The Man with the Iron Hand

by John Carl Parish

Into the lodge where the feast was to be given the white men filed and seated themselves with the chiefs and men of the Illinois tribes. Less than twenty-four hours had passed since the midnight visitors from the Miami village had told their tale in low voices in the same lodge. It was not alone a feast that was to be celebrated; for in the minds of the Illinois was the determination that these bold men should be stopped by some means from going on to incite their Western enemies. As they looked upon the two leaders and their company, hostile were their thoughts, though their eyes did not show it. Yes, La Salle and his men must be stopped. And so as they squatted on mats on the earthen floor of the lodge and waited for the feast, the chief Nicanopé rose and began to speak.

He had not brought the white men there, he said, so much to feast their bodies as to cure them of the strange madness which possessed them of going on down the Mississippi. No one went there except to his death. Terrible tribes who by force of numbers could overwhelm the French dwelt along the shores. The waters of the river were full of huge serpents and deadly monsters. Even if their great canoe saved them from these perils, the channel of the river ran over rapids and fell in torrents over steep precipices, and finally shot down into a great abyss where it was lost under the earth, and no living man knew where it went. Such would be the awful fate of the French if they pursued their journey farther.

The Peorias squatted in silence as they listened to the chief’s warning. Surely the white men would not venture into such dangers. They watched the faces of La Salle and his followers for some flicker of fear. Upon the countenances of La Salle and Tonty no shadow moved. Here and there among their men were coureurs de bois—men who had lived in the Western country and who understood the words of Nicanopé. They translated them in whispers to their comrades. Uneasy looks crossed the faces of these less experienced adventurers, and the keen eyes of the Peorias caught flashes of fear and dismay on the face of many a French voyager. Their own hearts rejoiced at these signs of alarm, but their faces showed nothing save calm unconcern.

But in the words of La Salle they found little comfort when in turn he rose to reply. For the kindness of Nicanopé in warning them, he thanked him most cordially. But he was not daunted. If the dangers were great so much greater would be their glory. Frenchmen were happy, he said, to perish in carrying the name of their great chief to the ends of the earth. He believed that the story of deadly perils related by Nicanopé was prompted either by the friendly desire of the Illinois to have the white men remain in their village or else by some evil spirit who had whispered words of distrust. If the Illinois were in truth friendly to him, let them tell him frankly of the things which disturbed them. Otherwise he must believe that the friendship they had first shown came only from their lips.

Nicanopé, discouraged at the failure of his ruse, made no reply, but presented his guests with food. When they had eaten sagamite and venison and buffalo meat in silence, La Salle once more rose and continued his speech. He was not surprised to find the other tribes jealous of the advantages about to be enjoyed by the Illinois from their relations with the French, nor was he surprised that the other tribes should start false rumors; but he was astonished that the Illinois should believe those tales and hide them from him who had been so frank. Then he turned and directed his words to the astounded Nicanopé:—

“I was not asleep, my brother, when Monso last night in secret told his tales against the French and said that I was a spy of the Iroquois. Under this very lodge the presents with which he tried to persuade you of the truth of his story are still buried. Why did he take his flight so quickly? Why did he not speak to you by daylight if he spoke the truth?”

The Illinois sat silent, but with agitated minds. Amazement and awe filled their wary eyes. What manner of man was this who, though asleep in his lodge, divined the hidden secrets of their midnight council? What great medicine gave him power over the things of the night as well as the day? Could he read their thoughts? The ringing voice of the white man continued:—

“Do you not know that, had I wished, in your confusion at my arrival, I could have killed you all? What need had I of Iroquois allies? Could I not this very hour with my soldiers slaughter all your chiefs and old men while your young men are off on the hunt? Look at our burdens. Are they not tools and merchandise for your benefit rather than weapons with which to attack you? Run after this liar Monso. Bring him back and let him face me whom he has never seen, yet whose plans he pretends to know.”

There was a short pause. Nicanopé had no word to say. Monso was gone and a snow had fallen upon his tracks. They could not trace him and bring him back. Their plans had failed. The leader of the French was to them now a man of wonder as well as fear. Only Omawha of all the Illinois understood, but he said not a word. Red men and white passed out from the feast and returned to their lodges. The wooded hills across the frozen river swallowed the winter sun and early twilight closed down upon the white landscape.

By the lodges given up to the Frenchmen, La Salle set a guard, and then lay down to sleep. Tonty, after a last look at the village, turned in among the robes. In the other lodges, stretched upon mats and wrapped in buffalo skins, Indian men lay sleeping or thinking of the strange happenings of the night and day that were gone. If any had watched, as mayhap they did, they would have seen a second nightly gathering—this time in the shadows of the Frenchmen’s lodges. Six figures stealthily exchanged words and signs; and then without noise crept past the farthest lodge and out across the snow toward the village of the Miamis whence Monso had come. They were some of those Frenchmen upon whose faces the observant Indians had seen signs of fear at the words of Nicanopé.