.[10]In reality this was Father Membré’s adventure.[11]“He (La Salle) gave us a piece of ground 15 arpents in front by 20 deep, the donation being accepted by Monsieur de Frontenac, syndic of our mission.” From Le Clerc.[12]Relation of Henri de Tonty (cited in Margry, I). “Comme cette rivière se divise en trois chenaux, M. de la Salle fut descouvrér celuy de la droite, je fus à celuy du mileu et le Sieur d’Autray à celuy de la gauche.”[13]Abridged from Francis Parkman’s version of La Salle’s proclamation. The Procès Verbal is a long document.[14]Sanomp was suggested to the romancer by La Salle’s faithful Shawanoe follower, Nika, and an Indian friend and brother in “Pontiac.”[15]Guardian Manitou. See Introduction to “Jesuits in North America.”[16]The romancer differs from the historian—Charlevoix, tome 2—who records that Catharine Tegahkouita died in 1678.[17]Joutel. English Translation “from the edition just published at Paris, 1714A. D.”[18]“Le Rocher,” this natural fortress was commonly called by the French. See Charlevoix.[19]“On his return he brought back with him the families of a number of French immigrants, soldiers, and traders. This arrival of the wives, sisters, children, and sweethearts of some of the colonists, after years of separation, was the occasion of great rejoicing.”—John Moses’ History of Illinois.[20]“He was loved and feared by all,” says St.-Cosme.[21]Tonty’s words in “Dernieres Decouvertes dans L’Amerique Septentrional.”[22]Parkman states its actual height to be only a hundred and twenty-five feet.[23]“The joyous French held balls, gay suppers, and wine parties on the Rock.”—Old History of Illinois.[24]Translated from Tonty’s lament over La Salle in “Dernieres Decouvertes dans L’Amerique Septentrional.”[25]Joutel’s Journal gives a long and exact account of La Salle’s assassination and the fate of all who were concerned in it. The murder, by the conspirators, of his nephew Moranget, his servant Saget, and his Indian hunter Nika—which preceded and led to his death—is not mentioned in this romance.To this day it is not certainly known what became of La Salle’s body. Father Anastase Douay, the Récollect priest who witnessed his death, told Joutel at the time that the conspirators stripped it and threw it in the bushes. But afterward he declared La Salle lived an hour, and he himself confessed the dying man, buried him when dead, and planted a cross on his grave. So excellent a historian as Garneau gives credit to this story.In reality the Abbé Cavelier and his party treated Tonty with greater cruelty than the romancer describes. They lived over winter on his hospitality, departed loaded with his favors, and told him not a word of the tragedy.Joutel’s account of it, much condensed from the old English translation, reads thus:—“The conspirators hearing the shot (fired by La Salle to attract their attention) concluded it was Monsieur de la Sale who was come to seek them. They made ready their arms and Duhaut passed the river with Larcheveque. The first of them spying Monsieur de la Sale at a Distance, as he was coming towards them, advanced and hid himself among the high weeds, to wait his passing by, so that Monsieur de la Sale suspected nothing, and having not so much as charged his Piece again, saw the aforesaid Larcheveque at a good distance from him, and immediately asked for his nephew Moranget, to which Larcheveque answered, That he was along the river. At the same time the Traitor Duhaut fired his Piece and shot Monsieur de la Sale thro’ the head, so that he dropped down dead on the Spot, without speaking one word.“Father Anastase, who was then by his side, stood stock still in a Fright, expecting the same fate,... but the murderer Duhaut put him out of that Dread, bidding him not to fear, for no hurt was intended him; that it was Dispair that had prevailed with them to do what he saw....“The shot which had killed Monsieur de la Sale was a signal ... for the assassins to draw near. They all repaired to the place where the wretched corpse lay, which they barbarously stripped to the shirt, and vented their malice in opprobrious language. The surgeon Liotot said several times in scorn and derision, There thou liest, Great Bassa, there thou liest. In conclusion they dragged it naked among the bushes and left it exposed to the ravenous wild Beasts.“When they came to our camp ... Monsieur Cavelier the priest could not forbear telling them that if they would do the same by him he would forgive them his” (La Salle’s) “murder.... They answered they had Nothing to say to him.... “We were all obliged to stifle our Resentment that it might not appear, for our Lives depended upon it.... We dissembled so well that they were not suspicious of us, and that Temptation we were under of making them away in revenge for those they had murdered, would have easily prevailed and been put in execution, had not Monsieur Cavelier, the Priest, always positively opposed it, alleging that we ought to leave vengeance to God.”The Récollet priest, who had seen La Salle’s death, answered no questions at Fort St. Louis. Teissier, one of the conspirators, had obtained the Abbé’s pardon. The others could truly say La Salle was well when they last saw him.[26]Parkman.[27]“In 1690 the proprietorship of Fort St. Louis was granted to Tonty jointly with La Forest.... In 1702 the governor of Canada, claiming that the charter of the fort had been violated, decided to discontinue it. Although thus officially abandoned it seems to have been occupied as a trading post until 1718. Deprived of his command and property, Tonty engaged with Le Moyne d’Iberville in various successful expeditions.”—John Moses’ History of Illinois.
[1]Frontenac was the only man the Iroquois would ever allow to call himself their father. All other governors, English or French, were simply brothers.[2]“Henri de Tonty, surnommé Main-de-fer.” Notes Sur Nouvelle France.[3]The romancer here differs from the historian, who says Father Hennepin met La Salle at Quebec.[4]“This name was in Huron and Iroquois the translation of the name of M. de Montmagny (Mons maguns, great mountain). The savages continued calling the successors of Governor Montmagny by the same name, and even to the French king they applied the title ‘Great Ononthio.’” Translated from note on page 138, tome 1, Garneau’s Histoire du Canada.[5]The asceticism here attributed to Mademoiselle Jeanne le Ber was really practised by the wife of an early colonial noble. See Parkman’s Old Régime, p. 355.[6]Several historians identify Jolycœur with the noted coureur de bois and writer, Nicolas Perrot. But considering the deed he attempted, the romancer has seen fit to portray him as a very different person.[7]Historians return Father Hennepin to France in 1681.[8]Parkman.[9]Manuscript relating to early history of Canada.[10]In reality this was Father Membré’s adventure.[11]“He (La Salle) gave us a piece of ground 15 arpents in front by 20 deep, the donation being accepted by Monsieur de Frontenac, syndic of our mission.” From Le Clerc.[12]Relation of Henri de Tonty (cited in Margry, I). “Comme cette rivière se divise en trois chenaux, M. de la Salle fut descouvrér celuy de la droite, je fus à celuy du mileu et le Sieur d’Autray à celuy de la gauche.”[13]Abridged from Francis Parkman’s version of La Salle’s proclamation. The Procès Verbal is a long document.[14]Sanomp was suggested to the romancer by La Salle’s faithful Shawanoe follower, Nika, and an Indian friend and brother in “Pontiac.”[15]Guardian Manitou. See Introduction to “Jesuits in North America.”[16]The romancer differs from the historian—Charlevoix, tome 2—who records that Catharine Tegahkouita died in 1678.[17]Joutel. English Translation “from the edition just published at Paris, 1714A. D.”[18]“Le Rocher,” this natural fortress was commonly called by the French. See Charlevoix.[19]“On his return he brought back with him the families of a number of French immigrants, soldiers, and traders. This arrival of the wives, sisters, children, and sweethearts of some of the colonists, after years of separation, was the occasion of great rejoicing.”—John Moses’ History of Illinois.[20]“He was loved and feared by all,” says St.-Cosme.[21]Tonty’s words in “Dernieres Decouvertes dans L’Amerique Septentrional.”[22]Parkman states its actual height to be only a hundred and twenty-five feet.[23]“The joyous French held balls, gay suppers, and wine parties on the Rock.”—Old History of Illinois.[24]Translated from Tonty’s lament over La Salle in “Dernieres Decouvertes dans L’Amerique Septentrional.”[25]Joutel’s Journal gives a long and exact account of La Salle’s assassination and the fate of all who were concerned in it. The murder, by the conspirators, of his nephew Moranget, his servant Saget, and his Indian hunter Nika—which preceded and led to his death—is not mentioned in this romance.To this day it is not certainly known what became of La Salle’s body. Father Anastase Douay, the Récollect priest who witnessed his death, told Joutel at the time that the conspirators stripped it and threw it in the bushes. But afterward he declared La Salle lived an hour, and he himself confessed the dying man, buried him when dead, and planted a cross on his grave. So excellent a historian as Garneau gives credit to this story.In reality the Abbé Cavelier and his party treated Tonty with greater cruelty than the romancer describes. They lived over winter on his hospitality, departed loaded with his favors, and told him not a word of the tragedy.Joutel’s account of it, much condensed from the old English translation, reads thus:—“The conspirators hearing the shot (fired by La Salle to attract their attention) concluded it was Monsieur de la Sale who was come to seek them. They made ready their arms and Duhaut passed the river with Larcheveque. The first of them spying Monsieur de la Sale at a Distance, as he was coming towards them, advanced and hid himself among the high weeds, to wait his passing by, so that Monsieur de la Sale suspected nothing, and having not so much as charged his Piece again, saw the aforesaid Larcheveque at a good distance from him, and immediately asked for his nephew Moranget, to which Larcheveque answered, That he was along the river. At the same time the Traitor Duhaut fired his Piece and shot Monsieur de la Sale thro’ the head, so that he dropped down dead on the Spot, without speaking one word.“Father Anastase, who was then by his side, stood stock still in a Fright, expecting the same fate,... but the murderer Duhaut put him out of that Dread, bidding him not to fear, for no hurt was intended him; that it was Dispair that had prevailed with them to do what he saw....“The shot which had killed Monsieur de la Sale was a signal ... for the assassins to draw near. They all repaired to the place where the wretched corpse lay, which they barbarously stripped to the shirt, and vented their malice in opprobrious language. The surgeon Liotot said several times in scorn and derision, There thou liest, Great Bassa, there thou liest. In conclusion they dragged it naked among the bushes and left it exposed to the ravenous wild Beasts.“When they came to our camp ... Monsieur Cavelier the priest could not forbear telling them that if they would do the same by him he would forgive them his” (La Salle’s) “murder.... They answered they had Nothing to say to him.... “We were all obliged to stifle our Resentment that it might not appear, for our Lives depended upon it.... We dissembled so well that they were not suspicious of us, and that Temptation we were under of making them away in revenge for those they had murdered, would have easily prevailed and been put in execution, had not Monsieur Cavelier, the Priest, always positively opposed it, alleging that we ought to leave vengeance to God.”The Récollet priest, who had seen La Salle’s death, answered no questions at Fort St. Louis. Teissier, one of the conspirators, had obtained the Abbé’s pardon. The others could truly say La Salle was well when they last saw him.[26]Parkman.[27]“In 1690 the proprietorship of Fort St. Louis was granted to Tonty jointly with La Forest.... In 1702 the governor of Canada, claiming that the charter of the fort had been violated, decided to discontinue it. Although thus officially abandoned it seems to have been occupied as a trading post until 1718. Deprived of his command and property, Tonty engaged with Le Moyne d’Iberville in various successful expeditions.”—John Moses’ History of Illinois.
[1]Frontenac was the only man the Iroquois would ever allow to call himself their father. All other governors, English or French, were simply brothers.
[2]“Henri de Tonty, surnommé Main-de-fer.” Notes Sur Nouvelle France.
[3]The romancer here differs from the historian, who says Father Hennepin met La Salle at Quebec.
[4]“This name was in Huron and Iroquois the translation of the name of M. de Montmagny (Mons maguns, great mountain). The savages continued calling the successors of Governor Montmagny by the same name, and even to the French king they applied the title ‘Great Ononthio.’” Translated from note on page 138, tome 1, Garneau’s Histoire du Canada.
[5]The asceticism here attributed to Mademoiselle Jeanne le Ber was really practised by the wife of an early colonial noble. See Parkman’s Old Régime, p. 355.
[6]Several historians identify Jolycœur with the noted coureur de bois and writer, Nicolas Perrot. But considering the deed he attempted, the romancer has seen fit to portray him as a very different person.
[7]Historians return Father Hennepin to France in 1681.
[8]Parkman.
[9]Manuscript relating to early history of Canada.
[10]In reality this was Father Membré’s adventure.
[11]“He (La Salle) gave us a piece of ground 15 arpents in front by 20 deep, the donation being accepted by Monsieur de Frontenac, syndic of our mission.” From Le Clerc.
[12]Relation of Henri de Tonty (cited in Margry, I). “Comme cette rivière se divise en trois chenaux, M. de la Salle fut descouvrér celuy de la droite, je fus à celuy du mileu et le Sieur d’Autray à celuy de la gauche.”
[13]Abridged from Francis Parkman’s version of La Salle’s proclamation. The Procès Verbal is a long document.
[14]Sanomp was suggested to the romancer by La Salle’s faithful Shawanoe follower, Nika, and an Indian friend and brother in “Pontiac.”
[15]Guardian Manitou. See Introduction to “Jesuits in North America.”
[16]The romancer differs from the historian—Charlevoix, tome 2—who records that Catharine Tegahkouita died in 1678.
[17]Joutel. English Translation “from the edition just published at Paris, 1714A. D.”
[18]“Le Rocher,” this natural fortress was commonly called by the French. See Charlevoix.
[19]“On his return he brought back with him the families of a number of French immigrants, soldiers, and traders. This arrival of the wives, sisters, children, and sweethearts of some of the colonists, after years of separation, was the occasion of great rejoicing.”—John Moses’ History of Illinois.
[20]“He was loved and feared by all,” says St.-Cosme.
[21]Tonty’s words in “Dernieres Decouvertes dans L’Amerique Septentrional.”
[22]Parkman states its actual height to be only a hundred and twenty-five feet.
[23]“The joyous French held balls, gay suppers, and wine parties on the Rock.”—Old History of Illinois.
[24]Translated from Tonty’s lament over La Salle in “Dernieres Decouvertes dans L’Amerique Septentrional.”
[25]Joutel’s Journal gives a long and exact account of La Salle’s assassination and the fate of all who were concerned in it. The murder, by the conspirators, of his nephew Moranget, his servant Saget, and his Indian hunter Nika—which preceded and led to his death—is not mentioned in this romance.
To this day it is not certainly known what became of La Salle’s body. Father Anastase Douay, the Récollect priest who witnessed his death, told Joutel at the time that the conspirators stripped it and threw it in the bushes. But afterward he declared La Salle lived an hour, and he himself confessed the dying man, buried him when dead, and planted a cross on his grave. So excellent a historian as Garneau gives credit to this story.
In reality the Abbé Cavelier and his party treated Tonty with greater cruelty than the romancer describes. They lived over winter on his hospitality, departed loaded with his favors, and told him not a word of the tragedy.
Joutel’s account of it, much condensed from the old English translation, reads thus:—
“The conspirators hearing the shot (fired by La Salle to attract their attention) concluded it was Monsieur de la Sale who was come to seek them. They made ready their arms and Duhaut passed the river with Larcheveque. The first of them spying Monsieur de la Sale at a Distance, as he was coming towards them, advanced and hid himself among the high weeds, to wait his passing by, so that Monsieur de la Sale suspected nothing, and having not so much as charged his Piece again, saw the aforesaid Larcheveque at a good distance from him, and immediately asked for his nephew Moranget, to which Larcheveque answered, That he was along the river. At the same time the Traitor Duhaut fired his Piece and shot Monsieur de la Sale thro’ the head, so that he dropped down dead on the Spot, without speaking one word.“Father Anastase, who was then by his side, stood stock still in a Fright, expecting the same fate,... but the murderer Duhaut put him out of that Dread, bidding him not to fear, for no hurt was intended him; that it was Dispair that had prevailed with them to do what he saw....“The shot which had killed Monsieur de la Sale was a signal ... for the assassins to draw near. They all repaired to the place where the wretched corpse lay, which they barbarously stripped to the shirt, and vented their malice in opprobrious language. The surgeon Liotot said several times in scorn and derision, There thou liest, Great Bassa, there thou liest. In conclusion they dragged it naked among the bushes and left it exposed to the ravenous wild Beasts.“When they came to our camp ... Monsieur Cavelier the priest could not forbear telling them that if they would do the same by him he would forgive them his” (La Salle’s) “murder.... They answered they had Nothing to say to him.... “We were all obliged to stifle our Resentment that it might not appear, for our Lives depended upon it.... We dissembled so well that they were not suspicious of us, and that Temptation we were under of making them away in revenge for those they had murdered, would have easily prevailed and been put in execution, had not Monsieur Cavelier, the Priest, always positively opposed it, alleging that we ought to leave vengeance to God.”
“The conspirators hearing the shot (fired by La Salle to attract their attention) concluded it was Monsieur de la Sale who was come to seek them. They made ready their arms and Duhaut passed the river with Larcheveque. The first of them spying Monsieur de la Sale at a Distance, as he was coming towards them, advanced and hid himself among the high weeds, to wait his passing by, so that Monsieur de la Sale suspected nothing, and having not so much as charged his Piece again, saw the aforesaid Larcheveque at a good distance from him, and immediately asked for his nephew Moranget, to which Larcheveque answered, That he was along the river. At the same time the Traitor Duhaut fired his Piece and shot Monsieur de la Sale thro’ the head, so that he dropped down dead on the Spot, without speaking one word.
“Father Anastase, who was then by his side, stood stock still in a Fright, expecting the same fate,... but the murderer Duhaut put him out of that Dread, bidding him not to fear, for no hurt was intended him; that it was Dispair that had prevailed with them to do what he saw....
“The shot which had killed Monsieur de la Sale was a signal ... for the assassins to draw near. They all repaired to the place where the wretched corpse lay, which they barbarously stripped to the shirt, and vented their malice in opprobrious language. The surgeon Liotot said several times in scorn and derision, There thou liest, Great Bassa, there thou liest. In conclusion they dragged it naked among the bushes and left it exposed to the ravenous wild Beasts.
“When they came to our camp ... Monsieur Cavelier the priest could not forbear telling them that if they would do the same by him he would forgive them his” (La Salle’s) “murder.... They answered they had Nothing to say to him.
... “We were all obliged to stifle our Resentment that it might not appear, for our Lives depended upon it.... We dissembled so well that they were not suspicious of us, and that Temptation we were under of making them away in revenge for those they had murdered, would have easily prevailed and been put in execution, had not Monsieur Cavelier, the Priest, always positively opposed it, alleging that we ought to leave vengeance to God.”
The Récollet priest, who had seen La Salle’s death, answered no questions at Fort St. Louis. Teissier, one of the conspirators, had obtained the Abbé’s pardon. The others could truly say La Salle was well when they last saw him.
[26]Parkman.
[27]“In 1690 the proprietorship of Fort St. Louis was granted to Tonty jointly with La Forest.... In 1702 the governor of Canada, claiming that the charter of the fort had been violated, decided to discontinue it. Although thus officially abandoned it seems to have been occupied as a trading post until 1718. Deprived of his command and property, Tonty engaged with Le Moyne d’Iberville in various successful expeditions.”—John Moses’ History of Illinois.
Transcriber’s NoteThe following errors are noted. The page numbers in this table refer to those of the original. The French 'Récollet' is spelled twice as 'Récollect'. The instance appearing in a footnote is left as is, but that in the text itself was changed to match all other occurrences.56He is no stupidsic.73No more than half your party, monsieur[.]Added period.190flank of rock wallsic.197The Récolle[c]t Father did not answerRemoved ‘c’ for consistency.
Transcriber’s Note