France and England in North America, Part III: La Salle, Discovery of The Great West
descending daily from their pastures in long files to drink at the
river, often made a broad and easy path for the travellers. When foul
weather arrested them, they built huts of bark and long meadow-grass;
and safely sheltered lounged away the day, while their horses, picketed
near by, stood steaming in the rain. At night, they usually set a rude
stockade about their camp; and here, by the grassy border of a brook,
or at the edge of a grove where a spring bubbled up through the sands,
they lay asleep around the embers of their fire, while the man on guard
listened to the deep breathing of the slumbering horses, and the howling
of the wolves that saluted the rising moon as it flooded the waste of
prairie with pale mystic radiance.
They met Indians almost daily,--sometimes a band of hunters, mounted or
on foot, chasing buffalo on the plains; sometimes a party of fishermen;
sometimes a winter camp, on the slope of a hill or under the sheltering
border of a forest. They held intercourse with them in the distance by
signs; often they disarmed their distrust, and attracted them into their
camp; and often they visited them in their lodges, where, seated on
buffalo-robes, they smoked with their entertainers, passing the pipe
from hand to hand, after the custom still in use among the prairie
tribes. Cavelier says that they once saw a band of a hundred and fifty
mounted Indians attacking a herd of buffalo with lances pointed with
sharpened bone. The old priest was delighted with the sport, which he
pronounces "the most diverting thing in the world." On another occasion,
when the party were encamped near the village of a tribe which Cavelier
calls Sassory, he saw them catch an alligator about twelve feet long,
which they proceeded to torture as if he were a human enemy,--first
putting out his eyes, and then leading him to the neighboring prairie,
where, having confined him by a number of stakes, they spent the entire
day in tormenting him.[327]
Holding a northerly course, the travellers crossed the Brazos, and
reached the waters of the Trinity. The weather was unfavorable, and on
one occasion they encamped in the rain during four or five days
together. It was not an harmonious company. La Salle's cold and haughty
reserve had returned, at least for those of his followers to whom he was
not partial. Duhaut and the surgeon Liotot, both of whom were men of
some property, had a large pecuniary stake in the enterprise, and were
disappointed and incensed at its ruinous result. They had a quarrel with
young Moranget, whose hot and hasty temper was as little fitted to
conciliate as was the harsh reserve of his uncle. Already at Fort St.
Louis, Duhaut had intrigued among the men; and the mild admonition of
Joutel had not, it seems, sufficed to divert him from his sinister
purposes. Liotot, it is said, had secretly sworn vengeance against La
Salle, whom he charged with having caused the death of his brother, or,
as some will have it, his nephew. On one of the former journeys this
young man's strength had failed; and, La Salle having ordered him to
return to the fort, he had been killed by Indians on the way.
[Sidenote: MURDER OF MORANGET.]
The party moved again as the weather improved, and on the fifteenth of
March encamped within a few miles of a spot which La Salle had passed on
his preceding journey, and where he had left a quantity of Indian corn
and beans in _cache_; that is to say, hidden in the ground or in a
hollow tree. As provisions were falling short, he sent a party from the
camp to find it. These men were Duhaut, Liotot,[328] Hiens the
buccaneer, Teissier, L'Archevêque, Nika the hunter, and La Salle's
servant Saget. They opened the _cache_, and found the contents spoiled;
but as they returned from their bootless errand they saw buffalo, and
Nika shot two of them. They now encamped on the spot, and sent the
servant to inform La Salle, in order that he might send horses to bring
in the meat. Accordingly, on the next day, he directed Moranget and De
Marle, with the necessary horses, to go with Saget to the hunters' camp.
When they arrived, they found that Duhaut and his companions had already
cut up the meat, and laid it upon scaffolds for smoking, though it was
not yet so dry as, it seems, this process required. Duhaut and the
others had also put by, for themselves, the marrow-bones and certain
portions of the meat, to which, by woodland custom, they had a perfect
right. Moranget, whose rashness and violence had once before caused a
fatal catastrophe, fell into a most unreasonable fit of rage, berated
and menaced Duhaut and his party, and ended by seizing upon the whole of
the meat, including the reserved portions. This added fuel to the fire
of Duhaut's old grudge against Moranget and his uncle. There is reason
to think that he had harbored deadly designs, the execution of which
was only hastened by the present outbreak. The surgeon also bore hatred
against Moranget, whom he had nursed with constant attention when
wounded by an Indian arrow, and who had since repaid him with abuse.
These two now took counsel apart with Hiens, Teissier, and L'Archevêque;
and it was resolved to kill Moranget that night. Nika, La Salle's
devoted follower, and Saget, his faithful servant, must die with him.
All of the five were of one mind except the pilot Teissier, who neither
aided nor opposed the plot.
Night came: the woods grew dark; the evening meal was finished, and the
evening pipes were smoked. The order of the guard was arranged; and,
doubtless by design, the first hour of the night was assigned to
Moranget, the second to Saget, and the third to Nika. Gun in hand, each
stood watch in turn over the silent but not sleeping forms around him,
till, his time expiring, he called the man who was to relieve him,
wrapped himself in his blanket, and was soon buried in a slumber that
was to be his last. Now the assassins rose. Duhaut and Hiens stood with
their guns cocked, ready to shoot down any one of the destined victims
who should resist or fly. The surgeon, with an axe, stole towards the
three sleepers, and struck a rapid blow at each in turn. Saget and Nika
died with little movement; but Moranget started spasmodically into a
sitting posture, gasping and unable to speak; and the murderers
compelled De Marle, who was not in their plot, to compromise himself by
despatching him.
The floodgates of murder were open, and the torrent must have its way.
Vengeance and safety alike demanded the death of La Salle. Hiens, or
"English Jem," alone seems to have hesitated; for he was one of those to
whom that stern commander had always been partial. Meanwhile, the
intended victim was still at his camp, about six miles distant. It is
easy to picture, with sufficient accuracy, the features of the
scene,--the sheds of bark and branches, beneath which, among blankets
and buffalo-robes, camp-utensils, pack-saddles, rude harness, guns,
powder-horns, and bullet-pouches, the men lounged away the hour,
sleeping or smoking, or talking among themselves; the blackened kettles
that hung from tripods of poles over the fires; the Indians strolling
about the place or lying, like dogs in the sun, with eyes half-shut, yet
all observant; and, in the neighboring meadow, the horses grazing under
the eye of a watchman.
[Sidenote: SUSPENSE.]
It was the eighteenth of March. Moranget and his companions had been
expected to return the night before; but the whole day passed, and they
did not appear. La Salle became very anxious. He resolved to go and look
for them; but not well knowing the way, he told the Indians who were
about the camp that he would give them a hatchet if they would guide
him. One of them accepted the offer; and La Salle prepared to set out in
the morning, at the same time directing Joutel to be ready to go with
him. Joutel says: "That evening, while we were talking about what could
have happened to the absent men, he seemed to have a presentiment of
what was to take place. He asked me if I had heard of any machinations
against them, or if I had noticed any bad design on the part of Duhaut
and the rest. I answered that I had heard nothing, except that they
sometimes complained of being found fault with so often; and that this
was all I knew; besides which, as they were persuaded that I was in his
interest, they would not have told me of any bad design they might have.
We were very uneasy all the rest of the evening."
[Sidenote: THE FATAL SHOT.]
In the morning, La Salle set out with his Indian guide. He had changed
his mind with regard to Joutel, whom he now directed to remain in charge
of the camp and to keep a careful watch. He told the friar Anastase
Douay to come with him instead of Joutel, whose gun, which was the best
in the party, he borrowed for the occasion, as well as his pistol. The
three proceeded on their way,--La Salle, the friar, and the Indian. "All
the way," writes the friar, "he spoke to me of nothing but matters of
piety, grace, and predestination; enlarging on the debt he owed to God,
who had saved him from so many perils during more than twenty years of
travel in America. Suddenly, I saw him overwhelmed with a profound
sadness, for which he himself could not account. He was so much moved
that I scarcely knew him." He soon recovered his usual calmness; and
they walked on till they approached the camp of Duhaut, which was on the
farther side of a small river. Looking about him with the eye of a
woodsman, La Salle saw two eagles circling in the air nearly over him,
as if attracted by carcasses of beasts or men. He fired his gun and his
pistol, as a summons to any of his followers who might be within
hearing. The shots reached the ears of the conspirators. Rightly
conjecturing by whom they were fired, several of them, led by Duhaut,
crossed the river at a little distance above, where trees or other
intervening objects hid them from sight. Duhaut and the surgeon crouched
like Indians in the long, dry, reed-like grass of the last summer's
growth, while L'Archevêque stood in sight near the bank. La Salle,
continuing to advance, soon saw him, and, calling to him, demanded where
was Moranget. The man, without lifting his hat, or any show of respect,
replied in an agitated and broken voice, but with a tone of studied
insolence, that Moranget was strolling about somewhere. La Salle rebuked
and menaced him. He rejoined with increased insolence, drawing back, as
he spoke, towards the ambuscade, while the incensed commander advanced
to chastise him. At that moment a shot was fired from the grass,
instantly followed by another; and, pierced through the brain, La Salle
dropped dead.
The friar at his side stood terror-stricken, unable to advance or to
fly; when Duhaut, rising from the ambuscade, called out to him to take
courage, for he had nothing to fear. The murderers now came forward, and
with wild looks gathered about their victim. "There thou liest, great
Bashaw! There thou liest!"[329] exclaimed the surgeon Liotot, in base
exultation over the unconscious corpse. With mockery and insult, they
stripped it naked, dragged it into the bushes, and left it there, a prey
to the buzzards and the wolves.
Thus in the vigor of his manhood, at the age of forty-three, died Robert
Cavelier de la Salle, "one of the greatest men," writes Tonty, "of this
age;" without question one of the most remarkable explorers whose names
live in history. His faithful officer Joutel thus sketches his portrait:
"His firmness, his courage, his great knowledge of the arts and
sciences, which made him equal to every undertaking, and his untiring
energy, which enabled him to surmount every obstacle, would have won at
last a glorious success for his grand enterprise, had not all his fine