22

La Salle in Matagorda Bay.

1685. started on the 4th of February, and travelled eastward, (for it was clear that they had passed the river) during three days, when they came to a great stream which they could not cross, having no boats. Here they made fire signals, and, on the 13th, two of the vessels came in sight; the mouth of the river, or entrance of the bay, for such it proved to be, was forthwith sounded, and the barks sent in to be under shelter. But, sad to say, La Salle's old fortune was at work here again; for the vessel which bore his provisions and most valuable stores, was run upon a shoal by the grossest neglect, or, as Joutel thinks, with malice prepense; and, soon after, the wind coming in strong from the sea, she fell to pieces in the night, and the bay was full of casks and packages, which could not be saved, or were worthless when drawn from the salt water. From this untimely fate our poor adventurer rescued but a small half of his second stock of indispensables.

And here, for a moment, let us pause to look at the Chevalier's condition in the middle of March, 1685. Beaujeu, with his ship, is gone, leaving his comrades in the marshy wilderness, with not much of joy to look forward to. They had guns, and powder, and shot; eight cannon, too, "but not one bullet," that is, cannon-ball, the naval gentlemen having refused to give them any. And here are our lonely settlers, building a fort upon the shores of the Bay of St. Louis, as they called it, known to us as the Bay of St. Bernard, or Matagorda Bay, in Texas. They build from the wreck of their ship, we cannot think with light hearts; every plank and timber tells of past ill luck, and, as they look forward, there is vision of irritated savages (for there had been warring already,) of long search for the Hidden River, of toils and dangers in its ascent when reached. No wonder, that "during that time several men deserted." So strong was the fever for desertion, that, of some who stole away and were retaken, it was found necessary to execute one.

*

And now La Salle prepares to issue from his nearly completed fort, to look round and see where he is. He has still a good force, some hundred and fifty people; and, by prompt and determined action, much may be done between this last of March and next autumn. In the first place, the river falling into the Bay of St. Louis is examined, and a new fort commenced in that neighborhood, where seed is planted also; for the men begin to tire of meat and fish, with spare allowance of bread, and no vegetables. So the Spaniards called the Mississippi.

1685.

La Salle in Texas.

23

But the old luck is at work still. The seed will not sprout; men desert; the fort goes forward miserably slow; and at last, three months and more gone to no purpose, Joutel and his men, who are still hewing timber at the first fort, are sent for, and told to bring their timber with them in a float. The float or raft was begun "with immense labor," says the wearied historian, but all to no purpose, for the weather was so adverse, that it had to be all taken apart again and buried in the sand. Empty-handed, therefore, Joutel sought his superior, the effects being left at a post by the way. And he came to a scene of desolation; men sick, and no houses to put them in; all the looked-for crop blasted; and not a ray of comfort from any quarter.

"Well,” said La Salle, "we must now muster all hands, and build ourselves 'a large lodgment."" But there was no timber within a league; and not a cart nor a bullock to be had, for the buffaloes, though abundant, were ill broken to such labor. If done, this dragging must be done by men; so, over the long grass and weeds of the prairie-plain, they dragged some sticks, with vast suffering. Afterwards the carriage of a gun was tried; but it would not do; "the ablest men were quite spent." Indeed, heaving and hauling over that damp plain, and under that July sun, might have tried the constitution of the best of Africans; and of the poor Frenchmen thirty died, worn out. The carpenter was lost; and, worse still, La Salle, wearied, worried, disappointed, lost his temper and insulted his men. So closed July; the Chevalier turned carpenter, marking out the tenons and mortises of what timber he could get, and growing daily more cross. In March he thought much might be done before autumn, and now autumn stands but one month removed from him, and not even a house built yet.

And August soon passed too, not without results, however; for the timber that had been buried below was got up, and a second house built, "all covered with planks and bullock's hides over them."

And now once more was La Salle ready to seek the Mississippi. First, he thought he would try with the last of the four barks with which he left France; the bark La Belle, "a little frigate carrying six guns," which the King had given our Chevalier to be his navy. But, after having put all his clothes and valuables on board of her, he determined to try with twenty men to reach his object by land. This was in December, 1685. From this

24

La Salle in Texas.

1686.

expedition he did not return until March, 1686, when he came to his fort again, ragged, hatless, and worn down, with six or seven followers at his heels, his travels having been all in vain. It was not very encouraging; but, says Joutel, "we thought only of making ourselves as merry as we could." The next day came the rest of the party, who had been sent to find the little frigate, which should have been in the bay. They came mournfully, for the little frigate could not be found, and she had all La Salle's best effects on board.

The bark was gone; but our hero's heart was still beating in his bosom, a little cracked and shaken, but strong and iron-bound still. So, borrowing some changes of linen from Joutel, toward the latter end of April, he again set forth, he and twenty men, each with his pack, "to look for his river," as our writer aptly terms it. Some days after his departure, the bark La Belle came to light again; for she was not lost, but only ashore. Deserted by her forlorn and diminished crew, however, she seems to have been suffered to break up and go to pieces in her own way, for we hear no more of the little frigate.

And now, for a time, things went on pretty smoothly. There was even a marriage at the fort; and "Monsieur le Marquis la Sabloniere" wished to act as groom in a second, but Joutel absolutely refused. By and by, however, the men, seeing that La Salle did not return, "began to mutter." There were even proposals afloat to make away with Joutel, and start upon a new enterprise; the leader in which half-formed plan was one Sieur Duhaut, an unsafe man, and inimical to La Salle, who had, probably, maltreated him somewhat. Joutel, however, learned the state of matters, and put a stop to all such proceedings. Knowing idleness to be a root of countless evils, he made his men work and dance as long as there was vigor enough in them to keep their limbs in motion; and in such manner the summer passed away, until in August La Salle returned. He had been as far as the sources of the Sabine, probably, but had suffered greatly; of the twenty men he had taken with him, only eight came back, some having fallen sick, some having died, and others deserted to the Indians. He had not found "his river," though he had been so far in that direction; but he came back full of spirits, "which," says our writer, "revived the lowest ebb of hope." He was all ready, too, to start again at once, to seek the Mississippi, and go onward to Canada, and thence to France, to get new

1687.

La Salle starts for the Mississippi.

25

recruits and supplies; but, "it was determined to let the great heats pass before that enterprise was taken in hand." And the heats passed, but with them our hero's health, so that the proposed journey was delayed from time to time until the 12th of January, 1687.

On that day started the last company of La Salle's adventurers. Among them went Joutel, and also the discontented Duhaut; and all took their "leaves with so much tenderness and sorrow as if they had all presaged that they should never see each other more." They went northwest along the bank of the river on which their fort stood, until they came to where the streams running toward the coast were fordable, and then turned eastward. From the 12th of January until the 15th of March did they thus journey across that southern country, crossing "curious meadows," through which ran "several little brooks, of very clear and good water," which, with the tall trees, all of a size, and planted as if by a line, "afforded a most delightful landskip." They met many Indians too, with whom La Salle established relations of peace and friendship. Game was abundant, "plenty of fowl and particularly of turkeys," was there, which was "an ease to their sufferings"; and so they still toiled on in shoes of green bullocks' hide, which, dried by the sun, pinched cruelly, until, following the tracks of the buffaloes, who choose by instinct the best ways, they had come to a pleasanter country than they had yet passed through, and were well on toward the long-sought Father of Waters.

On the 15th of March, La Salle, recognising the spot where they then were as one through which he had passed in his former journey, and near which he had hidden some beans and Indian wheat, ordered the Sieurs Duhaut, Hiens, Liotot the Surgeon, and some others, to go and seek them. This they did, but found that the food was all spoiled, so they turned toward the camp again. While coming campward they chanced upon two bullocks, which were killed by one of La Salle's hunters, who was with them. So they sent the commander word that they had killed some meat, and that, if he would have the flesh dried, he might send horses to carry it to the place where he lay; and, meanwhile, they cut up the bullocks, and took out the marrow-bones, and laid them aside. for their own choice eating, as was usual to do. When La Salle heard of the meat that had been taken, he sent his nephew and chief confidant, M. Moranget, with one De Male and his own footman, giving them orders to send all that was fit to the camp at

26

were,

once. M. Moranget, when he came to where Duhaut and the rest and found that they had laid by for themselves the marrowbones, became angry, took from them their choice pieces, threatened them, and spoke harsh words. This treatment touched these men, already not well pleased, to the quick; and, when it was night, they took counsel together how they might best have their revenge. The end of such counselling, where anger is foremost, and the wilderness is all about one, needs scarce to be told; "we will have their blood, all that are of that party shall die," said these malcontents. So, when M. Moranget and the rest had supped and fallen asleep, Liotot the surgeon took an axe, and with few strokes killed them all; all that were of La Salle's party, even his poor Indian hunter, because he was faithful; and, lest De Male might not be with them (for him they did not kill,) they forced him to stab M. Moranget, who had not died by the first blow of Liotot's axe, and then threw them out for the carrion-birds to feast on.

This murder was done upon the 17th of March. And at once the murderers would have killed La Salle, but he and his men were on the other side of a river, and the water for two days was so high that they could not cross.

La Salle, meantime, was growing anxious also; his nephew so long absent, what meant it? and he went about asking if Duhaut had not been a malcontent; but none said, Yes. Doubtless there was something in La Salle's heart, which told him his followers. had cause to be his foes. It was now the 20th of the month, and he could not forbear setting out to seek his lost relative. Leaving Joutel in command, therefore, he started with a Franciscan monk and one Indian. Coming near the hut which the murderers had put up, though still on the opposite side of the river, he saw carrion-birds hovering near, and to call attention if any were there, fired a shot. There were keen and watching ears and eyes there; the gun told them to be quick, for their prey was in the net; so, at once, Duhaut and another crossed the river, and, while the first hid himself among the tall weeds, the latter showed himself to La Salle at a good distance off. Going instantly to meet him, the fated man passed near to the spot where Duhaut was hid. The traitor lay still till he came opposite; then, raising his piece, shot his commander through the head; after lingering an hour, he died.

Thus fell La Salle, on the threshold of success. No man had