The Canadian Civil War: Volume 1 - Birth of a Nation

by William Wresch

Elise and I saw each other nearly every day. Sometimes we went out for walks, many times we attended parties, and then there was the library. She was doing her dissertation research, and of course I was doing my background reading, so we both had cause to use the local libraries. Given the size of the community, it had both a national and a provincial library. I was interested in the Jolliet family and discovered that the provincial library largely ignored the family, so I used the national library. Elise was tracking migration patterns in Louisiana, so she used the provincial library. But the libraries were just two blocks apart and we usually met for lunch at a great sidewalk café near the Mississippi to compare our data gathering successes.

  I was having good luck. I had even found an original receipt for one of the food barges Claude Jolliet had brought down from Illinois in 1721. But Elise was getting the most from her time. She was filling notebooks with numbers. Her major was social policy, one of the those majors only the French would have. Where the American motto is, the best government governs least, the French believe the best government governs best. They take their administration seriously and good people work for the government unembarrassed. Elise ascribed the difference to Napoleon. “Think about it,” she once told me. “We had royal government, which to say government by birth and favor, then we had revolutionary government, which is to say government by mob, and then we had Napoleon who took the time to rewrite all our laws while invading the rest of Europe. He proved an effective government was possible. At least that is the way we French see it.”

  Her dissertation topic was migration. She explained her interest to me this way: “most government is easy. We deal with people. People are predictable in all important ways. Give me the number born in any year, and I will tell you the number of kindergarten teachers we will need in five years, the number of professors we will need in twenty, and the number of nurses we will need in seventy. If you can’t prepare to meet people’s needs with that amount of advanced warning, you should be replaced by someone competent. Where are people unpredictable? In migration. You build a kindergarten for their kids and then they move. We need to predict that.”

  Each day we met for lunch she opened her binder and spread out pages and pages of numbers. She found more each day. Some days she was excited at what she had learned, some days she was more somber. Late in January she was in one of her more somber moods as we ordered lunch and enjoyed the view of boats passing on the river.

  “So, “I asked, “did you not find the data you needed?”

  “I think I may have found the last data set I need for my thesis. But I am not sure I like what the numbers say.”

  “You aren’t responsible for what the numbers say, right? You just have to summarize them and explain where they lead. By the way, where do they lead? Are you ready to talk about that?”

  “Sure. In one sense the answer is simple. The numbers lead here. The arctic area has been emptying for generations. The northern provinces are moving out of Quebec, Montreal, and Toronto, to Duquesne, Detroit, Chicago, and Green Bay. The people in Duquesne, Detroit, Chicago and Green Bay are moving to St Louis. And the people of St. Louis are moving to New Orleans, Texas, and New Mexico. It is like the maps we put on a wall were real, and people were just flowing downhill.

  “I suppose the cause is warm weather.”

  “I have ignored all causes. Past research on that has gotten nowhere. Human motives are too complicated. You do a survey and ask if people are moving to get a job. Sure, but they also pick a place based on where grandma lives, what the neighbors say, the kind of restaurant service they got there on vacation, and the last movie they saw. So I ignore causes. My whole methodology is about rates. Do they change? How many years do they persist? Once people start moving to an area, do they stop? Slow down? Speed up?”

  “So do they?”

  “No. All the numbers point to a steady flow. Once migration starts, it doesn’t speed up, it doesn’t slow down, it just keeps coming.

  “So the Huguenots better get used to seeing northerners all year round.” I said that with a smile, trying to brighten her mood, but it had no effect.

  “In six point four years Huguenots will be a minority in Louisiana.”

  “Well, given what you say about administration, now is the time to start planning for more schools, more hospitals, more parks… The administration should welcome your research.

  “More cathedrals.” She let those two words hang in the air and I began to understand what the problem was. If and when she published her research, the Huguenots would be given a schedule for minority status. Her research would be taken as a death sentence by many of those wearing white. Her responsibilities were immense. Neither of us ate much of our lunch that day, nor did we return to our places in the library. I held her hand and we walked for many miles along the river.

  Two days later she seemed to have come to terms with her responsibilities, and was her old bubbly self again. She rang me up early and told me I was to meet her at a men’s wear store at eleven. She had an appointment for me with a tailor. I don’t know enough about fashions to know which were the better men’s stores, but I could tell from the neighborhood and the store entrance that this was going to be an expensive morning. When I arrived she was already waiting for me and was already talking to Pierre, who happened to be her father’s tailor. I was going to the President’s Ball, and he was to dress me appropriately. Therein followed an hour where I was measured a thousand times and put on dozens of coats while Elise and Pierre talked about me like I was a store dummy. I felt like a Ken doll being dressed by Barbie, but I had no alternative since I have never worn formal attire before in my life, and I certainly had no idea what one wore to a President’s Ball in New Orleans.

  In reward for my patience, Elise accompanied me back to my apartment where we had a light lunch and a beautiful afternoon. By sunset I had long forgotten what the tux was going to cost me. As she left though, Elise informed me that there would be one more bill – everyone arrived in a limousine. With just one week left before the ball, I knew I was in trouble. The President’s Ball was always scheduled for the last Saturday in January. But so was every other party in Louisiana. Every limo in Louisiana had to have been reserved months ago. I called our business agent, Jean-Paul, and asked for help. I could tell from the sound of his voice that I had just asked for the impossible.

  Later the next day he called me back to tell me he had done the impossible, but at a heavy price. The closest limo he could find was in Baton Rouge, and I would have to pay for every mile here and back. I said yes, of course, and then calculated how I could at least deduct the cost from my taxes. Since it was President Jolliet’s party, I could claim it as a research expense and take it against my book advance. Now I just had to hope I actually got a book advance.

  Elise gave me complete instructions for the night of the Ball. Her family’s winter home was west of New Orleans. I was to arrive at five for a light supper. We would leave at eight, and arrive at the Ball around nine. I told the limo to get me at four so I would have plenty of time to find her house.

  The timing of our movements turned out to be the last simple aspect of that evening. The limo was the first problem. He arrived late, complaining about the traffic. Since it was Saturday and there was no traffic, I was not amused. I was also uncomfortable. It had taken me over an hour to get into my tux with the belt and the buttons and all the rest, and then I was afraid of sitting down for fear I would wrinkle something, or worse yet, tear a seam. Elise’s directions to her winter place were clear in the main, but she had forgotten to explain that every house out there looked identical. The basic motif was white-fenced corral, horse barns, house hidden under huge trees. Some corrals were bigger, some were smaller, but all looked pretty much the same from the road. The driver took the road first at eighty miles an hour, and then when the white blur made it impossible for us to see any house n
umbers, he returned back down the road doing about ten miles an hour. I was paying him by the mile and his math was pretty good.

  When I got to the house I discovered that the light supper was for me and the family, not for Elise. She was still getting dressed and would be down around eight. In the meantime, I was to socialize with her mother and younger sisters. Her father was like many men who spent the winter in Green Bay but commuted down on weekends to be with his family, but he was a physician, and this weekend he was on call. That left me with Elise’s mother, and her two sisters, Marie and Estelle.

  In an effort at a cultural education for her children, Elise’s mother had decided to serve a formal English tea. The girls seemed particularly amused by the bread and marmalade (God only knows where they found it), and questioned me endlessly about each aspect of the service, from the china to the tea to the correct way to hold various utensils. They were obviously having a great time. Marie was still in high school and was no doubt preparing already to tell stories about this weird tea service when she got back to school. Estelle was a college sophomore who assumed she was already too sophisticated to learn from this silly meal. I also assumed both of them were also giving me a good looking-over to decide how well their sister was doing. Given the competition between siblings, they were trying to determine whether they could tease Elise about me tomorrow, or whether she had done well for herself.

  I was in favor of saving Elise from teasing, but I was at a huge disadvantage. First, I couldn’t move without feeling like I was breaking or tearing something in my tux. And second, I have only attended one formal tea before in my life, when, just like this tea, my mother had set out a formal tea for a man who was visiting from England. Now that I look back at it, he seemed as uncomfortable as I did now.

  After lots of fits and starts to find some topic of conversation other than proper teaspoons, we happened on horses. The girls were smitten. They rode every day. They explained that many of the roads in the area were closed to cars so that people on horseback could take long rides, even going into a local village to shop or to dine. Horses ruled here. Fortunately I had ridden in Virginia while in college, and we were able to compare horses, saddles, and bridal trails. They even led me outside to look at their horses. I was relieved to have a chance to go out for some air, but I was also petrified about where I might step while visiting the horse barns.

  Three or four ices ages came and went, empires rose and fell, and finally it was eight o’clock and I was permitted to see Elise. I was led back into the house and positioned at the bottom of the stairs. We waited a few seconds for added drama, and then Elise appeared on the landing above us. I thought my heart would stop. I had seen her at many parties and at more formal dinner parties, but she had never looked like this. Her hair was done up on the top of her head in rings and curls, she was wearing diamonds at her throat and on her ears, and then there was a long expanse of just her. She was wearing a strapless satin gown, very low cut, and very well fitted. I was hoping my jaw had not just dropped. She smiled at me and slowly descended the stairs, her gown becoming a train behind her on the higher stairs. If her mother and sisters hadn’t been standing right there we never would have made it to the Ball. But they were, so I waited patiently while she came down to me step by step. If I could stop time, that is when I would stop it – as the most beautiful woman in the world slowly descended those stairs.

  Elise spoke briefly with her mother and sisters, but did not keep me waiting long. We were into the limo and on our way in a few minutes. What a ride. She held my hand in both of hers, put it in her lap, and talked to me about her day, about the ball, and about how good I looked in a tux. I just stared at her for the full hour, my throat so dry I wasn’t sure I could talk.

  Our arrival at the Ball was first complicated, and then marvelous. I directed the driver to the right exit from the highway, but I could see right away that parking had been changed. We were directed about a quarter mile up a side road where we parked amidst a mass of limos. A guard tent had been set up and we had to present identification, be checked off a list, and then walk through a metal detector. It was pleasantly done, but it was thorough and there were no exceptions.

  On the other side of the tent was a row of horse carriages we were to ride to the residence. Elise was wonderful. Despite her long gown, she climbed straight up into the carriage is if she rode in one every day. I sat next to her and we were off – one couple per carriage. Once again she held my hand in her lap and we talked quietly as the carriage slowly rolled through the night. We alternated between looking at the stars which were visible through the trees around us, and at the entrance to the residence which was emblazoned with lights. Once again I wished the ride had been longer or time moved more slowly. We arrived far too soon. I exited first and was bold enough to help her down, not by taking her hand, but by putting both hands around her waist and lifting her to the ground.

  What was the president’s Ball like? I remember it in bits and pieces. Of course I remember the reception line. Here was four generations of Jolliet’s lined up in order of age. As each couple entered, a secretary announced our names so that others at the ball and those in the reception line might know who we were. There were also secretaries stationed discreetly behind the reception line. I assumed they were there to answer the question, “Who’s he?” when people like me were introduced. Elise and I worked our way down the line. The youngest Jolliet was still in college, possibly standing in his first reception line, but this was part of his leadership education. Older Jolliets were ministers, corporate heads, future presidents. They were each polite, if brief, with me. Elise got a much warmer reception from all, and many compliments from the women. Periodically I caught a man looking from her to me, no doubt wondering “What the hell is she doing with him?” Good question, for which I had no good answer.

  When we got to Claude, he held both our hands and talked to us for a long time. We had been instructed to move quickly down the line since many more guests had to be introduced, but Claude would have none of it. Nothing he said to us was significant, yet still he talked on about minor events. It slowly dawned on me that the topic was not important; it was the duration that mattered. By spending extra time with us, he was indicating to all present that we mattered. I think I will always be grateful for that thoughtfulness.

  Once through the line there were more introductions as we worked our way through the crowd to the ballroom. Here a band was playing waltzes and Elise and I danced. Thank God for childhood lessons. I am a miserable dancer, but good enough to manage a waltz, and therefore earn the right to hold Elise in my arms. We would dance for a while, and then we would get overheated so we would take short walks in the garden. It was a cold evening, but that was fine, for it caused Elise to huddle against me while I held her. God, what a great evening!

  We waltzed and walked in the garden, talked with friends and waltzed, drank lots of champagne from fluted crystal glasses, snacked at one of several buffets, and danced some more. I still smile just to think about those hours.

  But there was one odd moment. Sometime after twelve we set up to do the Presidential Promenade. Elise had walked me through the steps many times, so I knew the general direction of the dance, but I was still surprised by the majesty of the promenade when I saw it. We began in a long column of couples. There was an order to the column and we were placed near the end, back with the other foreigners and low ranking guests. I was sorry to have Elise back there with me, since I was sure she would be much closer to the front had she come with someone more important. But before I could think much about that, the promenade began. It was basically a march, from one end of the ballroom to the other, but as the column approached the far end, each couple turned left or right in turn, bringing a new column down on the left and right of the original column. By the time the last of the original couples had reached the far end of the ballroom, the lead couples
, now in a row of four, reached the first wall of the ballroom and wheeled left or right to form two new columns, now each four people wide. These marched back alongside the middle column so we were now twelve people wide, four in the middle going one way, and four on either side going the other. It was fascinating to watch, and exciting to be in, because we knew what would come next. When the fours approached the other wall and joined together to form a group of eight, they then wheeled left or right (with the women running and laughing as they rushed around at the outside of the group), and came back on each side of the column in the middle. We were now twenty four people wide and a real spectacle to see. I wondered if we would try reversing one more to form an even greater column, but we stopped after everyone had completed the turn. The music stopped and we all applauded our success.

  It was a bit martial, standing there in formation, having marched in growing columns, but it was also an exciting event to share. While we stood there in formation, stewards brought around more champagne and we began the toasts. Claude was first, and gave a very warm toast to his friends with best wishes for another fine year. Then other Jolliets took their turns, followed by designated individuals. A Californian gave a toast on behalf of the foreigners at the ball, and the French ambassador toasted the gathering on behalf of their “many good friends in Paris.”

  The only odd toast came from the Louisiana Governor. Part of it went this way: “On behalf of Louisiana I welcome all of you to this beautiful province. I hope you enjoy your visit and think well of us when you return to your homes up north.” It was an appropriate toast for a group of tourists, but most of the people in the room owned homes in the area and had lived here at least part of each year for generations. Many would not be going back to homes up north since they now lived here. It was just an odd thing to say, and annoyed a number of people in the room as I could see by the expressions on their faces.

  Claude took back the microphone at that point to answer. “Having been ‘guests’ in Louisiana for three centuries now, some of us feel like this our home – a home we are proud to enjoy and proud to protect. Ladies and Gentlemen, a toast to Canada. One country, indivisible.” A cheer went up for that, and the band began another waltz. We broke formation and I got to hold Elise one more time, but as we made one large turn around the floor I saw the back of the Louisiana governor as he exited the room. Several other couples dressed all in white left with him.

  Eventually we also had to leave. We took the carriage ride back out to the limo with Elise huddled against me from the cold. I have never been so grateful for low temperatures. I had the limo driver take us back to my apartment, and I gave him the biggest tip I have ever given in my life. Elise stayed with me that night and most of the next day. Finally, the next evening she put on her ball gown again and I drove her back to her family. I wasn’t sure I would be able to let her out of the car, but her sisters came bounding out of the house when we approached, all full of questions about the ball. Elise ran into the house with them, and I drove alone back to New Orleans.

  The next week was a rough one for me. Elise had to go back to Green Bay. The spring semester started the first week in February. Besides finishing up her dissertation research, she was assigned to teach an undergraduate course in statistics. I was sorry to think of her back in Green Bay, bundled up whenever she left campus, entombed in the basement walkways of the National University, trying to teach statistics to students who would rather go without wine for a month than study math. But I was also sorry for myself. I would be in New Orleans for at least several more weeks – weeks without Elise. The balcony of my apartment became the place where I would sit each evening, drink wine, and feel sorry for myself. I had never missed a person, or needed a person, so much before. I was miserable.

  I filled part of my time with my research. The national library down here was a treasure trove. I found all kinds of original paperwork that had been archived. It was soon clear that the Huguenots would have starved to death if the first Claude Jolliet hadn’t brought down boatloads of food from 1721 to 1730. You’d think there would be a statue to him on every corner. Instead, I found a number of lawsuits pitting New Orleans against St. Louis as the two towns grew and fought over trading rights. The increased traffic on the Mississippi brought commercial success to both towns, and so brought competition. It was a struggle that had gone on for centuries.

  And I had my visits with the President. The next one came ten days after the President’s Ball. I was prepared for the security this time, but still unnerved as the guard got into my car. I decided not to try to make conversation, but to just get to the parking area as quickly as I could, and make it into the residence with minimal annoyance. I was at least partially successful and met with Picard less flustered than I had been the first time. He led me into the sun room since the weather outside was too cool and wet for us to sit out there.

  “Good morning, my young friend, “the President said as he entered the room several minutes later. He was obviously in a very good mood

  “Good morning. And thank you again for inviting me to your Ball. I have never experienced anything like it. I had a great time.”

  “I was pleased that you could come. I trust you are still enjoying your visit to Louisiana?”

  “Yes sir. I am learning a great deal.”

  “I thought you might. Somehow it seemed appropriate that if you were going to write about the discovery of the Mississippi, you should spend some time on its banks. Speaking of which, as time permits, you may want to follow its path a bit farther south.

  “I shall, sir.” This was pretty obvious hint for me, and I did intend to follow up on it.

  “Now, if I remember correctly, we had gotten my famous ancestor as far as Prairie du Chien.”

  “Yes sir. He had gotten there and the team was making measurements of the river.”

  “Yes, can you imagine his excitement? He left St. Ignace May 17th, and just one month to the day later, he finds the river they had been hearing about for years. Everything is perfect. The route to the Mississippi is now clear, and it turns out to be amazingly easy. There are a few rapids above Green Bay, but no real physical barriers to men like themselves, and no Indian barriers exist either. No tribes threaten the route; in fact the one tribe they have met seems determined to help make the river a major trade route. Only one month enroute, and they have already achieved all their goals.”

  “Only three objectives remain. They need to know where this river goes, they need to know if the Illinois Indians will be allies to the French, and they need to return to Quebec alive so they can tell their story. This last objective might actually be the most important, for not only can they offer their countrymen an important trade route, but if they don’t come back, the assumption will be that this route is dangerous, and so this easy path south will be avoided for years.”

  “But curiosity drives them south. They continue to travel about thirty five miles a day, easy going with this gentle current. Louis updates his map at each bend in the river, but little work is needed – the river goes south about as straight as any river can. They see that they are surrounded by prairie. The land is flat, appears to be good for agriculture, and supports an interesting beast – the buffalo. They land and try to shoot one. Each of them fails on their first attempt as they try to determine where a kill shot must enter the body of this huge beast. By the second day they are more successful, and they not only have a huge source of meat, but they are able now to examine the beast up close.”

  “They skin the buffalo and try to take the hide into the canoes so they can display it for the people back in Quebec, but the hide is so heavy it is clear it will swamp either of their canoes. They settle for careful drawings of the buffalo, and daily counts of the number they see along the river. One thing is clear – this river will support life. There is game aplenty and good farm land for corn. No one trading on this river will ev
er go hungry.”

  “In eight days they cover three hundred miles driven by the excitement and the current. The river always flows south. If the direction continues, they will reach the Gulf of Mexico, an interesting outcome. It is not as valuable obviously as a route to the west, but it does give them a foothold in the Spanish Gulf. They measure their latitude carefully each day to see how close they might be getting to Spanish possessions and Spanish troops.”

  “Their one disappointment is the lack of Indians. Given the supply of food, they expect to see many Indian tribes, but so far they have seen none, even though they are looking carefully. Finally on the eighth day, their diligence pays off. They see footprints on the western shore. They beach their canoes and discuss what to do. There are no Indians in sight, and it might be a distance to their village. Once there, who knows what they will find? The Indians might be hostile and kill them instantly, or torture them to death as captives. The risks were great. But they had been ordered to make contact with the Indians, to learn about their numbers and dispositions. And, these men were traders. Here was an opportunity to trade.”

  “For the first time in their trip, Louis divided his force. He and Marquette would look for the Indians. Marquette straightened his clerical cassock and waited while Louis gave orders to the remaining five. These men were to stay on constant alert. Should any danger befall them, or Louis and Marquette not return, they were to return to Quebec on their own to ensure that the French leadership knew of this great river. Claude DuPry was put in charge and he immediately positioned his men to guard high points along the shore.”

  “Louis took his musket and some gifts and then he and Marquette followed the trail west. They traveled for two hours without seeing any Indians, until they finally came to a large village. It was suicide to just enter a village unannounced, so they stood about fifty yards from the village and began shouting at the top of their lungs. A horde of Indians instantly scrambled out of their huts and came running, only to stop a few yards from Louis and Marquette. There they stood, staring at the two Frenchmen, trying to determine what to do next. Finally four elders pushed their way trough the crowd. Each carried a calumet, a long, decorated pipe often called a “peace pipe.” They raised them to the sky to indicate their wish for peace. They then offered them to Louis and Marquette who raised them similarly and then smoked the pipes to indicate that they too came in peace.”

  “After the signs came some words, both groups trying to determine what languages they might have in common. Marquette tried some of the Illinois he had learned years before at Saint Esprit. They understood! These Indians were from a tribe called Peoria, and were closely aligned to the Illinois on the eastern shore of the great river.”

  “I brought with me a few pages from Louis’ log.” The President pulled the pages from his coat pocket. “Shall I read them?”

  “Yes, please do.”

  “The Indians had this to say: “How beautiful is the Sun, O Frenchmen, when thou comest to visit us. All our village awaits thee and thou shall enter all our cabins in peace.” You have to assume there is some liberty taken with that translation, but I do like the line, ‘How beautiful is the Sun, O Frenchmen, when thou comest to visit us.’ You can bet that makes it into the grammar school history texts.”

  “As for Marquette, his answer was a good deal longer, or at least Louis remembered more of it: ‘I bring you four presents. First, we are journeying peacefully to visit the nations dwelling on the river as far as the sea. Second, God has pity on them and wishes himself to be known to them through me. Third, the great captain of the French wishes them to know that he has subdued the Iroquois to bring peace everywhere. Fourth, we ask you to tell us all about the river and the nations we shall meet as we travel to the sea.’”

  “He is using the term “gift” in a pretty abstract sense, here, but Louis was there to give many gifts of a more traditional nature. The Indians led the two of them to their head lodge, and there they smoked the pipe again while Louis distributed gifts and Marquette translated and proselytized.”

  “In matching their gifts, the Peoria leaders gave three in return. The first was a slave boy, the second a calumet (thank God for that gift – it would soon save their lives), and the third was a piece of advice – don’t go farther down the river, it is too dangerous. Marquette explained that it meant nothing to him to lose his life for the greater glory of God. Louis was probably wondering if he should have kept count of all the Indians who had told them not to venture farther. The number was getting pretty large.”

  “They spent the night in the lodges of the Peoria. They ate buffalo, declined a dog that had been freshly killed for their benefit, and talked about the region and the river. They learned the region was rich in food, with tribes growing corn, beans, melons, and squash. The abundance they saw was overwhelming. Houses were simple, woven mats hung over wooden frames, and there was little jewelry or other signs of stored wealth, but the people were healthy and had much to eat.”

  “The next morning the two men returned to the river followed by six hundred men of the village. It must have been quite a sight to the five Frenchmen left on the river. No doubt they had gotten little sleep as they wondered what had happened to their leader. Now they saw a huge party of Indians approaching with Louis and Marquette in their midst. Claude DuPry stood up from his defensive position so that Louis could see he and the men were all right, and the two shouted reassurances back and forth as the groups merged. They had made their first contact on the Mississippi, and it had gone well.”

  “The next several days they continued without incident. They passed the Illinois River without knowing it was later to be so important to them. Louis mapped the river, of course, as he mapped all the rivers they were passing, but there were so many, they had no idea this one was to become special. The Mississippi was often so calm they hoisted small sails to aid their passage, enjoying effortless passage for hours each day. At night they camped, hunted, prayed under the leadership of Marquette, and talked about the rich land they were discovering. All were impressed by what they were seeing. They had never experienced prairie lands before so they were amazed by the open vistas. They all talked about returning, to trade and to farm.”

  “A day after passing the Illinois, they encountered their first real danger on the river. Their attention was first drawn to a painting on a limestone cliff. There were two figures up there, painted in three colors – green, red, and black. The pictures were huge, and done with great skill, but they depicted creatures unknown to this world. Each figure had a huge head with horns like a deer, red eyes, a beard, a face like a man, and then a body that was covered with scales and ended in a long fish tale that curled around the body. They couldn’t believe Indians had the skills to make such drawings, or the means to scale the sheer cliffs while creating them, but who else could have made these demons?”

  “As they floated past these drawings, they began to hear a roar like waterfall. Were the drawings a warning of a huge falls? They pulled closer to shore and watched carefully ahead. The noises got louder, but came from the west. There they could see another huge river entering the Mississippi. If was almost of equal size to the Mississippi and came with great speed. The noise they were hearing was not a waterfall, but the crash of waters and the noise of a huge whirlpool that was formed at their juncture. The whirlpool was easily large enough to suck in their canoes if they had come anywhere near it. Only the warning of the drawings, and their own care had enabled them to skirt this danger.”

  “But once past the junction of the rivers, they beached their canoes near some higher ground on the western shore of the Mississippi – at today’s site of St. Louis. They wanted to determine their latitude, update their maps, and discuss the importance of this new river. Obviously it covered a great amount of ground. The Mississippi appeared to be driven to the south. This new river went to the west. Did it go all the w
ay to the west?

  “Marquette had a theory which he made the mistake of entering in his journal. There it would become the basis for some terrible maps that misled travelers for well over a century. How many men died because of his journal entry, we will never know. His theory? Yes, this new river led to the ocean. In his journal he combines what he has just seen with stories he has heard over the years from various Indians, and he decided the river flows this way:

  “By ascending this river for 5 or 6 days, one reaches a fine prairie 20 or 30 leagues long. This must be crossed in a northwesterly direction, and it terminates at another small river, on which one may embark, for it is not difficult to transport canoes through so fine a country as that prairie. This second river flows towards the southwest for 10 to 15 leagues, after which it enters a lake, small and deep… which flows towards the west, where it falls into the sea. I have hardly any doubt that it is the Vermillion Sea and I do not despair of discovering it some day, if God grant me the grace and the health to do so, in order that I may preach the Gospel to all the peoples of this new world who have so long groveled in the darkness of infidelity.”

  “Marquette was a brilliant man, but he let rumors pass for fact. And, since he was soon to become an explorer well-known to all the world, his journal entries became the gospel of map-makers and explorers. Generations went to their graves in the west thinking the Pacific Ocean was just over the next hill. We know that traveling from east to west across the continent is virtually impossible. The natural navigation is not east to west, but north to south. But that obvious fact would be obscured for another century and a half.”

  “On that note, we should end for the day. Unfortunately I have discovered that these are busy times, even for a retired man on vacation.”

  “I appreciate your time,” I responded. “Will you have time to see me again this month, or should I await your return to Green Bay?”

  “I will instruct Picard to find an appointment for you in the next week to ten days. These are interesting times in Louisiana. I think you will be glad if you stay.”

  Then I shall.” Somehow Picard knew that this was the time to come get me and he appeared at the door to escort me out of the house. There at the front door I encountered the most comical sight of my time in Louisiana. There was the Governor, Francois Mitterand, enduring a search by security men with a metal detector. The security men seemed delighted every time they could find a cigarette lighter or loose change so they could repeat the search process. Mitterand, meanwhile, pursed his lips and kept himself quiet, but it was clear he was upset about this treatment. I recalled Picard’s admonition to me on my last trip – “these are serious men, but they are our serious men.”

  Serious men or not, they were enjoying what they were doing to the Governor, and I smiled about it even as I drove the distance out to the front gate with a very serious security man staring at me.

  Chapter 12

  1673 - Down the Mississippi to the Arkansas