"fatal river," Tonty wrote for him a letter, which he left in the charge
of an Indian chief, who preserved it with reverential care, and gave it,
fourteen years after, to Iberville, the founder of Louisiana. [Footnote:
Iberville sent it to France, and Charlevoix gives a portion of it.--
_Histoire de la Nouvelle France,_ ii. 259. Singularly enough, the date, as
printed by him, is erroneous, being 20 April, 1685, instead of 1686. There
is no doubt, whatever, from its relations with concurrent events, that
this journey was in the latter year.] Deeply disappointed at his failure,
Tonty retraced his course, and ascended the Mississippi to the villages of
the Arkansas, where some of his men volunteered to remain. He left six of
them; and of this number were Couture and De Launay. [Footnote: Tonty,
_Memoire,_ MS.; _Ibid., Lettre a Monseigneur de Ponchartraint,_ 1690, MS.;
Joutel, 301.]

Cavelier and his companions, followed by a crowd of Indians, some carrying
their baggage, some struggling for a view of the white strangers, entered
the log cabin of their two hosts. Rude as it was, they found in it an
earnest of peace and safety, and a foretaste of home. Couture and De
Launay were moved even to tears by the story of their disasters, and of
the catastrophe that crowned them. La Salle's death was carefully
concealed from the Indians, many of whom had seen him on his descent of
the Mississippi, and who regarded him with a prodigious respect. They
lavished all their hospitality on his followers; feasted them on corn-
bread, dried buffalo-meat, and watermelons, and danced the calumet before
them, the most august of all their ceremonies. On this occasion,
Cavelier's patience failed him again; and pretending, as before, to be
ill, he called on his nephew to take his place. There were solemn dances,
too, in which the warriors--some bedaubed with white clay, some with red,
and some with both; some wearing feathers, and some the horns of buffalo;
some naked, and some in painted shirts of deer-skin fringed with scalp-