# Père Marquette/Chapter 10

Had Père Marquette possessed a facile pen, his early letters might have been more lively, more engaging, and, possibly, more prolix. He had the habit of observation common to his order; he looked attentively at everything he saw, and he noted down whatever he deemed of interest or importance; his comments were rational, his temper was flawless; but he lacked the delight of the born naturalist, and the half-conscious humor of the born chronicler. The rapture with which Père Le Jeune gazed at the humming bird, the amusement with which Père Du Perron watched the savages trying on his hat and his shoes, were alike unfamiliar to Père Marquette, whose heart was gay as a child's, but whose words were the words of soberness.
We cannot lay too much stress upon the inti​mate knowledge afforded us by the Relations. From them we learn how the strange new world affected highly educated Frenchmen who exchanged civilization for savagery, who maintained their orderly habits while lacking the decencies of life, and who were upheld by the joyous conviction that they were doing the work of God. Some of them took delight in the wild beauty of the country; some of them had a sympathetic understanding of its inhabitants; all of them expressed a naïve surprise at the bigness of everything except the fruits of the earth, which were disappointingly small. The fish that bumped against Père Marquette's canoe in the Wisconsin and Mississippi rivers seemed to him terrifying monsters. The first sight of a young elk filled Père Le Jeune with glowing admiration for its great height and stately bearing, the pride of its uplifted head, the delicate grace of its budding antlers. The size and ferocity of the wildcat—which yet resembled the cherished pets of France—horrified and alarmed him. On the other hand, the wild cherries were no larger that the pit of a French cherry, the wild grapes were as tiny as they were delicious, ​and the little round wild apples were about the size of a cultivated plum. Père Marquette mistook one of them for an olive. What wonder that Père Du Perron wrote to his superior that America had nothing in common with France but the four elements, "out of which are all things made."
This was doubtless Joliet's way of thinking; but, unlike the missionaries, he preferred his elements to be on a large American scale. Plenty of water to swamp his frail little boat, plenty of sky to look down on him, plenty of earth stretching on either side, unknown, impenetrable, and full of the zest of danger. It is a thousand pities his papers were lost, for they would have bravely supplemented Père Marquette's diary. Every word we hear of him bears witness to his courage and quick intelligence, to the strength of his vigorous young body, to the resoluteness of his finely tempered soul. The long days of paddling were to him a sport, the strangeness of his surroundings increased his pleasure, the greenness of the scattered islands tempted him daily to land and explore their recesses. Père Marquette placed absolute reliance on his sense and ex​perience. He was, as a rule, the spokesman in their conferences with the Indians, and he took the lead in guiding the canoes through the heady waters and dangerous shoals of the Wisconsin.
For seven days the adventurers pursued their way, keeping as close to the shore as the shoals permitted, camping at night around a woodman's fire, catching no fish and sighting no small game. The savages whom they encountered from time to time evinced a friendly disposition, and sold them dried deer's meat to eke out their corn and rice. They could see the deer wandering over the shallow hills, and marveled at their numbers. Walnut, oak, and basswood trees grew close to the edge of the stream. Day by day navigation became more difficult. The river broadened, the current grew stronger, the canoes spun along with ominous rapidity. On the 17th of June they entered a wilderness of waters, and knew that their race was won. Only the Mississippi could present this vast expanse of wind-blown waves. Only the Mississippi could have its shores a mile apart. They were traveling at last upon the great river, which was to be the river of mystery no longer.
​It was with "inexpressible joy," wrote Père Marquette, that he realized his good fortune in bringing the expedition to this successful conclusion. Not that it was concluded. It was in reality just beginning. But the discovery had been made, and made for all time, unless death blotted out the seven discoverers and their records with them. They could not waste much leisure on mutual congratulations, because everybody's attention was devoted to keeping the canoes afloat. Their first rude welcome was given them by a huge fish which struck one of the little boats with such force that its inmates feared they had wrecked it on a submerged tree. This experience was repeated again and again, and once a swimming animal—evidently a mountain lion—terrified them by its nearness and by its angry aspect.
From the time the Mississippi was sighted Père Marquette's diary, which had been brief and episodic, expanded into voluminous details. He seemed to feel the importance of reporting every item concerning the river, its banks, the wild life he encountered, and above all the Indians who lived upon its shores. Even the ​strange variety of fishes was a source of amazement to one who had had small experience as a fisherman. The catfish that he saw hurtling through the waters did not in the least resemble the ugly, greedy, little objects for which small boys angle on the Schuylkill's banks. They were big, strong, fleet, and much given to flapping with all their might against the intrusive canoes. Now and then the men let down nets and caught grotesque creatures which they did not venture to eat because of their unnatural appearance. "One of them," wrote the diarist, "is very extraordinary indeed. It resembles an overgrown trout with a much bigger mouth. Near its nose which is small, as are also its eyes, is a bone shaped like a woman's busk, three fingers broad and as long as my arm, at the end of which is a disk a hand's breadth in width. The weight of the disk frequently causes the fish to tumble backward when it leaps out of the water."
Parkman identifies this curious catch as a spade fish, or spoonbill, and he admits that its aspect is "eccentric."
For eight days the canoeists paddled warily ​southward, mindful always of the ill accounts they had heard of the surrounding savages. They took every precaution against attack, landing in sheltered spots, extinguishing their fires as soon as their evening meal was cooked, sleeping in the canoes, and keeping a sentinel always on guard. The banks of the river became bare, the islands were thickly grown. Gray geese sailed across the sky, and herds of buffalo came to the water's edge to drink. These "pisikious," or wild cattle, were familiar to Joliet; but Père Marquette had never seen them before, and he was astounded by their size and numbers. One of the Canadians shot a young bull, but it was so "corpulent" (corpulentz) that the seven men had great difficulty in moving the body and butchering it for food. Determined that the people at home should know exactly what a buffalo was like, Père Marquette described it in his diary with an accuracy which would have enabled an artist reader to make a creditable sketch.
"The animal's head is huge; the horns a foot and a half apart, black in color, and much longer than those of French cattle. Under the ​neck there is a heavy dewlap, and on the back a moderately high hump. The head, neck, and part of the shoulders are half hidden by a thick and hideous mane which falls over the eyes, and must interfere with sight. The remainder of the body is covered with a coat of curly hair, stronger and thicker than a sheep's wool. The pisikiou sheds his hair in summer time. The hide then becomes as soft as velvet, and the savages make robes and rugs of it, dyeing them with bright colors. The flesh and the fat are excellent eating, and constitute the most highly prized dish at feasts. The creatures are fierce and dangerous. If an Indian fires at one with either bow or gun, he instantly flings himself face downward in the thick grass. Otherwise the wounded animal would charge at him furiously. Its legs are short and thick; and, except when rage lends it speed, it does not run swiftly. These wild cattle are scattered about the prairies in herds. I have seen as many as four hundred in a herd."
On the 25th of June the explorers saw for the first time human footprints on the soft earth, and a narrow trail leading through a tangle of low bushes to the open land beyond. They took ​counsel with one another, and decided that this trail should be followed. It was not only the river they had come to seek, not only its direction and outlet which concerned them, but also the unconverted savages who dwelt upon its banks, and who might subsequently be brought to the faith. The two young leaders deemed it expedient that they should go alone upon this somewhat perilous errand. A couple of men would at least create no alarm. Their very helplessness would be a guarantee of good faith. They felt tolerably confident that they could make themselves understood in whatever language the Indians spoke. If harm came to them, the five experienced woodsmen left in the canoes must make their way home as quickly as possible, and take to Quebec the precious records of their discovery.
There is something very simple and gallant in this straightforward following of duty. It is plain that both Père Marquette and Joliet were disturbed as to the consequences of their act. They were in utter ignorance of their surroundings. Yet, as it chanced, that unknown trail led them, not only to a pleasant experience, but to ​an understanding which brought safety in far more dangerous encounters. It was the beginning of a friendship which lasted until the death of the missionary. Truly Cardinal Newman spoke the words of wisdom when he said, "The best prudence is to have no fear."