THE YOUNG AUNT WITH WHITE HAIR.
1782.
The date of this letter--I hold it in one hand as I write, and for thefirst time noticed that it has never in its hundred years been sealed orfolded, but only doubled once, lightly, and rolled in the hand, just asthe young Spanish officer might have carried it when he rode so hard tobear it to its destination--its date is the last year but one of ourAmerican Revolution. France, Spain, and the thirteen colonies were at warwith Great Britain, and the Indians were on both sides.
Galvez, the heroic young governor of Louisiana, had just been decorated byhis king and made a count for taking the forts at Manchac, Baton Rouge,Natchez, and Mobile, and besieging and capturing the stronghold ofPensacola, thus winning all west Florida, from the Mississippi to theAppalachicola, for Spain. But this vast wilderness was not made safe; FortPanmure (Natchez) changed hands twice, and the land was full of Indians,partly hireling friends and partly enemies. The waters about the Bahamasand the Greater and Lesser Antilles were fields for the movements ofhostile fleets, corsairs, and privateers. Yet the writer of this letterwas tempted to run the gauntlet of these perils, expecting, if all wentwell, to arrive in Louisiana in midsummer.
"How many times," says the memorandum of her brother's now agedgreat-granddaughter,--"How many times during my childhood has been told methe story of my aunt Louise. It was not until several years after thedeath of my grandmother that, on examining the contents of the basketwhich she had given me, I found at the bottom of a little black-silk bagthe letter written by my grand-aunt to her brother, my own ancestor.Frankly, I doubt that my grandmother had intended to give it to me, sohighly did she prize it, though it was very difficult to read. Theorthography is perfect; the difficulty is all owing to the paper and,moreover, to the situation of the poor wounded sufferer." It is in French:
_To my brother mister Pierre Bossier. In the parish[3] of St. James._
Fort Latourette, The 5 August, 1782.
My Good Dear Brother: Ah! how shall I tell you the frightful position inwhich I am placed! I would that I were dead! I seem to be the prey of ahorrible nightmare! O Pierre! my brother! hasten with all speed to me.When you left Germany, your little sister was a blooming girl, verybeautiful in your eyes, very happy! and to-day! ah! to-day, my brother,come see for yourself.
After having received your letter, not only my husband and I decided toleave our village and go to join you, but twelve of our friends unitedwith us, and on the 10 May, 1782, we quitted Strasbourg on the littlevessel North Star [Etoile du Nord],[4] which set sail for New Orleans,where you had promised to come to meet us. Let me tell you the names of myfellow-travelers. O brother! what courage I need to write this account:first my husband, Leonard Cheval, and my son Pierre, poor little angel whowas not yet two years old! Fritz Newman, his wife Nina, and their threechildren; Irwin Vizey; William Hugo, his wife, and their little daughter;Jacques Lewis, his daughter, and their son Henry. We were full of hope: Wehoped to find fortune in this new country of which you spoke with so muchenthusiasm. How in that moment did I bless my parents and you my brother,for the education you had procured me. You know how good a musician myLeonard was, and our intention was on arriving to open a boarding-schoolin New Orleans; in your last letter you encouraged the project--all of us,movables with us, all our savings, everything we owned in this world.
This paper is very bad, brother, but the captain of the fort says it isall he has; and I write lying down, I am so uncomfortable.
The earlier days of the voyage passed without accident, withoutdisturbance, but often Leonard spoke to me of his fears. The vessel wasold, small, and very poorly supplied. The captain was a drunkard [here thewriter attempted to turn the sheet and write on the back of it], who oftenincapacitated himself with his first officers [word badly blotted]; andthen the management of the vessel fell to the mate, who was denselyignorant. Moreover, we knew that the seas were infested with pirates. Imust stop, the paper is too bad.
The captain has brought me another sheet.
Our uneasiness was great. Often we emigrants assembled on deck and toldeach other our anxieties. Living on the frontier of France, we spokeGerman and French equally well; and when the sailors heard us, they, whospoke only English, swore at us, accused us of plotting against them, andcalled us Saurkrouts. At such times I pressed my child to my heart anddrew nearer to Leonard, more dead than alive. A whole month passed in thisconstant anguish. At its close, fevers broke out among us, and wediscovered, to our horror, there was not a drop of medicine on board. Wehad them lightly, some of us, but only a few; and [bad blot] Newman's sonand William Hugo's little daughter died, ... and the poor mother soonfollowed her child. My God! but it was sad. And the provisions ran low,and the captain refused to turn back to get more.
One evening, when the captain, his lieutenant, and two other officerswere shut in their cabin drinking, the mate, of whom I had always suchfear, presented himself before us surrounded by six sailors armed, likehimself, to the teeth, and ordered us to surrender all the money we had.To resist would have been madness; we had to yield. They searched ourtrunks and took away all that we possessed: they left us nothing,absolutely nothing. Ah! why am I not dead? Profiting by the absence oftheir chiefs they seized the [or some--the word is blotted] boats andabandoned us to our fate. When, the next day, the captain appeared on deckquite sober, and saw the cruelty of our plight, he told us, to console us,that we were very near the mouth of the Mississippi, and that within twodays we should be at New Orleans. Alas! all that day passed without seeingany land[5], but towards evening the vessel, after incredible efforts, hadjust come to a stop--at what I supposed should be the mouth of the river.We were so happy to have arrived that we begged Captain Andrieux to sailall night. He replied that our men, who had worked all day in place of thesailors, were tired and did not understand at all sufficiently thehandling of a vessel to sail by night. He wanted to get drunk again. As infact our men were worn out, we went, all of us, to bed. O great God! giveme strength to go on. All at once we were awakened by horrible cries, nothuman sounds: we thought ourselves surrounded by ferocious beasts. We poorwomen clasped our children to our breasts, while our husbands armedthemselves with whatever came to hand and dashed forward to meet thedanger. My God! my God! we saw ourselves hemmed in by a multitude ofsavages yelling and lifting over us their horrible arms, graspinghatchets, knives, and tomahawks. The first to fall was my husband, my dearLeonard; all, except Irwin Vizey, who had the fortune to jump into thewater unseen, all were massacred by the monsters. One Indian tore my childfrom me while another fastened my arms behind my back. In response to mycries, to my prayers, the monster who held my son took him by one footand, swinging him several times around, shattered his head against thewall. And I live to write these horrors!... I fainted, without doubt, foron opening my eyes I found I was on land [blot], firmly fastened to astake. Nina Newman and Kate Lewis were fastened as I was: the latter wascovered with blood and appeared to be dangerously wounded. About daylightthree Indians came looking for them and took them God knows where! Alas! Ihave never since heard of either of them or their children.
I remained fastened to the stake in a state of delirium, which saved medoubtless from the horrors of my situation. I recall one thing: that is,having seen those savages eat human flesh, the members of a child--atleast it seemed so. Ah! you see plainly I must have been mad to have seenall that without dying! They had stripped me of my clothing and I remainedexposed, half naked, to a July sun and to clouds of mosquitoes. An Indianwho spoke French informed me that, as I was young and fat, they werereserving me for the dinner of the chief, who was to arrive next day. In amoment I was dead with terror; in that instant I lost all feeling. I hadbecome indifferent to all. I saw nothing, I heard nothing. Towards eveningone of the sub-chiefs approached and gave me some water in a gourd. Idrank without knowing what I did; thereupon he set himself to examine meas the butcher examines the lamb that he is about to kill; he seemed tofind me worthy to be served on the table o
f the head-chief, but as he washungry and did not wish to wait [blot], he drew from its sheath the knifethat he carried at his belt and before I had had time to guess what heintended to do [Enough to say, in place of literal translation, that thesavage, from the outside of her right thigh, flayed off a large piece ofher flesh.] It must be supposed that I again lost consciousness. When Icame to myself, I was lying some paces away from the stake of torture on aheap of cloaks, and a soldier was kneeling beside me, while I wassurrounded by about a hundred others. The ground was strewed with deadIndians. I learned later that Vizey had reached the woods and by chancehad stumbled into Fort Latourette, full of troops. Without loss of time,the brave soldiers set out, and arrived just in time to save me. Aphysician dressed my wound, they put me into an ambulance and brought meaway to Fort Latourette, where I still am. A fierce fever took possessionof me. My generous protectors did not know to whom to write; they watchedover me and showed every care imaginable.
Now that I am better, I write you, my brother, and close with thesewords: I await you! make all haste! Your sister, Louisa Cheval.
"My grandmother," resumes the memorandum of the Creole great-grandniece,"had often read this letter, and had recounted to me the incidents thatfollowed its reception. She was then but three years old, but as her auntlived three years in her (_i.e._, the aunt's) brother's family, mygrandmother had known her, and described her to me as a young woman withwhite hair and walking with a staff. It was with difficulty that she usedher right leg. My great-grandfather used to tell his children that hissister Louise had been blooming and gay, and spoke especially of herbeautiful blonde hair. A few hours had sufficed to change it to snow, andon the once charming countenance of the poor invalid to stamp anexpression of grief and despair.
"It was Lieutenant Rosello, a young Spaniard, who came on horseback fromFort Latourette to carry to my great-grandfather his sister's letter....Not to lose a moment, he [the brother] began, like Lieutenant Rosello,the journey on horseback, procuring a large ambulance as he passed throughNew Orleans.... He did all he could to lighten the despair of his poorsister.... All the members of the family lavished upon her every possiblecare and attention; but alas! the blow she had received was too terrible.She lingered three years, and at the end of that time passed peaceablyaway in the arms of her brother, the last words on her lips being'Leonard!--my child!'"
So we make way for the bright and happy story of how Francoise madeEvangeline's journey through the dark wilds of Atchafalaya.
FOOTNOTES:[3] County.[4] If this was an English ship,--for her crew was English and hermaster's name seems to have been Andrews,--she was probably not underBritish colors.--TRANSLATOR.[5] The treeless marshes of the Delta would be very slow coming intoview.--TRANSLATOR.