Inquietus: La Salle in the Illinois Country

Every family in Illinois should have a copy of Mark Walczynski's new book. European colonization of America is now in very bad odor—bad White guys subjugating Native Americans and importing Africans to do their hard work. Walczynski does not contend that early colonization in Illinois (in the form of La Salle and his associates) was a good thing; he merely argues that it was historically significant and interesting, indeed, positively captivating. No unseemly Eurocentric triumphalism sullies this book.Walczynski is park historian for the Starved Rock Foundation, which among other things is dedicated to promoting the fascinating history of the upper Illinois River. His prose is straightforward and lucid, in keeping with his commitment as an educator to historical accuracy. And Inquietus is an inspired title which deftly conveys Walczynski's take on the man—often irascible, not very likable, frequently domineering, consumed by inner demons, but endowed with a restless spirit that drove him to do remarkable things.Walczynski's book covers a ten-year period (1673–83) in the colonial history of Illinois. This decade commenced with Jacques Marquette's and Louis Jolliet's preliminary descent of the Mississippi (to the mouth of the Arkansas River) and ended with La Salle's departure for France to plan his 1687 voyage to the Gulf of Mexico. The great Francis Parkman first explored this decade of Illinois history in his famous work La Salle and the Discovery of the Great West. Like "colonization," "discovery" is now a word in distinct disrepute, for it suggests that Native Americans did not live in America, and Walczynski shuns and eschews the word. Nevertheless, he is always aware of his indebtedness to Parkman, whose lush prose conveys the romance of exploration, even if conducted by wicked Europeans.Walczynski has positively scoured primary printed sources in his mission to provide us with as informed and accurate an account as possible. As site historian at Starved Rock, he feels a strong professional obligation to convey to the public, insofar as possible, history wie es eigentlich gewesen (how it really was), Leopold von Ranke's outworn but nevertheless useful admonition. Walczynski's book is structured basically, but not obsessively, chronologically.For a decade, 1667–77, La Salle sailed several times between France and Canada. Finally, he arrived at Quebec in September 1678 armed with a patent from French minister Jean-Baptiste Colbert "authorizing" (no thought of consultation with Native Americans, of course) La Salle to explore deep into North America, build forts where he deemed necessary, and trade in bison skins.The sizeable ship Griffon that La Salle had built just above Niagara Falls in 1679 disappeared completely and forever somewhere in Lake Michigan, leaving La Salle vainly waiting on the southeast shore of the lake. In December, La Salle made his way up the St. Joseph River, crossed a marshy portage to the upper Kankakee, and proceeded downstream to its confluence with the Des Plaines, where La Salle's canoes entered, for the first time, the Illinois River and the Illinois Country of destiny.In 1679–80, La Salle moved several times between Canada and the Illinois Country, using both the Kankakee River (and Miami portage) and the Des Plaines River (and "Checagou" portage) to connect with Lake Michigan, the large, essential body of water linking the two regions. Moving down the Illinois River, La Salle passed sandstone bluffs (one of which became famous as "Le Roche" Starved Rock) on their left and the devastated (by Iroquois warriors) Grand Village of the Kaskaskias on their right. After constructing the ill-fated Fort Crèvecoeur below Lake Pimiteoui (Peoria) in January 1680, La Salle returned to Canada, leaving his close lieutenant Henri Tonti in charge in Illinois.Walczynski has several excellent paragraphs speculating on how communications were conducted between Native Americans and Frenchmen. Some Indians (likely Ottawas and Ojibwes) knew some French; some French traders (Michel Accault, for example) knew some Indian languages, but Walczynski astringently concludes: "It is probable that La Salle and the Illinois he encountered made prolific use of gestures, sign language, and drew pictures in the soil to communicate with each other. However, considering the evidence presented, La Salle could not have spoken to the Illinois the way it is portrayed in the written record" (p. 38). So much for the accepted written record.Back in the Illinois River valley (for the third time) in January 1682, La Salle entered the mighty Mississippi on February 6 prepared to plunge all the way downriver to the Gulf of Mexico, thus consummating his dream of establishing a riverain connection between the St. Lawrence and the Gulf. Arriving at the mouth of the Mississippi in early April, La Salle claimed for King Louis XIV in one grandiose ceremony "the central portions of today's United States and hundreds of thousands of people" (p. 63). The consequences of this extraordinary event would ripple down through the decades of Illinois history well into the nineteenth century.Returning up the rivers, La Salle and Tonti began constructing Fort St. Louis atop Starved Rock in December 1682. Walczynski is at his best in the detailed descriptions he provides of the "125-foot sandstone bluff that rises above the south bank of the Illinois River. Its summit is about 32,000 square feet." Of the many bluffs along the river, "the Rock is by far the most prominent, most defendable, and the most strategic" (p. 69). This was the first French fort of some durability in the Pays d'en Haut and the place where the first land patents were issued in Illinois. In other words, Starved Rock is central to the first European presence in what became the State of Illinois.La Salle's 1687 voyage to the Gulf of Mexico, the demise of his ship La Belle, and his tragic death in what is now east Texas are all tangential to Walczynski's main story; indeed, tangential to La Salle's story as well, for it is in the Illinois River valley that his legacy remains strongest, a legacy ensured by the existence of Starved Rock State Park and devoted interpreters like Walczynski. Finally, the Center for French Colonial Studies has done an admirable job publishing this book, producing a highly readable, user-friendly text.