Ouabache by David A. Lottes
Copyright © 2011, David A. Lottes
Smashwords edition
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means - whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic - without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.
Introduction
Southwest of the city of Lafayette, Indiana, a group of history enthusiasts searching a field for evidence of a long lost French fur-trading post, found a collection of European artifacts atop a sandy bluff on the north side of the Wabash River. It was long known that the French had located a post to regulate the fur trade somewhere in the area at the beginning of the eighteenth century. The discovery and further exploration of the grounds put an end to the question of where the post had been.
In 1968, a series of archaeological excavations began along with a search for historical records regarding the post. A wealth of artifacts from the post was recovered over the next ten years and details of the forgotten story of French settlement in the Wabash Valley began to reveal themselves.
While the excavations produced countless physical examples of objects from the post, the narrative record proved to be scattered and contradictory. A mix of weak documentation and indifference towards these early inhabitants made a coherent account problematic to say the least.
However, there is enough consistent information to present an interpretation of what life along the Wabash was like in these early French outposts. The following is a work of fiction based on a mix of fact and folklore.
Map
Chapter 1 - Louisiana
The smell of searing flesh filled the air around the women arrested in Paris, as they boarded a ship in Normandy. Before being deported to Louisiana, the women were branded with a small fleur de lis on their shoulders to mark them as criminals under a life sentence.
A group of over 150 women whose offenses ranged from prostitution to vagrancy had been rounded up in a sweep of the poverty-strangled streets. The country was under the regency of Philippe II, Duke de'Orléans. Louis XV, the ten-year-old King of France, was more of a ceremonial prop than a ruler.
Philippe was ambivalent towards the needs of the people, and the city of Paris was brimming with what the nobility considered "undesirables." Political dissidents and religious heretics were recruiting followers among the poor. Philippe was doing whatever he could to reduce their numbers. The heretics, known as Huguenots, were simply burned at the stake. Those suspected of petty crimes were rounded up and deported. Most of the women on the dock that morning had never seen the ocean before, and they only glimpsed it as they were herded into the blackness of the ship's cargo hold.
After several weeks at sea, one of the young deportees called Charlotte began to realize she was pregnant. Charlotte had been only fourteen when her father was taken to debtor's prison. Her mother, too ill to care for her, had died soon after. She lived on the streets like an animal since that day. First she was a beggar, later a thief then briefly a prostitute. The latter was the reason she found herself trapped in the hold of the ship.
The brand on her shoulder festered and her stomach growled constantly with the pain of hunger. She had heard tales of the fate that awaited her in Louisiana. It was said to be the most hostile country in all the empire. Disease, famine, and barbaric natives brought quick death to those deposited on its shores. She was surrounded by the smell of human waste and the soft constant sound of muffled prayers.
She had never attended mass regularly, but she was familiar with the concept of sin and punishment. Having seen upper class gentlemen commit unspeakable acts with no apparent consequences, she was convinced sin was just a myth. Now in the darkness surrounded by the smell of effluents and the prayers of the condemned, she believed hell was real.
When the ship made landfall at the port of New Orleans, a large crowd was gathered. A commotion of sorts broke out near the center of the crowd. Some of the women who were unloaded ahead of Charlotte were throwing themselves to the ground and begging to be put out of their misery. Their hysterics spread through the assembly like a wave. As the women closest to Charlotte began to become overwhelmed with emotions, she felt her own legs tremble beneath her. The animal instincts that had kept her alive in the streets seized her, and she ran in the opposite direction.
The confusion of the crowd allowed her to slip quietly into the wilderness. She found herself alone in a strange land of swamps and marshes, which were like nothing she had ever seen. Her hands were bound with shackles and her feet sunk and stuck in the muck. Lizards the size of fairy tale dragons slept in the spots of sunlight sparkling through the canopy, and birds the size of angels she had seen painted on cathedral walls flew in the air above her.
She trudged through the afternoon growing more weary and unsure with every step. As the sky began to darken, she could make out the glow of a fire in the distance and hear voices in the darkness. The smell of food overcame her. She walked towards the fire, knowing it could mean her death. As the voices grew louder, one called out to her. "Who's there?" questioned the voice.
The sound of the voice startled her more than she expected, and for a moment she considered turning back into the darkness, but the smell of food was too powerful, and she muttered. "I am lost."
From the shadows around the fire a large black man stepped forward and reached out to her. He grabbed Charlotte by both shackled hands and pulled her out of the marsh onto a dry landing in front of the fire. Behind the man were a woman, three nearly naked children and another man dressed in buckskin and calico.
"I am Toussaint," the man said, "and who are you?"
Her mind racing between fear and fatigue she managed to reply, "My name is Charlotte."
"How did you get all the way out here?" Toussaint asked.
Something gentle in his voice made her feel that he could be trusted. As she sank to her knees on the dry sand, she took a deep breath and told him the story of her escape "I slipped away in the crowd at the dock and disappeared into the woods."
"It was foolish of you to hide the way you did," Toussaint said. "Aren’t you afraid?"
"More hungry than fearful," she said with a sigh.
Toussaint raised her hands to examine the shackles.
"We'll get these off and you can help yourself to some stew." As he pried on the bolt that held the irons together with a large knife, he introduced his family. "This is my wife, Shoteka, and the man is her brother, Yanash. They are from the Chickasaw tribe." Charlotte had never seen Native American people before. "I have friends nearby that you will be safe with," Toussaint told Charlotte, "I will take you there in the morning." The shackles clanked to the ground, and Shoteka handed Charlotte a bowl filled with stewed meat and broth.
"How did you come to live among the natives?" Charlotte asked. These creatures that had been described to her as the very devil himself fascinated her. Here in the warmth of their company she felt safe for the first time in months.
"I was born on the Island of Saint-Domingue as a slave and sold to a privateer named De’Graff," Toussaint explained. "Captain De’Graff was a mixed blood and a former slave himself, so he had no trouble allowing me to buy my freedom with a sword." Charlotte gulped on the stew as Toussaint continued with his favorite story.
"We raided Spanish treasure ships filled with gold from Mexico and sunk British Pirates after their plunder. De’Graff's wife Marie was captured in a Spanish raid on his home in Tortuga. She was sent to Vera Cruz as a prisoner. De’Graff agreed to stop harassing the Spanish if they would pardon his wife. She was released and he settled in Louisiana near what would become New Orleans. I lived there with them until I met Shoteka. I am one of her people now. Marie was like you Charlotte; she came from France. De’Graff died a few years ago but Marie still owns a large piece of land. I'm sure you can find safety there."
Listening to his story, Charlotte fell asleep where she sat by the fire.
Yanash
chuckled, "I know how you feel little one that story always puts
me to sleep."
Chapter 2 - Buccaneer Camp
Marie's buccaneers had built what amounted to a small village of cabins with a well and a large fire pit at its center. Toussaint made no announcement as he entered with his family and their guest. It was as if he were simply coming home from a long walk. A woman dressed in fine Parisian fashion with bare feet and a spyglass slid down out of a tree where she had been perched.
"Hello my handsome slave," she said to Toussaint.
"Bonjour Mademoiselle, I have a present for you from Paris," he said as he bowed and swept his arm across his chest.
Marie looked as fit as a woman Charlotte's age, but her long gray hair and the lines in her face betrayed her. She looked at Charlotte with eyes like a merchant examining an ox. She circled her and flipped her hair as she passed.
"How far along are you?" she asked.
"I'm not sure," Charlotte said.
"Know who the father be?" Marie asked in a singsong tone of voice.
"No ma'am," Charlotte replied.
"At least she's honest," Marie cackled.
"Never mind," Marie said.
"No matter to me. Welcome to our sad little village. Once the scourge of the Caribbean, now old men playing dice all day," she glanced around the congregation. "HA, would that Captain De’Graff could see what a bunch of lazy old men his crew has become! All but Toussaint, he's found himself a life here among the natives, and that wife of his keeps him in shape," said Marie. Shoteka smiled and nodded at Marie with approval.
Charlotte was given a small corner in Marie's cabin, and put to work as a sort of servant. She would clean the cabin, cook their meals and do the washing for Marie. Toussaint and his family put up a summer shelter and stayed to help Charlotte deliver her child. When the time came she was terrified. Toussaint comforted her while Shoteka helped her bring a son into the world.
"Does he have a name?" Toussaint asked Charlotte.
"I will call him Jean Michelle de' La'Havre after the city in France where we boarded the ship for New Orleans," she said as she rocked the newborn boy in her arms.
"La'Havre it is," Toussaint said with a smile.
Over the next few years, life didn't change much for Charlotte. She continued to work as Marie's servant in exchange for a place to live. In the evenings Marie would entertain La'Havre with stories about men of fortune and war. The old buccaneers taught the boy to fence while his mother was busy with her chores. They had become a family of sorts.
When La'Havre was around five years old, he finally asked the question Charlotte had been dreading.
"Where is my father?" he asked one morning in a very matter of fact way. Charlotte looked at Marie wide-eyed and settled herself on the ground next to La'Havre.
"Why do you ask?"
"I'd like to know which one of these men he is." Charlotte couldn't help but blush, it hadn't occurred to her that La'Havre would make such an assumption, but it was after all quite logical.
"Your father is not here, La'Havre."
"Where is he?" La'Havre asked.
"He's across the ocean in a place called France," Charlotte said.
"Why doesn't he live here with us?" La'Havre questioned.
"He doesn't know we are here. In fact he doesn't even know you are his son," Charlotte tapped the boy on the nose as she spoke.
"Why not?" La'Havre asked as he crinkled his nose.
"I didn't have a chance to tell him about you before I came here and now I don't know how to contact him. I'm not even sure if he's alive," Charlotte held La'Havre's hand and stroked his cheek to soften her words.
La'Havre chewed on what his mother told him for a long while, and said, "That's sad isn't it?"
"Yes La'Havre, but we shouldn't feel bad. We have friends and that's more than some ever have," Charlotte closed her arms around her son and kissed the top of his head.
He seemed all right with the idea of not knowing his father, and Charlotte was glad to have the conversation behind her. That same night when they settled down in front of the fire, Marie told Charlotte the true story of her husband De’Graff. Listening to Charlotte tell the boy about his father must have made her nostalgic.
"Like you Charlotte, I was born in France. I was one of the first women to be sent to the colonies by the King. Only I wasn't pulled out of the Bastille. I was donated I guess you'd call it, by the sisters of the mission I grew up in.
The first young men here preferred to live in the wild among the natives. It was thought that if the king sent some appropriate ladies to the colonies these young men would be lured back into a life of conventional civility. Most of the young women were ill prepared for this kind of life.
The sisters of the missions did a fine job raising young orphan girls for Parisian society not colonial settlements. We were well schooled on the history of the church, the linage of the nobility, and the verses of the bible, but we didn't have any understanding of the skills needed to carve a home from the wilderness.
Most of them died of fever within a few months of arrival. I was one of the exceptions. I had been abandoned at the mission by a peasant couple that couldn't afford to feed me. I barely remember them," Marie's face seemed far away as she recalled her story. Her eyes searched the flames of the fireplace as she continued.
"The sisters took me in more as a servant than a ward. Most of the other girls were the unwanted children of noble affairs," Marie winked at Charlotte, "considered blue bloods just the same, but not me. I worked the convent's garden and kitchen and built a strong back scrubbing the floors of their little Cathedral. When they sent me to Saint-Domingue I was considered the most desirable woman of the lot, given the environment," Marie chuckled.
"A Ship's captain managed to wrestle me away from all the other men I caught the eye of. At first I considered myself fortunate, for at least he was a man of authority and some means. Soon I realized I was to be more of a servant again and not so much his wife. He all but locked me in the scullery. I cooked and cleaned for his crew. This is where I met De’Graff.
De’Graff was a privateer in the service of the King of France, and as such, he and my first husband were allies. While celebrating a particularly successful run of raids with my husband, De’Graff happened to stumble into the scullery looking for a refill of his cup. He told me later that he saw the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on being beaten like a horse. That woman was me," Marie pointed a thumb at herself and smiled at Charlotte
"Having been a slave, De’Graff was enraged by the sight of me being beaten. He challenged my husband, but when the captain turned to face De’Graff, I plunged a butcher knife between his ribs. Knowing it would mean my death if I were found out, De’Graff grabbed the hilt of the knife and thrust it up through the captain's torso. With the captain dead and no witnesses to what had really happened, the two of us slipped away, back to De’Graff's ship.
For many years after that, occasionally someone would recognize me as the old captain's wife, and so the story that De’Graff killed him persisted. De’Graff and I married in Tortuga, and had two daughters. Both of the girls are full-grown now, and live far off with captains of their own." Marie waved a hand in the air and flipped her wrist.
"De’Graff always told the girls he married me because I chased him around with a pistol until he agreed to it, I think they still believe it." Marie's voice trailed off softly, and she fell asleep nestled by the fire.
Chapter 3 - Better Way
When La'Havre was seven years old, Marie told Charlotte that the arrangement was changing. "I'm just not able to support a growing boy without some additional money," she explained to Charlotte. "You're welcome to stay, but you'll have to find work in New Orleans to help with the cost."
Jobs were scarce in New Orleans. New arrivals found themselves on the street daily. Charlotte was fortunate to find work as a laundress for a tavern keeper. While she was working, Toussaint and his children would entertain La'Havre. They taught him the language of the Chickasaw and how to read the trails through the woods.
When Charlotte would return at night, La'Havre would tell her stories about the woods, and teach her the words that Toussaint had taught him. In exchange, she would share the Spanish and English words she had learned in the tavern. Although it was a French settlement, the tavern was filled with men from all over Europe. Spaniards, Dutchmen and even Englishmen were a common sight among the various patrons.
Some days La'Havre would go with his mother to the town, and earn a little money himself as an errand boy for the men sitting in the taverns. He would run messages for them back and forth from the shops and the ships at port. Most of the tavern owners got to know him, and kept an eye on him while his mother was busy.
The summer La'Havre turned eight years old, he started causing trouble on his trips to town with his mother. He had grown tired of looking at all the candies and trade goods in the shop windows and never having the money to buy them. He had seen boys half his age with finer shoes and brand new cloaks.
"What have they ever done to deserve those things?" He would ask himself under his breath.
His time among the buccaneers had put ideas into his head. He had heard tales about men and plunder, and was ready to start building his own fortune. He started small with bits of candy and loaves of bread. Once he had built up his confidence, he moved onto more important items. One day he grabbed a hatchet off a small boat tied to a dock. This time his luck ran out.
A hard hand came down on his shoulder, and pushed him to his knees. With a quick jerk, the hatchet was out of his hand and raised high above his head. He heard a scream, and saw his mother running up the dock towards him. The man turned to see Charlotte, and slowly lowered his arm.
"Is this your whelp?" the man asked angrily.
"Yes sir, what has he done?" she asked.
"He stole my hatchet and I was fixing to cut his paws off," the man snarled.
The man was English, but his accent was nothing like La'Havre had ever heard.
"Oh please sir!" Charlotte pleaded. "Don't harm him. I'll pay you for the trouble".
"Damn right you will, and you'll still owe me," the man snapped. He dragged La'Havre to his feet, and shook him at Charlotte.
"What's he worth to you?" he asked. She held out her purse and tried to take La'Havre into her arms. The man lifted him off the ground and back away from her with one hand. He reached out and grabbed her purse with the crook of his hatchet, then threw La'Havre to the ground at her feet. "Keep this little bastard away from my boat!" Charlotte scooped him up and together they ran as fast as they could to the edge of town.
La'Havre tried to explain to his mother, "I was only trying to become a man of fortune like the buccaneers!"
She would have none of it. She smacked his hands with a switch until his knuckles were red with blood.
"If I ever catch you stealing again; I'll let them cut your hands off! Don't you understand why those men sit and play dice all day? Did you ever wonder why they have no money of their own? Do you honestly think they have anything to teach you?" In her frustration she realized she had to get them away from the company they were keeping. She was ashamed of the man her son was becoming.
As they walked home to Marie's, La'Havre asked his mother, "What sort of man was that? His English sounded funny."
"He's from New England, son," Charlotte told him. "They are the children of settlers who came here so many generations ago they've developed their own sounding language. It happens sooner or later. All those Chickasaw words you're learning from Toussaint will start to creep into your speech, and you'll sound funny too."
That night she found Toussaint and, asked him if he could help her get to Canada. She had heard that settlers were more provincial in the North. Toussaint was familiar with the way, and he was sure he could help Charlotte take her son there. When she told Marie she was planning to leave in the spring, Marie was genuinely happy for her.
"Good for you!" she exclaimed. "I was starting to think you'd let that boy of yours grow to be a man among these old thieves and cutthroats." La'Havre's wounded hands had caught Marie's attention and the boy told her all about trying to steal the hatchet. "Now let's see what we can find to get you ready for the trip. Those woods are dangerous for young women and boys."
Charlotte watched, as Marie began to scurry around her small cabin digging through boxes. Marie was excited to be part of a new adventure.
Chapter 4 - Preparations
Toussaint met a rather self-important French soldier in a Tavern who explained to him that settlers were indeed welcome in the valley of the Ouabache River.
"The Governors of Canada and Louisiana are concerned, because the British have been exploring the network of native villages along the Ouabache in the Illinois Country. The Canadian post called Ouiatenon, serves as a trading center for at least five villages, including a very large one directly across the river from the post. This represents a huge amount of commerce and the British are trying to persuade the natives to shift that trade to New England."
The soldier was well past drunk and enjoying the sound of his own voice. "The only solution to this threat is to increase the presence of French citizens in the region, intimidate the British, and establish a permanent hold on the interior of the continent. When the convoy of traders from the Illinois Country goes back north with their goods from New Orleans they'll be encouraged to take as many French of all sizes and shapes available up the Ouabache to post Ouiatenon."
The soldier told Toussaint that women were particularly welcome, as he winked, and took another draw from his cup. Toussaint went to the fort, and made arrangements to pilot a group of volunteers up the river to rendezvous with the commandant of post Ouiatenon in the spring.
Charlotte spent most of the winter putting together the clothes and equipment she believed they would need to make the trip. Most of her knowledge on the subject came from her observations of the Canadians in the tavern. She knew they would require much heavier clothes than they were accustomed to. Gloves, caps, and scarves were things they never needed in New Orleans but she did her best to fashion them from memory. She knew they would need to protect themselves but the cost of pistols, powder, and shot were beyond her reach. She asked Marie if she could spare a knife from her cupboard for their protection on the journey.
"Nonsense Charlotte" Marie exclaimed. She started digging through an old sea chest. "Here we go," she turned, and in her left hand, held a cutlass that had belonged to De’Graff. It was a beautiful sword and razor sharp. Marie cackled, "This should keep the flies off you!" Charlotte made packs of heavy canvas to fill with dried fruits and fish and in one pack she made a sheath to conceal the cutlass.
Marie had been very kind to Charlotte and her son, but it wasn't only for their sakes. At first she enjoyed their company but as the years went by she grew dependent on Charlotte for her help. Of course she would never admit it but she was heart broken when Charlotte decided to leave.
She feared living on her own. As she grew older she decided to sell the land she had inherited from De’Graff. The land had been given to De’Graff for his assistance with the establishment of the settlement of Biloxi. When he retired from the sea, he and the most loyal of his crew made an attempt to start their own settlement, but De’Graff fell ill, and died soon after they arrived. Only the few men living in the camp remained after his death.
Marie's daughters were teenagers at the time, and returned to Saint-Domingue to find husbands. They sent her letters and gifts for a few years, but it had been ages since she had heard from either of them. She wasn't even sure where they were now.
After Charlotte was gone, Marie divided the land up equally among the crew and herself. She sold her portion and moved into New Orleans where she lived quietly above the tavern that Charlotte had worked in. The men who continued to live in the old camp visited her loyally until the day she died.
Chapter 5 - On the Mississippi
The morning Charlotte left New Orleans, there were only twenty other people waiting to join them on the journey north. Of these twenty, there was only one other woman. She was younger than Charlotte, and had a boy close to La'Havre's age.
"His father went up the Ouabache last spring. I hope to find him in or around Ouiatenon," the woman told Charlotte.
The Canadians were less than happy to see their passengers. Their boats were loaded with trade goods. Only Toussaint's canoe was reserved for passengers. As they moved slowly up the Mississippi towards the mouth of the Ouabache, Charlotte and La'Havre passed the time practicing different languages, Spanish, French, Chickasaw, and English. They played a game of sorts, seeing how many different languages they could use to describe an object they passed along the shore. La'Havre was much better at this game than his mother.
The first stop for supplies was the Natchez village near Fort Rosalie. The Natchez had cleared a large landing in front of a group of cabins of sorts, and it had become a resting place for parties traveling up and down the river.
"This will be the last bit of civilization you'll see for a very long time," Toussaint warned everyone.
The Natchez were allies of the Chickasaw, and many of them knew Toussaint and his family as friends. Around the village there were fields of corn, beans and squash. Behind the cabins there were racks of drying fish and meat. It was a beautiful village; Toussaint told La'Havre that the Natchez called it, White Apple.
The men from New Orleans and the Canadian traders went into the small settlement of Fort Rosalie to take advantage of that last bit of civilization. Charlotte, La'Havre, the other woman and her son were all that stayed with Toussaint and his family in the village. Toussaint made no introductions and it didn't occur to anyone else either. By all appearances the Natchez were one big family. At the center of the village was a large, long house where their leader held council.
"The Natchez name for him means Sun, and he is believed to be divine", Toussaint explained to La'Havre and the others. "Don't the French call King Louis the Sun King?" Toussaint said with a smile.
"I was taught that God gave him his authority as well," Charlotte chuckled.
The Natchez men were glad to see that La'Havre had learned some Chickasaw from Toussaint.
"You will be useful to us on the Ouabache," a Natchez man said to the boy. Toussaint didn't like the suggestion and quickly changed the subject.
"I once lived in a village like this farther north among the Chickasaw, but we left because I missed the sound of the sea."
Truth was he couldn't tolerate the Chickasaw practice of capturing slaves from other tribes to sell to the British. It was something he could never get used to. He was at home with the Chickasaw but he couldn't abide this custom.
In the morning when the Frenchmen returned, Toussaint spent several minutes with his native friends before slowly returning to the landing to help launch the boats.
"Watch the landing," he quietly told La'Havre.
As the canoes slipped into the river, three men moved upstream with their eyes on the flotilla. "Those three wanted to put an end to your trip this morning after we got out of sight from the fort, Toussaint told La'Havre. I convinced them that it would cause them more trouble than our goods are worth. The others should be grateful to you for spending the night with me last night. If those three hadn't taken a shine to you, I probably couldn't have stopped them."
The next three weeks passed without event. The coast of the big river seemed to change very little from one mile to the next. It was hard to judge how much distance they covered. The woodlands sporadically broke into open prairies. At one point a herd of buffalo was crowded along the bank of the river. They looked confused by the sight of the Canoes. Some turned and ran while others stepped tentatively into the great river to get a closer look.
As they passed beneath a series of sandstone outcroppings and ledges along the eastern bank of the river, the Canadians grew unusually silent. All along the journey they had kept up a hardy chorus of songs to help them keep their strokes in unison but suddenly the men stopped singing and their eyes were fixed on the bluffs to the east.
"What's happening?" Charlotte inquired.
"We are passing through what they call the Chickasaw Bluffs," Toussaint told her.
"Aren't you a Chickasaw?" Charlotte asked.
"Yes, that is why I'm a valuable guide through these parts. If we get stopped, chances are I'll be able to get us safely past the bluffs," Toussaint explained. Toussaint pointed towards the sandstone outcroppings that jutted into the river below the bluffs and spoke again. "There is the place where we will pull over if we need to talk our way through here. Those who see the Chickasaw on the bluffs and don't stop to pay them tribute are asking for a fight." Charlotte was glad no one spotted any natives and eventually the men began to sing a familiar tune again as they put distance between themselves and the bluffs.
"We're getting close to the mouth of the Ouabache," Toussaint told them.
The next night they camped on the western side of the river where the ground was more open. They could see the mouth of the Ouabache on the opposite shore. The trip had been well timed for good weather to camp. The days were not too hot to work the boats for hours on end and the nights were not too cold to sleep safely under the stars. The only concern was the occasional downpour and the threat of unfriendly company.
Chapter 6 – Ouabache
Paddling out to the point where the two rivers joined the next morning, the men strained to pull the boats into the blue waters of the Ouabache. There was a clear difference in the color and taste of the two rivers. The Mississippi had a slightly salty taste and a muddy brown color compared to the clear, sweet water of the Ouabache.
The land turned to deep forest all around them with the exception of some large cliffs. The farther east they went, the higher and more frequent the cliffs became. They began to see trees the size of which La'Havre and his mother had never imagined existed.
One night the party camped in a large cave on the north bank of the river. There were thirty of them and the cave provided more than enough room to sleep comfortably. As they lay down to sleep Toussaint told La'Havre that he would be leaving the party the next day.
"The river will be coming to the mouth of another great river soon and there you will meet a man called Vincennes who will take you the rest of the way to Ouiatenon. It isn't safe for me to travel very far up the Ouabache beyond the point where the two rivers join. There are ancient feuds between the Chickasaw people and the ones who live up that way. The French have good relations up there. The dangerous part of the trip is over for you, but the farther north we go, the more dangerous it is for me. Word of a Creole Chickasaw gets around pretty fast. I'd make a nice trophy for some of the natives at Ouiatenon", Toussaint smiled. The news that Toussaint would be turning back the next day made it hard for La'Havre to sleep that night.