France and England in North America, Part III: La Salle, Discovery of The Great West
was some time without speaking, and, as it were, without moving, for
fear of giving umbrage to our enemies.
"They had cooked some meat, and when it was supper-time they distributed
it as they saw fit, saying that formerly their share had been served out
to them, but that it was they who would serve it out in future. They, no
doubt, wanted me to say something that would give them a chance to make
a noise; but I managed always to keep my mouth closed. When night came
and it was time to stand guard, they were in perplexity, as they could
not do it alone; therefore they said to M. Cavelier, Father Anastase,
me, and the others who were not in the plot with them, that all we had
to do was to stand guard as usual; that there was no use in thinking
about what had happened,--that what was done was done; that they had
been driven to it by despair, and that they were sorry for it, and meant
no more harm to anybody. M. Cavelier took up the word, and told them
that when they killed M. de la Salle they killed themselves, for there
was nobody but him who could get us out of this country. At last, after
a good deal of talk on both sides, they gave us our arms. So we stood
guard; during which, M. Cavelier told me how they had come to the camp,
entered his hut like so many madmen, and seized everything in it."
Joutel, Douay, and the two Caveliers spent a sleepless night, consulting
as to what they should do. They mutually pledged themselves to stand by
each other to the last, and to escape as soon as they could from the
company of the assassins. In the morning, Duhaut and his accomplices,
after much discussion, resolved to go to the Cenis villages; and,
accordingly, the whole party broke up their camp, packed their horses,
and began their march. They went five leagues, and encamped at the edge
of a grove. On the following day they advanced again till noon, when
heavy rains began, and they were forced to stop by the banks of a river.
"We passed the night and the next day there," says Joutel; "and during
that time my mind was possessed with dark thoughts. It was hard to
prevent ourselves from being in constant fear among such men, and we
could not look at them without horror. When I thought of the cruel
deeds they had committed, and the danger we were in from them, I longed
to revenge the evil they had done us. This would have been easy while
they were asleep; but M. Cavelier dissuaded us, saying that we ought to
leave vengeance to God, and that he himself had more to revenge than we,
having lost his brother and his nephew."
[Sidenote: JOURNEY TO THE CENIS.]
The comic alternated with the tragic. On the twenty-third, they reached
the bank of a river too deep to ford. Those who knew how to swim crossed
without difficulty, but Joutel, Cavelier, and Douay were not of the
number. Accordingly, they launched a log of light, dry wood, embraced it
with one arm, and struck out for the other bank with their legs and the
arm that was left free. But the friar became frightened. "He only clung
fast to the aforesaid log," says Joutel, "and did nothing to help us
forward. While I was trying to swim, my body being stretched at full
length, I hit him in the belly with my feet; on which he thought it was
all over with him, and, I can answer for it, he invoked Saint Francis
with might and main. I could not help laughing, though I was myself in
danger of drowning." Some Indians who had joined the party swam to the
rescue, and pushed the log across.
The path to the Cenis villages was exceedingly faint, and but for the
Indians they would have lost the way. They crossed the main stream of
the Trinity in a boat of raw hides, and then, being short of
provisions, held a council to determine what they should do. It was
resolved that Joutel, with Hiens, Liotot, and Teissier, should go in
advance to the villages and buy a supply of corn. Thus, Joutel found
himself doomed to the company of three villains, who, he strongly
suspected, were contriving an opportunity to kill him; but, as he had no
choice, he dissembled his doubts, and set out with his sinister
companions, Duhaut having first supplied him with goods for the intended
barter.
[Sidenote: JOUTEL AND THE CENIS.]
They rode over hills and plains till night, encamped, supped on a wild
turkey, and continued their journey till the afternoon of the next day,
when they saw three men approaching on horseback, one of whom, to
Joutel's alarm, was dressed like a Spaniard. He proved, however, to be a
Cenis Indian, like the others. The three turned their horses' heads, and
accompanied the Frenchmen on their way. At length they neared the Indian
town, which, with its large thatched lodges, looked like a cluster of
gigantic haystacks. Their approach had been made known, and they were
received in solemn state. Twelve of the elders came to meet them in
their dress of ceremony, each with his face daubed red or black, and his
head adorned with painted plumes. From their shoulders hung deer-skins
wrought with gay colors. Some carried war-clubs; some, bows and arrows;
some, the blades of Spanish rapiers, attached to wooden handles
decorated with hawk's bells and bunches of feathers. They stopped
before the honored guests, and, raising their hands aloft, uttered howls
so extraordinary that Joutel could hardly preserve the gravity which the
occasion demanded. Having next embraced the Frenchmen, the elders
conducted them into the village, attended by a crowd of warriors and
young men; ushered them into their town-hall, a large lodge, devoted to
councils, feasts, dances, and other public assemblies; seated them on
mats, and squatted in a ring around them. Here they were regaled with
sagamite or Indian porridge, corn-cake, beans, bread made of the meal of
parched corn, and another kind of bread made of the kernels of nuts and
the seed of sunflowers. Then the pipe was lighted, and all smoked
together. The four Frenchmen proposed to open a traffic for provisions,
and their entertainers grunted assent.
Joutel found a Frenchman in the village. He was a young man from
Provence, who had deserted from La Salle on his last journey, and was
now, to all appearance, a savage like his adopted countrymen, being
naked like them, and affecting to have forgotten his native language. He
was very friendly, however, and invited the visitors to a neighboring
village, where he lived, and where, as he told them, they would find a
better supply of corn. They accordingly set out with him, escorted by a
crowd of Indians. They saw lodges and clusters of lodges scattered along
their path at intervals, each with its field of corn, beans, and
pumpkins, rudely cultivated with a wooden hoe. Reaching their
destination, which was four or five leagues distant, they were greeted
with the same honors as at the first village, and, the ceremonial of
welcome over, were lodged in the abode of the savage Frenchman. It is
not to be supposed, however, that he and his squaws, of whom he had a
considerable number, dwelt here alone; for these lodges of the Cenis
often contained eight or ten families. They were made by firmly planting
in a circle tall, straight young trees, such as grew in the swamps. The
tops were then bent inward and lashed together; great numbers of
cross-pieces were bound on; and the frame thus constructed was thickly
covered with thatch, a hole being left at the top for the escape of the
smoke. The inmates were ranged around the circumference of the
structure, each family in a kind of stall, open in front, but separated
from those adjoining it by partitions of mats. Here they placed their
beds of cane, their painted robes of buffalo and deer-skin, their
cooking utensils of pottery, and other household goods; and here, too,
the head of the family hung his bow, quiver, lance, and shield. There
was nothing in common but the fire, which burned in the middle of the
lodge, and was never suffered to go out. These dwellings were of great
size, and Joutel declares that he has seen some of them sixty feet in
diameter.[332]
It was in one of the largest that the four travellers were now lodged. A
place was assigned them where to bestow their baggage; and they took
possession of their quarters amid the silent stares of the whole
community. They asked their renegade countryman, the Provençal, if they
were safe. He replied that they were; but this did not wholly reassure
them, and they spent a somewhat wakeful night. In the morning, they
opened their budgets, and began a brisk trade in knives, awls, beads,
and other trinkets, which they exchanged for corn and beans. Before
evening, they had acquired a considerable stock; and Joutel's three
companions declared their intention of returning with it to the camp,
leaving him to continue the trade. They went, accordingly, in the
morning; and Joutel was left alone. On the one hand, he was glad to be
rid of them; on the other, he found his position among the Cenis very
irksome, and, as he thought, insecure. Besides the Provençal, who had
gone with Liotot and his companions, there were two other French
deserters among this tribe, and Joutel was very desirous to see them,
hoping that they could tell him the way to the Mississippi; for he was
resolved to escape, at the first opportunity, from the company of Duhaut
and his accomplices. He therefore made the present of a knife to a young
Indian, whom he sent to find the two Frenchmen and invite them to come
to the village. Meanwhile he continued his barter, but under many
difficulties; for he could only explain himself by signs, and his
customers, though friendly by day, pilfered his goods by night. This,
joined to the fears and troubles which burdened his mind, almost
deprived him of sleep, and, as he confesses, greatly depressed his
spirits. Indeed, he had little cause for cheerfulness as to the past,
present, or future. An old Indian, one of the patriarchs of the tribe,
observing his dejection and anxious to relieve it, one evening brought
him a young wife, saying that he made him a present of her. She seated
herself at his side; "but," says Joutel, "as my head was full of other
cares and anxieties, I said nothing to the poor girl. She waited for a
little time; and then, finding that I did not speak a word, she went
away."[333]
[Sidenote: WHITE SAVAGES.]
Late one night, he lay between sleeping and waking on the buffalo-robe
that covered his bed of canes. All around the great lodge, its inmates
were buried in sleep; and the fire that still burned in the midst cast
ghostly gleams on the trophies of savage chivalry--the treasured
scalp-locks, the spear and war-club, and shield of whitened
bull-hide--that hung by each warrior's resting-place. Such was the
weird scene that lingered on the dreamy eyes of Joutel, as he closed
them at last in a troubled sleep. The sound of a footstep soon wakened
him; and, turning, he saw at his side the figure of a naked savage,
armed with a bow and arrows. Joutel spoke, but received no answer. Not
knowing what to think, he reached out his hand for his pistols; on which
the intruder withdrew, and seated himself by the fire. Thither Joutel
followed; and as the light fell on his features, he looked at him
closely. His face was tattooed, after the Cenis fashion, in lines drawn
from the top of the forehead and converging to the chin; and his body
was decorated with similar embellishments. Suddenly, this supposed
Indian rose and threw his arms around Joutel's neck, making himself
known, at the same time, as one of the Frenchmen who had deserted from
La Salle and taken refuge among the Cenis. He was a Breton sailor named
Ruter. His companion, named Grollet, also a sailor, had been afraid to
come to the village lest he should meet La Salle. Ruter expressed