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Title: The Explorations of Pre Marquette
Author: Kjelgaard, James Arthur (1910-1959)
Author [preface]: Anonymous
Date of first publication: 1951
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   New York: Random House, 1951
   [Landmark Books] [first edition]
Date first posted: 14 March 2012
Date last updated: 14 March 2012
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #924

This ebook was produced by
David T. Jones, Ross Cooling, Greg Weeks
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net

This ebook omits the illustrations by Stephen J. Voorhies,
and the foreword by R. N. Hamilton, S.J.






  THE EXPLORATIONS OF PRE MARQUETTE


What wonder Pre Marquette must have felt as he paddled his canoe down
waterways never before seen by white men!

A missionary from France, Marquette had come to North America to answer
some imponderable questions: How extensive was this New World? Was it
just a narrow strip of land between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans?
From the Indians he heard about a vast river to the west. Did this
river, which some tribes called the Mississippi, empty into the Pacific
Ocean? If so, what a great discovery that would be!

Here is a vivid and lively account of Pre Marquette's famous
explorations of the Mississippi Valley and the Great Lakes
basin--explorations that opened up an exciting new world for the
countless millions that followed.




  JIM KJELGAARD


  Illustrated by

  STEPHEN J. VOORHIES



  RANDOM HOUSE  NEW YORK




  THE EXPLORATIONS OF PRE MARQUETTE

[Illustration]




  _Copyright 1951 by Jim Kjelgaard_

  _All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright
  Conventions_

  _Published in New York by Random House, Inc. and simultaneously in
  Toronto, Canada by Random House of Canada Ltd._

  _Manufactured in the U. S. A._




  To Norma Rathbun of the Milwaukee Public Library, who has faith in
  young people and books




[Illustration]




  Contents


   1 Into the Wilderness           3
   2 Three Rivers                 17
   3 Night Mission                27
   4 Winter Journey               41
   5 Ordered North                57
   6 The Fabled River             67
   7 Flight                       81
   8 A Visitor to St. Ignace      93
   9 Plans                       103
  10 Canoes Westward             113
  11 The Mississippi             125
  12 Attack                      139
  13 The Turning Point           149
  14 A Child Is Baptized         163
  15 The Last Journey            173




[Illustration]




  THE EXPLORATIONS OF PRE MARQUETTE




[Illustration]

  1. Into the Wilderness


Father Franois le Mercier, or Pre le Mercier, as he was known to the
French-speaking people of Quebec, where he was Superior of the Jesuit
Mission, picked up his goose quill. Dipping it in ink, he wrote:

"October 10, 1666. Pre Jacques Marquette goes up to Three Rivers to
study the Algonquin language with Pre Druilettes."

Pre le Mercier leaned back for a moment of quiet thought. Then he rose
and went into the chapel. He must offer a prayer for the safety of Pre
Marquette and those who accompanied him. Though the homelands of the
Iroquois, bitter enemies of all Frenchmen, were to the south and west,
the fierce Indians sometimes came into the very outskirts of Quebec
itself.

And the Iroquois were again on the warpath.

    *    *    *    *    *

Sitting in the big birch-bark canoe that was carrying him and his
companions up the broad St. Lawrence, young Pre Marquette knew a
happiness such as he had never felt before. To this end--to travel up
this river into the dark and almost unknown wilderness of North
America--he had shaped his entire life.

Pre Marquette watched the French Canadian boatmen, or _voyageurs_, who
shared the canoe. Then he shifted his paddle, trying to grip it exactly
as his seat mate held his. About three feet long, including the grip,
and about three inches wide at the blade, the paddle was light and
delicate. However, Pre Marquette had found out speedily that handling
it properly was an art. He tried to forget the ache in his shoulders.

They had been on the river less than an hour, and already he was tiring!
He remembered the instructions given him before he left France:

"You should love the Indians as brothers. Never make them wait for you
in embarking. Do nothing to annoy them upon their various journeys."

Pre Marquette smiled softly. Plainly the training he had received in
the Jesuit college at Nancy, and later as a teacher in various places,
was only part of what a missionary to wilderness savages must know. He
must never annoy the Indians, but he knew that he was annoying his
companions now.

They did not express their displeasure openly, for all of them were
deeply religious and were honored to have a missionary in their craft.
But the big thirty-five-foot canoe, carrying thousands of pounds of
goods for the French trading post at Three Rivers and manned by Pre
Marquette and thirteen _voyageurs_, would have gone more swiftly and
smoothly had there been fourteen _voyageurs_.

Pre Marquette turned intent eyes on the supple back of the canoeman
just ahead of him. There was a definite rhythm in the way the man
handled his paddle. It seemed to be an extension of his own arm.

Pre Marquette tried hard to swing his paddle with that of the little
_voyageur_, but it was impossible. All the _voyageurs_ were stroking
once every second, in perfect time, sinking their paddles eighteen
inches into the river and bringing them back in unison. The canoe would
have gone forward as smoothly as a greyhound on fresh quarry if every
paddler had done exactly the same thing.

Pre Marquette could not. The paddles in the _voyageurs'_ hands seemed
alive. His was simply another wooden thing, but it was not so wooden as
his arms and shoulders seemed now. This was the most difficult physical
labor he had ever attempted. Pre Marquette did his best to keep up with
the others, but he almost dropped his oar into the river.

Then, just as he knew that he could not force one more stroke, the canoe
glided to a halt in a quiet cove.

At once the bowman and the steersman pushed slender poles over the side
into the river's soft bottom and anchored the canoe by holding onto the
poles. There was a flurry of activity as each man hauled out a pipe and
a pouch of tobacco. Sparks flew from flint and steel, and thirteen
canoemen puffed in contentment.

Pre Marquette relaxed gratefully. He was about to shift his legs to a
more comfortable position when he was halted by the steersman's alarmed,
"No!"

Pre Marquette looked questioningly around. The steersman, Pierre du
Chesne, chided him.

"The canoe, she is only bark. You must learn how to move or you make the
hole."

"I'm sorry," Pre Marquette said, and tried to ease his aching legs by
flexing their muscles. He should have remembered, for he had also been
instructed in canoeing before he left France. The fragile bark canoes
were very easily damaged. Anyone who embarked in such a craft must
always exercise the utmost care.

The _voyageurs_ smoked their pipes to the end, and the canoe was put
under way once more. Pre Marquette did his best to find the proper
rhythm of paddling, and still could not. His arms became huge, aching
things that seemed ready to drop off. He found himself looking forward
to the next stop and the next pipe.

They had left Quebec at daylight, but the sun was sinking and evening
shadows were gathering before the steersman swung the canoe towards the
shore. In spite of the sun, the air was cold. Pre Marquette gathered
his black robe tighter about him, grateful for its warmth. Paddling more
slowly, the canoemen moved their big craft towards the lee of a wooded
island, off the shore of which swam a flock of ducks. The paddlers
stopped in shallow water fifty yards below the ducks, which watched
curiously but without fear.

So expert that they scarcely rocked the canoe, each paddler sprang out
to land knee-deep in the icy river. Sticks were driven into the river
bottom beside the canoe, and to these the craft was anchored.

Pre Marquette hesitated. He had stepped into the canoe from a pier, and
until now it had never occurred to him that there must be some safe way
of leaving the craft. He looked doubtfully at the water, not afraid of a
cold bath, but unsure that he could disembark without damaging the
canoe.

Pierre du Chesne waded to his side and looked pleasantly up.

"Come," he invited.

"Come?"

"Get upon my shoulders," the little steersman said. "I will carry you."

Still doubtful, but not knowing what else to do, Pre Marquette stood
erect. The canoe rocked alarmingly, and _voyageurs_ gathered on either
side to steady it. Pre Marquette placed his legs beneath Pierre du
Chesne's arms, and grasped his mount by the shoulders. At once the
Jesuit felt a sense of confidence.

All the _voyageurs_ were small, none over five feet six, but they were
very strong. Never faltering, absolutely sure of his footing on the
slippery river bottom, Pierre du Chesne carried Pre Marquette ashore
and put him down. Other _voyageurs_ came with various bundles. Pierre
du Chesne shook himself and laughed.

"Ha! A good place!"

"The island?" asked Pre Marquette.

"Yes," replied du Chesne. "We see the Iroquois if they come."

Pierre walked back to the canoe, and returned with a bell-mouthed gun
called a blunderbuss. He strode up the shore until he was opposite the
ducks. Then, raising his gun, he discharged it into the flock.

[Illustration]

There was a great squawking and a mighty thrashing of wings as startled
birds beat hurriedly into the air. But a dozen floated quietly, limp
wings spread and heads trailing beneath the water.

Pre Marquette looked at them with interest. This was his first
experience with men who killed food as they traveled. However, neither
Pierre du Chesne nor any of the other boatmen made any move towards the
slain ducks.

Pre Marquette looked questioningly towards the steersman.

"Are you not going to recover your game?"

"No," said du Chesne. "Food we have."

"Why did you shoot them?"

"It is no matter," Pierre du Chesne shrugged. "When one is shot, two
will come to take its place."

Pre Marquette said nothing. His heart had bade him work among the
savages of the new world. He had not expected his own French countrymen
to be only a little less savage than the Indians, but he could not
change that. Meanwhile, he could think of the _voyageurs'_ many good
qualities. Certainly they could not be excelled as water men!

As though by magic a fire had sprung up and a big kettle, supported on
three stones, stood over it. The kettle was three-quarters filled with
water into which a brooding cook was measuring dried peas, a quart for
each man. When the mixture was soft enough, the cook added to it three
or four pounds of finely cut fat pork.

Pre Marquette sniffed hungrily. The stew was crude, but it smelled
appetizing.

"We eat," Pierre du Chesne said with enthusiasm.

Pre Marquette took his place beside the fire and gravely received the
huge portion which the little cook ladled out on his plate. The Jesuit
ate slowly, with a spoon, trying not to look at his companions, who were
noisily stuffing the stew into their mouths with greasy fingers or even
licking it direct from the plates.

When Pre Marquette had finished he went down to the river to wash his
plate and spoon. Then he replaced them in his kit of personal
belongings. Apparently a Jesuit had only one privilege in this wild
land. When there was danger that he would upset the canoe in
disembarking, he could be carried ashore. Otherwise he would do his full
share of the work.

After eating, Pre Marquette sat quietly, near enough the fire so that
he could take advantage of its heat, but far enough away so that he
would not interfere with his companions. It had been an exhausting day,
and he could not remember ever having been more tired. The _voyageurs_
could not feel differently.

Pre Marquette went a little farther away from the fire and sought his
blankets. He drew them around him, reveling in their warmth. Although he
was tired, his happiness soared to new peaks. This was an unknown land,
a dark country filled with savage and heathenish tribes. It was the
finest possible land for one such as he.

As he rested, strange sounds puzzled him. Raising himself from his
blankets, he looked towards the fire. The _voyageurs_, who had paddled
from dawn to dark, a full twelve hours, were dancing around the fire and
singing! Pre Marquette's smile seemed to illumine his gentle features.
These canoemen must spring from some hardy super-race.

He fell asleep to the sound of their gay song. The stars were still
bright in the heavens early in the morning when he was awakened by a
hand on his shoulder. Pierre du Chesne said, "Come now."




[Illustration]

  2. Three Rivers


Shortly after noon of the next day they reached a place seventy-five
miles from Quebec. This was Three Rivers, which stood where the St.
Maurice River empties into the St. Lawrence. It was a village of bark
shanties and log huts. The stockaded buildings of the French fur traders
dwarfed everything around them.

Pre Marquette watched with interest as the big canoe swung in towards a
pier that thrust like a long finger into the river. Three Rivers, he had
heard, was an outpost of some five hundred people. It was also a meeting
place of tribes wandering to or from their favorite hunting grounds. As
a result, Three Rivers was apt at times to have anywhere from half a
dozen to several thousand visitors.

A throng lined the shore, and so many people had come out onto the pier
that it seemed in danger of collapsing from their weight alone. Pre
Marquette saw warriors, naked even in this cold weather save for a
breechcloth. French woods-runners and trappers, gay in colorful
clothing, looked as if they owned the place. Squaws roamed about with
babies on their backs. Curious children stared shyly. A horde of
assorted dogs howled and barked so loudly that their clamor drowned out
every other noise.

The canoe glided smoothly next to the wharf, and every canoeman on the
pier side reached out to steady it.

Pierre du Chesne said to Pre Marquette, "Step upon the pier. Be careful
you do not fall."

Gathering his small packet of belongings, Pre Marquette stepped out of
the canoe onto the rough-hewn pier. He stood uncertainly, not knowing
exactly what to do in this wild place. A fierce-looking Indian with a
hawk's wing in his hair swaggered insolently down the pier.

"One side, Black Robe!" he growled in French.

Pre Marquette stepped aside, letting the proud warrior pass. He looked
about in bewilderment, trying to bring some order out of what seemed
utter confusion. Then he felt a hand on his elbow and whirled to face
another black-robed Jesuit.

"You are Pre Marquette?" the stranger asked.

"I am," Pre Marquette replied. "And you are Pre Druilettes?"

"Indeed, that is I," said the other man. "I had word three days ago that
you would arrive with Pierre's canoe."

Pre Marquette looked with vast respect at the lined face of the older
Jesuit. He was a man who knew the wilderness and the savages in it
better than almost anyone else. Pre Druilettes had lived much among the
Abenakis of Maine, and he had also worked among other tribes. He laid a
gentle hand on Pre Marquette's elbow.

"Come, Jacques--I may call you Jacques? We will go where we may talk
without being shouted or barked down. There is always great interest
when a canoe arrives with trade goods."

"I must confess that I had not expected such a horde," Pre Marquette
admitted.

Pre Druilettes laughed. "This is only a small portion of two tribes.
We'll have a larger gathering in the spring, when the Indians come with
more fur, and later in the fall. Did you have a hard journey?"

"It seemed so to me."

"The first canoe trip always seems endless," Pre Druilettes said.
"However, you will become so accustomed to this mode of travel that in
time you will outdo the _voyageurs_ at their own trade."

The two men made their way through the crowd on the pier and the bank.
Some of the Indians stood graciously aside. Others, like the chieftain
who had brushed past Pre Marquette on the pier, stayed where they were
and pretended not to notice the two Jesuits. Expertly Pre Druilettes
steered Pre Marquette around these Indians and headed away from the
water. As the two men drew farther back, the clamor on the shore died
out.

"May I see your church?" Pre Marquette asked.

"Spoken like a Jesuit! It is this way," said Pre Druilettes.

He guided Pre Marquette past the rows of buildings and into a quiet
grove of trees. Beyond this, on a small hillock that rose to command a
view of the river, nestled a log church graced by a finely polished
cross. Pre Druilettes opened the door and stood aside so Pre Marquette
could enter. There was a little silence and then the two priests knelt
and prayed.

When they rose, Pre Druilettes asked, "What do you think of it?"

"It is not what I had expected."

"It is not," Pre Druilettes said wistfully, "to be compared with the
cathedrals of France."

"Oh, but you mistake me!" Pre Marquette insisted. "It is peaceful and
beautiful, and altogether fitting for a church! I had expected in this
new world to have almost nothing save an altar stone."

Pre Marquette thought of the little altar stone he had brought from
France. With the stone, a missionary could conduct services on the stump
of a tree or anything else he could find. What missionary could expect
to have a church in the wilderness?

"You will not be disappointed, Jacques," said Pre Druilettes, laughing.
"A fair share of the time an altar stone will be all that you'll have.
Now I think you must be weary. Come, I will show you to our quarters."

Pre Druilettes led his companion to a neat log house near the church,
and entered. An Indian boy with one withered leg and a pleasant, smiling
face limped as he came to meet them. Pre Druilettes laid a gentle hand
on the youth's head.

"This is Franois," he said in French. "I found him in the snow, where
his tribe had left him to die. Having only one useful leg, he could not
keep up with their winter travels. Ever since then he has attached
himself to me. Franois is an excellent cook and housekeeper." Pre
Druilettes grimaced. "He is even clean."

The Indian boy said something in his own tongue and Pre Druilettes
translated.

"He bids a happy welcome to Pre Jacques Marquette, and hopes you may
prosper in your mission here."

"Will you have him repeat it?" Pre Marquette requested.

"Be not overeager, Jacques. One does not master the Algonquin tongue in
a single day, or in many days. However, since my sentiments and
Franois' are similar, I will repeat them slowly for you."

Pre Marquette made a stumbling attempt to say the words after the older
priest, tasting them with his tongue, rolling them over and over, eager
for their full flavor. It was a strange language, unlike any European
tongue, but he would master it. He _must_. One did not go out among
Indians unless one was prepared to speak to them in their own language.
Franois looked puzzled at Pre Marquette's attempt to speak Algonquin.
Pre Druilettes smiled.

"Not at all a sorry first attempt. But you must be very weary, Jacques.
Rest until our dinner is prepared."

Franois scurried about and laid a fire on the hearth. Its warmth took
the raw chill out of the room. Pre Marquette reclined in a chair, a
wooden frame covered with stretched moose hide. Sitting in a similar
chair, Pre Druilettes was serious.

"Jacques, I shall not tell you what to expect. Had our superior in
France not felt that you could do a Jesuit's work, you never would be
here. But tell me, what are your impressions of our wild land?"

"It is impossible to tell you!" exclaimed Pre Marquette. "Those wild
rivermen! The weariness of paddling! The savages that met us! I fear
that as yet I have no clear thoughts."

"You still feel that it is worthwhile?"

"If I came this far, and much farther, and converted but one savage, I
would not have failed."

Pre Druilettes said, "You will go far, Jacques."

"I do not understand you," Pre Marquette replied.

"You will journey a long way as a Jesuit, and I am glad that you have
come. Here is Franois."

The Indian boy put on the table a dish of venison haunch cooked with
wild rice and another dish of pounded corn. Pre Marquette ate heartily,
for he was very hungry. Then he leaned back in his chair.

"Don't you think you should sleep?" Pre Druilettes asked.

"I would like to."

"Then do so. I shall awaken you only if it is necessary."

Pre Marquette settled his tired body on the bed, marveling at the
richness of the tanned furs that covered it. Almost at once he fell into
a sound sleep.

So deeply did he slumber that, when he was awakened, he thought himself
back on the river with Pierre du Chesne shaking him. Pre Marquette
opened his eyes to stare at a single lighted candle on the table. He
heard Pre Druilettes' soft, "Come, Jacques, there is work for us."




[Illustration]

  3. Night Mission


Pre Marquette raised himself on his bed, and blinked at the burning
candle. Outside, a moaning wind plucked at the little house in the trees
and rattled the shingles. Pre Marquette closed his eyes and opened them
again, wanting to make sure he saw this night scene correctly.

Pre Druilettes still bent over the bed. Partly hidden in the moving
shadows beyond the candle's flickering light was a strange, wild
creature who might have stepped out of some terrible dream.

His face, naturally dark, looked almost black in the candle's feeble
light. The lower part of his body was hidden in shadow; the upper part
was clad in some silken fur. A fur cap covered most of his head without
hiding a ragged scar which trailed from the base of his ear to the point
of his chin.

Only when Pre Marquette had fully awakened did he realize that this was
an Indian who had come to visit them.

Pre Druilettes shook Pre Marquette's shoulder again. "Are you awake,
Jacques?"

"Yes. Yes, I am awake."

"Then we must go. Have no fear. This is Stag Horn, one of my converts.
He has come for us."

Pre Marquette got out of bed and dressed. He put on his shoes, smoothed
his long black cassock, or robe, and went into the other room where Pre
Druilettes awaited with Stag Horn.

"We must hurry," Pre Druilettes said. "Stag Horn's brother lies back in
the forest. He has been mortally wounded in a battle with the Iroquois,
and Stag Horn was unable to bring him here. If you are ready, we will
go."

The silent Stag Horn led the way into the wind-lashed night. The first
snow of the winter blew cold and wet against them.

Three Rivers slept. Only an Indian dog roused to snarl as they made
their way to the river.

Pre Marquette followed Stag Horn out onto the pier, and looked
doubtfully at the little canoe bobbing beside it. It seemed a tiny thing
in which to brave the mighty St. Lawrence, but neither Stag Horn nor
Pre Druilettes hesitated.

Pre Druilettes turned to the younger Jesuit.

"Take the middle seat, Jacques. You will not be expected to wield a
paddle on this trip, but remember not to move. The canoes are seaworthy
as long as they are treated with respect."

"I will remember," Pre Marquette promised.

While Stag Horn held the stern of the canoe and Pre Druilettes steadied
the bow, Pre Marquette embarked. He did it clumsily, and was aware of
his lack of skill. At the same time, he was aware of Stag Horn's silent
contempt for anyone who did not know how to handle a canoe.

Pre Marquette made a firm resolution. Plainly, if a man wished to work
among Indians he must live like an Indian. He must learn to do anything
they could do. What is more, he must become equally as skilled as they
in all the crafts of forest and water. Pre Marquette told himself that
he would learn.

Stag Horn and Pre Druilettes took their places, and the little canoe
started across the angry river. Pre Marquette drew his cassock a little
closer about him, and pulled his hat more firmly onto his head. It was
very cold and the snow fell faster. The wind treated him more cruelly
than his companions, for he had not the exercise of paddling to keep him
warm.

As Pre Marquette tried to control his chattering teeth, he watched the
small canoe cut across the rolling waves. It seemed a foolhardy, almost
a suicidal mission to brave such a river in this craft. With conscious
effort he hid his fear.

Finally they were in quiet water. They had, Pre Marquette guessed,
crossed the mighty St. Lawrence and were in a small tributary. He worked
cold-cramped fingers and flexed his legs, trying not to move. Still he
must have disturbed the paddlers. Stag Horn said something in his own
language and Pre Druilettes translated.

"You must not make even a small motion, Jacques."

Hours passed, but still they remained on the water. Pre Marquette
wondered at Stag Horn, who must have made the journey to Three Rivers
all alone and now, without even a short rest, was going back. By slow
degrees the night lifted.

They were on a small, still creek whose waters looked almost black in
the morning light. Snow dusted the banks and the branches of the
evergreens that overhung the creek. Shell ice clung to the rocks and
sticks in their path.

Pre Marquette saw and marveled. It must be impossible, he thought, to
travel far through this land of tangled swamps and brooding forests.
Fortunately, it was cut by numberless waterways that furnished means of
transportation.

Were it not for the water and the canoeman's art, North America might
for many centuries have remained an unexplored wilderness.

It was well into the morning when Stag Horn spoke again. At once Pre
Druilettes stopped paddling. Handling the little craft alone, Stag Horn
steered it towards the bank. The Indian thrust his paddle into the mud
and held the canoe with it.

"From here we must go by land, Jacques," said Pre Druilettes. "Gather
up your cassock when you disembark, for if you do not it will get wet."

Pre Marquette gathered the skirts of his long, black robe and tucked
them into his belt. He stepped from the canoe into the water, and felt a
little pleasure because he seemed to have done it successfully. At any
rate, the canoe had not rocked. Pre Druilettes joined him.

Looking at neither priest, Stag Horn disembarked, carried his canoe up
the bank, laid it near a tree, and without so much as glancing over his
shoulder, plunged into the forest.

Pre Druilettes fell in behind him, with Pre Marquette bringing up the
rear. He was so thoroughly chilled that he could not stop his teeth from
chattering. His legs stung from contact with the icy water, but at least
walking was physical exertion. He no longer had to sit in a cramped
canoe and let the cold work its will. Then his effort to walk as
swiftly as Stag Horn brought warmth back to his body.

The Indian plunged into the forest, seeming to find his path by some
keen sense of his own. A snorting bull moose, jet-black against the
white background, paced clumsily out of their way. Pre Marquette winced
when a patch of snow fell from a branch upon his unprotected neck.

A half-hour after they left the river, faint in the distance, Pre
Marquette heard the howling of Indian dogs. A few minutes later he
caught the pungent odor of wood smoke. Pre Druilettes dropped back to
walk beside him.

"We approach the encampment, Jacques, and our reception will probably be
cool. I have only two converts among this tribe, Stag Horn and The Bear.
The dogs probably will attack us, and if they do nobody will lift a hand
to restrain them. We must protect ourselves; the savages will not
respect us unless we do. I hope that somewhere along the way you have
learned to kick hard."

Pre Marquette said grimly, "I have learned many things in this new
land. I shall try to learn one more."

They came to the camp, and Pre Marquette looked curiously at the dozen
hastily erected lodges. A little group of warriors stared coldly at
them, saying nothing and making no move. A couple of children ran behind
the lodges. Then the dogs came.

They were a snarling pack of curs, ranging in size from small beasts
that weighed fifteen or twenty pounds to huge animals whose wolf blood
was very evident. Pre Druilettes walked to meet them. He kicked one of
the bigger dogs squarely under the chin, and the creature retreated to
the rear of the pack. The rest snarled forward.

Pre Marquette kicked a dog in the ribs and moved in to kick again. The
raging pack, meeting their masters in the two Jesuits, fled.

Pre Marquette wiped the perspiration from his forehead and followed
Pre Druilettes. A pack of half-starved dogs was not the greatest
obstacle he had expected to overcome in this new world but, he had to
admit, it was one of the most unnerving.

At that moment he saw Stag Horn and another Indian arguing in front of a
skin-covered lodge, and Pre Marquette looked with interest upon the
stranger.

He was stockily built, and his body was naked save for a breechcloth
that swished about his thighs. His hat was the stuffed head of a skunk,
from which a piece of furry skin hung down upon his neck. The man's face
was horribly streaked with red and black, and a red sunburst glowed on
either arm. He and Stag Horn were exchanging angry words.

Pre Druilettes stopped just short of the pair, and Pre Marquette
halted beside him.

"It is the medicine man," Pre Druilettes explained. "Such people know
only heathenish rites and are ever our bitter enemies. When we come, and
if we triumph, they must go. That is why they do not like us."

"What must we do now?"

Pre Druilettes said calmly, "I will go in to Stag Horn's brother."

He stepped forward, and as he did the medicine man became dangerously
quiet. Pre Druilettes, never hesitating, took another forward step.

Pre Marquette wished to cry a warning, to tell of what must come, for
he saw evil in the medicine man's eyes. Suddenly, so swiftly that it
seemed to have come out of thin air, the medicine man waved a tomahawk.
He swung with deadly aim.

[Illustration]

At that moment there was a choking cry and the medicine man staggered on
nerveless feet. His tomahawk dropped into the snow, and he bent at the
knees.

Stag Horn calmly jerked his knife from the medicine man's ribs and wiped
it on his coat. Pre Druilettes disappeared in the lodge.

Pre Marquette, fighting back his first spell of sickness, knelt beside
the dying medicine man. He bathed him with holy water from his flask and
intoned the words of baptism.




[Illustration]

  4. Winter Journey


Two months after Pre Marquette arrived at Three Rivers, a little band
of Indians came trudging to the church door. As Pre Druilettes hastened
to admit them, Pre Marquette watched silently.

In two months he had learned much. He could speak enough of the
Algonquin tongue to make himself understood and he could understand when
he was spoken to. From hours of practice on the river he had learned the
tricks of handling a canoe. Now he was learning how to guide himself
through the endless waterways.

As he watched the forsaken little group arrive at the church, he knew
why they had come.

There were nine men, but only seven women. Somewhere back in the
forest's silent reaches two women must have lain in crude graves.
Perhaps they had even been abandoned on top of the snow. Only three
children remained, and there were no dogs. Doubtless when game and fish
had proved impossible to get, the dogs had been eaten.

"These people are hungry, Jacques," Pre Druilettes murmured. "Tell
Franois to prepare at once all the food there is."

"At once."

While Pre Druilettes remained in the church, welcoming the weary
travelers, Pre Marquette hurried into the mission house. He knew he
would find some venison, corn, and frozen fish--a small store of food,
but enough for present needs. He knew, too, that when it was gone the
Jesuits would have to get more as best they could. But first they must
think of the desperately hungry people in the church.

Pre Marquette said to Franois in the Algonquin tongue, "We have guests
and must make ready for them."

"I know. I saw them come."

Pre Marquette smiled his approval, for already Franois had venison
turning on the spit and fish thawing in front of the fireplace. Pre
Marquette filled the blackened kettle two-thirds full of water and swung
it over the blazing fire. He waited until the kettle began to boil, and
stirred corn meal into it. Gathering up a supply of plates and spoons,
he returned to the church.

Pre Druilettes was moving quietly among the visitors, and speaking
softly to them. The exhausted Indians stared dully, seeming to be too
far gone to have any thoughts of their own.

Then a brave with three fingers missing from his left hand spoke.

"Our Manitou forsook us. We came to see if the Black Robe's Manitou can
give us food." He pondered on what he had said, then continued, "We came
a very long way. Many died."

"Patience," Pre Druilettes counseled. "You shall have food."

He looked appealingly at Pre Marquette, who nodded and hurried back
into the house. Hungry people were not to be stayed with any promises
other than that of a meal very soon, and if the meat were not well
cooked it would make little difference to the Indians. Theirs was
usually eaten half raw anyway.

Pre Marquette filled a huge platter and carried it into the church. He
stood aside, for the wandering tribesmen moved towards him like a pack
of hungry wolves. They stopped short of the food, and Pre Marquette
thought they hesitated more through fear of the carving knife in Pre
Druilettes' hand than from any thought of courtesy. Pre Druilettes
carved the meat and served the children first.

Pre Marquette did not wait while the hungry visitors wolfed their
portions. They had had little to eat in many days and even a great store
of food would not be enough. Pre Marquette helped Franois carry the
fish and cooked corn meal into the church, and stood aside while Pre
Druilettes portioned it out.

The Indians ate, seeming to have no thought save for the food. Even
their guns--precious possessions to the tribesmen--had been forgotten by
the three men who carried them.

Pre Marquette spoke softly to Pre Druilettes.

"Did they respond to your teachings?"

Pre Druilettes smiled wistfully. "There was an eager response, Jacques.
While you were helping Franois, all praised the Black Robe's Manitou. I
fear that they would have praised the devil had I offered them food in
his name. By tomorrow we and our church will be forgotten."

"Where are they going?" Pre Marquette asked.

"Anatik, their chief, said they go to the South Lakes. They hope to find
good hunting there."

"It is a rich harvest," Pre Marquette said. "So many to bring in all at
once. They should not be lost."

"I agree, but what may we do?"

"If we could continue to feed them----?"

"We cannot, for there is nothing left to eat. They must go."

"Then," Pre Marquette said, "I am going with them."

"Jacques! You don't realize what you are saying. These people are so
poor that they are unable to provide even for themselves! It is probable
that more of them will die before they reach the South Lakes."

"All the more reason why I should be with them."

Pre Druilettes was very grave. "I cannot let you take such risks,
excellent though your suggestion may be. I myself will go with them."

"No. I shall go."

"Are you determined, Jacques?"

"Quite determined."

"Then," Pre Druilettes said with a sigh, "my prayers shall go with you
and with these unfortunate people. Anatik, will you come here?"

The dusky chieftain, his appetite satisfied for the first time in many
days, came forward. He stood apart from the two Jesuits, a wild forest
prince who knew no power save that resting in his gun and his own strong
arm.

"The Black Robe summoned me?" he said.

"Anatik," Pre Druilettes said, "Pre Marquette wishes to go with you to
the South Lakes."

Anatik looked searchingly at Pre Marquette, and back at Pre
Druilettes.

"We cannot take care of a Black Robe."

"You need not. The Black Robes' Manitou cares for them."

Without another word, Anatik turned his back and strode regally back to
his seat. He started to fuss with his gun, and then gathered up his few
personal possessions.

When Pre Marquette went into the mission house for his snowshoes and
his own small pack, Franois pressed a wrapped parcel upon him.

"It is corn," he said. "I did not let all of it be served, for I knew
that one or the other of you would go."

"Thank you, Franois."

With his pack slung over one shoulder, Pre Marquette left the mission
house and laced on his snowshoes. Then he fell in behind the Indians,
who were already winding their way into the snow-locked forest. Pre
Druilettes waved a farewell, and Pre Marquette hurried to catch up with
the party of travelers. He did not find it difficult; life at Three
Rivers had toughened his body.

At last Pre Marquette reached a straggler, a man who plodded along with
downcast head. Plainly, and in spite of the fact that he had eaten, the
man was very weak.

Pre Marquette said quietly, "May I carry your pack?"

The Indian stared suspiciously, for this was an unheard-of suggestion. A
member of a savage tribe, he knew only savage law. In time of trouble it
was every man for himself, and he died who was unable to help himself.

Gently Pre Marquette loosened the other's pack and added it to his own
burden. When he reached for his companion's gun, the Indian swung
swiftly aside and anger flashed in his eyes.

Pre Marquette made no further effort to take the gun. Most Indians who
had such a weapon would not let it go until they were dead.

Late that night, Pre Marquette and his companion reached a little
clearing where the rest of the tribe lay around huge fires. If hunters
had gone out they had found nothing, for nobody was eating. Settling
beside the Indian whom he had accompanied since leaving Three Rivers,
Pre Marquette looked sidewise at him.

The man merely sat beside a fire with limp head drooping. He made no
move to arrange a comfortable place for himself, or even to brush the
snow from his clothing. Pre Marquette produced his little packet of
corn.

"Eat," he invited.

The Indian stared suspiciously at him. Then, warily, as though afraid of
a trap, he took a handful of the ground corn and ate it. As he took more
corn, a friendly light entered his eyes for the first time.

Pre Marquette glanced at the other Indians. Open-mouthed, they were
staring at him. The Jesuit looked wistfully at his small store of corn.
There was not much, a few grains for each, but it was food. Pre
Marquette divided his remaining corn into equal portions and doled it
out. The half-spoonful that remained he gave to a child.

That night, cold and hungry, the Jesuit arranged his bed on the snow.
The next morning, at the first sign of movement, he rose and traveled on
with the tribe. Now there were three stragglers, and Pre Marquette
walked slowly to keep pace with them.

When he reached that night's camp, he found that the hunters had brought
in two deer and that the wanderers were gorging themselves on stringy
venison. None questioned the Jesuit's right to as much as he wished, for
when there was plenty all could have plenty. Pre Marquette ate enough
to stay his own hunger, but he wisely put some venison in his pack.

The Indians themselves lacked even a faint notion of thrift, and they
laughed at the idea of saving for tomorrow. Tomorrow could always take
care of itself, and tonight they would be merry.

The next night there was nothing to eat, and Pre Marquette divided the
venison he had saved among the five weakest members of the tribe. He was
an accepted part of the trek now, and if his actions could not be
explained, certainly he had shown his good will. All the Indians, even
those who got no venison, were more friendly.

Day after day they pushed into the snowbound, cold-lashed forest, eating
whenever the hunters got anything. Often on days when they found no game
they went hungry. On the thirteenth day they reached the South Lakes.

The Indians set up their camp on the frozen shore of a small lake, and
at once set to work making shelters of evergreen boughs. Then every man
went into the forest in search of game.

One by one they straggled back, discouraged and empty-handed. Again the
hunters went out, and again returned with nothing. That night one of the
children cried restlessly in his shelter, and Pre Marquette lay awake,
listening to that wail of misery.

The next morning the hunters did not go out.

They huddled miserably about their fires, spiritless and beaten.
Journeying from one land of starvation, they had merely found another.
Determinedly Pre Marquette approached Anatik.

"Why do you not hunt?"

"There is no game," Anatik replied.

"Have you searched everywhere?"

"Everywhere, and not even a rabbit's track breaks the snow. Our Manitou
proved false, in directing us here."

Pre Marquette said gently, "Your Manitou will always lead you falsely,
Anatik, for in truth he does not even exist."

Anatik looked sarcastically at him. "Does yours?"

"My Manitou is always with me," Pre Marquette said, "and He never plays
me false. If you will not hunt, give me your gun and I will go out."

"You cannot have my gun."

"Take mine, Black Robe," said the Indian to whom Pre Marquette had
given the corn. "I know you as a man of good heart, and I know you will
bring the gun back if you can. Besides, I think that your Manitou may be
powerful."

Armed with the Indian's gun, powder and shot, Pre Marquette set off
across the snow. He had not the least idea where he was going, but
surely it was not right merely to give up. Pre Marquette veered away
from the tracks left by the Indian hunters. There was little point in
looking for game where they had already searched.

He fought the weariness in his legs and the hunger in his stomach as his
courage led him around the forested shore of a frozen lake. Anatik had
been right. Not even the track of a field mouse marked the virgin snow.

Pre Marquette went on, for it was not within him to do otherwise. He
stopped to rest, leaning against a tree.

He rubbed his eyes, closed them, and opened them again. At that moment
he saw the head and upper back of a running moose. The moose stopped.

Pre Marquette leveled his gun, took careful aim, and shot. The moose
went down. Hunger and weariness forgotten, Pre Marquette ran as fast as
he could to the fallen animal.

The moose had been running along a trail deeply beaten in the snow. All
about were other trails, and in the distance Pre Marquette saw three
more moose disappearing into the evergreens. He had come to a yard, a
place where moose gather to live through the time of deep snow.

The hunters, directed by Pre Marquette, started out. Anatik and his
tribe could live luxuriously throughout the winter.




[Illustration]

  5. Ordered North


Wise Pre le Mercier, Superior of the Jesuits in the New World, knew his
men and gave them duties according to their abilities. From the very
first he probably had intended to send Jacques Marquette deep into the
wilderness to the most difficult missions the Jesuits had established.
However, he realized the necessity of the training that Pre Marquette
would receive at Three Rivers.

So it was not until April 21, 1668, about eighteen months after Pre
Marquette was sent to Three Rivers, that Pre le Mercier made this
entry in his journal:

"Several of our men are going to embark to go up the river to Montreal.
Among them are Pre Marquette, two men, and a young lad who will await
an opportunity of going to the Ottawa country."

To Pre Marquette, this was a dream come true--the work for which he had
prepared himself ever since he entered the Jesuit college at Nancy. He
had always been fascinated by the Jesuit Relations, accounts written by
Jesuits who had penetrated the wilderness.

He had pieced the story together as it appeared in the Relations.
French traders, ever hungry for more fur, were steadily fighting their
way into the forest. Jesuits went with them, and one or more were always
found at the farthest-known points of the wilderness. Often Jesuits
opened the way for others who would follow.

However, of the great North American continent, little was known except
the eastern seaboard. The French held the northern parts of the east
coast, the English and Dutch were in its central regions, and the
Spanish claimed the south. There were vast gaps even in the "settled"
parts. So far, explorations inland had been little more than pin pricks.

What lay in the wilderness beyond the farthest point to which even a
Jesuit had penetrated? What was North America? Was it, as some men
thought, a narrow neck of land which would open up through the Northwest
Passage to the fabled shores of China? What were the wild tribes who
had not yet known a missionary, and who therefore had such great need of
one? What lay beyond the known frontiers?

This last question was one to which the most adventurous men of all ages
have always tried to find an answer. It was now foremost in Pre
Marquette's mind when he and his companions joined a canoe brigade of
Indians who were returning to their own country after a visit to the
French towns on the lower St. Lawrence.

They could not follow the usual route offered by the Great Lakes, for
the Iroquois held complete control of Lake Ontario. It was known that
they killed any Frenchmen unfortunate enough to fall into their hands.

Had Pre Marquette still been ignorant of forest ways, he would have
hesitated to burden his friends in the face of this danger. But the Pre
Marquette who fought his way up the St. Lawrence and into the Ottawa
River was no longer an unskilled canoeist and woodsman. He did his share
of the paddling as they ascended the Ottawa and Mattawa. He bore his
share over the portage, a place where boats and cargo had to be carried
over land, into Lake Nipissing. The party wove their way across those
island-studded waters and descended the French River to Georgian Bay.
Out of that they came into Lake Huron.

During their travels they had many an enforced stopover when storms
raged or strong winds blew. They had many a pow-wow, too, with curious
tribesmen who lived along the way and came to beg trinkets from the
voyaging Jesuit.

[Illustration]

Eventually Pre Marquette and his party reached the St. Mary's River,
the outlet of Lake Superior, and ascended the river to the falls of
Sault Ste. Marie. The territory around the falls was a vast forest known
as the Ottawa country.

As his canoe stopped in shallow water, Pre Marquette looked curiously
at a number of frail canoes that were being cleverly maneuvered among
the snarling rapids. They were manned by boatmen who stood erect,
bearing long-handled nets.

Presently an Indian stabbed his net into the water. He retrieved his
net, loaded with big whitefish, and promptly tossed them into the canoe.
The Indian dipped for another catch.

Pre Marquette turned aside, feeling a warm glow. It was to this place
he had been sent to replace Pre Louis Nicolas. Pre Marquette smiled to
himself. It had been good to see the fishermen. Had not Peter, the
Master of all missionaries, been a fisherman?

Pre Marquette made his way towards the mission house. A woman with
stricken eyes and a baby in her arms looked at him with mute appeal when
he paused beside her. As he opened his lips to speak, the woman turned
her back and walked away.

Inside the mission house, Pre Marquette's glance fell upon a naked
Indian who lay on a rude couch. His eyes were open, staring at the
ceiling, and perspiration bathed his forehead. He must, Pre Marquette
thought, be suffering great pain, but save for the perspiration he did
not show it. Indians seldom did.

The black-robed Jesuit who was working on the man's leg glanced up when
Pre Marquette entered. He smiled.

"Pre Marquette?"

"Yes."

"I am Pre Louis Nicolas," the other said, "and of course I knew you
were coming. I heard the canoes announced, but was unable to meet them.
They brought Copper Spear to me only a few minutes before your arrival.
He fell out of his canoe while netting whitefish, and fractured his leg
in the rapids."

"Let me assist you."

"Gladly," said Pre Nicolas.

Pre Marquette went to his brother Jesuit's side, and called his
knowledge of surgery into play. Together they straightened the Indian's
leg until the bones were set, and then bound them with splints. Pre
Marquette wound a bandage many times around these to hold the injured
bones in place.

Pre Nicolas bathed his patient's sweat-streaked face with cold water,
patted him reassuringly, and covered him with a blanket. He went to the
door and called.

A moment later the woman who had been standing outside brought her baby
in. With fear-filled eyes she looked down upon her husband.

"Copper Spear will be all right," Pre Nicolas said soothingly, "and you
must stay here, to eat at our table, until he is again able to fish.
There is no cause to worry."

The woman knelt beside her husband and the two Jesuits stood aside. The
woman spoke so softly that neither Black Robe could hear her, and they
in turn kept their own voices low.

"Almost a daily scene," Pre Nicolas murmured. "Some poor wretch is
forever getting hurt in a brawl with his fellows, or falling into the
rapids, or becoming injured in another of the countless ways whereby
Indians may be injured."

"Do they welcome our teaching?" inquired Pre Marquette.

"Some do, but others never will. They ridicule and make a mockery of
everything we tell them, and Copper Spear is foremost among those who
despise us. He will go his way and laugh at the Black Robes. He will say
that we are weak because when we had him in our power and could have
killed him, we helped him instead."

"There is hope for all," Pre Marquette pointed out, "and this seems an
especially hopeful land. Certainly there is abundant food."

"Here at the Sault there is," Pre Nicolas agreed. "There are endless
whitefish in the rapids, where more than twenty tribes come to fish.
When famine drives them, even the Crees journey from Hudson Bay to fish
here. But few Indians ever provide for the future. Today they will have
a hundred fat whitefish, so they gorge until all are eaten. Tomorrow
they go hungry. For twenty days, during the past winter, we lived on a
paste made of pounded fish bones."

"Is there no way to provide for them?"

"We are doing our best. We even seek, by good example, to teach them
agriculture. We have our gardens, but an Indian who can hunt or fish
will not work. The difficulties are great, and they multiply at our more
distant missions. Only a week ago I had a letter from Pre Allouez, who
for four years has labored alone at La Pointe. He writes that he seems
to be losing ground."

"I have heard much about La Pointe," said Pre Marquette. "Just where
is it?"

"At a place called Chequamegon Bay, on the southern shore of Lake
Superior. But come, Pre Marquette. You must be weary. Will you not
rest?"

Pre Marquette smiled his refusal. "There is much to be done. I shall
start to work in the gardens."




[Illustration]

  6. The Fabled River


For four long years Pre Louis Allouez had lived all alone, battling
great odds. He had endured every kind of insult that savage minds could
imagine. For a fair share of the time, he had suffered cold and hunger.

During all those years, Pre Allouez had labored mightily to bring
Christianity and a better way of life to the savages of a vast
wilderness area whose only speck of civilization was the mission at La
Pointe, near the present city of Ashland, Wisconsin.

Finally Pre Allouez was sent to a mission at Green Bay. With calm
assurance Pre Marquette set out from Sault Ste. Marie to take Pre
Allouez' place.

Pre Marquette's hardiness and principles had led him into the Jesuits.
He had wished to number himself among the very select and very
courageous group of men who had given up everything else in order that
they might go forth on the greatest mission of all: to preach and to
educate.

The years in the wilderness had made Pre Marquette a skilled woodsman,
but they had also given him greater strength of character and
steadiness of purpose. Jesuits were only men, and he knew that human
flesh and spirit could fail. The Jesuit ideal, to serve God and man,
could never even bend. To anyone who appreciated that, hardships of the
flesh meant nothing. The crudest and most distant Jesuit mission, Pre
Marquette thought, was the finest one, as long as it offered an
opportunity to serve and to learn.

Moreover, he had changed his ideas about the North American continent.
It was more than a spit of land standing between Europe and the Orient,
but how much more? During every waking hour he puzzled over the riddle
of what lay beyond the farthest-known point in this new world. Often he
dreamed of it. He was one of the few men who understood the real
problems that must be overcome if all men would know the true fullness
of this new continent.

The most important problem was that so few people were interested in
learning more about North America. The people on the seaboard cared only
for trade; not more than a handful of Jesuits and adventurous fur
traders had gone into the interior. Almost a hundred and fifty years
were to pass before Lewis and Clark would make the great trek that would
finally link the Atlantic coast with the Pacific.

Therefore it was with a light heart that Pre Marquette and his party
paddled their canoe through the ice-strewn waters of Lake Superior.
After a month, at almost daily risk to life itself, they arrived at La
Pointe. It was one of the most distant outposts; not even the country
around it was familiar to white men. Beyond it lay only wilderness. If
there was ever any news from this wilderness, thought Pre Marquette, it
should first be learned at La Pointe.

Pre Allouez had already left for his post at Green Bay, but two Ottawa
Indians met Pre Marquette and escorted him to the church and mission
house. Compared with the buildings of Three Rivers these were rude
shelters, sparsely furnished, but that made little difference. The
Cross, the symbol of Redemption, was there. With the help of such Indian
labor as he could get, Pre Allouez had constructed a chapel.

Pre Marquette turned to his Ottawa guides and said:

"I see none of your people at prayer."

"Some of us come," the Indian evaded.

"Why not all?"

"Our Black Robe has left us."

"Another Black Robe has come," said Pre Marquette. "Where are your
people?"

"At work in the fields."

"I will go to them."

Pre Marquette walked among the Indians in their corn fields. He knew
that this tribe was one of the few to practice any agriculture at all.
As he greeted the Indian farmers, some of the smiles and welcoming words
bestowed upon him were false. Pre Marquette's resolve did not falter.
If he labored among many, and saved only one, his labors were not in
vain.

Leaving the fields, he walked through the village, followed by a crowd
of curious Ottawas. Pre Marquette stopped in front of the chief's
lodge, where a pole was thrust into the ground. From the pole a
squirming dog, a sacrifice to the Sun God, was suspended by a leather
thong.

Pre Marquette faced the chief.

"Release the dog," he commanded.

Without protest the chief stepped forward and cut the leather thong. The
dog dropped to the ground, rose, and cringed away. Pre Marquette paid
no more attention to it. One by one his followers dropped away, leaving
only one of the Ottawas who had met him. The man remained, as though
wanting to speak but unable to find the words.

Finally he said, "Black Robe, my brother is sick."

"Where is your brother?" Pre Marquette asked.

"In his lodge," the Ottawa said. "He burns with fire which the medicine
man said was caused by a devil that entered him. But my brother listened
to the Black Robe who was here before you, and he knows that there is
not such a devil. He is sure that he will die, but he fears hellfire
because he has not been baptized."

"Why did your brother not let Pre Allouez baptize him?"

"He was not sick then," the Ottawa said honestly.

"I will go to your brother."

He let the Ottawa lead him to a bark lodge. It was a house of death, and
therefore shunned by the living. Pre Marquette stooped to enter the
cabin.

A terrible odor of sickness met his nostrils. Pre Marquette went to the
glassy-eyed Indian who was stretched on a skin-covered pallet and laid a
gentle hand on his head.

The man was very feverish. Whatever illness he suffered from had been
made worse by the Indians' usual slipshod and unclean ways of living. He
might die, but given proper care he had a chance of living. Pre
Marquette prepared him for baptism and left the lodge. The patient's
brother, fearing that the devil might infect him too should he come
near, hovered anxiously at the entrance to the cabin.

"I want a clean, new lodge erected at once," Pre Marquette directed.
"It must have a bed with plenty of warm blankets, but no fire."

Pre Marquette returned to the mission house and set a kettle of water
to boiling. Into this he put corn meal and thin slices of meat.

Half an hour later the sick man's brother came into the house.

"The lodge is ready," he said.

"Move your brother to the clean bed."

"Black Robe, I dare not. Nor will anyone else do so. They fear the
devil."

Pre Marquette re-entered the house of death, cradled the sick man in
his arms, and carried him into the hastily erected lodge. He laid him on
the bed, stripped off his filthy clothing, and bathed him with warm
water. Pre Marquette forced him to swallow a little of the soup he had
made.

Every day he visited and cared for the sick Ottawa. Little by little he
saw him recover, and at last leave the lodge to walk again among his
fellows.

Two days later the fully recovered Ottawa walked into the mission house
with a young Indian beside him. He pushed his companion forward.

"A slave," he said. "I myself took him when we made war on the tribes of
the Illinois. I owe my life to you, Black Robe, so he is now your
slave."

The Ottawa left as abruptly as he had entered. Pre Marquette looked at
the trembling youngster left behind.

"Have no fear," the Jesuit said kindly. "You are no longer a slave. Go
when and where you wish."

"Let me stay with you!" the youth begged. "I do not wish to go back to
the Ottawas!"

"Did they treat you unkindly?" asked Pre Marquette.

"No, but in time of hunger they will! They will eat me!"

Pre Marquette said nothing; it was no secret that many of these wild
tribes ate human beings. He looked pityingly at the frightened slave.

"What is your name?"

"Broken Knee."

"From where do you come?" Pre Marquette asked.

"From across the Great River, the Mississippi."

"The Great River?"

"Yes, it is as wide as from here," the Indian pointed to a stone a great
distance away, "to that stone. It flows from north to south."

Pre Marquette's interest mounted excitedly. A great river that lay to
the west, and flowed north to south! Breathlessly he asked, "Where does
this river empty?"

"My people do not know, for none have ever been to its mouth."

"Are your people warriors?"

[Illustration]

"Great warriors," Broken Knee said proudly, "but we do not like to
fight. We would rather trade. Black Robe, would we not have peace and
plenty if one such as you came among us?"

Pre Marquette paced the floor, his head whirling with thoughts of the
great river and of the tribes that lived along it. Someone must go
there! Wild tribes and a great river! What a wonderful opportunity for
the Church. What a great discovery for his homeland--the French empire!

Pre Marquette turned to the slave.

"Broken Knee, would your tribe welcome a Black Robe?"

"They would welcome you," the youth said. "They would build you a canoe
with which you might travel on the Great River."

"Rest, Broken Knee. I have work to do."

For years, long before Pre Marquette was born, reports of a great river
to the west had been trickling into Quebec. But as far as Pre Marquette
knew, the Illinois slave was the first person who had ever seen the
Mississippi and told a white man about it. Pre Marquette started to
write.

His superior at Quebec must hear this exciting news as soon as possible.




[Illustration]

  7. Flight


Pre Marquette arrived at La Pointe in the autumn of 1669, and remained
there until the summer of 1671.

During this time he conducted his mission and worked among the numerous
Indians who either lived at La Pointe or journeyed there for the
excellent fishing it offered. At the same time he added to his knowledge
of the western country and gathered every possible shred of information
about the Great River.

Some tribes, he learned, called it the Mississippi. It flowed through a
fruitful land abounding in wild game. The river itself was filled with
great fish. No tribesman could be shaken in his story that it was the
home of numerous fierce creatures, and many demons and devils.

By piecing together everything he had learned, Pre Marquette
constructed a map of the river he had never seen. He became greatly
excited over one possibility.

Far in the interior, and to the south, the Fox River emptied into Green
Bay, an arm of Lake Michigan. The Fox River started its course very
close to the source of a westerly flowing stream that must discharge its
waters into the Mississippi itself. Supposedly there was only a short
portage between the two rivers where canoes would have to be carried.

However, there was much that must remain a mystery until someone
actually went to find and explore the Mississippi. The Indians said that
as far as they knew it flowed from north to south. How much did they
know? Did the Mississippi bend westward, and discharge into the
Vermilion Sea, or Pacific? Did it curve eastward and empty into the
Atlantic by way of Virginia's unexplored swamps? Or did it pour its
waters into the Gulf of Mexico? Was this river the northern portion of
one which had already been explored by the Spanish to the south?

This and more Pre Marquette pondered, but he did not neglect his
mission.

Beyond doubt, somewhere to the west there was a strange and very warlike
tribe known as the Nadouessi, or Sioux. They never came to the mission,
but some of the Indians at La Pointe had been among the Sioux.

They were a ferocious tribe, these travelers told Pre Marquette. They
lived by hunting, and war was their pleasure. Since they had never had
contact with white men, they had no guns. But when they fought they were
so skillful with the bow that a very rain of arrows fell among their
enemies. The Sioux were expert at this even in retreat, when they could
turn suddenly and shoot a volley that often killed most of their
pursuers.

Though they fought for the joy of fighting, they were not vicious or
cruel warriors. Often, when they captured a large group of prisoners,
they let all of them go in the hope that later they could fight with
them again.

Busy every second of the day at his mission, Pre Marquette was unable
to make a journey to the Sioux tribes. He did dispatch an Ottawa runner
with an offering of religious pictures. Some time he must go among the

Sioux, and when he did he wished to have them prepared.

Then, in the summer of 1671, a strange warrior came to the mission at La
Pointe. He was tall, and as he walked, muscles rippled over his handsome
body. Though he was alone he showed a fierce disdain of the Ottawas and
Hurons, who watched him from a respectful distance. The stranger entered
the church, left a buffalo-skin-wrapped bundle on the altar, and without
speaking a word, walked out again.

Coming from the fields with Otter Tail, a Huron chieftain, Pre
Marquette found the bundle. He unwrapped it and looked at the pictures
he had sent to the Sioux. Puzzled, Pre Marquette turned to Otter Tail.

"It means," replied Otter Tail, visibly shaken, "that the Sioux have
declared war. They will come by the thousands to destroy the mission at
La Pointe and kill all of us."

"Why?" asked Pre Marquette. "We have done nothing to them."

"The Ottawas did. They went to the west country and killed men of the
Sioux tribe."

Otter Tail left the church, and when Pre Marquette followed him to the
door he saw the tall Indian running towards the Huron village. Pre
Marquette hailed Bear Claw, a passing Ottawa, and escorted him into the
church. There he showed Bear Claw the pictures and the buffalo skin in
which they had been wrapped. The Ottawa trembled.

"The Sioux are coming!" he gasped. "We must flee!"

"Your tribe warred first against the Sioux."

"No," Bear Claw denied. "The Hurons started it. Their warriors went to
the west and killed some Sioux women and children."

Pre Marquette sighed. The Hurons were blaming the Ottawas for bringing
the Sioux down upon them and the Ottawas had blamed the Hurons. The
truth would never be known, but that made small difference now. The
Sioux were coming, and nobody thought that either the mission or the
villages could be defended.

Otter Tail reappeared at the church. "Black Robe!" he gasped, "the
chiefs of both the Ottawas and Hurons are holding a council to determine
some place of safety where we might flee! You are asked to attend!"

Pre Marquette accompanied Otter Tail to the big council house, where
the assembled chiefs of both tribes were arguing hotly among themselves.

[Illustration]

Otter Tail made himself heard above all the others.

"To the east we meet the Iroquois and to the west there are the Sioux!"
he thundered.

"There are the swamps to the south," a chieftain suggested.

"They are filled with bad spirits, fierce beasts, and fiercer men."
Otter Tail pointed out. "We cannot go there!"

The argument tilted back and forth. Voices rose and fell. Pre Marquette
looked on, making no comment. He would have liked to go to the
Mississippi, but there was no possibility of doing that as long as he
was accompanied by either Hurons or Ottawas. Sioux war parties were sure
to be guarding all the trails.

Finally, after everyone in the council house had shouted himself hoarse,
the decision was made. The Ottawas would return to their old home on
Manitoulin Island, in the northern waters of Lake Huron. The Hurons
would go to Michillimackinac, Mackinac Island, in the strait where the
waters of Lake Michigan meet those of Lake Huron.

While the chiefs debated, the villages had become beehives of activity.
Women and children were in the fields destroying growing crops in order
that they might furnish no food for the oncoming Sioux. Scores of men
were at the waterfront, repairing old canoes or building new ones.

To make the canoes, they first constructed a frame of thin, seasoned,
white cedar boards. This was covered with strips of birch bark sewed
together, and lashed to the framework with _wattape_, the fine root of
the red spruce. Seams were made water-tight by applying melted gum from
pine trees.

Finally all was ready. Hundreds of canoes set out loaded with dried
food, weapons, furs, robes, and everything else a canoe will carry. They
crept along the shore of Lake Superior to a portage across Keewenaw
Peninsula, near the present L'Anse, Michigan. Following Whitefish Bay,
they hugged the shore until they reached the St. Mary's River. From that
point the river waters carried them to Sault Ste. Marie.

There they stopped, Pre Marquette to visit Pre Druilettes, who had
been transferred to the Sault, and the Indians to replenish their food
supplies with fish.

After this pause the brigade split. The Ottawas turned eastward to
Manitoulin Island and the Hurons paddled west to Michillimackinac. Pre
Marquette accompanied his Hurons and took charge of St. Ignace Mission,
which was near the present city of St. Ignace, Michigan.

Throughout the long voyage Pre Marquette was sad. The sweat and almost
the life's blood of Pre Allouez and himself had gone into the mission
at La Pointe.

Fortunately he did not know that never again would a missionary be
active upon the shores of Lake Superior while the French held the
country. For more than a hundred years it was to be almost exclusively
the haunt of the wild Indian and the wilder fur trader.




[Illustration]

  8. A Visitor to St. Ignace


Though he was disappointed because he had had no opportunity yet to
visit the western lands and the Mississippi, Pre Marquette threw
himself whole-heartedly into his work at the mission of St. Ignace.

It was endless toil. Some of the Hurons had settled on Mackinac Island,
but others had gathered around the mission. Fearing the Iroquois, they
had erected a fort. This gave them so much confidence that Huron war
parties, made up for the most part of fiery youngsters, raided the
neighboring tribes. A great many of the venturesome young braves were
brought back wounded and in need of all the skill at Pre Marquette's
command.

Healing the sick or hurt and conducting church services were only part
of the Jesuit's task. He must also work ceaselessly to secure new
converts and to see that they remained faithful after they were
converted. Many did not. The Indians would readily agree to anything
Pre Marquette asked as long as they could see some gain for themselves.
When they had their knives, their beads, or their bright cloth, they
returned at once to their own savage practices.

Medicine men were always a threat. It became a seesaw battle in which
Pre Marquette sometimes held the upper hand. At other times the
medicine men gained.

If Pre Marquette succeeded in curing some desperately ill person, he
was idolized by all the tribespeople who heard of the miracle. Should
his patient die, the medicine men, with their wailings and magic, were
again in power. They held sway until Pre Marquette, by sensible medical
and sanitary practices, was again able to cure someone whom all thought
doomed.

Day or night, there was always a demand for his time. Pre Marquette
rested when he could, often throwing himself down beneath some towering
tree and sleeping for a few minutes before journeying on to his next
call.

Then came autumn, with hardwood trees turning color and the great
evergreens somber and still, as though they were fully aware of the
season of hardship that lay just ahead. Savage wolf packs which all
summer long had hunted in the forest prowled nearer and nearer the
mission and Indian villages. Sometimes they boldly entered the villages
to snatch the food or refuse which the Indians always discarded in times
of plenty.

Pre Marquette redoubled his efforts. It was in the winter, when life at
its best was difficult and there was never enough to eat, that his
Indian charges became restless and unruly. It was then that men and
women took part in savage rites or did anything else that they hoped
would bring them food.

One night after receiving a canoe full of Indians who had come from the
north and feeding them what the mission had to offer, Pre Marquette
retired for a while. On the next day, Saturday, December 8th, the Feast
of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin would be celebrated.
Pre Marquette had often asked the Blessed Virgin to intercede for him
so that he might successfully carry the word of God to the tribes on
the Mississippi. Even though there would be no lessening of his labors
on the coming feast day, it would be a time of glory and a cause for
rejoicing.

With this happy thought, the Jesuit fell asleep. An hour later he was
awakened by a hand on his shoulder.

"Who is it?" he asked the man who had entered the dark house.

"It is I, The Eel," an Indian replied.

"What do you wish?"

"I am in sore trouble." The Eel's anxiety was very plain in his voice.
"You, Black Robe, told me that anyone who kills will burn with
everlasting hellfire. You made me believe it. Yet there has come a time
when I must kill."

Pre Marquette swung out of bed, sought in the darkness for his shoes,
and donned his black robe. He smoothed his hair with his hand and asked
gently, "Why must you kill?"

"Today I hunted," The Eel said. "I shot a fine wildcat, one of the last
fat ones we will get, for from now on wildcats will have only poor
hunting. I took it to my lodge to feed my family. Red Fish, knowing that
I had listened to you and would not fight back, took the wildcat from my
lodge. I have thought long about this act of thievery, and there is
nothing I can do but go and kill Red Fish."

Pre Marquette frowned. Red Fish was one of the more troublesome Hurons,
a man who scoffed openly at all Jesuit teachings and allied himself with
the medicine men. Pre Marquette said, "We will go to Red Fish's lodge."

Side by side they walked into the Huron village. The lodges were quiet
now, except for one. Red Fish knew well that he had broken tribal law,
and he expected The Eel to visit him. He wished to be ready, and when
Pre Marquette and The Eel halted in front of his lodge, Red Fish
emerged from the shadows beside it. There was a tomahawk in his hand.

"Go!" he said fiercely. "Go, or I will kill you both!"

Pre Marquette stood quietly, knowing this for an empty threat. There
were those among the Hurons who hated him, but there were many who loved
and respected him. Red Fish knew well that if he hurt the Black Robe, he
would be hunted down and killed no matter where he fled.

Pre Marquette said, "I have come for the fat wildcat which you stole
from The Eel."

"If The Eel wants his game," Red Fish insisted, "is he not man enough to
fight me for it?"

"The Eel has placed himself under the protection of the Great Manitou,"
Pre Marquette replied. "There is no need for him to fight, for the
Manitou is greater than all fighting men together."

"Go!" Red Fish snarled. "Go now, or I kill!"

He swung the tomahawk within an inch of Pre Marquette's head, and
withdrew his arm to strike again. Suddenly there was a loud snap. The
tomahawk had broken. Its two pieces fell at Red Fish's feet.

Pre Marquette looked on calmly, knowing what had happened. Doubtless
there had been a flaw or crack in the copper axe, and Red Fish's violent
swinging had broken it.

Red Fish shrank back. To his superstitious mind no other sign was
needed. Plainly the Black Robe's Manitou, angry because Pre Marquette
had been threatened, had shattered the tomahawk. For a moment Red Fish
did not speak. Then, "I will bring the wild cat."

He hastened into the lodge, reappeared with The Eel's game, and returned
it to its rightful owner.

Without a word The Eel turned and stalked into the darkness.

When Red Fish tried to make himself small in the shadows, Pre Marquette
asked, "Will you walk with me, Red Fish?"

"I will walk with you."

Side by side they set off along the rocky shore. A wind blew over the
lake and sent waves creeping up the beach. They spent their force and
fell back.

As the dawn broke, Pre Marquette told the story of Jesus and Mary. He
spoke as clearly and as simply as he could, knowing from experience that
the story was hard for Indians to understand.

The sun rose higher in a gray and threatening sky, but still Pre
Marquette walked and talked to Red Fish. The Indian said nothing. They
halted on a rocky headland and looked across the lake. Red Fish glanced
at the half-hidden sun, and felt the wind. He was still a savage,
testing the things a savage knows, but finally he said, "I will come to
your church, Black Robe."

"You will be welcome."

    *    *    *    *    *

Red Fish looked out across the lake and stiffened. He closed tense
fingers around the hilt of his knife, then relaxed.

Pre Marquette followed his gaze, but saw nothing.

"Who comes?" he inquired. "Who travels these ice-filled waters?"

"A canoe," Red Fish said wonderingly. "A small canoe, and surely the man
who paddles it is mad. Else at this season he never would be on the lake
alone, and in such a small craft."

Two minutes later Pre Marquette saw the canoe. It was small, and it
hugged the shore line. The man who paddled it might be mad, to venture
onto the lake in such weather, but certainly he was a master of the
canoe. He steered his frail cockleshell of a boat across the waves,
meeting them at exactly the right angle and almost miraculously avoiding
wreck.

As the Indians started towards the landing, Pre Marquette and Red Fish
joined them. The lone, daring voyager ran his craft into shallow water
and stepped out. He caught up his canoe as though it were a toy and
carried it ashore.

The newcomer was a careless young Frenchman wearing a fur hat, a gay
coat, and a colorful sash. He turned his saucy face towards those on
shore and smiled.

Pre Marquette exclaimed, "Louis Joliet!"




[Illustration]

  9. Plans


Pre Marquette rushed to the water's edge and warmly embraced this young
man who, at twenty-eight years of age, was one of the bravest and most
famous explorers in the new world.

Their paths had crossed before. When Pre Marquette had arrived at
Quebec, Joliet, the son of a poor wagon-maker, had been studying for
the priesthood in the Jesuit mission. The young priest and the student
had taken an instant liking to each other.

Adventurous Joliet, however, was temperamentally unfitted to become a
Jesuit. He had left the mission shortly after Pre Marquette was sent to
Three Rivers. Joliet traveled to France and spent a year in gay living.
Restless, unable to bear any sort of confinement, and certainly unsuited
to life in the narrow world of Europe, he had returned to Quebec and
taken up the calling of explorer.

He had gone down the Ohio to the falls where Louisville, Kentucky, now
stands. For years he had wandered the upper Great Lakes, searching for
copper mines. While so doing he had visited Pre Marquette at Sault Ste.
Marie. Nobody had roamed the new world more than he and no one person
knew more about it.

Now he stood on this wild shore, gay and carefree as ever. When Pre
Marquette stepped back, Joliet stooped to wring water from his
leggings.

Pre Marquette looked wonderingly at the canoe.

"Where did you come from, Louis?"

"Quebec."

"In--," Pre Marquette was startled. "In that canoe?"

"It is a very good canoe, Jacques. I made it myself."

"You are mad!" exclaimed Pre Marquette.

"Pouf! I had no wish to be slowed by _voyageurs_ or savages. I had to
reach you before the waters were closed by ice."

Pre Marquette shook a whirling head. Anybody could start from Quebec
for St. Ignace in such a craft. Only Louis Joliet would get through.

"Are you not going to invite me in?" the young explorer asked.

"Forgive me, Louis! In my joy at seeing you again, I had forgotten that
I am your host. Do come!"

Side by side, they walked up to the mission house. There before a
blazing fire kindled by an Indian who had attached himself to Pre
Marquette, Joliet warmed himself. As he rubbed his hands together, he
beamed happily.

"Ah, Jacques, I am now about to make you sorry."

"Sorry?" queried Pre Marquette. "For what?"

"For writing all those reports to Quebec about the River Mississippi,
and expressing your great desire to go there. For," and Joliet paused
dramatically, "you and I are going."

"We're--we're going?" Pre Marquette gasped.

"That is right." The young explorer nodded. "We are going on special
orders from Monsieur Louis de Frontenac, Governor-General of New France,
and Pre Dablon, who is now the Jesuit Superior at Quebec."

Pre Marquette felt a great joy swell within him. That he should receive
such news on this, a day devoted to the Immaculate Virgin! His eyes were
wet with tears of happiness when he looked again at his friend.

"Louis, you're serious!"

"Most serious, Jacques," the newcomer insisted. "Monsieur de Frontenac,
he wishes to extend the empire of France, to discover mines of gold and
copper, and to close in the English colonists by a solid array of French
forts to the west. Pre Dablon, you know what he wants. But maybe a
little bit you and I just wish to see the Mississippi. Eh, Jacques?"

"I have prayed to be sent there!"

Louis Joliet rubbed his hands gleefully. "Ah!" he breathed, "such a
magnificent undertaking! Nobody knows as much of this new world as you
and I will discover! It is a marvelous thing!"

Pre Marquette said eagerly, "I have made maps, Louis, and while I was
at La Pointe a slave named Broken Knee taught me the Illinois language!
I am partially prepared."

"Good," said Joliet, "but let us do more. You know, Jacques, that it
will be a venturesome journey. It need not be a foolhardy one if we
ready ourselves properly."

"Let me show you my maps," Pre Marquette said. He unrolled his great
array of hand-drawn maps and pointed out the mission at La Pointe.
Everything to the east was mapped; nearly everything to the west was
blank.

"I met Broken Knee at La Pointe," Pre Marquette explained. "He was a
slave taken from the Illinois, and he was about thirty days on the
trail. Later, when peace prevailed, other Illinois tribesmen visited La
Pointe. They asked me to come among them, and I felt that I must do so.

"Now look at this map, Louis," the Jesuit continued. "Here is the Fox
River, emptying into Green Bay, and at this point is the village of the
Mascoutens. Pre Allouez and Pre Dablon were there two years ago, in
1670. Pre Allouez himself told me that the Mascoutens spoke of a
westerly flowing river only a few days' journey from their village. It
is the Meskousing, or Wisconsin. Now----"

"Now what?" Joliet asked smoothly.

"That I do not know," Pre Marquette admitted. "There is no way of
telling, for no white man has ever gone beyond the Mascouten village.
From this point on I can only guess, but if the Wisconsin flows west,
and the Mississippi north to south, does it not seem certain that the
Wisconsin empties into the Mississippi?"

"It cannot fail." Joliet was frowning as he studied the maps. "But, if
possible, we must make sure that you are right. Now this place,
Jacques----"

Sitting together, forgetting everything else, they scanned the maps
Pre Marquette had drawn. Joliet, expert at this sort of thing, used a
piece of charcoal to shade various portions or to mark something that
interested him. They had eyes and thought only for the venture before
them.

They sought an answer to the most important question that faced the new
world. To the west, beyond the farthest point any white man had seen,
lay a wilderness. Nobody knew how big it was, but every sign indicated
that it was cut by a great river.

Where did that river flow? What promises did it offer?

Pre Marquette rose. "Come with me to the church, Louis, and I shall ask
anyone who has information about the Mississippi to bring it to me."

Little by little the news trickled in. A wandering Indian who came to
St. Ignace announced that, though he had never been there, a party of
his tribesmen had started down the Mississippi. There had been ten
warriors, all in one canoe, and being stoutly armed they had no reason
to fear anything. As they sailed along they heard a great roaring, and
knew it for a monster, but decided to attack. The monster swallowed the
canoe and nine men. Only one warrior returned to tell the tale.

Other Indians came to say that the Mississippi was the abode of devils
with wings, who skipped about on the water and never failed to kill any
man who came near.

News of the forthcoming expedition trickled through the whole north
country. A fur trader went two hundred miles out of his way to tell Pre
Marquette and Joliet that they would find warlike tribes on the
Mississippi. He advised them not to go, for they would certainly be
killed.

Pre Marquette and Joliet listened to everyone. They set aside what was
clearly silly, but gave careful thought to everything else. When it
seemed certain that someone had information they could use, they changed
their maps.

As spring drew near, both explorers felt a growing urge to be off. This
would be the greatest exploration to be undertaken since the days of
Columbus, and in spite of continued warnings neither Pre Marquette nor
Joliet had any thought of giving up their plans.

Choosing a crew to accompany them was difficult. The Indians, expert
canoemen and forest runners, refused to think of going along. They
believed the tales of demons and monsters, and were sure that the
explorers would never be seen again should they sail their canoes down
the Mississippi.

Then five French _voyageurs_, unafraid of devils or of anything else,
volunteered to serve. The _voyageurs_, who were even better canoemen
than the Indians and much more dependable, busied themselves making two
fine canoes.

Spring came, but Pre Marquette could not leave. Louis Joliet had also
brought information that as soon as a canoe could be sent from Quebec,
Pre Philippe Pierson would arrive to take his place at St. Ignace. Pre
Marquette had to await and instruct Pre Pierson, who arrived with the
first brigade of northbound canoes.

On the 17th of May, 1673, the little group of adventurers set out from
St. Ignace. Nobody, not even they, knew exactly where they were going.
Nobody except the men themselves believed that they would ever come
back.




[Illustration]

  10. Canoes Westward


As the explorers left St. Ignace, Joliet and Pre Marquette each
commanded a canoe. They also helped to paddle, but their happiness made
the work seem easy.

Rounding Point La Barbe, they fought against the fierce current that
surges through the narrowest part of the Straits of Mackinac, and
traveled westward along the northern shore of Lake Michigan.

During this time Pre Marquette knew some troubled moments. He had been
schooled in science and had studied further himself. He knew the
positions of the stars, he had become an expert navigator, and he had
learned to draw maps. Yet men are only human. Suppose he had been wrong
in persuading Joliet to attempt to reach the Mississippi by way of the
Wisconsin?

Before long, Pre Marquette regained his calm. He had not been wrong! A
man is not God, but he has a God-given mind that is meant for thought,
reason, and logic. None except the savages knew definitely how the
Wisconsin flowed, but providing it flowed west, it had to empty into the
Mississippi.

The travelers took their canoes around Point Detour and into Green Bay.
Pre Marquette halted to visit with some Winnebago Indians, a tribe of
the Sioux, who dwelt along the shores of the Menominee River. Telling
them of his intended visit to the Mississippi, he heard the usual
warnings about savage tribes, demons, and monsters who lived along the
path he must follow. The two explorers disregarded the warnings and
pointed their canoes southward.

Lashed by winds and stirred by strong cross-currents that were violent
much of the time, Green Bay was the famed "Death's Door" of the early
French travelers. Camping on shore when the water was too rough,
advancing whenever they could, Pre Marquette, Joliet, and their crew
went slowly forward, living almost entirely on game, fish, wild fruits,
and vegetables.

They entered the weed-choked mouth of the Fox River, disturbing hordes
of wild geese, ducks, and other waterfowl. They fought their way up to
the rapids at De Pere, where stood the new mission of St. Francis
Xavier, established during the winter of 1671-72 by Pres Andr and
Allouez.

At the mission of St. Francis Xavier, Pre Marquette paused briefly.
Before departing from Mackinac he had been transferred to De Pere, in
order to be nearer the Illinois tribes whom he was to serve from that
time forward.

But the flame that burned within Joliet and himself was far too hot to
permit any long delays. Somewhere ahead and to the west lay the magic
Mississippi. Paddles flew as they hurried up the Fox and into Lake
Winnebago.

As they left the great lake to venture into the Fox's upper waters, Pre
Marquette's heart beat faster within him. They were nearing the
half-legendary village of the Fire Nation, the Mascoutens, whose fame
had spread as far as Paris. No known white man had gone beyond it.

The land through which they passed was wealthy with nature's gifts.
Bears and wildcats prowled through the bushes beside the river. Graceful
deer drank from the stream, stared in astonishment at the explorers'
canoes, and bounded away. Waterfowl, feeding upon the river's plants,
squawked into the air, and settled back to feed again as soon as the
canoes had passed. Sluggish buffalo bellowed on both sides of the river,
and crushed their ponderous way through cane brakes. Flocks of pelicans
whitened the banks. There were endless fruits and berries. Surely no one
could go hungry in such a place!

[Illustration]

On the 7th of June they came to the landing place at the Mascouten
village and drew up their canoes. Pre Marquette looked at his younger
companion.

"We are here, Louis."

"Aye!" Joliet laughed. "This far we have come! Do you doubt that we
will go the rest of the distance?"

"Not I," Pre Marquette said, and smiled. "Let us visit the village."

Louis Joliet looked to the priming of his gun, and made sure that
nothing clogged the draw string of his bullet pouch. He checked to see
if his powder horn ran freely.

Pre Marquette scolded him gently. "You'll have no need of a gun. The
village is friendly."

Leaving the canoes in charge of two _voyageurs_ who stood by with loaded
guns, Pre Marquette, Louis Joliet, and three _voyageurs_ struck inland
to the Mascouten village. It was about two and a half miles distant, but
long before they reached it they could see the village on the highest
hill for miles around.

The settlement was huge, covering most of the hill, and save for an
occasional lonely cabin, it was entirely surrounded by a high stockade.
Within it lived almost three thousand Miamis, Kickapoos, and Mascoutens.
The three tribes had banded together as the best defense against the
Iroquois, whose restless hunting and war trails led them even to this
distant place.

Joliet and the three _voyageurs_ who accompanied him fingered their
guns. Pre Marquette's hand stole to the crucifix around his neck. As
the explorers reached one of the stockade's several gates, an almost
naked Indian greeted them with upraised hands. His palms were outspread
to show that he held no weapons.

"Welcome, Frenchmen!" he said cordially.

Almost sheepishly Joliet and the three _voyageurs_ lowered their guns.
Pre Marquette looked admiringly at the man who had welcomed them.

He was taller than any member of the exploring party, and his hard
muscles rippled like water in the sun. He wore a necklace of bear claws,
and upon his chest were several strange-looking marks which, Pre
Marquette supposed, told of his skill both in battle and in the hunt. He
had a high forehead and intelligent eyes.

Pre Marquette looked back at the river, then turned away. All about
was sweeping prairie, with groves of stately trees scattered here and
there. But there were not many trees, and most of the Indian cabins were
made of woven rushes instead of wood.

Some of the Indians were adorned like the one who had greeted them, but
others were not so well dressed, probably because they were less skilled
in the art of making clothes. Nor did they seem so alert and
intelligent, all of which bore out Pre Allouez' report.

The Miamis were the most courtly and most intelligent of the three
tribes living in the Mascouten village. They were also the best
warriors, and almost never failed when they went on the warpath. The
Mascoutens and Kickapoos fell naturally under the leadership of the more
intelligent Miamis.

A great crowd gathered around them as they walked towards the council
house. Joliet, who knew well his role as emissary of a mighty land,
walked proudly and pretended to notice nobody. And it was Joliet who
took the speaker's stand in the council house.

"I have been sent by Monsieur de Frontenac," he proclaimed. "A leader so
mighty that his warriors, all armed with the best of guns, are as many
as the grasses of the prairie----"

Joliet, a master of flowery Indian speech, told the savages of his wish
to find new lands. He spoke of Pre Marquette's mission, and of the
greatest King of all whom Pre Marquette served. With many grand
gestures and fine words he explained that Pre Marquette was safe in the
protection of the Great Manitou. As a result, he had no fear of the
death to which he exposed himself in journeys so dangerous.

Joliet asked the Indians for help. If anyone had information about the
Mississippi, it would be thankfully received. But it was useless to warn
of demons and devils; they had been so warned many times and had no
intention of turning back.

The explorer finished by giving a little packet of gunpowder to each of
the chiefs and requesting two guides to pilot them over the portage
into the Wisconsin River.

There followed three days of feasting and merrymaking. Pre Marquette,
assigned to one of the lodges, had little time for sleep because
tribesmen came at all hours of the day and night to see him. Plainly
Pre Andr and Pre Allouez had laid a firm groundwork for future
missions to the Mascouten village.

At the end of three days the explorers set out with two Miami guides who
took them through the winding channels of the upper Fox and across the
portage, near the present city of Portage, Wisconsin, that led into the
Wisconsin. There the Miami guides left them and returned to their
village.

Pre Marquette lowered to the surface of the Wisconsin the burden he had
carried over the mile-and-a-half portage. Then in his heart he gave
humble thanks for the privilege of being there.




[Illustration]

  11. The Mississippi


On the 17th of June, seven days after they had left the village of the
Mascoutens, the two canoes glided out of the Wisconsin and into the
Mississippi's rolling currents. Louis Joliet snatched his hat off and,
at the risk of upsetting the canoe whirled the hat madly about his head.
An Indian war whoop burst from him.

"We are here!" he screamed at the top of his voice. "Jacques! This is
the river! This is the Mississippi!"

"Yes," said Pre Marquette, his trembling voice expressing his joy
somewhat more quietly. He took five forward strokes before he discovered
that his paddle was not even in the water, and said, "This is the
Mississippi, Louis."

"It is!" Joliet screamed. "It is!"

Joliet seemed about to explode. "Jacques," he exclaimed, laughing,
"you've knocked your hat sideways with the end of your paddle!"

Pre Marquette grinned back at his young companion in the other canoe,
but made no move to straighten his hat. Surely even a Jesuit could be
forgiven for not maintaining complete dignity on an occasion as
important as this.

Joliet steered his canoe very close and turned a beaming face on his
Jesuit comrade.

"Think, Jacques! Think of what this means!"

"I am thinking, Louis."

For years most of Pre Marquette's thoughts had turned to this, the
great western river. Nothing could be more important to the new world.

The discovery of the Mississippi meant, first of all, that the mission
to which Pre Marquette had devoted his life could now be undertaken
among previously unknown tribes. It meant that important new regions
could be explored and settled. It meant that the way was open into a
whole new land.

Now that Pre Marquette and Joliet had proved that there was a route
into the west, other white men would certainly follow.

The two men let their canoes drift while they gazed upon this marvelous
river. A mile wide where they had entered it, the Mississippi was
flanked on either side by forested bluffs. The shores were indented by
many bayous, or slow streams, and there was evidence of swampland. A
herd of grunting buffalo, so many that they seemed one brown blanket,
grazed in a sandy meadow. The animals scarcely bothered to lift their
heads when the canoes floated past. There were numberless waterfowl, and
birds of every description screeched and squawked in the trees and river
growth.

Joliet started a haunting boatman's song in which the _voyageurs_
joined. Pre Marquette busied himself with observing. Nothing about this
western river must escape notice, for Pre Dablon, back in Quebec, would
wish to know every detail. Then, too, Pre Marquette intended to make
new maps. Now that the river was found, it must not be lost again.

Pre Marquette's observations were interrupted by Joliet's gay laugh.

"This is no fit place to tarry, Jacques. You have not, I trust,
forgotten that we are going to the Pacific, or Virginia, or the Gulf of
Mexico, or wherever this river betakes itself in its various wanderings.
Now you have three boatmen, and I have only two, but we in this canoe
feel that we are superior. Come! Let us race!"

Almost before he had finished speaking, Joliet's two _voyageurs_,
happily agreeing to the challenge, dug paddles deeply into the water,
and their canoe spurted two lengths ahead.

As Pre Marquette's boatmen took up the gauntlet, their canoe leaped
down the river. The laughing Joliet looked back at them.

Inch by inch the four paddlers struggled against the three, but those
three were mighty canoemen. Soon the gap between the boats narrowed.
Pre Marquette's canoe crept up so that its bow was even with the
other's stern.

Suddenly Joliet's canoe skidded and Pre Marquette heard the shouted
warning, "Swerve, Jacques! Swerve quickly!"

There was a sharp, sickening bump, as though Pre Marquette's canoe had
flung itself upon a floating tree trunk. This was followed by a swirl in
the water, and then quiet. Instantly one of the boatmen was on his
knees, patching a hole in the canoe through which water bubbled. Pre
Marquette looked around to see what they had hit.

Just beneath the surface, looking almost yellow in the murky water, a
great fish swam. Fully five feet long and with an almost unbelievably
thick body, it pursued the unhurried course upon which it had started
when struck by the canoe.

"Come and look, Louis," Pre Marquette invited.

Joliet swung his canoe around to gaze at the sluggish creature. Though
neither knew it, it was a channel catfish. Joliet turned understanding
eyes on Pre Marquette.

"A Mississippi 'monster,'" he pronounced. "We must proceed with more
caution, Jacques."

Towards evening they landed to let the _voyageurs_ hunt, and roasted fat
buffalo hump over a small fire on the shore. Then they paddled their
canoes into the river, anchored them to driven sticks, and, careful that
one of their number always remained awake and alert, they slept in the
canoes.

It was strange, wild country, with never any way of knowing what lay
beyond the next bend or the next turn. Anything could be there, but for
eight days the adventuring canoeists saw only the usual game herds and
bird flocks.

It was not until the 25th of June, when they had been eight days on the
river, that Joliet stopped his canoe. He stared towards the bank.

"Look there," he said.

Pre Marquette followed his gaze. At the edge of the river was a
well-worn path, and a big canoe lay on the bank. Joliet turned
questioningly towards Pre Marquette.

"Savages cannot be very far away, Jacques. What now?"

"We will go and find them," Pre Marquette said.

"Suppose they do not care to be found?"

"I did not come this far to turn back, Louis."

"That is all I must know," said Joliet.

They ran their canoes into shallow water, disembarked, and left the five
armed _voyageurs_ in charge. Joliet gave them final instructions.

"You are to remain alert and under no condition let yourselves be
surprised. If you are attacked, fight. When you can, take to the river
and flee. Should anything go amiss, Pre Marquette and I will try to
return to last night's camp. If you do not find us there within three
days, go back the way you came. Above all, guard the maps and reports
with your lives. Mine must go to Monsieur de Frontenac. Give Pre
Marquette's to Pre Dablon."

Side by side the two explorers walked up a narrow trail that threaded
the flat prairie. Joliet walked cautiously, his roving eyes taking in as
much as they possibly could. Pre Marquette looked only straight ahead.
A half-hour later they saw the village with two others a little way
beyond it.

At sight of the settlements, the explorers stopped. Joliet was nervous,
but Pre Marquette remained calm.

"We might still go back," Joliet pointed out.

"I cannot go back," Pre Marquette said, "for if I did I would be false
to all I have taught and to all I believe. We may, however, let the
savages know that we come in peace. Let us shout."

They shouted as loudly as they could, and tensely awaited the result of
their signal. Presently four old men came from the village. Two of them
bore stone pipes ornamented with bird feathers which had handles about
two feet long. Pre Marquette looked at them. They must be Illinois, for
they bore the same headdress and the same face markings as the Illinois
who had visited La Pointe. The two pipe-bearers puffed rhythmically,
then held their pipes to the sky as though offering them to the sun.

Joliet sighed his relief.

"The calumet," he said.

"What is that?"

"The peace pipe," Joliet explained, "though there is also a calumet for
war. Smoke it when they offer it to you, Jacques, even though you only
let the smoke pass your lips. Otherwise they will consider you an
enemy."

Unspeaking, the four old men approached them. Pre Marquette and Joliet
puffed briefly on the peace pipe, then walked with their guides to the
village. A breech-clouted Indian with upraised hands greeted them at the
entrance to a big lodge, and took them inside. Pre Marquette and Joliet
seated themselves on woven mats.

"It lightens our hearts to see you at last," the chief said gravely. "We
have long been hoping you would come, for some of our people visited La
Pointe and brought word of the miracles performed by the Black Robe
there. But before we tire you with talk, let us give you refreshment."

An Indian came with food, and the chief put some between the lips of
both Pre Marquette and Joliet. There was another course, but when that
was followed by a large roasted dog brought in on a platter, Pre
Marquette turned a little pale. Joliet looked mischievously at him.

"It is only dog," he said carelessly. "Eat, Jacques."

"I," Pre Marquette said in the Illinois tongue, "am a Black Robe, and
cannot eat dog."

[Illustration]

Without protest the roasted dog was taken away and cooked fish offered
in its place. The feasting finished, the pow-wow started. These were
indeed Illinois Indians, Pre Marquette discovered, and though none from
this particular village had visited La Pointe, the Black Robes' fame had
spread throughout the Illinois country. Mightily they wished for a
Jesuit to come and live among them.

The next day the chief gave Pre Marquette a fine calumet, decorated
with the bright feathers and dried heads of various birds.

"Carry it, Black Robe," he said. "It is our wish that you remain safe,
for we hope that you will come again among us. The sun was so bright
when you came, and has grown so dim now that you are about to leave,
that our hearts are heavy within us."

"I promise," Pre Marquette said, "that now you are found, you shall not
be lost. I will come again among you."




[Illustration]

  12. Attack


With the cheers and shouted encouragement of nearly six hundred Illinois
tribesmen ringing in their ears, the little group of adventurers again
set sail upon the Mississippi.

Pre Marquette was occupied with his own thoughts, for the Illinois
Indians had furnished much valuable information. The Mississippi, they
said, did not swing westward and therefore it could not possibly empty
into the Pacific. But there was a river that flowed into the Mississippi
from the west. It was inhabited by man-eating monsters of every
description, and was also the abode of demons. There were tribes living
along its banks, but the Illinois did not know much about them.

They _did_ know about the Mississippi. Certainly the explorers would run
into warlike peoples, but the Illinois knew of none who did not respect
the calumet. Much farther down, they had heard, were other tribes with
long hair on their faces. Their houses were built on the water. These
tribes had guns, beads and cloth which they were glad to trade for furs.

Pre Marquette pondered all this information and tried intelligently to
fill the many gaps. The demons and devils he did not think about, for he
had also been told that he would meet them on the Mississippi.

But what of the eastward-flowing river? Was not the very fact that it
flowed in an easterly direction proof of much unexplored land to the
west? Was this North American continent far bigger than anyone had
thought? Certainly if the river flowed east it flowed from high lands.
Were there mountains between the Mississippi and the Pacific?

These questions must go unanswered for the present, but there were
others whose answers could be guessed. Tribes with "hair on their faces
and houses on the water" meant white men with ships. More than likely
these men were the Spanish who occupied the mouth of a river that
emptied into the Gulf of Mexico.

Pre Marquette maneuvered his canoe so that it floated beside Joliet's.

"Louis," he called, "what do you think of the information furnished by
the Illinois?"

Joliet shrugged. "I can no longer think that this Mississippi flows into
the Pacific or through Virginia. It must empty into the Gulf of Mexico.
I also believe that this river is the one whose mouth is held by the
Spanish."

"That is now my own opinion," Pre Marquette agreed.

"Disappointed, Jacques?"

"No," said Pre Marquette, "for the source of the river that empties
into this one is certainly near another that flows into the Pacific. Do
you think we could----?"

"We could not," Joliet broke in quickly. "We came to explore the
Mississippi, and that's what we're doing. Calm yourself, Jacques. There
will be no time to follow the river that flows from the west."

"I was merely thinking about the wild tribes that live along this
Pekitanoui, as they call it, and what might be done for them."

"You are only one man, Jacques," said Joliet, "not the entire Jesuit
order. Did it ever occur to you that you can do only one man's work?"

Pre Marquette gave himself over to paddling, but his thoughts were
busy. He had once believed that the Mississippi would reveal the
outermost boundaries of North America, and lead to the Pacific. Clearly
it would not. But there was this new river, the Pekitanoui, or Missouri.
Certainly it had its own secrets to reveal. God willing, Pre Marquette
decided, one day he would seek them out.

The explorers went on, avoiding the swiftest currents, sand bars, and
floating debris in their way. Then, one day, one of the boatmen gasped,
"Look!"

Pre Marquette followed the _voyageur's_ gaze, and he stifled his
astonishment. High on the face of a smooth rock were two terrible
painted creatures.

They were as large as calves, but they bore deer horns on their heads.
There was something horribly evil in their painted expressions. The
faces were those of men, but the beards were those of tigers. The bodies
were covered with scales. Winding around the bodies, passing over the
heads, and going back between the legs, long tails ended in fish's fins.

For the first time, Pre Marquette noted fear on Louis Joliet's face.
The young explorer turned to the missionary.

"What does it mean, Jacques?" he whispered.

"It is the work of some imaginative savage," Pre Marquette replied.

"A savage, to paint so perfectly? The masters of France could not
improve upon it."

"Put it from your mind, Louis."

In spite of such assurances, Pre Marquette could not at once put the
images from his own mind. It was an age of superstition, when even
well-informed people were not above believing that real devils walked
the earth. Pre Marquette fought with his own cold fear, and finally
conquered it. He was a Jesuit who believed as a Jesuit. The images had
been very real and very fierce, but he could not for long fear devils,
painted or otherwise. Doubtless some gifted Indian had merely intended
to paint river spirits.

The party went farther, camping wherever they found themselves at night
and gathering food along the way. A little while after they had passed
the painted monsters on the rock, a faint rumbling in the distance
struck Pre Marquette's ears.

He hesitated, backing water with his paddle while he sought to define
the sound. Pre Marquette remembered the Indians' tale of the demon that
supposedly guarded the Mississippi, and that swallowed men and canoes.
Joliet brought his canoe to rest beside Pre Marquette's and the two
looked questioningly at each other.

"It sounds like a waterfall," Joliet said.

"It does," Pre Marquette agreed. "What now?"

"Keep going and find out."

The current became swifter, fiercer, as the noise increased. Pre
Marquette exercised all his canoeing skill to keep his craft straight in
the rushing water. Then they were in the middle of that place where the
broad Missouri joins the Mississippi.

Quickly they struck for the farther shore, where the incoming waters
would have spent much of their force. Even so they needed all their
skill and water craft to meet the danger. The fragile canoes were tossed
about, threatening to beach themselves. Then finally they were in calm
water below the meeting of the two rivers.

Pre Marquette wiped the perspiration from his brow and sighed in
relief. Doubtless this was another of the many Mississippi demons, but
it was easy to see how such fierce water could swallow a canoe and nine
men. An Indian, running unawares into the place, might easily feel the
demon breathing down his neck.

The travelers went on, passing the mouth of the Ohio and suffering in
the hot climate of the land where they now found themselves. Clouds of
mosquitoes, so numerous and savage that it was necessary to spread sails
over the canoes, besieged the group of men.

On shore the explorers built a platform of sticks, and made a smoke fire
beneath it. Then they lay on the platform to escape the mosquitoes'
torment.

While in this place they met and talked with a group of Chickasaw
Indians who had guns, knives, hatchets, and various other trade goods.
Joliet identified these as Spanish-made articles which the Chickasaws
had obtained by trading with tribes farther down the river. This meeting
strengthened the explorers' belief that the Mississippi emptied into the
Gulf of Mexico and that the Spanish controlled its mouth. The Chickasaws
told them that at this point of the river they were only ten days from
the sea.

Again the travelers launched their tiny canoes and started down the
river which never before had been broken by a white man's paddle. They
went more cautiously now, overlooking nothing, and never failing to post
a sentry. If the sea was only ten days away, the Spanish might be
anywhere. The kindest fate they could expect in Spanish hands was
captivity.

Suddenly, and without any warning, where there had been only peaceful
shores many Indians appeared. They lined the water's edge in a yelling,
screaming crowd. Indian archers bent their bows. Arrows whistled over
the canoes or nicked into the birch bark that covered them.

The Indians raced to the shore and uncovered their dugouts, which had
been hidden in tall weeds. Club-swinging warriors manned them as the
dugouts pulled out to head off the canoes.




[Illustration]

  13. The Turning Point


Pre Marquette stood erect, bracing his feet against the canoe's ribs
lest he break through the paper-thin bark, and held the calumet aloft.
Joliet and the _voyageurs_ looked calmly to their guns. Every man was
prepared to repel the attack.

As Joliet leveled his gun against a dugout, Pre Marquette cried,

"No! Not yet! Don't fire at them, Louis!"

"How near," Joliet asked, remaining calm, "would you have them come?"

"They are excited and have not yet seen the calumet! Let us not kill
needlessly!"

A half-dozen warriors ran to the water's edge and plunged in, evidently
intending to swim out and upset the canoes. The fierce currents hurled
the Indians back on shore.

Standing up in a dugout, a warrior threw a club that fell short of the
explorers. Another club sailed over Pre Marquette's head, so close that
it seemed almost to touch his hair. Several Indians were swinging clubs,
preparing to throw them.

Joliet's unexcited voice penetrated the general uproar.

"One more like that, Jacques, and there will be some very dead savages
around here."

"Time!" Pre Marquette breathed. "Give them time! Do not act hastily!"

So near that it seemed almost impossible for him to miss, an Indian
stood up and whirled his war club. Other dugouts were pushing in
strongly, preparing to attack. Then they stopped.

Holding their crafts in the snarling water, the dugouts' paddlers glared
at the explorers even while they listened to a command from the bank.
Some old men, neither as hot-headed nor as eager for battle as the young
ones, had finally seen the calumet.

A symbol of the sun, which these tribes worshipped, it was at all times
to be revered and respected. Even in the heat of battle, a warrior who
displayed the calumet might pass unharmed through all his enemies. None
would hurt whoever showed the sacred symbol.

Louis Joliet grinned wryly at Pre Marquette, and lowered his gun. The
_voyageurs_ did likewise. They remained tense, ready for anything that
might come.

At another order from the bank, the dugouts put back to shore. Two of
the older men, laying down their bows and arrows, stepped into dugouts
and were rowed to the canoes. Without ceremony, one of the older men
stepped into each canoe, and he who wore the principal chief's feathers
spoke.

"Do you know what he's saying, Jacques?" Joliet called.

Pre Marquette shook his head. "It is not one of the six Indian
languages I understand. These are an alien people and I have never met
their like."

One of the old men pointed towards the shore and grunted. He made
motions indicating plainly that the canoes should put in. Warily the
_voyageurs_ took up their paddles and obeyed. Keeping a firm hold on
their guns, they stepped out of the canoes, beached them, and climbed
the banks.

While scowling warriors ringed the explorers, Pre Marquette looked in
vain for women and children. There were none--a sign that this was a war
party on the march. Again they were addressed by one of the leaders.

Pre Marquette could not understand, and failing, he spoke in the
Algonquin tongue. The warriors looked questioningly at each other while
Pre Marquette cast about in his mind for some way to make them
understand. It was only when he spoke to them in the Illinois tongue
that an old man came forward.

"I know what you say, Black Robe," he told the Jesuit, growling, "and I
will interpret."

One of the chiefs asked a question and the interpreter turned to Pre
Marquette.

"From where do you come?"

"From a land you have never seen," replied Pre Marquette. "It is many
days' journey up this river, and from there many months' to the east,
and thence across a great water. Compared to it, even the Mississippi is
but a puddle. This distant land is called France."

The puzzled interpreter translated for the benefit of his comrades, who
looked upon the visitors with new curiosity. Then the Indian asked
another question.

"What brings you to the land of the Mitchigamea?"

Pre Marquette hesitated. These men were a war party, and like all
Indians they would be proud of their battle prowess. It would be small
use to tell them of France, or even of God. They would not have the
slightest idea of what he was talking about. Pre Marquette said, "We
seek the sea into which this river empties."

"Are you friends of the white men who are already there?"

"We are not their friends," said Pre Marquette.

"Then," the Indian advised, "you had better turn around and go back. You
are but two days' journey from the sea, and if you go farther you will
be caught and killed by the white men. They kill or make slaves of
everyone they catch. They are so ignorant that they do not even respect
the calumet."

"Can you tell us of these white men?" asked Pre Marquette.

[Illustration]

[Illustration:

_The_ EXPLORATIONS
_of_
Pre Marquette]

"No, for I have never been among them. However, there is another tribe
that know them well. You are to spend the night with us and tomorrow
morning we will take you there. It will be best to show the calumet,
for then you will not be harmed."

The next morning, after an uneasy night during which the explorers slept
little, they set out again. Ahead of them, showing the way, went a
dugout manned by ten strong Mitchigamea braves.

In the middle of the afternoon they found an encampment at the mouth of
the Arkansas River, and Pre Marquette gained safe passage with the
invaluable calumet.

A party of warriors escorted the explorers into the village and gave
them a place of honor. After corn and roast meat were served, the
Arkansas tribesmen produced a young man who spoke Illinois much more
fluently than had the man of the Mitchigamea.

Joliet spoke of France and all its glory. Pre Marquette spoke of his
mission, and then they gathered much valuable information.

The Spanish, they learned, were only two days down the river, which
emptied into the Gulf of Mexico. Also down the river were various
Indians who, having associated with the Spanish, had been corrupted by
them. All the renegades had guns, and they restlessly prowled the river
banks. Furthermore, having forsaken their own customs and practices for
those of the Spaniards, they shot without warning anyone who passed.

Late that night the explorers tore themselves away from the endless
celebrating and the endless courses of food which were pressed upon
them. When at last Pre Marquette and Joliet retired to the cabin which
had been given them, they excitedly compared notes.

"What do you think now, Louis?" the Jesuit asked.

"There can no longer be any doubt that the Mississippi empties into the
Gulf of Mexico," said Joliet. "Nor can there be doubt that more and
greater lands lie to the west."

"Shall we go on?"

"I'm against it," Joliet said firmly. "To do so would only mean to
become prisoners of Spain, or to be shot by some of their lurking
renegade Indians. Should that happen, our whole journey is lost, and no
good will ever come of it. I say turn back now."

Pre Marquette nodded his agreement.

Neither Joliet nor Pre Marquette could know that the Indians had
misinformed them, and that the mouth of the Arkansas River is almost
700 miles from the Gulf of Mexico.

Had they known that, they might have gone on.




[Illustration]

  14. A Child Is Baptized


The sun burned down so fiercely that steam appeared to rise from the
river's surface. Only an occasional sleepy twitter came from the flocks
of birds along the bank. Pre Marquette, turning his canoe to follow
Joliet's across the Mississippi's strong current, felt himself bathed in
what seemed a river of perspiration.

Heat burned through the sail overspreading the canoe. Pre Marquette
took another forward stroke, then looked wonderingly at the light
paddle.

Suddenly it seemed a heavy, leaden thing, almost too much of a burden to
bear. Pre Marquette was attacked by an unaccountable spell of
dizziness.

Then, and he did not know how it happened, the sail was again spread and
a fine, brisk breeze bore them swiftly along. The breeze freshened as it
blew, bearing almost the icy sting of a winter wind at Sault Ste. Marie.
Pre Marquette refreshed himself in it, happy for Joliet and the
_voyageurs_. They had worked very hard and been very hot.

Then Pre Marquette knew a great burning and a great noise in his head.
He stirred fretfully and tried to raise himself. Unable to do so, he
opened feverish eyes.

He lay on the shore under the spread sail. A fire heaped with wet wood
and rushes made a yellow smoke that drove the ever-hungry mosquitoes
away.

Seeing Joliet's concerned face, Pre Marquette tried to talk and could
not. Then he gasped, "Louis! What happened?"

"Patience," said Joliet as he laid a cool cloth soaked in water on Pre
Marquette's head. The Jesuit closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.
The next time he awakened night had come.

Joliet, the hardiest of explorers, but a tender nurse, still knelt
beside him. Pre Marquette sat up with renewed strength.

"What happened?" he asked in bewilderment.

"A small illness," Joliet soothed. "You are not to worry about it,
Jacques. These night fogs and this hot river have not been good for our
health. But we have started north again, and soon will be in a more
agreeable climate."

"I'm sorry to have caused trouble."

"Think nothing of it, it was small trouble." Joliet grinned. "Ah,
Jacques, your body was here but your soul was not. While you tossed with
fever you still spoke of taking time to ascend the Pekitanoui. Are you
never contented?"

Pre Marquette fell into a sound and restful slumber from which he
awakened refreshed. They went on, battling the river's currents, angling
against them when they had to, and using sails to help whenever there
was a favorable wind. It was hard labor, but there were compensations.

All seven Frenchmen had had vast experience on the water, and if they
had sailed blindly on the way down, they had marked the river's danger
spots and were able to avoid them going up. They did not stray into any
of the great river's numerous winding bayous, but were able to keep to
the main current without getting lost.

Day by day they traveled upstream, and a little way below the Illinois
River they met a party of Illinois Indians who were engaged in a buffalo
hunt. The explorers beached their canoes to talk with the hunters.

They were strangers, but some of their tribesmen had been to La Pointe
while Pre Marquette was there and had returned to speak reverently of
the Black Robe. He was a Manitou far greater than any other, the
wandering tribesmen had told their fellows, and wherever the Black Robe
came there was sure to be peace and plenty. Furthermore, those who put
themselves in the keeping of the Black Robes' Manitou were sure of good
hunting in this life and happiness in the hereafter.

The Illinois hunting party spread buffalo robes for the travelers and
brought them roasted buffalo hump. They stood attentively nearby while
the exploring party ate, then resumed their conversation.

"Whither do you journey?" the chief asked.

"Far up this river to the Wisconsin," Pre Marquette replied. "There we
will turn east and travel until we have come again to Lake Michigan."

The Indian looked puzzled. "If you would reach Lake Michigan, why do you
not choose an easier way?"

Pre Marquette's interest was aroused. "Is there an easier way?"

"There is. Turn east on the Illinois River, which is not far distant,
and you will pass the village to which we belong. It is Kaskaskia, and
there you may be sure of a welcome. Tarry as long as you wish. Then some
of our warriors will take you over a short portage to a river flowing
into Lake Michigan."

Pre Marquette and Joliet paddled up the broad, still Illinois. This was
new, and very worthwhile. Knowing that there were at least two canoe
routes to the Mississippi was of utmost importance.

In time they reached the Indian village of Kaskaskia. This was an Indian
town near the present Utica, Illinois, and not the Kaskaskia which later
became famous in American history. It was a big village of seventy-four
long houses, each of which sheltered several families. As the explorers
beached their canoes, a joyful throng trooped down to meet them.

[Illustration]

Pre Marquette's great happiness showed in his eyes. It often happened
that Indians received the Jesuits with less kindness than they offered
their dogs. Almost never did the tribes welcome a missionary so
enthusiastically.

As though a whispered word had gone among them, the assembled
tribespeople stepped aside to form two groups. Between them stood a lone
warrior, and Pre Marquette's heart went out to him.

The warrior, whose eyes were heavy with misery, was unable to conceal
the sorrow that clung like a cloak about him. Slowly he walked forward,
and his head was erect as he looked straight into Pre Marquette's eyes.

"Black Robe, will you come to my son?"

"I will follow you," Pre Marquette said gently.

The Indian turned and walked to one of the long houses and went inside.
A child lay on a skin-covered bed, attended by a woman, and as Pre
Marquette looked at the small figure his heart twisted again.

The child was wasted and feverish, with sunken, staring eyes. But even
his desperate illness could not hide what he had been. Traces of
sunshine clung to him, and bits of gentle breeze, and a great and merry
laughter. Probably he was the village's favorite child.

As Pre Marquette performed the baptismal rites, the dying child smiled.
It was as though the long house had suddenly lighted. Unashamed tears
glistened in the woman's eyes and the man was crying too. Pre Marquette
stayed to comfort them.

Three days later a group of warriors led the exploring party up the
Illinois River and over the height of land separating it from the south
branch of the Chicago River. The Indians looked at Pre Marquette with
imploring eyes.

"You will come again, Black Robe?" one asked.

"I will come again."




[Illustration]

  15. The Last Journey


Pre Marquette kept his promise. Both he and Joliet spent the winter at
De Pere, the mission of St. Francis Xavier.

The illness which had seized Pre Marquette as a result of hardships
endured on the Mississippi became worse as the winter advanced. He could
do little except write an account of his explorations and complete his
maps.

Joliet was occupied in a similar fashion, but as soon as the ice broke
he started for Quebec. Although he made the greater part of the trip in
safety, his canoe was wrecked in the Lachine Rapids above Montreal and
all his records lost. Thus, only Pre Marquette's written account of the
Mississippi was preserved.

Pre Marquette did not improve until summer arrived. Then slowly he
seemed to grow better.

On the 25th of October, 1674, he felt well enough to attempt the journey
back to Kaskaskia in fulfillment of his promise to its Indians. He left
De Pere with two men, Pierre Porteret and Jacques L'Argilier.

When they reached the Chicago River it was frozen, and there Pre
Marquette became very ill. Unable to move any farther, he passed the
winter in a hut which his two men erected on the site of the present
city of Chicago. Pierre and Jacques hunted for him, and the Illinois
tribesmen who brought him food and medicine begged him to visit them
when they could.

[Illustration]

Towards the last of March he resumed his journey to Kaskaskia. He spent
eleven days among the Illinois. Then, knowing that he could not live
long, he asked his two men to take him back to his old mission at St.
Ignace.

He was never to reach it. Since Pre Marquette wished to go to St.
Ignace and not back to De Pere, they started up the east shore of Lake
Michigan rather than the west.

When they came to a place near the present city of Ludington, Michigan,
Pre Marquette could go no farther. Pierre and Jacques erected a rude
bark hut, where he spent his last hours in prayer. On the 17th of May,
1675, Pre Marquette died peacefully. He was thirty-eight years old and
had spent only nine years in the American wilderness pursuing his chosen
work.

    *    *    *    *    *

Pre Marquette will never be forgotten. His statue stands in the Hall of
Fame at Washington, with those of America's greatest men. He has been
honored by other statues or monuments at Portage, Wisconsin, where he
entered the Wisconsin River; in the city of Marquette, Michigan; at
Summit, Illinois; in Chicago, Detroit, and various other cities.

Harvard and Marquette Universities have placed stained glass windows in
his honor. Michigan, Wisconsin and Iowa each have a city or village
named Marquette. At Adams and Dearborn Streets, in Chicago, the
magnificent Marquette Building was dedicated to him. The river on whose
banks he died and a railway system in Michigan bear his name.

Perhaps it is in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where the most suitable
memorial to Pre Marquette has been established. It is Marquette
University, founded and conducted by the Jesuits as a means of keeping
alive and furthering Pre Marquette's ideals.

Nor, despite the fact that he died in poverty, will Joliet be forgotten.
In Chicago, on the Michigan Boulevard Bridge, there is a bronze plaque:
"In honor of Louis Joliet and Pre Marquette, the first white men to
pass through the Chicago River." The city of Joliet, Illinois, was also
named for the explorer.

Even without these tangible memorials, the names of Pre Marquette and
Louis Joliet can never be separated from the America we know today. They
opened the Mississippi Valley and the Great Lakes basin, thus paving the
way for the countless millions who followed. They were the first to
prove that North America was not just a spit of land, inconveniently
separating Europe from the Orient's fabled riches, but a mighty
continent in its own right.




  Index


  =Allouez, Louis=, 66-68, 70, 73, 91, 108, 115, 122, 124

  Anatik, 46-48, 53, 55

  Andr, Father, 115, 124

  Arkansas River, 159, 161

  Ashland, Wisconsin, 68


  =Bear Claw=, 85-86

  Broken Knee, 76, 79, 107-08


  =Chicago River=, 174, 177, 179;
    _maps_, 117, 169

  Chickasaw Indians, 147

  Copper Spear, 63-65


  =Dablon, Claude=, 106-08, 128, 132

  De Pere Mission, 115-16, 173-74, 177;
    _map_, 117

  Druilettes, Father, 19-26, 27-39, 41-48, 91

  du Chesne, Pierre, 7-10, 13-14, 16, 19


  =Eel, The= (Indian), 97-100


  =Fox River=, 82, 108, 115-16

  Franois (Indian boy), 23-25, 42-43, 45, 48

  French River, 60;
    _map_, 61

  Frontenac, Louis de, 106-07, 122-23, 132


  =Georgian Bay=, 60;
    _map_, 61

  Green Bay, 68, 70, 82, 108, 114-15;
    _map_, 117


  =Huron Indians=, 84-86, 89-91, 93-94, 98

  Huron Lake, 60, 90;
    _map_, 61


  =Illinois River=, 166, 168, 171;
    _map_, 169

  Illinois Tribes, 75, 79, 107-08, 116, 133-34, 139-41, 166-67, 174, 177

  Iroquois Indians, 4, 60, 89, 93, 120


  =Joliet, Louis=, 102-12, 114-16, 119-37, 141-45, 149-52, 159-65, 174, 179


  =Kaskaskia village=, 168-69, 174, 177;
    _map_, 169

  Keewenaw Peninsula, 91

  Kickapoo Indians, 120, 122


  =Lachine Rapids=, 174

  La Pointe Mission, 66, 68, 70, 81, 83-85, 91, 107-09, 133-34, 137

  L'Argilier, Jacques, 174, 177

  Le Mercier, Franois, 3, 57

  Lewis and Clark expedition, 70


  =Manitoulin Island=, 89-91;
    _map_, 61

  Marquette University, 178

  Mascoutens, 108-09, 116, 118, 120, 122, 124-25;
    _map_, 117

  Mattawa River, 60;
    _map_, 61

  Menominee River, 114;
    _map_, 117

  Meskousing River, 108

  Miami Indians, 120, 122, 124

  Michigan, Lake, 82, 90, 114, 167-68;
    _map_, 117

  Michillimackinac, 90-91, 93;
    _map_, 117

  Mississippi River, 106-62, 174

  Missouri River, 143, 145

  Mitchigamea Indians, 158-59


  =Nadouessi Indians=, 83-86, 89-90

  Nicolas, Louis, 62-63

  Nipissing Lake, 60;
    _map_, 61


  =Ottawa Indians=, 61, 70-75, 84-86, 89-91

  Ottawa River, 60;
    _map_, 61

  Otter Tail, 85-86, 89


  =Pekitanoui River=, 142-43, 166

  Pierson, Philippe, 112

  Point Detour, 114;
    _map_, 117

  Portage, Wisconsin, 124

  Porteret, Pierre, 174


  =Red Fish= (Indian), 97-102


  =Saint Francis Xavier Mission=, 115-17;
    _map_, 117

  Saint Ignace Mission, 91, 93, 112-13, 177;
    _maps_, 61, 117

  Saint Mary's River, 61, 91;
    _map_, 61

  Sault Sainte Marie, 61, 65, 68, 91, 104;
    _maps_, 61, 117

  Sioux Indians, 83-86, 89-90, 114

  Stag Horn, 28-39

  Superior, Lake, 61, 70, 90-91;
    _map_, 61


  =Three Rivers, Canada=, 3, 17-26


  =Wattape=, 90

  Whitefish Bay, 91, 117

  Winnebago Indians, 114

  Winnebago Lake, 116;
    _map_, 117

  Wisconsin River, 108-09, 114, 125, 167;
    _map_, 117




[End of The Explorations of Pre Marquette, by Jim Kjelgaard]
