The Man with the Iron Hand

by John Carl Parish

When the feast was over and the visitors came out from the lodge of the chief, they saw across the way a building somewhat similar in shape and size. It was the sacred temple of the tribe. Into the mud walls that inclosed it were stuck spikes on which were hung the skulls of enemies. On the roof, facing the rising sun which the Taensas worshiped, were the carved figures of three eagles. Inside the temple were preserved the bones of departed chiefs. An altar stood in the middle of the room, and here the sacred fire was kept burning. Two old medicine men sat beside it, unwinking and grave, guarding it by day and by night.

The chief was highly pleased with his visitors. If the man who had sent Tonty to his village had been an Indian, it would have been beneath the chief’s dignity to call upon him. But he sent word to La Salle by Tonty that he would pay him a visit, and on the next day he set out. He sent before him a master of ceremonies with six men to prepare the way. They took with them a beautifully woven mat for him to rest upon, and with their hands they swept the ground over which he would pass. As he came down the little creek in his dugout canoe his followers beat upon drums and his wives and the other women in the party sang songs of praise. He landed and approached La Salle’s camp, dressed in his white robe and preceded by two men carrying white plume fans and a third bearing two shields of shining brass. The two chiefs met and exchanged presents; and after a quiet call the dignified Taensas chief returned to his village on the lake.

When La Salle’s men pushed their canoes out from the shore of the cove, well laden with provisions from the Taensas, they left behind their Arkansas guides and four of the New England Indians who were fearful of the dangers below. But there were now two new members of the party, for the Taensas had given to Tonty and his Mohegan companion two slave boys, captured from the Coroas farther south.

They had not gone far when they observed upon the river a single canoe, to which a number of the party gave chase. The canoe of Tonty, outstripping the others, had nearly reached the strange bark when they saw a band of perhaps a hundred Indians, armed with bows and arrows, on the shore ready to defend their comrade in the canoe. Tonty, after consulting with La Salle, offered to take a pipe of peace to the band of savages. He crossed to the shore, presented the calumet for the Indians to smoke, and made a gift of a knife to one of the old men who seemed to be a chief. The Indians were of the nation of Natchez, and they showed their desire for peace by joining hands. This presented some difficulty to Tonty, but he bade his men join hands in his place, and the treaty of peace was concluded. Soon the rest of the party came ashore, and La Salle, taking with him a few of his men, made a visit to the village which lay three leagues from the river.

The Natchez were a powerful people related to the Taensas, and, like them, they worshiped the sun and maintained a sacred temple. La Salle spent the night in their village; and while he slept a swift runner hurried through the darkness to the village of the Coroas to ask the chief to come and visit their guest. The chief of the Coroas set out at once and traveled all night to reach the Natchez village and pay his respects to La Salle. For several days the white leader visited with the Natchez, and when he rejoined Tonty on the shore of the river the Coroa chief came with him. He accompanied the white men down the river to his own village, six leagues below, where his tribe gave the strangers a friendly reception. Here Tonty’s little Coroa slave seized the opportunity to escape to his people. But the boy who had been given to the Mohegan was not so fortunate and remained with the party of explorers.

Thus far peace had attended the journey of La Salle; but it was not to be so always. Without stopping they passed the village of the Humas and the high bank where a red pole, or baton rouge marked the boundary between the territory of the Humas and the tribes to the south. As they approached the village of the Quinipissas, they heard the sound of drums and war cries, and a party sent out by La Salle to reconnoiter was received with a volley of arrows. La Salle decided not to stop; and picking up his men, passed on down the river.

At length, early in April of the year 1682, the party reached the long-dreamed-of mouth of the river; and La Salle, on the 9th of the month, full of joy, took possession, in the name of the King of France, of all the lands watered by the rivers that flowed into the basin of the Mississippi. No white man before them had traveled from Canada to the Gulf. As they saw the cross rise in the swampy land near the sea and the arms of their king held up to the southern sky, the hearts of La Salle and Tonty, of Father Membré and every Frenchman there beat high with pride.

And the dusky New England Indians—devoted to their leader and far-wandered in a valley which meant nothing to them—rejoiced also, as every Indian rejoices and feels pride in the end of a long journey, be it for vengeance, for game, or for adventure. As for the young Coroa lad, who stood in their midst, the only representative of the people of the Mississippi, he was too young and his people and his race were too young to understand what had happened in their valley.

The voyagers now turned the prows of their canoes to the north and began the slow ascent of the river. They were so nearly out of provisions that La Salle determined to stop at the Quinipissa village for food, in spite of their former hostility. Coming upon four women of the tribe, he sent one of them home to her people with presents and a message of peace. Keeping the other three as hostages, he waited across the stream from the village. Soon there came Quinipissas who invited him to cross over to their side. La Salle did so and pitched camp a short distance from the village. The Indians brought him food and he released the three women, but still kept a careful guard.

That night watches were posted with unusual care. Crevel, one of the Frenchmen, was the last to keep guard. It was now within a half-hour of dawn. Already faint lights were beginning to shine, when he heard a noise in the canes. He spoke to a comrade who said it was only some dogs. But Tonty had heard their words and called to them to be on guard, and La Salle, in whose eyes was little sleep, leaped up with the cry, “To arms.” In a moment the camp was ready for an attack.