Hunting for the Mississippi

by Camille Bouchard

  Especially since the older Duhaut has found a way to come back to the fort to be with his brother. He claims he got lost while bringing up the rear of Mr. De La Salle’s expedition. He says he had to stop to do up his hiking boots again and Moranget wouldn’t wait for him. Henri Joutel reluctantly takes him back.

  It doesn’t take long for the Duhaut-Hiens trio to have the men challenging the authority of Mr. De La Salle’s lieutenant. The fort reeks of conspiracy.

  Harder than ever, I pray to God, my dad, and Armand, my dead brother, to help get us out of this situation. To repel the terrible men who continue to lay down their law, who attack Marie-Élisabeth—a good Christian—and who threaten my mom. But God, Dad, and Armand seem to have no intention of changing things. Or perhaps they’re not able to.

  I think I’ll have to come up with a solution by myself.

  “And what about my baby?” Barbier’s wife asks for the millionth time, caressing a round belly that’s close to giving up its contents. “Shouldn’t my baby be laying claim to the seigneury promised by the king and not Talon’s son, who was born on the ship, after all?”

  Mr. Joutel often scratches his head, and not just because of the lice.

  “Mr. De La Salle will decide upon his return. He shall determine which of the children has the right to the royal privileges.”

  When Barbier’s wife cries out one night, rousing everyone in the fort from their beds, we discover that the matter will remain unresolved.

  The child is stillborn.

  * * *

  Winter passes, the days alternating between mornings that cover the cactuses in frost and others when the sun brings out the insects. Every day, we wait in vain for news from Mr. De La Salle. To pass the time and keep minds occupied, Joutel has a more elaborate fort built for the men that at last resembles the first. But the deaths continue. De La Salle’s lieutenant might not be as demanding as his master, but the climate is. Fever and pleurisy kill their share of settlers.

  And then there’s the Karankawa, who sometimes timidly try to attack our fort. Fortunately, powder and musket balls easily keep them at bay.

  “Happy birthday, big guy!”

  “It’s my birthday?”

  “You turned fourteen yesterday or the day before, I don’t remember which.”

  While Isabelle Talon’s sons shower me with friendly punches, she pecks me on the cheek.

  “This time you really are a man,” she says.

  Perhaps she remembers that her husband told me exactly the same thing last year, word for word.

  “Oh! Not for another year,” Mom sobs. “He’s still so young…”

  Marie-Élisabeth doesn’t share the ball of cake Mom made for me by skimping on our sugar rations for weeks. There’s a little piece for everyone. Pierre and Jean-Baptiste don’t think twice about wolfing down their sister’s share. I don’t even have time to stop them.

  “And in a few days, Marie-Élisabeth will be…”

  Twelve. Marrying age.

  My heart races just thinking about it. Not with desire, but apprehension.

  Are we ready to live our lives as adults?

  * * *

  Springtime brings with it leaves on the trees… and Mr. De La Salle!

  We’re mightily relieved to be reunited with our expedition leader. His being there will at last cool hot tempers.

  But, at the same time, how disappointed we are to hear that he still hasn’t found the Mississippi!

  “And La Belle?” he asks. “She’s not moored opposite the fort?”

  “Still wintering in the bay we chose, sir,” Joutel replies. “The same men are guarding her as when you left.”

  “We shall use her to explore anew. By sea this time, staying close to the coast. I am convinced that we overcompensated for the currents pushing us east. We are too close to the land the Spanish call Texas.”

  “I share your opinion, sir.”

  With De La Salle back in Saint Louis, work picks up again until it reaches the frenzied pace our leader is renowned for. No doubt because he’s obsessed with his thirst for discovery, because he’s beginning to doubt his dreams for a colony, his orders become more and more demanding—and contradictory. One day, we build an emergency palisade because he’s afraid of ever-greater numbers of Karankawa prowling around the fort; the next, we are to stop work on the palisade to dig an irrigation canal that is of no real importance.

  One morning, three or four sailors who stayed behind on La Belle suddenly appear on a makeshift raft. They’re a sorry sight: they have withered away to nothing and their clothes are in tatters.

  “La Belle sank, sir,” we learn from one of them. “All the men with us are dead.”

  “The Karankawa?” worries one of our leaders.

  “No, sir. Thirst.”

  “Thirst?”

  “We ran out of water. There was none nearby. We went ashore to look for some. We lost the rowboats. Then, off in the distance, we saw La Belle run aground and sink. Strong winds and an untimely current…”

  The news spreads through the colony like a squall from the north. Without a boat, we are condemned to stay here, unable to find the blasted Mississippi or go back to France for more supplies.

  “We’ll do without,” De La Salle eventually says. Despite his flaws, he takes even the nastiest surprises in his stride.

  And so it is that in mid-April 1686, barely a month after he came back, he leaves again. This time, he takes twenty men with him, including his servants, his personal surgeon, his nephew Moranget, the younger Duhaut brother, L’Archevêque, and… Hiens!

  Hiens!

  Marie-Élisabeth is once more free from his hold.

  A shame that the older Duhaut brother is still with us.

  * * *

  On the back of our hardships, there is mounting discontent among the settlers. Joutel has his work cut out maintaining order, even with the worst hotheads out of the way. He might be the only one of his faction left behind, but the older Duhaut brother doesn’t stop speaking ill of Mr. De La Salle for a second. Even some of the Recollects can’t help but write some awful things about our leader.

  “There’s a lot of misfortune in our colony, all right,” I admit as I sit beside Marie-Élisabeth one night. She’s keeping me company on my watch. “There’s a great deal of danger. And then there’s your dad. Ah, I mean…”

  “I know what you mean, Stache. Dad’s not with us any longer. Neither’s yours. And my brothers are too young… You’re the man to take care of us.”

  My head spins for a moment as she spells out the duty that falls to me. Not because I’ve only just become aware of it—I’ve been thinking about it for a long time now—but because now I know that Marie-Élisabeth knows, too. That she admits it. And that she’s ready to put herself in my hands. Or at least I think she is.

  Ever since Lucien Talon’s death made me the oldest boy in our circle, Marie-Élisabeth has agreed that I’m now responsible for our families: my own and the family of the girl I will marry. Deep down, Mom must think the same. And Isabelle Talon, too.

  I swell with pride inside. I tell myself that I’ll have to show how worthy I am… especially if Marie-Élisabeth puts herself in my hands so willingly. I didn’t think she would.

  “Stache…”

  “Yes, Marie-Élisabeth?”

  I realize she’s no longer watching the setting sun. Instead she’s staring into my eyes. Does she want to kiss me? After a string of bad news, this would make for some rare good news.

  “Stache,” she says again, her eyes wet.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  28

  ONCE BLUE

  “Idleness breeds boredom and impatience,” Henri Joutel sighs to a handful of trusted men. “Even threatening to hang the more excitable ones won’t calm them dow
n.”

  Our poor lieutenant, as he awaits news or the return of Mr. De La Salle, no longer knows how to occupy men who do nothing but hunt, fight among themselves, and speak ill of our expedition leader.

  “Perhaps what we need is a good attack from the Indians to rally everyone together,” says Barbier philosophically.

  “Let’s not speak of even greater disasters,” Joutel counters. “Occupy the men by having them change the hide roofs on our buildings for bark ones.” The hides, all dried out in the sun, have shrunk so much that several shelters are leaking like baskets with holes in the bottom.

  “There are the women, too, sir,” begins the marquis de La Sablonnière. “Even though the colony is not yet on its feet, I would like you to know of my interest in marrying the young girl of eighteen who is—”

  “Out of the question!” Joutel replies, his expression making it clear that the matter is not up for discussion. “For the moment, the girls are sacred. Not to be touched. Not before there is a fort standing on the shores of the Mississippi. Only then will we proceed with nuptials.”

  “But what about Marie-Élisabeth and me?” I ask silently. “What will happen once everyone finds out she’s expecting a baby out of wedlock? Will I be accused of sins of the flesh or will we have to turn Hiens in?”

  Mom and her own mother don’t know. But the pregnancy won’t stay under wraps for long. Marie-Élisabeth’s belly is growing rounder, her breasts are swelling…

  God, Dad, Armand, help me! I am a man now, but I don’t know what to do. And I used to think that adults had an answer to everything.

  * * *

  In August 1686, after four months away from us, Mr. De La Salle reappears to widespread relief.

  “And the Mississippi, sir?” Joutel inquires.

  “Still nothing.”

  “And the Illinois, the Indians you are familiar with from previous voyages?”

  “We met no nation that speaks a language approaching theirs. It appears that we are further away from previously discovered lands than I thought.”

  It looks as though no good news can pass between our leaders. As usual, they no longer even get worked up over it.

  Of the twenty men who left with our commander in April, only eight remain, including Moranget, Liotot, Jean L’Archevêque… and Hiens! Gaunt and exhausted, the explorers are nevertheless radiant, glad to be back. Moranget in particular is pleased to show off five horses with makeshift bridles, their saddlebags filled with seed, beans, and corn.

  “We traded with the Cenis Indians for them,” says De La Salle. “Brave warriors indeed, who can’t wait to form alliances with us. They—”

  “And my brother? Where’s my brother?”

  René-Robert Cavelier de La Salle peers haughtily at the older Duhaut brother, looking every bit the outraged nobleman who was not greeted properly. But the desperado barely notices.

  “Where is Dominique? What happened to him? He was with you! Hiens! Do you know?”

  Moranget replies, not Duhaut’s uncle or the German.

  “He asked to go back along with two other miserable weaklings. The delicate little souls were unable to keep up.”

  “But that was two months ago,” De La Salle adds with a frown. “If they haven’t come back, they must be lost.”

  “Or the Savages killed them,” Moranget shrugs.

  “My little brother?” says Duhaut, his voice higher now. “You—”

  Then he turns to Moranget. He seems to despise him more than even De La Salle.

  “You let my brother die?”

  “He decided to leave the group. He brought it upon himself.”

  We’re all gathered around the men who have just come back, listening carefully to their news, and so we all see Duhaut’s hand move to the handle of his dagger. He withdraws it right away, but no one is fooled. We all understand.

  As soon as he gets the chance, Duhaut will relieve his heart of the vengeful hatred that has just flooded it.

  * * *

  With Hiens, Liotot, and L’Archevêque now back with us, Pierre Duhaut’s plans for insurgency are more feverish than ever. Especially since the only thing that seems to console him for the loss of his brother is his burning hatred for our leaders. And he worries me even more since he seems to be more interested in my mom with every passing day. It’s not that he’s courting her—he’s not classy enough to do that—but instead he leers at her with lustful, indecent, lecherous intentions every time she crosses his line of sight. And it’s not as if Mom is trying to seduce him. Her too-long, too-warm dresses tied up to the neck give no hint of any charms she might have. And she would never ever respond to Duhaut’s advances.

  “Those louts disgust me,” she confides to Isabelle Talon one day in a whisper. “They eat like pigs, you can smell them for miles around, and they swear four times in the same sentence. They’re a far cry from the perfect matches you promised me!”

  “No one’s more disappointed than I am, believe me. All we need is for one of them to become infatuated with us and we’ll have one as a husband once the colony’s up on its feet.”

  “I’d rather have a pig,” Mom replies.

  Their guffaws surprise the men around them. After all, we usually don’t have much to laugh about.

  Mr. De La Salle is telling anyone who will listen that a fourth and final expedition will leave once the heat of the summer is behind us. Most of the able-bodied settlers will be on it because we won’t only be looking for the Mississippi, we’ll be heading up to Canada for help, too.

  “Let’s hope we get it right this time,” I let slip one night as I’m having supper near Mr. Joutel.

  “If we are determined to establish French America in the heart of Spanish territory,” the brave lieutenant replies, “our commander in chief has little choice but to swallow his pride and seek help from French settlements to the north.”

  As we wait for the expedition to leave, the Karankawa become more insistent outside the fort. We kill some of theirs, they kill some of ours, and Mr. De La Salle orders better palisades to be built. The common enemy Barbier had been hoping for brings everyone together, and the tension abates.

  * * *

  One evening, as she does sometimes, Marie-Élisabeth comes to meet me at the corner of the palisade where I’m on duty. Resting the heavy arquebus against the stake, I keep guard over the side looking out over the river. It’s my favourite spot. From here, I can watch the countless species of birdlife along the shore. And crocodiles out hunting are a welcome distraction from the monotony of the otherwise tiresome watch.

  Marie-Élisabeth looks a little pale, if you ask me. She keeps a hand pressed to her belly, its roundness seriously beginning to show beneath her dress. Very soon, she’ll have to confess to being pregnant.

  “Are you OK?”

  “It hurts a little.”

  “You’ll have to… we’ll have to—”

  “No.”

  She rests her head on my shoulder to watch an immaculately decorated ibis take flight. The white outline traces a graceful crescent above the water lilies.

  “We’ll have to tell your mom sometime, Marie-Élisabeth. And Mr. De La Salle. And…”

  “They’ll want to know who the father is. I can’t turn Hiens in. He doesn’t touch me anymore, just glares at me so that I know to stay quiet. Stache, I don’t want Hiens or that hateful band of men he hangs around with to take it out on my mom or my brothers. Or even your mom. Have you forgotten the threats he made? I already suspect he might be behind Dad’s disappearance.”

  I stop myself from screaming inside. The burden of the secret surrounding Lucien Talon’s death is a heavy one for me to bear alone. But I must keep silent. The German’s actions also strike fear into my stomach.

  I plant a kiss on my friend’s hair.

  “We’ll say that I’m the fathe
r of your child. We won’t say a word about Hiens.”

  “The Recollects will send you to Hell, Mr. De La Salle might throw you in prison…”

  “Too bad.”

  She doesn’t say another word, and when my watch is over, we return to our shelters, hand in hand.

  Tonight I dream. That hardly ever happens. I have forgotten the dream by the time I wake up, but it leaves a chalky taste in my mouth. I am still trying to remember the images that left at dawn when an inhuman cry pierces the morning silence.

  I recognize Isabelle Talon’s voice only once she shouts Marie-Élisabeth’s name. I run over to the women’s quarters, past dazed men trying to shake off sleep, their eyes still half closed.

  Mom meets me at the door.

  “No, Eustache. Don’t go in. Don’t go—”

  I go around her without even stopping. Her hand grabs at the cloth of the back of my shirt, but I’m strong now: she can’t hold me back.

  I discover Isabelle Talon on her knees, sobbing hard beside her daughter’s bed. The thin sheet that protects Marie-Élisabeth at night is drenched in blood. The baby she was carrying has killed her. From the inside. As though the German freebooter used the child to continue chipping away at us all from afar.

  The wide, once blue eyes of my sweetheart have turned a little ashen as they stare up at an angle in the ceiling. Her mouth is set in a grimace of stifled terror, the final admission of the surprise that supplanted the pain of the hemorrhage that took her.

  So that’s what the stomach pains the previous night had signalled. Perhaps it had hurt more than she had wanted to admit.

  Marie-Élisabeth died as she had lived.

  Without disturbing a soul.

  29

  THE CRY

  OF THE WOLF

  Isabelle Talon accepted her husband’s disappearance gracefully, but the same can’t be said for her daughter’s death. For much of the day, she howls over Marie-Élisabeth’s body like a baying wolf. Madeleine and young Ludovic hide in Mom’s skirt—Mom is already carrying baby Robert in her arms—while Pierre and Jean-Baptiste hover in the background, stunned. The Recollects come in turn to the women’s shelter, taking over from each other for prayers and words of comfort.