As they journeyed on they had to cross many large rivers—resorting to the same means as in their trip towards New Mexico—and to traverse vast prairies, to visit and be entertained by the Indian tribes on the route, to conciliate their friendship, to secure most of their food by hunting, and, in fine, encounter similar scenes and incidents as on their previous excursions. On the 15th of March they arrived at a place where La Salle had caused a quantity of Indian corn and beans to be buried, and he sent Duhaut, Heins, Liotel, Larcheveque, Teissier, Nika, and his footman, Saget, for it. The corn and beans had disappeared, discovered, probably, by the unerring scent of the Indians; but the gun of Nika supplied their place with two buffaloes. They sent Saget to request La Salle to allow them horses to bring the meat, and he accordingly despatched Moranget, De Marle, and Saget with two horses for that purpose. On arriving at the scene Moranget found that the meat, though quite fresh, had been smoked, and that the men had selected certain parts of it and set them aside for their own enjoyment, as was usual with them. In a moment of anger Moranget reproved them, took away both the smoked meat and reserved pieces, and threatened to do as he pleased with it. Duhaut, in whose heart an old grudge against Moranget still survived, became enraged, and adopted the guilty resolve of ridding himself of his enemy. He enticed Liotel and Heins into a conspiracy to murder not only Moranget, but also Saget and Nika, whose faithful gun had so often saved them from famine. Liotel was the willing instrument to do the horrid deed; at night, while they were buried in sleep, he despatched his victims. A blow extinguished the life of Nika; a second that of Saget; but Moranget lingered for two hours, “giving every mark of a death precious in the sight of God, pardoning his murderers, and embracing them,” till De Marle, who was not in the plot, was compelled to complete the bloody tragedy.
“Come, thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell!
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes;
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark
To cry, Hold! hold!”
The bloodthirsty desperadoes did not, alas! stop at this triple murder; adding treason to their horrid purposes, they resolved upon the death of their commander, the great and good La Salle, who had ever been to them a father no less than a leader. Three days elapsed, and the dark purpose was only the more firmly fixed in their guilty souls. In the meantime La Salle became alarmed for the safety of Moranget, and, as if anticipating what had happened, he asked in the encampment if Duhaut and his associates had not shown signs of disaffection. He resolved at once to go in search of his faithful friend. The remainder of this bloody tragedy we will give in the language of Father Donay, who was an eyewitness of it:
“Asking me to accompany him, he took two Indians and set out. All the way he conversed with me of matters of piety, grace, and predestination; expatiating on all his obligations to God for having saved him from so many dangers during the last twenty years that he had traversed America. He seemed to me particularly penetrated with a sense of God's benefits to him. Suddenly I saw him plunged into a deep melancholy, for [pg 844]which he himself could not account; he was so troubled that I did not know him any longer. As this state was far from being usual, I roused him from his lethargy. Two leagues after we found the bloody cravat of his lackey (Saget), he perceived two eagles flying over his head, and at the same time perceived some of his people on the edge of the river, which he approached, asking them what had become of his nephew. They answered us in broken words, showing us where we should find him. We proceeded some steps along the bank to the fatal spot where two of these murderers were hidden in the grass, one on each side, with guns cocked; one missed M. de La Salle, the other at the same time shot him in the head. He died an hour after, on the 19th of March, 1687.
“I expected the same fate; but this danger did not occupy my thoughts, penetrated with grief at so cruel a spectacle. I saw him fall a step from me, with his face all full of blood; I watered it with my tears, exhorting him to the best of my power to die well. He had confessed and fulfilled his devotions just before we started; he had still time to recapitulate a part of his life, and I gave him absolution. During his last moments he elicited all the acts of a good Christian, grasping my hand at every word I suggested, and especially at that of pardoning his enemies. Meanwhile his murderers, as much alarmed as I, began to strike their breasts and detest their blindness. I could not leave the spot where he had expired without having buried him as well as I could, after which I raised a cross over his grave.
“Thus died our wise commander; constant in adversity, intrepid, generous, engaging, dexterous, skilful, capable of everything. He who for twenty years had softened the fierce temper of countless savage tribes was massacred by the hands of his own domestics, whom he had loaded with caresses. He died in the prime of life, in the midst of his course and labors, without having seen their success.”