A boy of the old French West

Preface

The French in North American history were, above all else, explorers and gover¬ nors. With no traditions to lead them into a life of adventure and its accompanying hardships, this versatile people had no sooner established a precarious footing on the shores of the St. Lawrence than it sent forth its emissaries of commerce and religion over a third of a continent. Though utterly with¬ out experience in dealing with inferior races, these men, representing at once the authority of the king and of the church, and the enter¬ prise of the merchant, soon became the con¬ trolling force in the primitive politics of the basins of the Great Lakes and the Missis¬ sippi.

It is with the period that produced the greatest of the French explorers, La Salle, that this book deals. It is submitted with the hope that, in addition to whiling away

PREFACE a few hours of the young reader’s time, it will make more real to him that now longago period when, with bark canoe and mus¬ ket, and a supreme faith in themselves, a handful of Frenchmen dominated an em¬ pire.

Orison Robbins.

Washington , D . C.

ILLUSTRATIONS

The third wave broke over her

(Page 23) - Frontispiece

FACING PAGE

He crossed the line a foot ahead of

Leaping Deer - 58

Philippe found himself caught in the

animal’s dangerous embrace - - 114

Black Eagle approached the captives - 232

Chapter I

“ Philippe, it seems to me the breeze is getting stronger. I am afraid we are in for a hard blow. What do you think? ”

The speaker was one of four occupants of a birch-bark canoe that moved rapidly over the rough surface of Lake Superior. He was a man of huge build, with a massive head, covered with long, brown hair that turned up in waves and curls, as it lay upon his shoulders. Such portions of his face as were not concealed by his wavy brown beard were tanned by sun and rain to a dull red color, like that of old copper. The blue eyes that looked out from under heavy brows were clear and honest.

As he wielded his paddle with long, steady strokes, the enormous muscles of the man swelled as if they would burst the deerskin tunic which covered them. The very paddle bespoke the strength of its user. Its blade was of twice the usual size, and its handle of tough ash was as thick as a man’s wrist. And such size was necessary. No ordinary paddle could have transmitted the muscular power that caused the canoe to leap like a deer at every stroke.

This giant of the frontier was known as Le Gros (The Great One), a name given him by the Indians on account of his stature, and adopted by his fellow-Frenchmen.

The lad, Philippe, sat, or rather knelt, in the bow of the canoe. He was dressed in summer costume; leggins and moccasins of deerskin. Above the waist he was bare. His skin had the dull brown tint of an American Indian. In the glossy black of his parted and braided hair, however, there were glints of gold; and, as he turned his head to reply to Le Gros, he showed the clean-cut profile of a Caucasian. The eyes, too, brown in color, were large and soft, not small and piercing like those of an Indian.

While he still lacked some inches and many pounds of the height and weight to which he would ultimately attain, this six¬ teen-year-old boy, trained on the water and in the forest, possessed skill and strength that made him well worthy of the place of second honor in the canoe, that in the bow.

The other occupants of the little craft were a stocky lad of seventeen, nephew to Le Gros, and a black-robed Jesuit priest, tall, wiry, and somewhat severe of face. The boy was known as Henri Minet; the priest, as Father Gournay.

From his place in the bow of the canoe, Philippe had studied the aspects of sky and water, and had drawn his conclusions long before Le Gros spoke. His reply was given in imperfect French.

" Very bad wind come, from there,” Phi¬ lippe said, pointing to the northeast.

“ If there is danger of a severe storm, would it not be best to put back to the south shore before it strikes us? ” It was the priest who spoke. He had been sitting with his head bowed, engrossed with his own thoughts. Trusting the skill of his three companions, he had hardly given a thought to his surroundings since leaving the south shore, some four hours before. The ques¬ tion of Le Gros, however, and its answer, roused him from his reverie.

“ If the Father will look back, he will see that the south shore has now disappeared be¬ low the waves,” said Le Gros. “ That blue haze ahead is the high land of the north shore. I know this place. Just ahead of us is a good harbor. It is called, from its shape, Two Harbors. If we can get there before the storm hits us, we shall be safe.”

A week earlier (it was in July of 1683), the four travelers had left Sault Ste. Marie, the mission station at the eastern end of Lake Superior, in company with two hun¬ dred or more French and Indians. Their destination was the bay at the western ex¬ tremity of the lake, where the city of Duluth now lies. Their leader was the tireless ex¬ plorer and trader for whom that city is named, Daniel Greysolon, Sieur du Luth. When within some forty miles of his destina¬ tion, Father Gournay had directed Le Gros to steer across the lake to the north shore. He wished to visit a certain band of Indians located there.

Dangerous as it may seem to us for so small and frail a craft as a canoe to cross the treacherous waters of Lake Superior, it was at that time a matter of common oc¬ currence. Practically the entire trade of the French upon the Great Lakes was carried on in these little craft, which crossed and re¬ crossed the great inland seas at will. They were, in fact, excellent boats for heavy weather. Light and well-molded, they could, like a New England dory, almost “ float in a dewdrop or in a northeaster.”

Though the northern shore was only ten or twelve miles away, there was little chance that our travelers could reach it before the storm would be upon them. For an hour or more great rollers had been coming up the lake, a sure sign of heavy weather to the east. The wind, which had blown from the south, veered suddenly to the east, and in¬ creased in violence until the surface of the lake was covered with the white combs of breaking waves. The canoe rode easily over the long swells, and danced merrily over the smaller waves.

The priest, though he did not possess the masterly skill that comes only with lifelong use of the paddle, was a fair canoeman. He now added his strength to that of his companions. Under the impulse of four paddles the canoe fairly shot over the water. Soon the blue haze to the north resolved it¬ self into wooded hills and valleys. Le Gros scanned these closely, looking for the harbor which he had mentioned.

“ There it is,” he exclaimed at last, point¬ ing to the northeast. “ The canoe has drifted so far to leeward that we nearly passed it. We shall have to paddle almost into the teeth of the wind to make the harbor.”

The course of the canoe was changed, but before it had gone a mile in the new direc¬ tion the full force of the gale was upon it. The wind did not come in gusts, but bore upon the canoe with a hard, steady pressure that not even the strength of eight sturdy arms could overcome. Instead of moving toward the harbor, the craft was actually forced backward in spite of the utmost ef¬ forts of its crew.

“ It’s no use, Father,” said Le Gros to the priest, after a quarter of an hour of fruitless struggle. “ The wind is driving us back¬ ward. We shall have to run with it, and try to edge in toward the shore. Perhaps we can find a bay, or the mouth of a creek, where we can make a landing.”

In an hour the canoe had come to within half a mile of the land, though in doing so it had traveled several miles up the lake. In the meantime the seas had increased in size until they rivaled even those of the ocean. Fully eighty yards they were from crest to crest, and, as the canoe sank deep into the troughs, nothing could be seen by its occu¬ pants but the steep slopes of the nearest waves, and the hazy blue of the sky over¬ head.

Changing his course so as to run parallel with the shore, Le Gros looked anxiously for a landing-place. The seas were so heavy, however, and broke with such tremendous violence upon the rocky shore, that it would have meant destruction to attempt to land.

“ There’s no use in trying it,” said Le Gros to the priest. “ I might be able to put the canoe through the surf on a sandy beach, even in such a storm as this, but to get in safely among masses of boulders is beyond human power. We shall have to stick to the lake until we find a smoother shore. In the meantime, Father, you and Henri had best stop paddling. Philippe and I can keep the canoe to its course, and you two can save your strength. We may need it later.”

The priest soon found another occupation than paddling. In spite of the skill with which it was handled, the canoe shipped water constantly. In addition, the strain of riding the waves caused some of the seams to open, and water began to run in through them in a way that was really dangerous. Unfortunately, there was no vessel for bail¬ ing, but Gournay made effective use of his large, Jesuit hat. Even so there were times when the canoe was a quarter full, but by hard work the priest was able to keep the water below the danger-point.

“ Let us hope the wind will blow itself out before we reach the end of the lake,” said Gournay, when it had become evident that no safe landing-place could be hoped for on the north shore. “ I should hate to have to go through such a surf as is rolling over that point we just passed, even to a smooth, sandy beach.”

The wind gave no sign of abating, how¬ ever, but rather increased in violence, until, as the canoe rose to the crests of the waves, it seemed that it must be blown bodily out of the water. Le Gros scanned the western horizon anxiously.

“ Philippe,” he said at length, “ your eyes should be as keen as they are bright. Do you see any sign of land ahead? ”

The half-breed boy, for such he was, looked intently to the southwest.

“ Think I see one high, blue hill,” he said, “ and many low hills, but may be clouds.”

As the canoe drove on before the tempest, it became apparent that the masses of blue were really land. To the left, too, appeared the line of hills that borders the southern shore of the lake.

“ Now look even sharper than before,” said Le Gros to the lad. “ I have never been to this end of Superior, but I have been told that a long, narrow arm of sand sepa¬ rates the lake from a bay where the water is always still. Where the openings through this sand-spit are, I don’t know. Watch for a channel. If we don’t find one, we may all be drowned in the surf.”

Le Gros spoke with the quiet earnestness of one who recognized the dangers of the situation, but was prepared to do all that human strength and skill could do to over¬ come them.

In order to get the best possible view, Philippe rose from his kneeling position and stood in the bow of the canoe, bracing him¬ self with his paddle.

“See white waves break on sand,” he said. “ Break all way across end of lake.”

“ Are you sure? ” asked the guide. “ I see it as you do, a continuous line of white breakers as far to the south as the eye can see. But are you sure there is no break in them? ”

The boy waited fully five minutes before he replied, “ No break. All white waves.”

“ Yes, it is as you say,” said Le Gros. “ There is no opening at this end of the bar. We must try to work southward until we find one.”

Chapter II

During the time that Le Gros and Philippe had been looking for an opening in the long bar of sand, through which they could pass to the still waters beyond, the former had gradually worked the canoe away from the north shore. Now that it was certain no opening existed near the northern end of the bar, the craft was headed southward. The white lad, Henri, now re¬ sumed his paddle. Gournay kept on with his bailing.

“ Keep her as dry as you can, Father,”

said Le Gros. “ If the opening into the bay

is far to the south, we shall have all we can

do to make it without the handicap of a

water-logged canoe.” Right earnestly and

well did the gray-haired priest perform his

humble but necessary task, and, in spite of

combing seas and leaking seams, he kept the canoe so nearly clear of water that its buoy¬ ancy was maintained.

With consummate skill did the giant guide handle the little craft. To have been caught broadside on by a combing wave would have meant instant destruction. So easily handled was the canoe, however, and so powerful the steersman, that as soon as a foaming, roar¬ ing crest had passed, the craft swung around as on a pivot, and resumed her way to the south. The crew then paddled at top speed until another breaking wave threatened them, when the canoe was again turned to the west, to receive the blow in the stern.

Rapidly the northern shore receded, but not less rapidly did the dangerous bar of sand seem to approach from the southwest. Soon the roar of the surf sounded above the rushing noise of the wind, and the face of the guide became very grave. Then Philippe gave a joyous shout, and pointed ahead with his paddle.

“See!” he cried. “Waves not break.

Channel there.”

A mile or so to the south there was, in¬ deed, a break in the long line of roaring, driving surf. The opening was but little more than a quarter of a mile in width, but here the waves ran without breaking into the bay that lay behind the bar.

“ Do you think we can make it? ” asked the priest of Le Gros. “We are getting very close to the surf, and the channel seems a long way ahead.”

“ It will be a close rub,” replied the guide. “ I think, though, there is a current set¬ ting southward along the bar. It may carry us into the channel.”

Now that their goal was so close at hand, the efforts of the three paddlers were re¬ doubled. Swiftly the canoe neared the chan¬ nel, but even more swiftly did the wind and waves drive it toward the breakers.

“ If we are driven into the surf, Henri,” Le Gros called to his nephew, “ be sure to keep a good grip on your musket. A white man without his gun in this part of the world is helpless. Philippe, you don’t need to be told to take care of your bow and arrows. An Indian never forgets them. If we can’t reach the channel, I shall try to make the canoe ride one of the larger waves to the beach, or, at least, near enough to it so that we can wade ashore. No man can swim long in the icy water of this lake.”

It soon became evident that if the open¬ ing in the bar were reached at all, it would be by the narrowest margin. Then, when the channel was only a hundred yards away, an enormous wave raised its crest just out¬ side the little craft. It was followed by two others of equal size. The first two carried the canoe a hundred feet toward the bar. The third broke over her. It was useless to attempt to resist the rushing torrent of water. Dropping their paddles, Henri and Le Gros seized their guns, while Philippe slung his bow and quiver over his neck. Gournay held a bundle more precious to him than were even their weapons to his companions, a bundle containing an altar-cloth, and wine and bread for the communion.

Though nearly full of water, the canoe fortunately remained upright, but it was swung completely around. When fifty feet from the beach it sank. The three white men scrambled ashore, breasting their way against the pull of a terrific undertow. Philippe, however, was not with them.

With the swinging about of the canoe, the lad had found himself, as it sank, at its outer end. As he leaped with the others, the dangling end of his bow caught under one of the cross-bars of the canoe. The un¬ expected pull of the bowstring upon his neck caused the boy to lose his balance, and he fell backward into the water. In an instant the undertow had swept him beyond his depth. Philippe was an excellent swimmer, and struck out confidently for the shore. To his surprise, however, his utmost efforts could not overcome the treacherous outward current, the backwash of the huge rollers.

Bravely the boy struggled, but wave after wave broke over his head. Then, choking and gasping, he sank in the cold water. Another succession of great waves, rushing in from the lake, picked up the now still form of the lad and carried it nearly ashore. It was seized by Le Gros, who waded out shoulder-deep to meet it. The guide turned to carry his burden to the shore, but not even the strength of this giant could resist the > sweep of the piled-up waters as they re¬ turned to the lake. Still clinging to his bur¬ den, he was carried out into deep water.

With the confidence of one accustomed to all the emergencies of frontier life, Le Gros swam coolly, and with all his great strength. He directed his course, not toward the shore, but toward the channel. It was a hard struggle. To the anxious watchers on the beach it seemed almost impossible that the swimmer could win. Time and again the foaming breakers covered him, but always, when the wave had passed, his sturdy form reappeared, swimming steadily and strongly, and still supporting its precious burden.

Aided by the current, Le Gros finally reached the edge of the channel. Here he was out of the dangerous surf, and here he found another helpful current, for the water of the lake, raised by the storm, rushed like a mill-race into the bay. Soon the guide reached the shallow water on the inner side of the point, and waded ashore.

Le Gros was none the worse for his ex¬ perience, and rough-and-ready treatment soon restored Philippe to consciousness. Meantime, with flint and steel and tinder from a waterproof box that he carried, the priest had kindled a driftwood fire in the shelter of a clump of pines. Clothes were dried, and chilled bodies warmed. Then the four travelers sat down to take stock of their losses. Under the circumstances these were not serious. Blankets, food, and the reserve supply of ammunition had been swept away, and Father Gournav had lost his hat. But these things could all be replaced when junc¬ tion was made again with the main party. The guns had been saved. Even Philippe’s bow and quiver dangled from his shoulders as he was carried ashore.

“ Is the powder in your horn dry, Henri? ” Le Gros asked, as he drew the wet charge from his gun, to replace it with a dry one. Henri tried to pour some of the contents of his powder-horn into his hand, but it was caked with moisture.

“ I thought as much,” continued the guide. “ Well, work the wet stuff out with a stick, and I will give you some of my dry powder. Then, when you get a chance, seal every crevice in your horn with pitch, and you will have dry powder, even though you get soaked yourself.”

While Henri was carrying out his uncle’s instructions, Philippe had unstrung his bow, and now proceeded to dry the cord, as well as two spare strings that he carried. His arrows, too, were carefully wiped, and dried before the fire. As he took these necessary precautions with the weapons so vital to ex¬ istence in the forest, the boy’s dark eyes studied in turn the faces of his companions.

“ How I get out of lake? ” he asked finally. “ I thought I drown.”

In a few words the priest told of the res¬ cue. Then the lad’s luminous eyes met those of the guide.

“ Philippe very glad,” he said. “ Le Gros very strong, very brave. Le Gros and Philippe be good friends.”

The rough frontiersman felt a sudden leap of the heart as he looked into the bright, in¬ telligent face, so lighted with gratitude. In fact, something about the lad had appealed to him at their first meeting, a month before. It was at Michillimackinac, the French mis¬ sion station and fort on the strait between Lakes Michigan and Huron. Here the boy had been brought by a French priest from his home on the Illinois River. For a year he had studied in the school maintained for Indian boys, had learned a little French, and had been given the name Philippe. Of this French title he was very proud, though he still retained a fondness for the name, “ The Brown One,” which, because of the color of his hair, had been given him by his Indian companions.

When Henri Minet, a son of a sister of Le Gros, arrived at the fort with a band of traders returning from Montreal, he and Philippe had become fast friends. It fol¬ lowed naturally, therefore, that when Le Gros was requested by the priest, Father Gournay, to organize a small party for a long journey, he should choose the two boys as his companions.

The guide returned the friendly gaze of the young half-blood.

“ Aye, lad,” he said heartily. “ I think we were pretty good friends already, and we will not like each other less for the little experience in the water. You are a good swimmer, but Lake Superior isn’t like your smooth Illinois. When you get into the surf, and the waves go over you, keep your mouth shut. You may think you will burst unless you open it, but keep it shut. Then you will bob up like a cork, and can empty your lungs before the next wave hits you.”

With their equipment dried and guns re¬ loaded, the party was ready to resume its journey. This must now be by land, for the canoe had been completely wrecked by the surf. For an hour the four walked over the hard surface of the wet sand before they reached the foot of the high, rocky bluffs that lined the northern shore of the lake and bay. By this time the sun had set, so camp was made. On beds of pine needles the four travelers slept the sound sleep of the healthy and the weary.

Chapter III

On the morning after the storm, Henri and Philippe were up with the sun. A plunge in the cool waters of the bay, fol¬ lowed by a run on the beach, took all the sleep out of their eyes.

“ Let’s climb the hill back of the camp while my uncle is getting breakfast,” said Henri. He was a strong, heavy-set lad, with a shock of brown hair, and blue eyes like his uncle’s. Brought up on one of the seign¬ iories, or feudal estates, that lined the St. Lawrence River, he had been accustomed since earliest boyhood to the hardships as well as to the fun of frontier farm-life. He could fish, trap, and hunt with the skill of one who does these things as part of the day’s work, and not simply for pleasure. As he was the oldest boy in a large family, he

had come to the far west to earn his own way, and to help supply the needs of the home on the St. Lawrence.

The hill was long and steep, but when the top was reached, the view proved to be worth the climb. The gale of yesterday had blown itself out, and the surface of the lake was like glass. Along the outer bar, however, there was still a white line of surf, where smooth, round rollers broke on the sand. To the south and west lay the great double harbor now called Bay St. Louis, shaped like a huge figure-eight. Beyond was the dark green of pine forests, stretching to the hori¬ zon.

“ See, many canoe! ” cried Philippe sud¬ denly, pointing eastward along the rugged shore of the lake. Looking in the direction indicated, Henri saw twenty or more tiny specks on the shining surface of the lake. They seerped no larger than water-fowl, but Henri agreed that they must be what Phi¬ lippe had called them, canoes.

A moment later the white boy shouted in his turn, “ See, more canoes! They are coming through the channel that we tried to make yesterday.”

“ And more canoes there,” exclaimed Philippe, his brown eyes dancing with ex¬ citement as he pointed to the southwest, where another cluster of dots showed on the distant waters of the bay. “ Ail come to big council. Have much talk, smoke peace-pipe, play games, and French give many presents. Give some to warrior, some to squaw, some to papoose, some to everybody.” And in anticipation of this great event, to him what a circus is to a modern boy, Philippe threw back his head and laughed merrily. Then he leaped from the rock where he sat, and raced with reckless speed down the steep hillside, to impart the news to the guide.

“ Aye, the Indians will flock to this coun¬ cil like crows to a cornfield,” said the good-natured giant. “ Du Luth has been to Paris, and it is said that he even talked with the king himself. For two months past, couriers have been traveling far and wide, inviting the tribes to send their chief men to receive the word which the great white father sends to his children. They know well that the bearer of such a message will not come with empty hands. Big and little will be here to share in the presents.”

“ How is it they all get here together? ” asked Henri, who had come up in time to catch the last of Le Gros’ remarks. “ It must have been many weeks since the invi¬ tation was given to some of them, and here they all come on the same morning, as if they had been asked only yesterday.”

The guide looked at the boy in surprise. “ How is it they all get here at the same time? ” he repeated with a touch of scorn in his voice. “ That’s what comes of spending one’s time hoeing beans and corn in the settlements. Well, the Indians didn’t have those little ticking things that some of the officers carry, that’s sure. Philippe, how do you suppose these ignorant savages knew when to come to the council? ”

Philippe’s merry laugh pealed forth again m answer.

“ Henri see new moon last night, first time? ” he asked.

Henri nodded his head.

“ Well,” continued the half-breed, “ mes¬ sengers say council begin first day after new moon, so of course all be here to-day.”

After breakfast a half-hour’s walk west¬ ward brought the four to the base of the long sandy spit which separates the upper and lower portions of the bay. Another quarter of an hour brought them to its point. Hardly had they arrived there before the canoes that had been seen entering the lower bay came in sight. They carried the party of French and Indians from which Le Gros and his companions had separated the day before. In a few minutes they passed the point, as in review, breasting a swift cur¬ rent to gain the still water of the upper bay.

In the first canoe sat the leader of the ex¬ pedition, Du Luth. Dressed in a brocaded coat, velvet knickerbockers, and silk stock¬ ings, his hair in long flowing curls, partly covered by a plumed hat, he presented a striking contrast to the three nearly naked Indians who paddled his canoe. Very dif¬ ferent was this splendid costume from the rough garb usually worn by this hardy ad¬ venturer ; but nothing was now to be omitted that might impress the simple minds of the savages with the power and wealth of the French nation.

In the canoe with Du Luth sat a small, wiry man dressed in garments of deerskin. He waved one hand, his only one, in reply to the greetings of Le Gros and the priest. He was Henri de Tonty, an Italian officer in the service of the famous explorer, La Salle. Tonty was considered one of the most dar¬ ing men on the frontier. He certainly was one of the most successful in his dealings with the Indians. From Fort St. Louis on the distant Illinois, where he commanded for La Salle, he had led a band of Illinois war¬ riors to the council.