Ste. Genevieve, Missouri, Spring of 1766
Chapter 1: The Slave
Ten-year-old Jeanette skipped down the road to Mise’resinging a song to herself in her native French. In her excitement, she barely avoided the rutted holes filled with mud.
“Wait ‘til I show this to my mother,” she thought proudly, as a single loaf of bread bounced up and down in her basket. The bread was her reward for helping Madame Chauvin with her baking earlier that morning.
She swung open the gate, dodged a flock of chickens, raced up the steps, then halted abruptly on the galerie. From inside her home, she could hear angry words being exchanged by her parents.
“How could you have traded off my set of silver combs?” her mother was shouting. “You know how much I loved them.”
“Be reasonable, Rose. Think how many ways this lad can help me with our farm,” her father was saying. “Besides, I couldn’t think of leaving him a slave to that angry Osage chief.”
Jeanette skirted around the yard and into the detached kitchen. A copper-haired boy crouched on the dirt floor. He looked up at her with terrified eyes.
Jeanette couldn’t help but stare. She was used to seeing people with dark hair and eyes. The boy’s eyes were the pale blue of an early morning sky. His skin, visible beneath the tears in his clothing, was milky white. Through a layer of dirt on his face, she could see freckles.
“Where did you come from?” she demanded.
The boy frowned, then began to speak in words she could not understand. He used the word OHO several times.
Just then, her parents walked into the kitchen.
“Look at him, he’s filthy,” her mother complained. Running her fingers through his hair, she added, “He has lice, too. He’s not coming into my house until he’s had a thorough washing, Pierre.”
“Jeanette, get my strong lye soap and my oldest sheet and meet us at the deep hole in the creek.”
By the time Jeanette got to the creek, her mother had hiked her skirt into her waistband. Both she and the boy were standing knee-deep and her mother was pouring handfuls of water over the boy. He was shivering, although Jeanette could not tell if it was from the chill air or from fear.
With strong lye soap, Rose lathered him from head to foot, clothes and all. Satisfied with her work, she shoved him toward a deep hole and signed that he should rinse himself.
Out on the bank, Rose wrapped him in the linen sheet. The boy handed her his ragged clothes from behind a concealing bush.
Back at their cabin, Rose brought out an old pair of Pierre’s pantaloons. The boy pulled them up, then gripped the vast waistband tightly, afraid to let go. Quickly, Rose tied the waist of the pantaloons under his arms with a rawhide rope.
“There, now he’s decent enough to eat the evening meal with us.” she told Jeanette.
At supper time, Pierre brought the boy in from the field and sat him down on a three-legged stool. When Rose set pewter bowls full of rabbit stew on the table, the hungry boy immediately reached in and grabbed a hunk of rabbit, burning his fingers.
“This will not do, Pierre!” Rose cried out. “First we must teach him some manners.”
“He has probably been living with the Osage for most of his life, Rose. I doubt if he even knows what a fork is.”
Pierre said the blessing, then picked up his fork and carefully selected a small chunk of rabbit. He waited for the morsel to cool before he chewed it. Then he handed the boy a fork. No one laughed at the youth’s awkward attempts to use it.
“Let’s name him Denis after the good saint,” Jeanette suggested.
“Denis it is,” her father agreed. “And now, young lady, let me tell you how much I am enjoying this good bread you helped to bake.”
“Where will he sleep?” Rose asked later.
“He’s used to worse,” Pierre replied, “so I think we will let him sleep in the guest bench on the galerie.”
“Aren’t you afraid he will run away?” Rose questioned.
“Where would he run? I doubt he would wish to go back to the Osage.”
LOOK IT UP
Mise’re: An early name of the French settlement at Ste. Genevieve.
Bread: Bread for the whole community was commonly baked by an experienced baker in a communal oven made of handmade bricks.
Galerie: Gallery: A roofed porch. French homes frequently had a galerie on three or four sides of the house, extending the living space during the warm months of the year.
OHO: The Ohio River was named long before the state. The river runs from Pittsburgh to Cairo, Ill. The name comes from the Iroquois word OHO for “great river.” Explorer La Salle first saw the river in 1669.
As the colonies grew along the East Coast, pioneers began to sneak south by way of the Ohio River or through the mountains into Kentucky to settle, even though the land was claimed by France. After the end of the French and Indian War in 1763, the land east of the Mississippi was ceded to the English. More pioneers began to settle there and claim the fertile land for farming.
Guest bench: A bench that converted into an uncomfortable but useful sleeping space. The rectangular box was the length of a tall man. Mosquito netting or canvas might have been thrown over the opening at the top to keep out annoying insects.
Chapter 2 – A French lesson
“Fourchette,” Jeanette repeated, holding up an iron fork for Denis to see.
“Fork,” he replied with a puzzled look on his face.
“Chiminee,” Jeanette stated, pointing to the stone fireplace.
Denis just stared at the girl.
Jeanette sighed. Grabbing Denis by the hand, she led him outside.
“Poulet,” she shouted, picking up a small hen.
“Chicken,” Denis responded.
Jeanette frowned. “I give up,” she told him.
The boy had been with the family for a week. During that time, sign language was their only mean of communication. When Pierre showed Denis how to milk the cow, the boy had repeated the task successfully. When Jeanette had drawn water from the well, he had caught on quickly.
But when he spoke, no one could understand his words.
As Jeanette turned to go back into the house, she heard the gate open.
“Oncle Jacques,” she shouted, running into his arms. “How good to see you. How is Tante Marie?
“Everyone is fine, little Jean. Perhaps you will soon see her and the children. Now, go find my brother. I have business with him. Hey, who is this young man?”
“We named him Denis. Father bought him from an Osage chief. He doesn’t know how to talk,” Jeanette explained before she ran off.
A few moments later, Pierre appeared, his boots covered with mud. His brother had turned Denis’s sleeping box back into a bench and on this the brothers sat while Jeanette brought them mugs of wild grape wine.
“What brings you here during such good weather?” Pierre asked. “I thought the English would keep you busy across the Mississippi River fixing up the fort this spring. What are they calling Fort de Chartres now?”
“Fort Cavendish,” Jacques replied.
“And have you managed to save that western wall from being undercut by the river?” Pierre questioned.
“We have for this year. But I think the English are already questioning their need for such a fortress. There are few English in the area to protect.”
“But I’m sure more will come soon, Jacques.”
“No doubt they will, Pierre. In the meantime, Marie has told me in no uncertain terms that she wishes to make a home on this side of the river. Even though France has sold us out to the Spanish, she still prefers being under the rule of the king of Spain.
“Do you think that is wise, my brother? The best land is already taken. The most you can hope for is three arpents of land farther away from the river. I can barely feed my family on six and you have four children.
“Wise or not, I think we must live here, my brother.”
“Denis, fetch me some water,” Pierre commanded, handing him a bucket.
“Jeanette says the boy doesn’t talk right,” Jacques questioned. “Is something wrong with him?”
“Who knows, Jacques? I have no idea how the savages treated him.”
Quickly, Denis returned. Pierre washed away the thick mud from his boots. “There, now Rose won’t scold me when I bring you inside.”
A single large room served all the functions of Pierre’s home. In one corner stood his desk with three books on top. In the center was a table with two wooden chairs and two stools. The great stone fireplace was flanked by various cooking utensils. A rawhide bed was set against one wall. Under it, the trundle bed where Jeanette slept was concealed during the day.
Rose smiled uncertainly when she heard Pierre’s request.
“It will be good to have your family’s company until autumn,” she reluctantly agreed. “Brothers should help each other.”
Jacques smiled. “Then it is all settled that we will live here until I can build a new home, oui?”
“Oui,” Pierre replied.
“I’ll give the good news to Marie.” Jacques stood up to leave.
As he walked out into the sunshine, he saw the boy carefully examining one of Pierre’s tools. Jacques could not help but notice the look of intelligence and curiosity in his face. On an impulse, he walked over to the boy and asked in the heavily accented English he had learned while working at the fortress, “What ees your name, boy?”
The boy stared at him in silence for a moment and then quietly replied, “David.”
Look it up
Fort Cavendish: Under French rule, this fortress had been called Fort de Chartres. It had first been built of wood in 1720, on the eastern bank of the Mississippi River to give protection to the habitants from the raiding parties of the Fox tribe. In 1750, the fortress was rebuilt with stone. Set very close to the Mississippi River so that supplies could be unloaded quickly to avoid attacks, the fort was prone to damage from the nearly annual spring floods. On Oct. 10, 1765, Frenchman Louis St. Ange de Bellerieve turned over Fort de Chartres to the 42nd Royal Highland Regiment of King George III of England as part of the peace settlement of the French and Indian War.
Kaskaskia: This settlement was begun as a mission by Father Marest, Founded around 1700, the settlement quickly became a bustling depot for exporting lead and furs. Located on what is now the Illinois side of the river, it was almost directly across from the old town of Ste. Genevieve. Heavy flooding would eventually cause the residents of Ste. Genevieve to relocate the town on higher ground more than a mile away. In a century, the town of Kaskaskia would be swept away by a great flood of the Mississippi River. A fragment of Illinois would remain on the west side of the Mississippi.
Arpent: A unit of land measurement, approximately .85 of an acre. Most farming lots in old Ste. Genevieve were laid out as narrow strips that ran from the river’s edge to the high ground at the edge of the river bottom.
Chapter 3 – Ten is a crowd
The chill of autumn was in the air. In spite of the brave front Jeanette’s mother had been presenting to her family, Rose was praying each day that her brother-in-law would finish building his cabin and move his family before winter set in.
“How can I deal with Marie’s resentment when I scold her older boys for bringing mud into the house or carving their initials into our furniture?” she thought, but did not say. “And what do I do when she ignores the little boys even when what they do is dangerous to themselves?”
“When will their home be done?” Rose demanded one morning when she and Pierre had a few moments alone. “It has been difficult enough in summertime to fit an extra six people into our small home. Most of our time is spent outdoors or on the covered galerie. But with winter on the way, how can I keep the home clean and cook meals with so many bodies in the way?
“We’ll be done soon,” Pierre assured her. “We’ve assembled all the material we need; we’ll start tomorrow. You know we meant to get started sooner. But Jacques wants to use cedar posts and these days they are much more expensive than pine. He’s had to keep working for the English to earn the price.”
“Yes, Pierre, I understand that and also that you have been working so hard to raise enough pigs and to harvest and store enough grain to feed all 10 of us this winter.”
“Well, Rose, at least their two older boys and David have done all the trenching. It should only take a couple of weeks to do the rest, once we get started.”
“It will probably take longer than that, Pierre. I wonder about Jacques’ decision to build the home nearly a mile away from here on higher ground. I know that the land there was less expensive but it is farther from the village and less well protected. Don’t they understand the danger?”
“I’m sure Jacques does. I’m not sure he has told Marie.”
“Another thing, Pierre. Do you think we should keep David with us? I’m fond of the boy and he certainly does help us. But shouldn’t he be with his own people?”
“I imagine his parents are dead, Rose. They were probably killed at the same time David was captured.”
“But shouldn’t we at least have Jacques ask around at the fort and see if anyone has heard of a missing English boy?”
“Look, Rose, I’m beginning to love this boy as if he were my own. I think we can be as good a family to him as anyone in the world.”
Rose smiled. “We’ll try then.”
The following morning, the men left to begin building the house. Marie tapped her foot with impatience as she asked Rose, “Why does it take so long to build a house?”
Rose had watched as their house had been built, so she tried to explain.
“The men will have to set each long pole into the trenches and backfill them, one by one, with dirt and rock. Then they will have to peg the framing with supports. Next they will add wooden trusses to create a steeply-pitched roof. You don’t want your roof to leak, do you, Marie?”
“Of course not.”
Rose’s voice was interrupted by the stamping of feet outside the door. She ran to see what was the matter.
“Papa sent us home,” Jacque’s oldest boy explained. “About a dozen Osage warriors stopped by to watch us work. They didn’t seem very friendly and had nothing to trade, so Papa started getting suspicious. He sent us boys back to report an alarm. The militiamen are forming up just in case.”
Marie began to cry. “What fools we’ve been to move here. We’d be safer living near Fort de Chartres with the English to protect us.”
“Didn’t you realize that there’s more danger on this side of the river?” Rose asked.
Marie turned white, then stated: “Even if they should get our house finished, I think we’d better spend the winter here with you, Rose. Two other families plan to build near us next spring. We can move then.”
Rose lowered her head and closed her eyes in a prayer for patience.
LOOK IT UP
Osage Indians: The tribe called themselves the Wazhazhe. They were divided by geography into the Great Osage, the Little Osage and the Arkansas.
Grain: The rich alluvial soil around Ste. Genevieve produced an abundance of grains. Surpluses were routinely shipped to the Lower Mississippi region.
Building a house: Many families would spend their first year living with a pounded dirt floor, walls with many cracks where the hastily applied filler of mud or slaked lime and straw had pulled loose and a steep frame covered by bundles of straw to form a rain-resistant thatched roof. Later, a standard floor made with sawed boards could be added. During the winter, many men used their time to split wooden roofing shingles to be installed the following summer. Thick whitewash to cover the many cracks in the walls might be added in a few years. A chimney of wood covered with clay mud would be replaced with a stone chimney when time permitted.
Small homes: The average size of the homes in colonial Ste. Genevieve was about 600 square feet (or 20 by 30 feet). Pierre’s family lived in a 400 square feet (20 by 20 foot) cabin. It was common in those days for large families to live in such close quarters. Privacy was the luxury of only the wealthiest citizens.
Chapter 4 – Preparing a French Christmas
Jeanette was grateful for the little zone of privacy she and her parents had that winter. Her father had finally partitioned off a cramped room where they slept. When Jeanette’s trundle bed was drawn out, Pierre’s desk with his precious books hemmed her in. She was proud of the fact that her father knew how to read those books and could write his own name. Most of the village men could not.
Jacque and Marie had a rawhide bed, too. The baby slept next to them in a cradle. But that left David and Jacque’s other boys to find space on the chilly floor. The boys curled together in buffalo hides for warmth.
Jeanette softly hummed a Christmas carol as she swept the ashes from the hearth two days before Christmas. Marie was not being watchful again, so Jeanette quietly picked up little Auguste just before he crawled into the fire and burned himself.
“Oh, how I wish spring would come and I could stay out in the sweet-smelling air,” she thought, “but at least I can look forward to Christmas.”
She could hear her mother and Tante Marie making plans for the feast they would all enjoy after attending La Messe de Minuit (a midnight Mass).
“May David and I hide in the barn at midnight instead to hear if the cows really talk?” Jeanette asked her mother.
“Of course not,” Rose replied. “What would the Christ child think if you did not attend the celebration of his birth?”
“But then how will I know that the animals really talk?” Jeanette insisted.
“I would slap her mouth for such a question,” Marie hissed.
Rose frowned. Softly, she resumed speaking about the preparations for the meal to be served after church in the dark early hours of Christmas morning.
“We have no beef left for the la tourtiere (meat pie), Marie. I hope the men are successful with their hunting. “
“I suppose we will have to use the last of the honey my boys brought home to make la tarte au sucre(sugar pie),” Marie added in a gloating tone. “I’m sure Pierre appreciates how helpful our boys have been.”
Jeanette noticed that her mother winced in pain at Marie’s sarcastic remark. As young as she was, she already understood that it was a scandal that her mother had produced no more children. Men needed sons.
“Jeanette, take that butcher knife away from little Gaston,” Rose ordered.
At that moment, they could hear the men stamping out on the galerie.
“What have you brought back, husband?” Marie asked Jacque, as the men entered a few moments later.
“We were in luck. We bagged a deer. Now we can have a nice haunch of venison for Le Reveillon,” he replied.
“You children can set your shoes in front of the fireplace,” he added, looking at his younger boys. “Perhaps Pe’re Noel (Father Christmas) will leave you some nuts or a toy. But beware because if you aren’t good, Pe’re Fouettard (the Whipping Father) will come instead and give you a spanking.”
Four-year-old Gaston looked around guiltily.
“David was the one who tracked the deer,” Pierre added, with pride in his voice, as he stroked the boy’s red hair. “We thought the animal had headed the other way. Only he found the faint tracks that led us in the right direction.”
Now it was Marie’s turn to make a sour face.
“It’s snowing,” David announced as he brought in warm milk for their supper that evening.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t snow for long,” Jacques noted. “If it does, the walk to church will be difficult. We’ll have to leave early. Those who are late always have to stand out in the cold for the entire service.
“Will Pe’re Noel come even if it snows, papa?”
“Yes, Gaston, even if it snows.”
Midnight Mass was over. Outside the church, colorfully dressed men and women were greeting each other with hugs and cheerful words when Father Gibault approached Pierre.
“A fellow priest north of here was recently approached by a frontiersman. The man said he was searching for his son who had been stolen by Indians. The boy is 11 years old. He has red hair. His name is David.”
LOOK IT UP
La Messe de Minuit: Midnight Mass. This religious ceremony began at midnight and could last until 2 a.m. or so.
After Mass, the celebration of la Reveillons could go on all night. By late Christmas morning, most of the villagers would be slumbering, making up for the lost sleep. The celebration of the Temps de Fetes (time of festivities) would continue after Dec. 25 with a period of visiting and feasting that ended on Jan. 6 with la Fete des Rois (Epiphany).
Chapter 5 – A new partnership
Spring came early in the year of 1767. The witch hazel bloomed in late February and by early March, the bloodroot had begun flowering.
On April 1, the Jacques family began to move small items into their newly constructed home. By May 5, all their possessions had been carted away and Rose began to feel that their house was once again her home.
She sent David out to cut fresh grass to replace the smelly straw that had served as a buffer to the floor all winter. She swept out the old straw, scrubbed away the accumulated dirt of so many muddy feet and used a preparation of black walnut husks to refresh the scratches in her few pieces of furniture.
“Ah, life is good,” she told Pierre as she stood at the doorway breathing in the sweet spring air. “Just the four of us again.”
But Pierre had other plans and shared them with his family when he came home later in the day.
“Remember the black slave, Francois?” he asked Rose as he walked in the door. “Well, he’s just bought his freedom from Monsieur Cherbourg.”
“That’s good news,” Rose said. “He’s worked so hard – six days a week for his master – and then all day on Sunday to earn money to buy his freedom.”
“Yes, and if he were not an exceptional blacksmith, he would not have been able to do so. He’s been responsible for several improvements in our farming tools.”
“So what is he going to do now?” Rose wondered.
“He’s asked if he can build a blacksmith shop on the northwest corner of our lot by the road. He wants to set up his business there.”
“Oh?” Rose was speechless for a moment. Then, “Where will he live?”
“He’ll sleep in our summer kitchen until he and his friends can build a lean-to for the forge. Then, he’ll live in the smithy for a while. When he earns enough, he will buy his own land and build a cabin. He says he will fix my tools for free and pay us rent when he is able.”
“That’s wonderful, Pierre. I know he will be no trouble.”
“Where is Jeanette?” Rose questioned Pierre one morning a few weeks later. “I need someone to draw water for my wash. I can’t find David, either.”
“I suspect they are watching Francois work. I’m not surprised that David is so interested in his work. A few days ago, the three of us watched Francois bring his charcoal fire to white hot and then use hammer and tongs to fix our rake and scythe. It does surprise me that Jeanette pays such close attention, too. She should be here helping you. I’ll go fetch her home.”
“Busy as always, Francois?” Pierre asked as he approached the primitive forge. “What are you going to do with all that money you are earning?
Francois smiled shyly. “Please don’t tell anyone, but I am hoping to buy Louisa’s freedom and take her as my wife. Father Gibault says he will marry us.”
“So that’s why you are so ambitious and work such long hours.”
“Yes it is, and I can only hope that when the Spanish governor comes, he will not change the rules. Do you think the Spaniards can take away my freedom, Jacques?”
“I doubt it. But then who knows? The difference between laws and how they are applied is very great.”
“Jeanette, you have to go home and help your mother now!” Pierre ordered.
“Do I have to, Father?” she questioned. “Francois was just about to show us how he is going to repair this old pitchfork.”
“Go,” her father insisted.
“David, you can stay and help Francois for a while, but when the sun has dried the hay, you must come home and help me cut it.
As David helped Francois by squeezing the bellows to keep the heat steady, he suddenly asked, “Do you think my father will find me? I overhead Jeanette’s parents talking about how he has been searching for me.”
“He might. But from the look on your face I’m guessing that you might not want him to find you. Is that true?”
David hesitated. Francois could see fear in his eyes.
“It was my father who sold me to that Indian.”
LOOK IT UP
Black slaves were imported into Upper Louisiana (earlier called Illinois Country) as early as 1700. The earliest slave owners were probably Jesuit missionaries. Their slaves were generally used in agriculture and as domestic servants.
By the late 1760s, as many as a third of the inhabitants of Ste. Genevieve may have been slaves.
The Code Noir (black code) was a document governing how slaves had to be treated. The original was signed in France in 1685 by the French king, Louis XIV.
French rules and practices for slavery were different from the English. Some slave owners allowed their slaves to hire themselves out to work on Sunday and keep or invest their pay. They could then use the money to purchase their freedom. The code protected them from being forced back into slavery.
Chapter 6 – Under Spanish rule
In the late spring of 1769, the inhabitants of Ste. Genevieve began to experience how different things were to be under Spanish rule. They discovered that the new Spanish bureaucrat, Senor Gonzaga, who came from St. Louis to visit, was a stern disciplinarian with no sense of humor. Still, grateful to be able to congregate in the mild spring air, they planned on having their annual spring festival.
“I’m so excited, Maman. I can’t wait to go to the celebration tonight,” Jeanette said as she spun around in her lace-trimmed muslin dress, the ruffled skirt flaring around her ankles. “Do you think that Uncle Jacques’ oldest boy will dance with me?
“That could be, my dear child. You look very pretty. But you know that you must leave for home with David before dark. Francois’ wife, Louisa, will walk you two home and stay with you until we come.
“But you probably won’t come home until very late, will you?”
“Why should we leave while the festivities are still going on?”
“Then why can’t I stay? I’m 12-years-old now.”
“Wait a couple of more years, little Jean. Tonight, enjoy the music and storytelling and the dancing while you can. Now take off that pretty dress and go gather the eggs.”
“Did you see that funny looking Spaniard?” Jeanette giggled, as she and David and Louisa walked home by the light of a full moon. “He kept watching how much people ate and drank with those narrow black eyes of his and frowning when we danced a bit too close or bumped into each other. What a silly man. I wish he would go away.”
“Those five armed Spanish soldiers seemed to make everyone nervous, too,” David noted.
“Oh, they didn’t bother me. The music of the fiddler was so joyful, I could have danced all night.”
“And you did dance with nearly all the young men,” David added.
“Why didn’t you dance?” Jeanette asked.
“I don’t know how.”
“Then I shall teach you,” Jeanette chuckled, grabbing his arm and trying to swing him about.
“You children have had enough fun for one night,” Louisa admonished. Then she turned to David. “Francois is very grateful for your help,” she confided.
“I’m glad for Francois’ help, too. He is very kind to me.”
Crickets could be heard in the silence that followed.
“I wish I could tell an exciting story like Monsieur Huberdeau,” Jeanette remarked. “Which did you like, David?”
“I liked the story about the seven-headed beast!”
“Well, I though the one about the brave peasant who rescued the princess from the fierce dragon was the best.”
“It was good, too, Jeanette. I’d like to be a storyteller someday.”
“If you like stories so much, why won’t you tell us more about yourself, David.”
“The mosquitoes are already bad,” he replied, slapping himself.
“So you are not going to tell me?”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
David hung his head. “I’m afraid your parents won’t like me if I do.”
“Don’t be silly. My parents practically consider you a son.”
“I hope you are right.”
Just then, they heard the sound of feet slapping against the warm earth,
“Is that you, my daughter?” Pierre’s voice boomed out in the darkness.
“Yes, Father,” Jeanette called. Soon her parents caught up with them.
“Are you leaving the fe’te so early?” Jeanette questioned.
“It’s not much of a celebration anymore,” Pierre growled. “In spite of the best effort of our French Commandant Rocheblave, the Spanish are changing the rules. We have just learned that we must accept and house half a dozen Spanish soldiers. And we can no longer trade with the French. Everything has to go through Spanish agents. Are they honest? Who knows?”
Louisa broke in:
“It is also whispered among the black slaves that the Spanish have declared it illegal to keep Indian slaves anymore. I’m very much afraid that that those who need the labor of slaves will find a reason to take away Francois’ freedom. They might even annul our marriage.”
She began to weep.
Rose put her arm around Louisa.
“How could such things be?” Jeanette cried out. “It’s a beautiful night. The stars are shining and I had so much fun. Why can’t life ever stay fun for long?”
LOOK IT UP
Spanish officials first began arriving in what was then called Upper Louisiana in October 1767. At that time, Frenchman Philippe Francois de Rastel de Rocheblave, also known as the Chevalier de Rocheblave, was commandant of Ste. Genevieve. He served his Spanish masters well enough to keep the command for some time. In the beginning, the Spanish left many rules unchanged. Slowly they took charge, appointing their own to the highest positions, but leaving French leaders in place wherever they were cooperative and willing to serve the financial and political interests of King Charles III of Spain.
Muslin: This light cotton fabric, was first woven on the Indian subcontinent and imported through the Middle East to Europe after the 1600s. Citizens of Upper Louisiana were expected to purchase fabrics such as cotton, wool, linen or silk from French or Spanish traders rather than make their own.
Chapter 7 -- David’s Frightening Story
Late one afternoon, Pierre stormed into the house.
“Rose, I just spoke with Father Gibault while I was in Kaskaskia buying a calf. He says that an English frontiersman who claims to be David’s father is still searching for him. When the priest told the man about our David, he replied that he was planning to come here to claim the boy. I think we had better insist that David tell us how David was separated from his father and how he came to be taken captive by the Osage.”
David turned pale when Pierre told him what he had heard from the priest.
“Do you want to go back to your father?” Pierre asked bluntly.
“Do you want me to go back?” David countered, his lower lip trembling.
“No, we don’t,” Rose blurted out. “We love you and think of you as our son.”
Pierre nodded in agreement.
“Then please let me stay,” David pleaded.
“But why? Why would you not want to be reunited with your own father?”
“Because he sold me to that Osage chief.”
“What? Why would a father do such a shocking thing?” Rose demanded.
“When I was born, my family lived to the east, along the Ohio River,” David began. “I was the youngest of three boys.
“Each winter, my father headed north to trap furs. It wasn’t so bad staying with my mother. My older brothers chopped wood to keep us warm and mother cooked our meals and made us comfortable. But then my oldest brother married and moved away. Soon, my other brother died of the pox and so did my mother.
“After her death, my father announced that he wanted to move on.
“Too many other trappers.” he told us. “Too few animals left.”
“So he built a log raft and we floated down the Ohio River to the Mississippi. From there, we tracked north along the western shore carrying nothing but some sleeping furs, an iron cooking pot and my father’s traps. When we found an abandoned cabin, we stayed there. Come winter, my father left me alone to go trapping. I had no food. I ate what I could find in the woods, but after the snow fell I became very hungry.
“How old were you?” Rose exclaimed.
“I think I was about 8 years old.”
Rose frowned.
“One day as I was out looking for anything to eat, I saw smoke. Soon, I stumbled upon another cabin.”
David hung his head. “I am ashamed to tell this part,” he explained. “No one seemed to be there, so I snuck in. There were leftover corn cakes sitting on the table. And there was deer jerky in a crock. I ate the corn cakes and wound some jerky up into my shirt. Just as I was leaving, a man grabbed me.
“I was so afraid. But when I told him how hungry I was, he took me back inside his cabin and fed me. I stayed with him and his wife and did all I could to help with their work.
“The following summer, my father found me there. He got into an angry argument with the man and then dragged me away.
“During that summer, he brewed some foul-smelling stuff. After it had fermented, he began drinking it. Once he was drunk, he would beat me. Each time, he screamed at me that he would teach me not to steal food.
“When autumn came, he ordered me to come with him. He led me to an Osage village and left me with the chief’s family. I saw the chief gave him wampum in return.
“The chief’s wife would tell me to do something in her language. I wouldn’t understand what she wanted. She wouldn’t act things out as you did at first, Madam Rose. Instead, she would get angry and hit me.
“By springtime, I understood enough of their language to realize that she had told the chief I was too simple-minded to learn anything. That’s when the chief brought me to Kaskaskia and you bought me.”
“Do you think that if your father takes you away, he would try to sell you again?”
Tears rolled down David’s eyes.
“Yes, I’m sure he would.”
LOOK IT UP
Deer jerky: Muscle meat from deer is sliced very thin. It may be soaked in a marinade of salt and spices. Then it is allowed to completely dry over a smoky fire. Stored carefully, this tough meat can last for months.
The pox: The word could have referred to smallpox or chickenpox in the days when few doctors were available to diagnose it. Both begin with flu-like symptoms and then develop raised bumps that become scabs and can leave the victim scarred for life. Both can be life-threatening for someone whose health has been weakened by hunger.
Wampum: Strings of tiny seashells or rows of beads were frequently used to barter for trade goods among the various Native American tribes.
Chapter 8 – A painful choice
Two months had passed. It was midsummer when a buckskin-clad stranger knocked on the door of Pierre’s home. The stranger carried a musket slung on his back and a long knife in a leather sheath tied to his belt. His hair was greasy, his clothing soiled and he smelled strongly of sweat and alcohol.
“I hear you have a boy looks like my son,” he said in very bad French. “I’m Jeb Wallace. Want him back.”
“Go get David,” Rose whispered to Jeanette. Slowly, Jeanette backed out the door and headed for the forge.
Pierre frowned. “I have a slave I bought from an Osage chief. Paid good for him.”
“But he’s my son.”
“If it is your son, what are you going to do with him? Sell him to another Indian?”
Jeb scowled. “Is that what the boy told you? None of your concern.”
“Yes, it is,” Pierre insisted. “We’ve fed this boy for nearly two years. You gonna pay for his past board and keep?”
“He can pay for his own. If it’s my boy you have, we’ll be headed for the lead mines southwest of here at Mine la Motte. He’s 12 now. A man. He can pay you when we head back.”
“You mean if you come back.”
Just then David walked in. With him was Francois.
Pierre could see Jeb’s eyes widen as he sized up the muscular blacksmith.
“Come with me, Davey boy,” Jeb demanded.
“Don’t want to,” David whispered. “This is my family now.”
“I said come! Now!”
David backed close to Francois.
They could see Jeb’s mind ticking. Finally, he snarled, “You’ll hear from me again.”
An hour later, a neighbor brought a message from Commandant Rocheblave. “You are to come to his home immediately.”
Rocheblave greeted them and escorted them into his wide front hall where he often conducted government business. With him was the Spanish representative Gonzaga.
“Pierre, this man says you are holding his son against his will.”
“That’s not true,” Pierre responded. And he told the story of how David had come to live with them.
“A boy belongs with his father,” Rocheblave admonished. “Don’t you want to go with him?”
David hung his head. “No, I don’t.”
“Do you want to live with Pierre’s family?” Rocheblave inquired.
“Yes sir,” the boy responded.
“We’d like to formally adopt him,” Pierre added.
“Are you willing to become a Catholic, the dark-eyed Spanish representative demanded. “You have to be Catholic to live on this side of the river as a free person.”
“I wasn’t raised with any churching,” the boy replied, “but if being Catholic means being as kind and these people have been to me, then I want to be one.”
Rose and Pierre smiled.
“But he is my son,” Jeb insisted. “Don’t I have any rights here?”
Rocheblave frowned.
“I’ll run away,” David threatened.
Jeb reached out his hand as if to strike the boy.
“Wait outside,” Rocheblave ordered. “Gonzaga and I must confer on what to do.”
As they waited, Francois joined Pierre and soon the two were whispering.
“You can’t do that.” Pierre’s voice rose. “You need that money to expand your smithy.”
A moment later, Francois approached Jeb, who had to look up at the towering blacksmith.
“Here is my profit from working this year,” Francois told Jeb, handing him some silver coins. “I know what it means to be free. I want to buy the boy’s freedom from you.”
“You’d do that for my boy?” Jeb said with a puzzled look on his face.
“Yes, we all care a great deal for your boy.”
Just then Rocheblave came out.
“We’ve decided the boy must go with his father,” he announced with authority in his voice.
Rose began to cry. Pierre put his arm around her.
“But I’ve decided that the boy can stay,” Jeb countered, then cleared his throat. “I haven’t been a very good father to Davey. You’re better off here, son. No one ever cared about me as much as these good people care about you.”
“Only I’d like to stop by and visit with him from time to time,” Jeb added.
David smiled in gratitude and hugged Rose. Then he solemnly shook hands with his friend Francois.
LOOK IT UP:
Mine la Motte: The pit mining of lead – that is, extracting it from on or near the surface – began in earnest in 1717 in what is now Madison County, southwest of Ste. Genevieve. Frenchman Antoine de la Mothe Cadilac brought several hundred workers, including black slaves from the Caribbean, that year.
By 1768, the area was covered with pits and short drifts. It was becoming more difficult to mine the lead and miners were still being threatened by accidents and Indian attacks.
The lead was carted to Ste. Genevieve. From there it was shipped downstream. The most immediate use for the lead was for shot for muskets. Before the invention of shot towers around 1782, shot was formed by pouring hot lead into a mold.
La Mothe later served as governor-general of Louisiana.
