’Twas thus we passed the hours of daylight, struggling with the current, forcing our way past obstacles, seeking the shore to drain off water, every moment bringing to us a new vista, and a new peril, yet ever encouraged by memory of those who had toiled along this stream before us. At night, under the stars and beside the blaze of campfire, Barbeau sang rollicking soldier songs, and occasionally De Artigny joined him in the choruses. To all appearances we were absolutely alone in the desolation of the wilderness. Not once in all that distance did we perceive sign of human life, nor had we cause to feel the slightest uneasiness regarding savage enemies.
Both men believed there was peace in the valley, except for the jealousy between the white factions at Fort St. Louis, and that the various Algonquin tribes 259 were living quietly in their villages under protection of the Rock. De Artigny described what a wonderful sight it was, looking down from the high palisades to the broad meadows below, covered with tepees, and alive with peaceful Indians. He named the tribes which had gathered there for protection, trusting in La Salle, and believing De Tonty their friend––Illini, Shawnees, Abenakies, Miamis, Mohegans––at one time reaching a total of twenty thousand souls. There they camped, guarded by the great fort towering above them, on the same sacred spot where years before the Jesuit Marquette had preached to them the gospel of the Christ. So we had no fear of savages, and rested in peace at our night camps, singing aloud, and sleeping without guard. Every day Barbeau went ashore for an hour, with his rifle, tramping along beside us through the shadowing forest screen, seeking game, and always coming back with plenty. We would hear the sharp report of his gun breaking the silence, and turn the prow of our canoe shoreward and pick him up again.
Owing to the leaking of our canoe, and many difficulties experienced, we were three days in reaching the spot where the Illinois and the Fox rivers joined their waters, and swept forward in one broad stream. The time of our arrival at this spot was early in the afternoon, and, as De Artigny said Fort St. Louis was 260 situated scarce ten miles below, our long journey seemed nearly ended. We anticipated reaching there before night, and, in spite of my fear of the reception awaiting us, my heart was light with hope and expectation.
I was but a girl in years, excitement was still to me a delight, and I had listened to so many tales, romantic, wonderful, of this wilderness fortress, perched upon a rock, that my vivid imagination had weaved about it an atmosphere of marvel. The beauty of the view from its palisades, the vast concourse of Indians encamped on the plains below, and those men guarding its safety––the faithful comrades of La Salle in explorations of the unknown, De Tonty, Boisrondet, and all the others, had long since become to my mind the incarnation of romantic adventure. Wilderness born, I could comprehend and appreciate their toils and dangers, and my dreams centered about this great, lonely rock on which they had established a home. But the end was not yet. Just below the confluence of the rivers there was a village of the Tamaroas, and the prow of our canoe touched the bank, while De Artigny stepped ashore amid a tangle of low-growing bushes, that he might have speech with some of the warriors, and thus learn conditions at the fort. With his foot on the bank, he turned laughing, and held out his hand to me.
“Come, Madame,” he said pleasantly, “you have never seen a village of our western tribes; it will interest you.”
I joined him gladly, my limbs feeling awkward under me, from long cramping in the boat, yet the climb was not difficult, and he held back the boughs to give me easy passage. Beyond the fringe of brush there was an open space, but as we reached this, both paused, stricken dumb by horror at the sight which met our view. The ground before us was strewn with dead, and mutilated bodies, and was black with ashes where the tepees had been burned, and their contents scattered broadcast.
Never before had I seen such view of devastation, of relentless, savage cruelty, and I gave utterance to a sudden sob, and shrank back against De Artigny’s arm, hiding my eyes with my hand. He stood and stared, motionless, breathing heavily, unconsciously gripping my arm.
“Mon Dieu!” he burst forth, at last. “What meaneth this? Are the wolves again loose in the valley?”
He drew me back, until we were both concealed behind a fringe of leaves, his whole manner alert, every instinct of the woodsman instantly awakened.