February 1, 1700

Around 8 o’clock in the morning, I baptized a native child [petit Sauvage] named Marly Ayee, about 6 to 7 years old, with all the ceremony of the Church. He is from the Onguilonsas’ village. Mr. d’Iberville was his godfather and named him Pierre. This is the first baptism I have had the honor to perform.

After the ceremony, around 10 o’clock, I embarked in a small vessel called the “Traversier” with Mr. d’Iberville. It is loaded with everything necessary to make a settlement on the lower banks of the Mississippi and with provisions necessary for our journey. May God protect us from bad weather, for even by our captain’s own admission we are hardly in a condition to endure it.

On leaving the bay, we rowed in search of wind and the longboats pulled us as best as they could. At last, we caught the wind and are now sailing alone, but very slowly. Our little ship is carrying all it possibly can; we would need a bit more wind than we have in order to make progress. The wind is picking up; we hope to complete the day’s passage.

Here is an island I perceive. We are coasting quite close to it. It has no name. Mr. d’Iberville does not wish to pass it without giving it one. He names it Isle of Candlemas.

It is not deemed appropriate to sail at night because we want to see whether there may be any harbor among the islands we encounter along the way. So we anchor. The sea is calm and the vessel steady on its keel.

It does not seem likely we will sleep well, unless the spiders and green rats in the hut where we have been huddled for some time leave us alone.

We are five lodged in a hut that is only about three feet high. There are four such spaces; it is properly speaking a large flat cupboard where each has only their own spot. That is not too bad in the month of February, when the nights are not warm.

February 2

We weighed anchor early in the morning so as not to lose time. The wind is not strong, but it is coming from the right direction. The longboats that preceded us yesterday to scout ahead, now follow us today, and we had to wait for them to say Mass. That, I believe, is how far our devotion will go on this Candlemas day. It is difficult to get much more from what goes on aboard a vessel.

The longboats pull back and hug the shore as much as they can in order to take soundings. We have only a breath of wind and, so as to lose none of it, we have raised a top gallant mast over our topsail. We even set our flag to catch the breeze. All this to see the Mississippi as soon as possible. I do not know if it will be something very agreeable for us, or if it will be said of our group as Virgil said of the Trojans, ‘Sed non est vidisse volent.’ [Latin translation: ‘But they did not wish to have seen it’].

It is said that the river receives very poorly those who present themselves at its mouth. The other day I took it into my head to compose a small innovation in verse for it. We are bringing that with us to present to the river, we’ll see how it responds. If the wind favors us, we hope to offer it acceptably and, despite its resistance, engrave it on one of its largest trees.

Here is yet another island. It is smaller than the first. And yet another—it is fairly large. On the islands, one sees only small grasses and thickets. They are full of wild cats. The sailors from our longboats hunt them. The animals are killed with blows of sticks. They are very fat but a bit bland. The longboats have just brought us a wild turkey [outarde] and some ducks. If that continues, we won’t be too badly off.

We had supper and rested, as the ship had orders to sail all through the night in order to bring us to the entrance of the river by morning.

February 3

We were informed early in the morning that the ship had reached the waters of the Mississippi. We were not yet in the river itself, however; there were still four or five leagues to go, which we covered in fairly little time. We are now within sight of it. It is frightening to behold, and from afar no passage can be discerned. The Spaniards were quite right to call it the ‘River of the Palisade’. Its mouth is entirely bristling with tree spikes – petrified and hard as rock.

We have the wind at our backs. We are about to enter—we are entering—we are now safely within. The wind, doing its duty admirably, will carry us more than ten large leagues today, despite the swiftness of the river’s current. A single ill-timed turn of the rudder could have wrecked us.

All in all, the Mississippi has treated us better than we expected and is not in as foul a mood as people had led us to believe.

At present, Mr. de Bienville is waiting for us along the river as our intermediary to the Bayagoulas. We hope to meet him tonight or tomorrow morning.

All the banks of the river are flat and must be flooded during high water. Thus far there is nothing but grasses and rushes.

I was formally asked to name the point of the Mississippi lying opposite the one called last year the Point of Fear. I passed that honor to Mr. d’Iberville, who named it Point St. Ignace.

February 4

One does not sleep so soundly as not to hear the ship striking against a large tree carried along by the current. This pleases neither those sleeping nor those keeping watch. I had barely fallen asleep when I heard a cannon shot fired from our side.

Shortly after, Mr. de Bienville’s hut settlement was spotted. He came aboard the “Traversier” and everyone got up. Mr. d’Iberville, after asking a few questions, lay down again peacefully, and I followed Mr. de Bienville ashore with some of our gentlemen where we found an abundance of smoked meat and an old Bayagoula more smoked than the geese and deer of the hut where our men had lodged him. I gestured and conversed with him all night, and we are being treated with affection in the native manner.

He has been designated by the nation as the most knowledgeable man in the region and has been sent to show us a suitable place on the Mississippi. We are currently examining it. I will report more after dinner, either based on Mr. d’Iberville’s account or on what I myself will have seen.

Today the weather is dreadful. I have endured a hundred storms under the hut and the thunder is raging. I asked the native man for an explanation of the racket we’d heard above. He replied that it was the great Ouga—that is, the great chief—who was firing cannons like we do. One cannot get these barbarians [ces barbares] to stop believing that we are spirits descended from the sky, and that the fire of our cannons is of the same kind as celestial fire.

I went to the site designated for the fort and had the honor of being among the first to swing an axe at the base of a tree to begin clearing the land. That was not without getting thoroughly soaked, thanks to the bad weather and to Mr. de Bienville who had us take a few unnecessary turns through the woods on the way to the Bayagoulas’ fort. That fort is still only an idea, situated in the midst of the Mississippi’s woods.

It is claimed that this place is high enough not to be flooded during the great rises. The river here is narrower than elsewhere; it appears to be only slightly wider than the Seine in front of the Hôtel de Mars, but in return it is easily twenty times deeper.

February 5

The “Traversier” has moved up to the spot where the fort is to be built. It is 17 leagues from the mouth of the Mississippi.

I said Mass before going ashore. It was the last of the nine I had promised to God for the successful outcome of our enterprise. No less would have sufficed to bring us this far into the Mississippi.

Work is proceeding vigorously; all one hears are axe blows and falling trees. I am now going to settle on land. I’ll describe this evening how my dwelling is arranged. After working all afternoon cutting down canes, I was astonished to return and find a kind of village where, in the morning, there had only been trees and reeds.

These were our tents, which had been set up, providing fairly comfortable lodging and shelter from the north wind, which makes the nights here quite cold. I have the honor of lodging under the same roof as Mr. d’Iberville. We both had supper compliments of the Bayagoulas, having dined on pumpkins they’d given to Mr. d’Iberville as a present. I found them better than ours. I do mistrust my own judgment though — the appetite with which I ate them must render it somewhat suspect.

February 6

We are clearing land, chopping, digging, burning, forging – sailors, Canadians, officers — everyone is active. At the rate we’re going, the settlement will soon be complete, and we’ll shortly be in a position to continue our journey.

I forgot to mention that yesterday the old Bayagoula was brought into our tent to converse. There was a lot of political discussion — more in his gestures than in his words. The native said that his nation had been waiting for us to take revenge for the wrongs they had suffered from the Houmas. He did everything he could to set us against them, but I do not believe we are in the mood to wage war at the expense and for the benefit of the Bayagoulas. War is in itself a wretched business everywhere, but it is even worse in these lands, where the enemy is hunted in the woods like wild beasts and must be tracked more than fought.

They have just refreshed the bedding in our hut, and as I place more hope in it than in the mattress I share with Mr. d’Iberville, I hope to sleep better tonight than the last.

February 7

Today is Sunday. I said Mass early in the morning in order to send the men to work, for there is no way to rest for the feast day. The parable from today’s Gospel is practiced here quite literally for the laborers of the morning, and surely none were found at 9 o’clock or noon to be sent to the work — all here bear the full weight of the day and the heat. May God also grant that all receive their reward.

Work continued until supper. There were neither vespers nor sermon. I shall take this to heart in order to better solemnize the feast days in the future — a bit more devotion will not hinder our work.

February 8

Mr. d’Iberville went upriver to look for large timber to make the main beams of the fort and to build canoes. He returned the same day after putting his men to work.

Upon his return, he found a large house constructed. The walls are made of canes laid crosswise atop one another between thick poles. The roof is of latanier — a kind of palm whose leaves are flat and arranged like a fan. All of it is well bound and well supported. The structure, which measures 20 feet square, is intended to serve as a storehouse for now. The provisions and munitions will be safe there from rain and thieves.

As for me, I occupied myself with building an altar out of canes while my servant worked on a magnificent cross. If he succeeds, we will plant it this week on the bank of the river.

I forgot to say that I have been attending the old native’s school for the past few days to learn Bayagoula. I already have fifty of the most necessary words. I find this language rather poor. It would suit people who stutter, as it entirely excludes all R’s. I believe D’s, as well, are hardly used; and the Bayagoulas cannot manage to pronounce those that occur in our words.

February 9

The wind is favorable for ascending the river and in order not to lose it entirely, Mr. de Saint-Denis is being sent ahead with a shallop to prepare our path to the Bayagoulas. He is taking the native with him. The “Traversier” is being unloaded as much as possible so it can be sent back promptly.

A powder magazine has been started and nearly completed. Shelves have been built in it to keep things drier.

February 10

A southeast wind is blowing, and it has brought swarms of mosquitoes. For a man even somewhat sensitive, it’s an occupation to either chase them away or to scratch after chasing them.

Since our hunters have become carpenters, we no longer know what fresh meat is. We have also said farewell to bread for a while. I do not miss it much; the hardtack we are now eating is worth as much as ten-day-old bread.

Today I saw a crocodile for the first time. I observed, as the Benedictines note in their St. Augustine, that this animal’s jaws move equally. This beast, which is thought of as something so dreadful in Europe, is regarded here as just another fish and the natives play with it while bathing, without any harm coming to them.

The violets are in bloom, and the buds on the trees are swollen.

February 11

Some venison has arrived. A sailor killed one, and a Canadian another. Last night, a small bear was also brought in and we ate it roasted and boiled. Its meat is far inferior to that of venison, no matter the sauce.

Today I worked at building a small hut. We started and finished in the same day; but nonetheless it is quite solid. We will build another tomorrow. I learn more about construction every day, and I hope before long to be capable of building a proper house. I already have in mind the design for a church, which I will not undertake until I have practiced long enough on huts.

February 12

It is cold—colder than it was last winter in France, and this began at All Saints’ Day. That is what makes me appreciate the climate of this country.

Here there is enough to modestly nourish the human body and the fruits of the earth grow without the fear of cold that freezes men and ravages everything. They say that summer is not so temperate; I don’t know. I’ll speak of it in June with first-hand knowledge.

February 13

This day is like the last. So I have nothing to say, for I do not wish to repeat myself nor to say anything that is not true.

February 14

It is now Sexagesima Sunday. We are celebrating it more fully than the previous one. We began early this morning by erecting a great cross on the solid bank of the river. Then everyone gathered in and around the captain’s tent. I made the holy water, after which we all went in procession to the place where the cross is planted. I blessed it, as well as the small cemetery surrounding it. After that, we returned to the tent where the altar had been set up. I gave the exhortation and I said Mass. Mr. d’Iberville deemed it proper to interrupt work today in favor of religion.

Here is the inscription placed at the foot of the cross:

To God, Most Good, Most Great (D.O.M.)
The French first came to this river from the Canadian regions, led by de La Salle in the year 1682.
The second came from the same place under de Tonty in 1685.
The third from the maritime shores under the leadership of d’Iberville in 1699.
The fourth, again from the same place and same leader, in 1700.
This cross, on this very day, February 14, 1700, was raised. At its foot an altar was built, and from that moment the priest of the Society [of Jesus] began to offer the sacred service.
He consecrated also this grave, devoted to the burial of the dead.

While we are at making inscriptions, I will carve onto a large tree the verses I mentioned earlier:

O Mississippi, what then, muddy river, whose barren source…

February 15

Mr. d’Iberville brought us two canoes that Mr. de La Ronde had made upriver. That strengthens our little fleet.

On the same day, Mr. d’Iberville had a large field cleared in order to sow wheat.

February 16

I spent the whole day aligning a great path along the river where I scattered orange seeds. And to maintain it, I also took care to sow the same seeds in the woods in the form of a [?]. I run the risk of abandoning my little nurseries. We will see in three or four months what the soil of the Mississippi is worth, for it has not been tested here yet. I did not expect to be leaving tomorrow in the canoes.

February 17

Great noise, great gunfire, great joy: it is the departure from the fort. We left at noon and disembarked only a league and a half from the fort, even though we rowed until nightfall — from which I conclude that either we rowed poorly, or the river is very swift, or that leagues are longer here.

It is very windy and very cold. Everything around our fire is frozen. Now there is melted snow falling, then hail, then freezing rain — in short, more winter than I’ve seen in France in three or four years. Thanks be to God, we lack many things both to eat well and to sleep well. We’ve had to resort to sagamité — that is, good cornmeal diluted in Mississippi water.

Mr. de Tonty is giving us many insights from which we will benefit. Mr. d’Iberville will do what he can to persuade him to ascend the river with him.

February 18

We had bitter cold and great hunger all day, having nothing to warm us on the shallop and nothing but hardtack to satisfy us. Mr. de Tonty has already enlisted fourteen of his men to accompany us. There are two Tontys in America; this one is the chevalier whom the natives call “Iron Hand.” He has long known the Mississippi — this is the third time he has descended it. There is reason to hope that this time we will learn all there is to know about this new discovery.

We made camp at six in the evening and prepared to heat some sagamité, for Mr. d’Iberville failed to keep his word. Still, the weather is not bad for heading upstream. By Mr. de Bienville’s count, we made only eight leagues in ten long hours of navigation by oar and sail.

February 20

Same conditions and same fare: bitter cold and thick fog, hardtack and sagamité — and still we do not know where to cook it or how to eat it.

I am departing in the shallop with Mr. de Bienville.

We have, thank God, neither bowls, nor plates, nor dishes. In need, we use whatever is at hand. We pour water into the coal pot, and we use pieces of hardtack as spoons. With that, we scoop from the kettle, and after a dozen spoonfuls of sagamité and biscuit, eaten hastily, one is quickly satisfied. After that, we waste no time in going to sleep. The sack from my chapel serves as my pillow, and the ground as my mattress.

We are in part indebted to Mr. de La Ronde, who provoked our men and by doing so advanced the service. Mr. de La Ronde assigned us one man who guided us nearly all day. He followed us in his canoe, which he calls the ‘Hardy‘, and made furious efforts to overtake us, but being unable to succeed—our shallop blocking his passage—he chose instead to get angry.

February 21

I say Mass every day before departure, and it is usually finished at daybreak. Today is Shrove Sunday. It will be poorly celebrated in every respect. We are quite seriously considering letting Mr. de La Ronde pass us – and as he saw that we refused to, he addressed me directly and asked me to make a report to Mr. d’Iberville and tell him that Mr. de Bienville was preventing him [?].

He would rather go without brandy than ask us for some for himself and his men. God bless him. We’re the ones gaining from this little game, as our men benefit from what he won’t request, and row harder than they would otherwise, just to outrun him. We are currently chasing him.

Here comes a downpour that will soak us to the bone. And here comes wind as well, as a bonus. We console ourselves for being drenched, so long as we catch the ‘Hardy‘. We’ve already covered a good number of leagues. We’re not going so fast that we miss what we see along the way — which, so far, is almost always the same: just reeds and fairly open woods.

What a rain, good God! We are drenched, along with all our bundles. Yet we don’t stop marching. Finally, after enduring many showers and rounding many points, we land where we can, since night doesn’t allow us to be choosy. We are in mud up to our knees. Still, we must dry off if we can. There’s already a big fire surrounded by wet blankets and clothing. Everyone strips down to their shirts and warms themselves as close as they can.

We are dry now, we and our clothes — but, thanks God, here comes the rain all over again. And we have only a miserable piece of cloth for shelter. It’s already full of holes, and we must resign ourselves to turning our backs to the rain all night and eating half-cooked sagamité.

February 22

Mr. d’Iberville remains behind us. We press on, believing we can proceed despite the bad weather.

Before departing, here comes a canoe descending the river and landing alongside our camp. It carries a wounded Canadian who received a musket shot in the arm — accidentally fired by one of his own comrades. The surgeon accompanying us decides on amputation and has him brought back to his canoe to perform the procedure near the camp.

As soon as Mass was said, I boarded the ‘Hardy‘, where I rowed both standing and seated — not very gracefully to be honest, but as vigorously as I could for the moment.

After an hour of navigation, we arrived at the rendezvous point where the naval guards that Mr. Duquet was to bring to reinforce our group were to meet us, to replace the Canadians who have fallen ill. Mr. Duquet did not deem it appropriate to wait for us. He went upriver with his men as far as the Bayagoulas, so we found no one at the rendezvous except Mr. Le Sueur.

This place is 40 leagues into the river, and one learns how to reach it via Lake Pontchartrain, which runs quite close to the river. It can be reached in three days by a small river that lies only three leagues from the Mississippi. From the head of that small river, one crosses through the woods, but on a path where the water reaches the waist and the mud the knees — at least that was the case when our gentlemen passed through.

As for me, having had the honor to pass that way as well with Mr. d’Iberville on a previous voyage, I encountered so much that I had mud to the knees and in extreme spots, I sank to the waist.

They amputated the arm of the poor Canadian I mentioned earlier — using a saw made from a large knife. He endured it with a patience one might call heroic in one of our French soldiers. He did everything required to make his suffering spiritually worthwhile and confessed before placing himself in the hands of the surgeon.

Mr. Le Sueur — who lacks for nothing in the middle of the woods — treated us and made our Shrove Monday a little better than the days before. He is a man of great heart, who deserves to be more fortunate than he is. He lost two of his men during the forest crossing; at least, they had not been heard from for five days. One of them was meant to serve Father Limoges, a Jesuit missionary whom Mr. Le Sueur is supposed to find among the Sioux — that is, 800 leagues from here. We spent nearly the whole day at the rendezvous point; our men needed the rest.

February 23

Our little squadron departed at eight o’clock in the morning to reach the village of the Bayagoulas. The weather is fairly good, and we will have a good day’s journey.

We disembarked at a fairly convenient spot, but we didn’t have much for a feast. We put sagamité on the fire — that was our whole Mardi Gras soup. With that and the appetite I had, I ate better than all our jaded Frenchmen, who are always full and for whom the most exquisite dishes have become tasteless.

I almost always see the same thing along the Mississippi: always a lovely border of green reeds, and from time to time willows that extend at the end of the points. I often see ducks along the riverbank; game birds [outarde] are not common here, but parrots are here by the thousands — parrots with very beautiful plumage. Mr. Le Sueur had us eat some yesterday at supper. It must be said, they are far from tasting as good as they look.

February 24

Seven leagues. I said Mass before dawn, gave ashes, and offered a short exhortation. We had breakfast and set off without wasting time.

Fair weather, good wind, and still water — all that lasted until noon, when we arrived at a place called Pointe au Breton. From there, we had the complete opposite: our men rowed hard, but Pointe au Breton seemed to follow us.

I estimate that we covered nearly seven leagues today. The canoes and the shallop camped together, and our officers threw some good things into their pot. As for me, Lent keeps me to sagamité; I will see how far this food can carry me.

February 25

After a league and a half of travel, we encountered nine or ten natives. One of them came and presented me with a pipe. I had to place the end in my mouth and suck on it three times. Another came and blew smoke from his pipe into my nose, as if to incense me. We parted from these gentlemen without much ceremony and resumed our route.

There is the famous fork of the Mississippi coming into view. I would not have noticed it from one side to the other if it hadn’t been pointed out to me. It’s no wonder that Mr. d’Iberville passed it without recognizing it. It is strange to have declared this the definitive branch of the river — there are a hundred other places where it is more clearly marked. At the very least, one should not say that a branch appeared to the left while descending that was as wide as the one we are now passing through, for it is to the right that it appears. The difference between the two is as great as that between the Seine and the River of Goblins.

Mr. d’Iberville joins us and kindly chooses not to leave us behind. We make camp about two small leagues from the village of the Bayagoulas. The place is convenient, and I hope to sleep better there. Six leagues.

February 26

Everyone is preparing to appear before the Bayagoulas: we get shaved and put on clean white linen.

Here is the landing site as it was described. Our vessels gather to enter the port in formation. We begin firing salutes on land. The whole shoreline is black with natives who sing the calumet to us.

Mr. d’Iberville boarded the shallop and took me with him. Mr. de Bienville was in the escort canoe, Mr. de La Ronde in the wooden canoe he calls the “Hardy‘, and Mr. de Châteaugué in another wooden canoe — all with flags at the stern and all firing their salutes. We arrived thus in good order.

After embracing our men, we had to return the affection shown by the natives, participate in the peace pipe ceremony, and go through all the elements of their ceremonial process.

I noticed three chiefs of rather good appearance and some young men of fine figure.

I visited the village last night, which contains more than six hundred souls. There is a large square in the middle, and at the end of that square there are two temples of about equal size — one apparently for the Mougoulachas, and the other for the Bayagoulas, as the village is composed of both nations.

These temples are made of mud-and-wattle and covered with mats made from reeds. Their shape closely resembles the dome above the entrance to the Collège du Plessis. Their door is low and square. One of these temples has two small spire-shaped points, upon which there is a figure of a rooster facing the rising sun.

The other temple is topped with three similar spires, each with a rooster figure also facing the same direction. This temple is a bit larger than the other and has in front of its door a large portico adorned with various figures. I entered both, and by the light of the eternal fire kept burning there — since there is no other light when the door is closed — I saw several rows of bundles stacked on top of one another. These are the bones of deceased chiefs, properly wrapped in reed mats.

Their huts are spacious, especially those of the chiefs, which could hold nearly three hundred people. They are made of the same material as the temples, though not as tall, and are built like our ovens in France. Their beds are cane frameworks raised a foot and a half off the ground, and they use nothing on them but fairly fine little mats as mattresses.

The Mougoulacha chief showed us all his curiosities: beef bone blades, rather poor-quality and rough pearls, bright red paint that water does not wash away — made from a small seed they find atop the grasses in their prairies. Large pots made from finely ground shells, baked in front of a fire. This pottery is very thin and light, but very fragile. Rugs or blankets made of bison wool, and a sort of towel made from tree bark. Mr. d’Iberville is taking samples of all these things.

Mr. de La Haute-Maison is departing for the ships and is bringing back with him the naval guards.

February 27

We are stopping to catch our breath a bit and to make a supply of sagamité. Everyone is dispersed in small canoes, and the shallops are sent back, as it is very difficult to make them ascend the river.

We went to walk around the village, where there is a great game, a grand dance. The men play in pairs. One of the two has a ball in hand and throws it ahead of him. Both then run at full speed in pursuit of the ball, and as far as I could tell, the one whose stick lands closest to the ball wins the round. It is always the winner who throws the ball next. This exercise is quite tiring; yet the old men play it just as much as the young.

The women also have their game. They divide into two teams between two tall posts set in the square. A small ball is thrown into their midst. The quickest seizes it and does everything she can to run around the post of her team three times with the ball. But she is stopped by women from the opposing team who try to take it from her. If she can no longer resist, she throws it to her teammates, who make the same effort to run to their own post. Sometimes the ball falls into the hands of the other team, who then execute the same maneuver. The games are quite long, and when they finish, the women usually throw themselves into the water to cool off. The men sometimes play this game too.

After the games, the dances began. The singers appeared first and went to sit on a mat in the middle of the square. The the musical leader of the group—their ‘Lully’— beat time on a small drum made of deerskin. The men and women came in order from the same place and formed a large circle.

We were in the middle, close to the orchestra. The men wore skins and red woolen blankets. The women wore the little garments I’ve mentioned, with a matching braid at the waist that hung down like the covers we put on our horses in summer to protect them from flies. Their cover hung to just below the knee and gave them sufficient modesty. Each man held something in his right hand — either a hatchet, a parasol, a saber, or something similar — and the women had in both hands large bouquets of white, fine feathers. The singers had very sweet voices, and the dancers moved with excellent rhythm.

The women were dancing with surprising modesty. They dance facing their men, their bodies slightly bent forward, their eyes lowered, and marking the rhythm beautifully with their feather bouquets — which are moved only by the wrist. The drummers and calabash players set the tempo for everyone. These are well-formed young men who wear small gourds filled with peas on their legs, with which they mark the rhythm just as we do with our castanets. What seemed least pleasing were the bizarre colors with which they smear their faces.

After the entertainments, we returned to dine at the camp, which is a short half-league from the village on the bank of the river.

February 28

Mr. d’Iberville detached Mr. de La Ronde along with Mr. de Tonty and sent them to the Chickasaw to seize an Englishman who had plotted the downfall of a missionary from the upper river.

The men of this detachment are separating from us today to return to the fort on the Mississippi and collect some provisions. Mr. de Saint-Denis and his men have also been sent ahead of us to stop for a time in the hunting country. None of them departed until after Mass and the sermon.

The chiefs, called Ougas, came to pay us a visit. We gave them seeds of all kinds to sow in their lands. Everyone is preparing as best they can in order to depart tomorrow.

The Bayagoulas, according to general estimates, number around 600. This nation is considering relocating its village near our new fort. That will be convenient for the missionaries. I am applying myself to their language because it is one of the most widespread in this country; twelve nations understand and speak it.

It is reported that Mr. Le Sueur has found his two missing men. They had survived for eight full days on laurel leaves and roots.

March 1, 1700

It is always a great burden to leave a place where one has been staying. Yet we depart, and we leave the Bayagoulas to go to the Houmas.

Before leaving the Bayagoulas, I gave a kind of catechism. I did not fail to make them understand many things. They understood at least that neither the sky, nor the sun, nor the moon, nor the stars, nor the Ougas were spirits — that is, gods — but all of them creatures of a single great Spirit and great Chief whose house is above, in the sky.

I left some images with a few old men. One of them, who had a swelling in his chest, placed his image on the afflicted area and let me understand that he was expecting to be healed by it.

I placed myself next to Mr. d’Iberville in a canoe and we went to make camp four leagues from the Bayagoulas. In fair weather, it is the most pleasant way to travel: one can talk, read, write, and sleep comfortably.

It is always the same country; I have not yet seen the slightest clearing. Still, the land is fairly dry. I have just found silkworm cocoons hanging from the branches of willows. Mr. d’Iberville had already collected some on his way to take them back to France.

March 2

At present, between the mouth of the Mississippi and the Houmas where we are headed, there are fifteen or twenty small vessels full of Frenchmen going up or down the river. One sees only huts along the banks.

We will cover our ten leagues today. Our only fear is rain — may God spare us during our journey. It usually doubles the hardship in a country where one has only a scrap of cloth for shelter.

I have not yet seen the herds of buffalo or the flocks of turkeys. We are more travelers than hunters, but I strongly doubt that the writers of such accounts have seen all they claim. The people who have come down from upstream point out to us every day the falsehoods in the narratives we have in hand.

I learn that the “Point of the Mission of M. de Tonty” is a made-up name, from people familiar with the Illinois themselves, although the author claims that Pondalaine is one of the villages. I also learn that what he reports about the wealth and refinement of the Natchez is false.

We are camping in a beautiful place and with fine weather.

March 3

We set out around six o’clock. Here is the first island found in the Mississippi. It took us a good quarter hour to go around it. Here are the first hills seen along the river; it is entirely lined with them, but only on one side. That lasts for about two leagues. Still, not a single stone to be seen anywhere.

Here is a small river. Our hunters appear on the banks, but no sign of their game. I believe they will eat everything they manage to kill.

Here is another kind of small river: it’s a branch of the Mississippi that surrounds an island, the circuit of which is about seven or eight leagues. To avoid the long detour, we cut through the small river and are forced to carry our canoes over floating logs to set them down on the other side of the island. This portage is about seven leagues from the Bayagoulas and three from the Houmas. We are sleeping five leagues from the latter, and we’ll arrive there tomorrow around noon. The Bayagoula envoys are following us.

They performed an act during the portage that surprised everyone. There was a large crocodile basking in the sun, with only its head visible above the water. One of the native men, seeing that our people were preparing to shoot at it, motioned for them not to. Immediately, he jumped into the water. Having reached the crocodile by swimming, he passed one hand gently under its throat, grabbed its back with the other, and, holding it tightly against his chest, carried it to the foot of a tree where he killed it. He got off with just a few scratches. This is very contrary to what is said about these animals in travel accounts and histories.

March 4

Mr. de Bienville, who acts as our herald, has gone ahead to announce to the Houmas the arrival of the great chief and to declare to them that we come in peace.

We arrive at the place where one disembarks to go into the Houmas village. We will only go there tomorrow.

This nation sent aboard two deputies, at 88 or 89 leagues from the river’s mouth, who presented us with the peace pipe and then addressed the Bayagoulas that came with us. These in turn responded and all of this was done with great seriousness. I noticed that people do not look at each other while speaking, and that they speak so softly in these kinds of public speeches that it is difficult to hear them — at least for those who are not used to it.

March 5

We leave our baggage with the canoes, which will travel today and tomorrow twelve leagues further upriver, and we set out for the village, from where we will rejoin them overland. So many hills to climb, so many streams to cross, so many canes to untangle and break to clear a path!

Here are two singers who wait for us on a hilltop and announce peace as soon as they see us. At last, here is the village — it is two and a half large leagues from the river and the heat makes it feel like nearly three full ones. We were received in due form; the nations have more or less the same ceremonies.

The Houmas have temples and huts like the Bayagoulas. There has been a great mortality here, and we find desolation in the village. The women cry day and night for their dead.

I am writing this in the hut of the great chief; his body has lain here for over two months. After a time, when the bones are clean of flesh, they will be taken to the temple, where he will be served as he was during his life. He was given his share of the gifts we presented to the entire nation.

One of the unfortunate customs of these natives is to let the dead and all that they possessed in their lifetime rot together. They even burn the hut in which he lived. It is said that among the Cotapissas, the Natchez and the Taensa, no chief dies without a dozen of his most faithful friends killing themselves in his honor to keep him company in the tomb.

Another custom, less grim than that one, but more ridiculous, is that when the doctors of these nations know their patient is near death, and they see that all their remedies are useless, they surround him as best they can and blow on him from all directions with all their might. Mr. de Bienville saw them do it, along with ten other credible witnesses.

It is also one of their customs, during storms, to try to drive away the tempest and chase the clouds with hand gestures and blowing.

Our natives can blow all they want—it rains and thunders as hard as ever. We are here without sagamité, without blankets, without fire, without shelter. We did not expect to spend a night like this, but I am very afraid the rain will make us miss our rendezvous and that we will remain here for more than a day at the mercy of the Houmas who, whatever they may do, will not prevent us from suffering greatly. Here we find chickens and eggs, and at any time other than during Lent, we could have eaten quite well.

March 6

What a night, good Lord! The rain hardly stopped. I had initially taken shelter under an awning, but as the wind drove the rain in as if we were in the middle of a field, I left that spot to take refuge in the hut of the mourners. There, I found horrible smoke, but I preferred to suffer through the smoke than the cold and rain. As soon as day broke, the mourners—who had paused their lamentations out of consideration for us—resumed howling in dreadful misery.

The singer joined them and chanted the calumet over the tomb of the deceased, perfumed it with his tobacco, and withdrew only after a full half hour of ceremony. Then they served breakfast to the deceased, all of this carried out in measured lamentation. Mr. de Bienville, who spent the previous night here, told me that the women had cried all at once in his presence, pouring out what seemed like the equivalent of three or four pots of water each in honor of the dead man. The inquisitions in Paris are not harsher than this final mourning; it is certainly exhausting for the poor women who put themselves through such terrible [?]

They make great efforts to expel the water they have taken in. The bad weather continues, and one must resolve either to be soaked outside or to be steamed inside the huts as if in ovens. The one in which I spent the day is full of women who are spinning bark and working on those textiles I have already spoken of. They are, in part, the wives of the great chief who died a few months ago.

After working for some time, they began to cry again, and one of them went to boil a large cauldron full of water outside. Having thrown in a handful of a certain herb that induces vomiting, she brought it into the middle of her hut. As the women were preparing to drink it, I spoke to them as best I could, and I managed to make them understand that death had no need of this ceremony and that the Great Spirit, whose dwelling is in the heavens, forbade it — that he did not wish for the living to kill themselves to comfort the dead, and that the one they were weeping for was now insensible to what they were doing for him.

That was enough to immediately abolish the custom of drinking and offering gifts. At once, the water was thrown out, their tears were wiped away, the cloth they had placed over the tomb was removed, along with all the pots in which they served him food. I took the opportunity to show them my images and to make them know God.

These barbarians seem to have only a very false idea of Him [God] — they readily believe that the sun is not a spirit, which makes it quite believable that they do not worship it, contrary to what the relations claim. As far as I can judge, all their worship and religion boils down to the duties they render to their dead — which will be easy to correct after a bit of instruction.

The most difficult part, as everywhere, will be the question of women; and I believe the men here are even more difficult to convert on that point than elsewhere, being by nature more indolent.

And usually more of the labor too — it is the women who do almost everything.

March 7

I did not say Mass yesterday, and I will not say it again today, even though it is Sunday. The bad weather is the reason. Our canoes could not make their way up nor join us here with our equipment. This day is starting off rather well, the sun is out, and we should soon have news of our canoes.

The Houmas count only 12 leagues overland and about 20 by water to the Natchez. The chief of these Natchez is spoken of as a man of importance. We may have the honor of seeing him in passing. More rain — it is discouraging. One cannot pound the native corn in the villages, and without pounded corn, we cannot continue our journey. Here comes a man who tells us that our canoes have come up.

March 8

It would be impossible to stay here much longer without falling ill. It has already been three nights that not only have I not slept, but I’ve suffered a hundred different discomforts at once, any one of which would be enough to make a less robust man sick.

I leave at daybreak after giving my last catechism to the Ouga and making him promise to plant a great cross in honor of the Great Spirit in the middle of his village.

I was treated upon arriving at the riverbank to an excellent cleaned catfish — that revived me somewhat. The night I shall spend in the fresh air, and the breeze will finish restoring me. The weather is fine, I’m heading to fish; my dinner tomorrow depends entirely on that.

The catfish do not bite the hook. The gunshots scare them. The hunters ruin the fishermen’s efforts. I lose more than anyone because of this.

M. d’Iberville has remained in the village to finish establishing a firm peace between the two nations. Tomorrow, the Houmas are supposed to release the prisoners they had taken from the Bayagoulas, after which I believe M. d’Iberville will come join us here.

It is said that there is some change in our plan. We will find out about it tomorrow.

March 9

It seems to me that I am here in a kind of recovery retreat. The good weather and sleep are restoring my original vigor.

The cold has not yet passed in this country; one finds that a blanket is quite thin during the night. The spring that had tried to appear at the beginning of February has turned back, and I believe we will not see it again until it arrives in France.

We had all the trouble in the world getting the Houmas to see reason on the matter of the prisoners, and it took all the finesse of French diplomacy to get them to sign the peace treaty — that is, to get them to say yes to each other and smoke from the same peace pipe.

The Houmas had agreed, yet M. d’Iberville still provided an escort to the Bayagoulas. This offended the Houmas, and they made it known that their word ought to be trusted. This shows that the “Savages” are less savage than many nations of Europe.

M. d’Iberville has arrived at the river. We will leave tomorrow, but not for the Red River, which we had planned to ascend. The natives tell us it is not passable. We are going to the Taensas to learn their language. They are forty leagues from here along the Mississippi. We will find Mr. de Montigny there, a missionary with that nation; he will be able to give us insights.

Here comes the entire village of the Houmas — women and men, young and old — all loaded down with flour, except for the chiefs who walk in front, with white blankets on their backs and a hatchet in their hand. The whole people surrounded our tents, and the chiefs were led into M. d’Iberville’s tent where he treated them to fine gifts.

I gave, in my name, a fine white shirt to one of the principal members of the council. He is a man with whom I have often exchanged words in the village and who has always taken a place next to me during ceremonies. He knows me as the friend of the Great Spirit Ouga — that is to say, the universal chief of all the nations of the world, and he absolutely wants to be one of its friends too. “You,” he said, “me, him — we are but one: Icheno, Ino, nanhoulou, toutehmo atchota.”

The gifts that had been placed in the hands of the chiefs — indeed, to all the individuals — were distributed very slowly, and that annoyed us a little, but it was done with a universal silence and contentment, even though the shares were unequal.

The women, who were more than a hundred in number, did not utter the slightest word and charmed us with their modesty. The real difficulty was in dismissing them all. They could not conceive that they were a burden to people who had to leave early the next morning. I had to go hide in the bushes to get away from the man to whom I had given the white shirt.

March 10

We sent back our men and some of our belongings. If we continue like this, I believe we’ll end up stripping down to our shirts in order to be more nimble.

We set off rather late to go meet the small squadron of M. Ducgué, which is passing the tip of a peninsula formed here by the river.

The land we are leaving consists only of small, steep hills, and it is on one of these hills that the village of the Houmas is situated. These lands seem very well suited to growing vines. There are small herbs there that are quite good to eat as salad — they are the first I’ve seen in Florida.

We pass along a large island, about two and a half leagues long. We camped at the end of another one, about four hundred paces long, located roughly two leagues from the first.

From time to time we see some deer when we land, but as for the bison which, according to the travel accounts, present themselves willingly — we haven’t seen a single one yet. It is only among the Afansas(?) that they begin to become common and easy to kill — meaning that the travel writers should only be believed on this subject once you are two hundred leagues into the Mississippi, which would be the distance needed to live off the wild turkeys which are spoken of in the travel accounts but would make for a meager feast. It’s a lucky thing when one is killed in passing. As for me, who has already traveled a good distance through the country, I haven’t seen a single one.

The people from upriver who are traveling back with us don’t tell us that these animals are any more numerous in the regions they came from. They also all insist that they have not seen a single orange or orange tree, only a few small fruits that are very poor to eat.

You do see quite a few vines in these woods, but they are like those from the Cans — their fruit is edible, but no wine is made from it. We’ve traveled seven leagues.

March 11

We have already passed two islands that split the Mississippi into three branches. Today we will travel very near the Natchez. Here are two more islands in sight — someone says they are five leagues from the nation we are headed toward.

We camped three leagues from the village in a very convenient spot. Since we arrived early enough, I had leisure to speak at length with the people who had come down from upriver about all the travel accounts written about the Mississippi. They do not agree on every detail, but they all unanimously say that these accounts are full of falsehoods — that between the Illinois and the sea, as the books claim, there are no pear trees, no oranges, no hemp, no flax, no pigs, no sheep.

As for the fish said to be so abundant in the river that one can catch them by hand — this is an exaggeration made on purpose, and if it had any basis in truth, we wouldn’t be having such a poor Lent.

March 12

You meet only fishermen along the paths. They still manage to catch a few fish, and one of them gave M. d’Iberville a large carp, which we found marvelous.

Arrival at the Natchez. We arrived at the Natchez landing around nine in the morning. We had not been there long before the Calumet was brought out. The brother of the chief came himself to lead the French leader to the village. He was accompanied by men of very fine appearance — among them were two men of extraordinary height.

We departed at two in the afternoon to climb the hill, above which the great chief’s lodge is situated. It is about a league from here. We met him halfway, escorted by the most important people of the nation. I must say, the bearing of this man astonished me — he has the look of an ancient emperor. He has a long face, sharp and commanding eyes, an aquiline nose, a dark complexion, and manners somewhat Spanish in style. He has been suffering from dysentery for two months, which has made him very thin and weak. It is remarkable to see the respect with which the other natives approach and serve him. He does not speak to them without them first thanking him before replying. They never pass in front of him, or if they must, it is with great care. They call the chief “Dachi” or “the Sun of their great chief Dachilla.”

This Oachilla gave each of us a small wooden cross and a very red bead threaded on a little bark cord. After that, we continued on our way.

We arrived at the place where his lodge is before the chief himself. His weakness did not allow him to follow us — he even had to be carried part of the way. As soon as he arrived, he lay down on his bed, which is like those we’ve seen up until now. His lodge is also similar to those of the other chiefs. What makes it particular is this: only he and his wives sleep inside; young people are not allowed in, and even the elders who have the right to enter never pass a certain marked boundary, like a balustrade, that separates his space from the rest.

They all thanked him upon entering and went to sit far from him, against the wall of the lodge. There is also in this lodge a kind of ceremonial bed, raised about three feet, very wide, supported by four thick columns, the whole painted in various colors. It is said that the chief lies on it only to die. Everyone also says that he does not die alone, but that a select group of the best-built men of his nation die with him.

Near this lodge there are only that of his wife, said to be his sister, and three or four others where those who serve him live, but they are all located at the base of the terrace upon which his own lodge is built.

We entered after him. We were served sagamité and squash in large bark bowls. We tasted a little of everything, and after that, M. d’Iberville gave his presents. A portion of these was immediately taken to the door of the temple that stands below, opposite the chief’s lodge, and there a sort of priest — though without any particular garments — made grand gestures toward the sky, loud howls, and a long prayer. Two others, standing outside the portico, did the same as him, except for the special prayer which this one performed standing for quite a while.

I was curious to enter this temple. In terms of structure, it is the same as those of the other natives, but the arrangement of the bones of the dead is different. These are placed in enclosures shaped like beds supported by four columns. One of these beds is much larger than the others, and when one of our men lifted the mat that served as a curtain, the native tending the fire there turned quickly and made it understood that it was forbidden to look in that direction.

We will stay here for some time because we wish to make our supply of flour, which will take a while since the huts are scattered here and there.

It is said there are as many as four hundred to eight leagues in the round, all are above the hillside in open plains like those of the Vexin in Normandy. From place to place one sees groves of peach and plum trees, which, being now in bloom, do much to beautify the countryside.

The sun had set before we left the lodge of the great chief. We went almost the whole way running in order to arrive by daylight, but that did not prevent us from having a good quarter hour of night and from losing our way for a while. A little sweating does no harm when one has something to change into, so I think this small fatigue will do me good and earn me a good night’s rest.

It had been only two days since M. de Montigny, priest of the Foreign Missions, formerly vicar general to the Bishop of Quebec in Canada, had left the village of the Natchez when we arrived. He left a note in the hands of the great chief, in which he says that he baptized more than one hundred and eighty children. He does not say that he baptized any adults, except a few who were dying.

It must be, however, that he found a strong disposition in the fathers and mothers of these children to receive the sacrament, since he baptized the latter on the word of the former. He resides with the Taensas, who are twenty leagues from the Natchez, apparently awaiting help any day, for it would be impossible for him to manage everything and to cultivate so many young plants in the midst of such an untilled land.

March 13

M. d’Iberville returned early in the morning from the village of the Natchez and left again immediately for the Taensas, where he hopes to arrive tomorrow. It is to obtain as soon as possible sure news about the Red River, which is here described to us as very long and very navigable. He gave orders that we depart as soon as the provisions are ready, but I believe he will spare us this effort and that he will return before that. People are arriving at the camp in crowds, and all are well-formed individuals. I feel as though I were in one of our ports of France and seeing the Dutch merchants.

Two particular chiefs came to dine with us; we will also have to give them a bed under our tent, which does not suit us.

March 14

Our people are hard to gather; some run off fishing early in the morning and others go hunting. Since today is Sunday, we’ll have to say Mass quite late so that all the parishioners can hear it. Many people preferred duck and game birding to Mass. I was indignant about that and became somewhat angry during my sermon.

The air of France is no good for the Canadians, and they push libertinism further than the others. Most bring from Canada a certain spirit of presumption which often turns into brutality, but what makes them harder to govern is the free air they breathe in these woods, where they recognize no master and live according to their whims.

It is said that the great Oachilla is very ill. All the singers of this chief are in mourning. There are so many victims who await the deathblow the moment he expires, it moved me to pity. I ran to the village to see him and to persuade him to agree to die alone. I did not find him at his place—he had himself carried a league away so as not to be disturbed by the noise all our Frenchmen make around his hut.

The woman-chief who governs after him received me. I told her my reasons as best I could, and she promised me earnestly that no one would be killed after the Oachilla’s death. She will keep her word if we are still here when he dies, but I greatly fear for the others if he dies when we are gone.

I cannot tire of admiring two things in this village: the first is the respect shown to the chiefs and the obedience rendered to them; the second, is the gentleness and humanity of all the natives. We live with them as with our brothers, and I would much prefer to find myself alone at night in their countryside in their midst than at 9 o’clock in the evening on the Rue Saint-Jacques in Paris.

The plains, which I examined a little more attentively today, are even more beautiful than I thought. Natchez – it is all peach trees, plum trees, walnut trees, and strawberries everywhere. It is a shame that this place is so far from the mouth of the Mississippi.

March 15

The woman-chief arrived and brought with her a convoy of flour. She had behind her a little prince whom she has carried everywhere she goes, with a man who acts as a kind of governor to him. He is a very handsome child and indeed has something noble in his appearance. He may one day become a great Oachilla and bear the crown with as much dignity as the one of today. One must understand all this in the native way—that is, not take it as confirmation of what the relations say about the riches, palaces, and refinement of the Natchez.

Here, one finds neither chambers nor antechambers, neither pearls nor fabrics such as M. de Tonty describes in his account. Except for the ceremonial bed I previously mentioned, the furniture of these people is just as poor as that of the lower nations.

March 16

The great Oachilla is doing better. I would like to know as much about the Natchez as I do about the Bayagoulas. I would have time to baptize him, but there is no way to learn enough words in eight days to be properly understood in order to instruct him. I have sent him some remedies which may delay his death until the arrival of M. de Montigny. I added a rosary to the remedy and made it understood to his brother, who has taken charge of it, that the rosary was an excellent one.

As I write this, that man approaches and tells me that Oachilla, his brother, is doing well and that his flux has stopped. If that is true, there is no reason not to believe that the Blessed Virgin has given her blessing to the remedies we gave to the sick man. If what he says is true, I expect good results.

They still haven’t gotten their supply of native corn, and we would not dare leave without it.

Arriving at all hours, we must hope that today we can make three or four leagues toward the Taensas.

I guessed fairly well — we are camping three leagues from the Natchez. We would have gone farther if one of our men had not gotten lost on an island where we had dropped people off to hunt in passing. It is the second one we’ve passed since the said village; night has fallen, and our man has not yet returned.

March 17

Immediately after Mass, the lost man arrived at our tent. He came in a canoe that had stayed behind. We set off fairly early, through a fog that prevents us from seeing twenty steps ahead.

The waters rise every day and carry with them quantities of rotten wood. One must be extremely careful to protect the canoe from them. The small boats are as fragile as glass, and I have already been in two that were breached by collisions. As soon as that happens, one must disembark and patch a piece on, or the boat would fill in less than a quarter of an hour.

The fog has lifted — and now it falls again in a steady rain. We must disembark and cover everything.

Here are two islands fairly close to one another. We will pass all this tonight; the weather is good, and our men are in good spirits.

We had to go farther than we had planned to find a place to camp. We came upon one of the most pleasant. This is the first time we are sleeping on straw.

I reckon we have made six good leagues.

March 18

I have not yet seen a more violent storm here than the one we endured last night. The wind and the rain nearly carried off our tent, and the thunder frightened even the most intrepid. It was only by a hair that our canoe and all our baggage were not carried off by the Mississippi, which spread far onto the sand and rose nearly two feet.

It rained all night; everything is soaked in the morning. The sky is clear and we hasten to set out to reach our goal today. We leave on the left a sort of whirlpool in which, they say, during high waters even the best-equipped canoe would inevitably perish. This whirlpool is only a league from the Taensas.

We spot the white flag raised on the riverbank to the left — this is the place where one disembarks to go to the village. Upon disembarking, we found M. d’Iberville near his pavilion with all his company. M. de Montigny was also there with the most notable people of his village. The calumet was sung as usual, and we rested as best we could.

I had true consolation in meeting the missionary of the Taensas and getting to know him myself. He is a very holy man. I hope that we will both unite in the advancement of religion, and that we will show by our conduct that, under different robes, we share the same purpose.

Here come people from the village, out of breath — they bring troubling news. Lightning struck the temple and completely consumed it.

But that is not the saddest part of the news: the most zealous among the natives threw their children into the fire to appease the god they believe to be angry with their nation. What consoles us somewhat in this matter is that the children were baptized.

The village is three leagues from here: one is done over land, and the other two by way of a lake along which the huts are located. This is the end of the journey for part of the troop.

There was another group continuing on to the Cenis by land; M. de Bienville leads it. They will return via the Red River. When they come back, we will note at the end of this journal what we learn from them about that land.

March 19

M. de Montigny leads M. Ducqué and me to his house.

The situation of the village of the Taensas is very beautiful, but I fear that the lake, which contributes the most to the village’s beauty, may make it somewhat unhealthy due to its very heavy waters and its thick fogs.

M. de Montigny pointed out to us that since his departure, three huts in the village have been burned. The natives burned them as sacrifices to the god of thunder.

Here is a fourth one, nearly brand new, which they are also setting on fire.

They have taken the one that belonged to the recently deceased chief to serve as a temple. They have surrounded it with hurdles made from canes, and all one sees are old men at the temple door groaning and wailing, only singers praying, only people bringing offerings — and all of it done with extraordinary order and modesty.

Among other things, there are six large wooden effigies, one of which represents the tail of a swan, and another the neck, which they fill with flour and solemnly carry to the temple. The Athenian virgins did not carry their flower baskets to the temple in honor of Juno with greater dignity.

It is said that there is scarcely a people in the Florida region more superstitious than the Taensas and the Natchez. It is a pity that we do not know their language well enough to open their eyes. If there were any miracle to ask from God in their favor, it would be the gift of tongues.

March 20

I have done everything I could to persuade M. de Montigny to come settle at the Natchez, and he, for his part, must do everything he can to persuade M. d’Iberville to help him with the move.

There are hardly a hundred huts at the Taensas and they are far from being as full as those of the Natchez. Moreover, the Natchez are much more disposed to believe in the missionary, and the missionary finds everything he needs among them. We will know tomorrow how it turns out.

I returned to say mass at the camp. The heat is terrible. That does not stop the nights from being still rather cold.

M. Dugué is leaving for the ships, Messrs. de Bienville for the Cenis, and I believe M. d’Iberville will depart tomorrow for the fort on the Mississippi, from where we might well take our route toward the Colapissas.

It is said that the Pearl River is there. God knows whether we shall find any fish. Though, even if there are but few, there are always more than on the sea shore under those so-called rocks where M. de Tonty claims such beautiful and abundant ones can be found – but he said that only in Paris and in his book. While here, when he is pressed to reveal these treasures, he has seen nothing and said nothing of the kind.

That gentleman is still currently making preparations for his journey—that will be the full extent of the expedition he was tasked with. For here we learn that the Englishman he was supposed to seize is well escorted, by both Natives and men of his own nation. Therefore, other plans are being made, and we must thank M. de Tonty for his services.

M. d’Iberville is finding ways to stop the Chickasaw and to make peace among all these nations here.

March 21

M. d’Iberville is taking a long time to return from the village of the Taensas. I’m beginning to fear we won’t leave until tomorrow.

Here is M. d’Iberville returning, but it’s nearly night, and M. de Montigny, who is passing through the Natchez, won’t arrive until tomorrow. It takes time to transport all his baggage, and I believe it will be well past noon before we depart.

March 22

It’s noon, and we have not yet departed. Still, all of M. de Montigny’s baggage is here—only he is missing.

Here he is, and we are leaving.

What a pleasure to let oneself drift with the current of this river that cost us so much effort to ascend! With one paddle stroke every quarter hour, one finds oneself far from the place departed that morning by the evening.

If it doesn’t rain, we will travel day and night.

We preferred a bit of rough ground to spending the night on the water. A canoe makes for poor lodging, where there is nothing but water and raw corn for all nourishment. We arrived around 8:30 in the evening at the little port of the Natchez and were treated to a monstrous carp. However healthy or not it may be to eat, it is always a very good meal.

I correct my calculation: it is only sixteen leagues from the Natchez to the Taensas. The two extra leagues I had previously counted going upriver were merely the result of our impatience to arrive and the difficulty of rowing against the current.

I will make a point from now on to proportionally adjust my figures to match the most common estimates of the experts in order to arrive at an accurate account.

March 23

M. d’Iberville and M. de Montigny went to the village to begin establishing the mission; it involves very little, and both plan to leave today for the Houmas.

As for me, I’m not wasting time. I will embark shortly after mass to go sleep there tonight if I can. I have business there, the same as what M. de Montigny has to do among the Natchez. I will begin the same way he did and will likewise leave my servant behind to finish the task.

Hail, rain, and thunder halted us completely. We lost three good hours and had to take shelter. The kettle draws poorly, and the fire is hard to maintain in this weather. If only we could travel at night, we might console ourselves somewhat—but the storm intensifies, and our tent is beginning to come apart.

March 24

I had a very hard time sleeping last night. At the beginning of my sleep, some kind of lizard or snake passed across my face, which alarmed me for the rest of the night. I had already found some crushed beneath me before, but I had never yet seen any bold enough to crawl up and look me in the face.

I went to say mass at the port of the Houmas. There, I found M. de Tonty and M. de la Ronde. I dined hastily and headed off toward the village through mud and gullies.

I made my gifts to the chiefs, I harangued them as best I could, and I succeeded in persuading them to build me a church in the middle of their main square so I could be heard by them. I built them a small model of my building on the spot and left my servant to direct the work. They are to begin tomorrow — it is the Feast of the Annunciation of Our Lady — I hope that will be a good omen.

I feared I would be obliged to sleep in the village, but having finished my business in full daylight, I returned to sleep in my tent.

I found M. d’Iberville upon my return and a letter from M. de Montigny, in which he tells me that the illness of the great Oachilla prevented him from continuing on, and that he would come see me at the sea fort toward the end of May before M. d’Iberville’s departure.

I forgot to say that we encountered M. Le Sueur around 6 o’clock in the morning. He was going up the river with the small shallop of the Renommée. I stopped him to give him some letters and to take the servant he was bringing to Father Limoges.

March 25

We set out at daybreak; I don’t recall ever having departed so early. I will say mass where I can. M. d’Iberville is in a great hurry, and I am no less so than he.

We go ashore to say mass, for it is the least we can do to render homage to the feast of the Virgin. During mass, the kettle boiled; we embarked and drifted with the current. I hope to say mass tomorrow at the Bayagoulas.

The Mississippi seems much more pleasant when descending than when ascending; its banks, which are beginning to turn green, contribute a great deal to this pleasure. But the greatest pleasure is to see that it carries us without our needing to drive it along, as we had to when sailing against it.

I have nothing to correct in the estimate of the leagues between the Natchez and the Houmas. I believe I will not need to revise my earlier estimate regarding the distance between the Houmas and the Bayagoulas either.

After a light supper, we went to sleep in our canoes, where we both traveled and slept at the same time. We are traveling alongside large trees that the river tears out along its course and carries to the sea.

March 26

Here we are at the Bayagoulas at nine in the morning. M. d’Iberville eats a bite and re-embarks. As for me, I remain here to establish a second mission.

I gathered the most important men of the village and told them that the great chief whose dwelling is the sky wished to have another house among the Bayagoulas, and that if they would build him one as soon as possible, I would stay with them.

I added a fine gift to this speech and the matter was settled. Tomorrow, I will go to the village and begin the building.

March 27

The rain did not stop me from going to the village and settling in but it did prevent me from starting on my church. Nevertheless, the natives are still out gathering peaches and plums.

I am now officially a resident of the village. My tent faces the chief’s cabin, and I’ve begun making my visits.

March 28

We spent the whole night from Saturday to Sunday trying to keep our house standing against one of the most violent storms I’ve ever seen. I expected to find the whole village flooded the next morning, but the huts drained quickly, which shows me the ground isn’t as wet as I thought.

The Canadians who had stayed by the river came to mass today.

And each of them brought their bread at their own hour. That will make for the best of my meals during my stay. As for me, I did not let them go away fasting. If it is true—as it certainly must be—that man finds his nourishment in things other than material bread and lives by the word of God, I made sure to give them enough to live on until I send them back.

I could do nothing today. The natives cannot bring themselves to carry wood until the paths are dry. One must be patient. Passion Sunday will be better observed, and God will help us build His house and grant us fair weather.

March 29

At last we have begun, and I thought at one point we would finish in the same day, given how the natives started out – but it did not last. These people soon let their fires go out, and usually they spend more time debating what they must do and reflecting on what they’ve done than actually working on what they’ve undertaken.

All things considered, the 3 Frenchmen we are here have done more than the whole village together, but it is a great step just to have begun. It will be finished before Easter. This small project is still fairly considerable: the building is more than 50 feet long and 20 wide.

I am the one who designed it and took the measurements. Its shape is that of an overturned ship. As for the proportions, I can only vouch for those concerning the length, width, doors, and windows.

The natives will be in charge of the rest, such as the height of the walls and the curve of the vault. I bought the land behind the church I am having built. It belonged to Louga Mougoulacha, who sold it to me for a hatchet and a knife. There will be enough space to make a fine garden and a lovely orchard.

March 30

I marked out my field and planted a cross in the middle on which I wrote my act of possession. I am taking all the necessary measures to avoid the lawsuits we are subject to daily for lack of such formalities.

I also had some parts of this land cleared to sow peas. I wish the missionaries I am expecting would arrive soon enough to eat them fresh.

Our building is progressing: wood has been brought from all directions, but I do not know enough of the Bayagoula language to have it put to use as I would like.

The chiefs are working themselves, something they are not accustomed to doing even for their own houses. One of them snatched a ball from the hands of a young man who was amusing himself playing while the others were working, and brought it to me in my tent. They already know that they are not building for me, but for the great Nanhoulou, and that it is there he will speak to me.

They know that the great Nanhoulou is not visible because he has no body like a man, that he made everything, that he made it all without hands, that he speaks without a tongue, and that he goes everywhere without feet.

They know that every man is composed of body and soul, that the body dies and the soul does not, that after many winters the souls will rejoin the dead bodies, that the bones in their temples will come back to life, that all men will appear before the great Nanhoulou, that the good will dwell with him in heaven and that the wicked will go into the depths of the earth where they will burn in eternal fire.

They know that the ox, the deer, and other such animals have only a body like us, and that when their bodies die, nothing remains of them.

That is all they know, because it is all I myself know in the Bayagoula language. They are as eager to learn the rest as I am to teach them.

The natives let me know that my church will be finished in five days. That is all I can wish and expect of their diligence.

March 31

Here is some news: the Chitimachas, with their Ouga, are making their entrance into the village tomorrow—a troublesome matter for me. It delays my work—today everything was prepared to put the earth on the mavaills, and the roof on top. My church was vaulted in two hours; it will be built without nails, without chisel, and without hammer and it will be no less sturdy for it.

April 1, 1700

The entire day was spent in celebration. The Louga of the Chitimachas arrived around two o’clock: a man carried him on his back and gave him a tour of the village square, after which he set him down under the portico of the temple where our Ougas were waiting. Speeches were exchanged on both sides, gifts were given, and they smoked from the ceremonial peace pipe. After that, there was nothing but singing and dancing—all this at the expense of my church. Still, this evening they gave the order to go gather moss—it is for making the mud plaster for the walls.

When the whole village is to work on something, a man authorized by the Ougas makes the rounds and calls out on all sides what must be done the next day. After that, the young men gather in rhythm, all singing the same thing. They hold hands and go three or four times around the village. Their dance greatly resembles our olivettes—perhaps even more pleasant.

April 2

Everyone is working as hard as they can. I hope the natives will keep their word and that all will be finished by Monday. We, for our part, are making crosses to put on the gate and in the plaza. The Bayagoula chief was the first to get his hands dirty—that is, he began mixing moss in the mud and plastering the walls with it. It must be said the others are not as lively as he.

As for the Mougoulacha chief, he keeps company with the Chitimacha one. Since the latter’s arrival, he only appears wearing a blue cape and a trimmed hat. Nevertheless, I’m quite satisfied with him—he listens more willingly than the others to what I teach in catechism, and he had barely listened to me before he went to repeat everything to the village elders.

I thought the Mougoulacha chief was busy entertaining the strangers, but he was out in the woods stripping moss from the trees to have it brought here. I was quite surprised in the afternoon to see him completely naked in a large pit, refining mortar for the masonry.

I did all I could to show him my appreciation but he bluntly told me that he was not pleased with his people—that they were happy to share in the gifts but did not want to share the labor with him. At that, both chiefs became formally upset and strongly rebuked their youth. I calmed them down, and the work resumed its course.

The thunder growls and threatens us with rain. I wish it would only fall at night.

April 3

My wish was granted all too well. The rain came only during the night, but so violently and so continuously that it prevented the work we would have done today.

The natives found the paths too muddy to go fetch the materials needed to make the mats with which we are to roof the church. It is their custom to waste the entire day if they have lost the morning.

I received a visit from the chief of the Chitimachas. He showed me great affection. I made him understand that I planned to stay with the Bayagoulas and that he and his people should do the same as soon as possible—that they would then have the convenience of seeing the French here, and receive from them axes, knives, etc. He seemed to listen to this with pleasure and promised to move his village here as soon as he could.

I gave him a piece of bread and a glass of Spanish wine. He didn’t drink it until he had checked with Chief Mougoulacha to see whether it was good. I took his cup at the same time and I drank first to show him that we were not trying to deceive him.

After this very frugal little meal, I gave him a saber as a gift. I believed that M. d’Iberville would not be upset that I made this generous gesture in his name at the King’s expense. He gave many thanks and withdrew solemnly. After the Ouachilla of the Natchez, he is the most stern-looking chief I have seen.

The weather was fine this afternoon, though unfortunately the morning was not quite the same.

April 4

There are 5 Frenchmen here in total. We gathered together to solemnize Palm Sunday, and after completing part of the day’s ceremonies, we each went our own way to finish our little tasks. It was necessary to scold a bit to bring our natives back to the work they had started.

A single day of bad weather, if one were to believe them, would be enough for them to spend the whole week doing nothing. They are currently making mats. The elders had to set the example, and to keep the young people from playing, they went to work in the middle of the square.

I returned the Chitimacha chief’s visit. He gave me some roasted native corn to eat and shared with me a little salt cake he had in his dish. It was the kind that the natives make inland. I tasted it, and it seemed just as spicy as ours. I left after this little meal.

As I was leaving, I met a group of Chitimachas. I did my best to make them understand that it would be very good for them to come settle here as soon as possible, and that the great chief would not fail to come visit them here. They told me they would; at least, I believed they meant to say so.

I study the temperament of these people as much as I can, and I find that they are very self-interested, that all their thoughts are bent on extracting from others what suits them. Still, without violence and without deceit. They are superstitious, but not strongly attached to their superstitions, believing — or at least pretending to believe and admire — what they are told in matters of religion.

They are very zealous observers of the laws of hospitality. The Frenchman I found in the woods had one foot nearly frozen, so M. Le Sueur had to leave him here. The chief Mougoulacha lodged him in his own cabin, fed him as he would himself, and gave him a healer who came to treat him two or three times a day. This healer, in less than a month, had him back on his feet. All their ointments consist essentially of tree bark soaked in hot water.

I noticed that these people are great gamblers. As soon as they are given a gift, it can be found in the middle of the village square, used as a stake and risked in a game of ball — that is what I call the game I mentioned earlier. What is astonishing is the calm way in which they play; it seems that winning or losing means the same to them. I watched them closely, but I was never able to tell whether a move was good or bad by their reactions, especially in the games that do not require much movement.

I also observed that the dominant trait of these nations is indolence. They go without many things we would consider absolutely necessary, simply because obtaining them would require some effort. If they have more native corn than they need to survive, they owe it less to the quantity they plant than to the fertility of their land, which makes up for their lack of labor. The Mississippi is full of fish and the fish is quite good; yet very few of the natives bother to go fishing. From the look of their huts, one might think they lack the skill to finish their work finely — but it is only the love of work they lack. I saw this in what I asked them to do. Gardening here would be marvelous, but it would require effort to till the land; so they have only small gardens where they grow their tobacco. Hunting is good three or four leagues from the villages — that is too far. They prefer to go without beef and venison. The hens brood and lay eggs here at all times, but the women are occupied solely with boiling native corn, and even that they seem to find too much for them. It is true that the people are constantly cooking stews and eat at all hours. I believe there are a few women who spin thread from bark and grass, but it amounts to very little.

The Canadian I have with me here nearly broke his thigh today while helping to carry the tree for my large cross. The natives let go of it, and the log, which is nearly 30 feet long, grazed his whole body and struck him mostly on the fleshy part of the thigh. I immediately put him into the hands of a native and carefully observed the way he treated him. First, he felt the injured area as our surgeons do. Then he asked for a flintstone and from it drew a small needle with which he made several rather shallow incisions on the injured spot. Nevertheless, he managed to draw a good amount of blood from it by pressing on the area. After that, he thoroughly washed the wound. He took a herb they call apaly [Yaupon Holly], chewed it, and rubbed it several times over the cuts. Then he heated a cloth, steamed the thigh with it, and finally wrapped it well in a very warm towel. I’ll see tomorrow what they do next and will report on it here. One cannot be too attentive to the remedies of the natives — most of them are specific.

The whole village is busy making mats to cover the roof of my Church. Tomorrow, they will go to fetch palmetto.

April 5

Here comes the palmetto and everything is in motion to finish. I will raise my large cross this evening, after which I will leave with my two invalids. The young boy who is here, M. d’Iberville’s resident, and our interpreter — will keep an eye on things to ensure they are done as I wish. If things continue at this pace, in ten days the natives will have built a pretty church that will hold more than four hundred men. I pray God that He takes account of it for them.

I set out in the evening hour and I will travel all night to reach, if I can, the fort of Mississippi by Holy Wednesday. It is a parish that needs its priest to perform the Easter duties. After the feasts, I will be able to leave with M. d’Iberville to go to the Colapissas, where I will build, if I can, a church like I did at the Houmas and Bayagoulas. From there, I believe we will go to the Choctaws to reconcile them with all the surrounding nations. They are the most numerous of all those known around here. If I have time, I will make an establishment there.

I must fulfill my promise. I said I would observe how the natives would treat my man. I did. Here is what I saw: they took walnut bark, boiled it in water, and then used that water to wash the injured thigh. After that, they crushed the same bark into a fine powder and made a kind of poultice, which they applied to the wound. They did nothing else for the frostbitten foot I previously mentioned.

6 April

We traveled so far this night that by four in the afternoon we found ourselves 35 leagues from the Bayagoulas. We owe this speed to the strong current of the Mississippi, whose waters are extremely high, and also to a large floating tree trunk we latched onto.

This is the second night we are traveling on the water. We hope to spend part of it sleeping at the fort. I need it a bit, for I have not let go of the oar since I left the Bayagoulas, and one must stay alert to avoid going beyond our destination. We were even thinking we might be near it when M. de la Ronde joined us and assured us that we were only a league and a half away.

7 April

Upon arriving, I was told that daylight would soon appear, so I did not trouble myself to look for a bed. However, day only came three long hours after our return, and I regretted not having given that time to sleep.

I greeted M. d’Iberville early in the morning and learned from him that we will not leave here until after the Easter feast. The house we had begun before our departure will not be completed before we set out a second time: a number of more urgent matters have been handled.

As for the gardening plan and seeds, others have gone off to scout the land, especially to discover the shortest route from here to Fort Biloxi.

M. de la Ronde brought us news from La Ronde: the ships [?] of Surgères left for France on 3 April. 2) that the fort of Biloxi is not to be moved to another location, but that they are finishing the fortifications that were already underway. 3) that the Spaniards came to our anchorage — that is, the governor of Pensacola with about 150 men aboard a brigantine with 15 to 20 cannons.

M. d’Iberville is very upset not to have been there to receive this governor and speak of matters with him. A letter from him was brought that was quite difficult to decipher.

April 8

We held a service in the middle of the woods, in the “Cathedral of Paris.” Nothing was lacking. May God grant that the interior matches the exterior. This is a gathering of people of all sorts: travelers, soldiers, Frenchmen, Canadians, sailors, buccaneers, and others like them. Such people are not easy to reach.

April 9

I preached. The sermons, combined with the somber ceremonies of the Church, touched our people. I saw some of them shed tears. Confessions have begun, and we shall not lack for work until our departure.

April 10

We continue to prepare for Easter, and I am edified by how some present themselves. I chanted compline and explained the parable of the prodigal son. This exhortation moved them deeply.

April 11

We are preparing everything to make Easter Day as solemn as possible. We sang the high mass, said vespers, gave a sermon, and all of it was attended with modesty. At last, I believe God will be pleased with us.

April 12

We believe we will leave today to reach the ships, but our transport is not yet ready, for we are leaving the ferry to take the canoe, and that is because it is being repaired. I have taken several walks in the woods these past days with M. d’Iberville — there are nothing but mulberry trees, large and small. The mulberries are already too red. One also finds silkworms, but not on the leaves of mulberry trees. The sugar canes we had planted are dead — or rather, they have rotted, having died before they were planted. The orange seeds I had planted so carefully have failed. I can scarcely get it out of my mind that orange trees and everything that comes from the islands cannot grow here. But there is a season for planting, and a method of doing it, which we perhaps did not follow.

April 13

Our party is beginning to break up. A good number of my parishioners left today. The entire fleet that had come down from upstream has left the port and is heading toward the Illinois. Plans have changed: M. d’Iberville, who wanted to leave by canoe to discover a route from one fort to the other that he believes is easier and much shorter than the one through the mouth of the Mississippi, is sending the ferry captain in his place. We are dining quickly in order to embark on this small vessel. We hope the current will carry us tomorrow morning to the mouths of the Mississippi.

April 14

The current carried us very swiftly. At 9 o’clock in the morning, we found ourselves in view of the river’s mouth. It seemed far less swift here than upstream, and than when I first passed through. We sounded carefully: the obstruction at the Mississippi’s mouth is not as hard as previously thought. The lead line and the shallop’s grappling hook brought up from the bottom only a black, slightly firm mud. If these bars were narrower, they could be broken up entirely by directing the waters through the best channel, using the logs carried by the river to block the other outlets through which it discharges into the sea.

April 15

The wind has been favorable both night and day. We are now in sight of the ships and it is not past seven in the morning, we hope to go say Mass there.

We arrived at the Renommée around ten o’clock in the morning. I said Mass there — it was the second to be said there today. I found M. Laumoine from the fort there; he had come for the Easter celebrations.

April 16

Our journal ought to end here, yet I continue it until the departure of M. d’Iberville in order to have occasion to recount what has happened of most importance since we have been in this anchorage.

There is much speculation here about the Spaniards’ actions. Some claim they only came to protest against our settlement; others have no doubt that they intended to drive us out if they had found themselves the stronger. Some assert that they meant to go to the Mississippi to plant some men there and maintain their supposed possession. In short, everyone aboard the ship is talking about the Spaniards.

When we arrived, M. Desourdes of the Haute Maison was with them at Pensacola, which is a fort nearly 30 leagues from ours.

Here is the occasion for the voyage of these two officers: The Spanish ship, which was a frigate of 26 guns and carried all the forces of Pensacola, on its return from our anchorage, was struck by a terrible storm that caused it to run aground two leagues from an island, in a place where there were only six feet of water. All the governor could do was save himself and his crew in his longboat and on the deck of the wrecked ship, which he had turned into a raft. Having landed his men, he embarked to come request assistance from us.

He had been received magnificently the first time, but this second time he was received even better. Everyone gave what they could to refresh him and his officers, for they were all in a pitiful state. And not only that — we sent for his men with all the small vessels we had, transported them to the island near which the French ship is anchored, set up tents there to lodge them, and provided them all the refreshments they needed and all that they could have wished for in such a situation.

After which the two gentlemen I mentioned were sent by M. de Ricouart, who was then in command at the anchorage, to escort the poor shipwrecked Spaniards back to their fort at Pensacola — from which, truth be told, it is likely that this troop had only come out in order to attempt some ill turn against us.

Those who treated them so well had enough discernment to perceive what lay in their hearts, but those same men had even more generosity in pretending to fear nothing and in showing them every imaginable sign of sincere friendship.

The reception given to M. d’Iberville for this whole negotiation gave him great pleasure, and he is truly grateful to have had on this occasion such a splendid and generous second-in-command.

April 17

I’m doing everything I can to draw to Easter those who hesitate as long as possible. Here come M. des Ourdis? and M. de la Haute-Maison arriving from Pensacola. They look very fatigued, and I don’t know whether, to please the Spaniards, they adopted the hasty air they had upon arriving in this anchorage, but they all look like men who have been shipwrecked. We will soon hear the details of their expedition.

These gentlemen brought back some gifts from Pensacola. It is not much — a few rings set with emeralds, which connoisseurs do not hold in high esteem, and some parcels of chocolate. There are also a few rings of tombac, which the Spaniards claim have the virtue of protecting against certain contagious and pestilential diseases. The gifts were accompanied by very courteous letters addressed to various persons, among them M. de Ricouart and M. de Sauvolle, governor of the fort at Biloxi. The Spanish officers went to great lengths in these letters to show off all the French they knew in order to express their gratitude.

At supper, these two gentlemen recounted for us how they had been received, and gave us a detailed account of their journey. M. de La Ronde took it upon himself to describe everything related to the journey up to its end, and, as he tells things…

More animated than anyone else, he did not fail to make us laugh as he mimicked the Spanish governor’s gestures and anxieties during the storm, describing how they all found themselves caught beneath a tent that had been blown over by the wind, and how each one struggled to get out from under those canvas sheets where they were entangled together — Frenchmen, Spaniards, seculars, and religious alike. He also said that some of the Spanish gentlemen were so famished that one could hear them crunching biscuits all through the night.

The supper ended before M. de la Haute-Maison had finished recounting the adventures of his journey. We listened gladly all evening, and when the conversation shifted from amusing to serious, we learned that the fort at Pensacola was rather unimpressive — that only the harbor was any good — that the governor and his soldiers were decently housed, but the others lived in poor huts and were all starving. It was said that the governor’s table was set with the dishes brought from our ship for the Spanish officers’ use during their journey, and that without the bull slaughtered upon the arrival of our gentlemen, there would have been nothing to feed them.

In short, the misery there is said to be so extreme that the inhabitants are seeking every imaginable means to escape. One of them came to wait for our boats at a point of land and begged the commanders to take him away from the hands of the Spaniards. He even promised large sums of money to persuade them to receive him, but they refused to listen.

These inhabitants are people from all nations, mistreated, as we have said, and discontented in general. There are religious men among them: an Augustinian who serves as chaplain to the governor, and some Fathers of the Order of St. Francis. All of them, from the first to the last, are unhappy to remain there and could not refrain from expressing their sorrow about it.

April 18

We solemnized the octave of Easter as on the day itself, and I was as pleased with the people of this anchorage as with those on the Mississippi.

April 19

We were meant to leave today for the fort at Biloxi, where M. d’Iberville is to go take soundings of Biloxi River and I am to go with M. de Sauvolle to the Colapissas — they say it is postponed until tomorrow.

April 20

At 8 o’clock in the morning, we were ready to embark in the longboats, but the wind stopped us, and a signal had to be made to the Biscayenne to make her turn back.

We all departed at one o’clock in the afternoon. M. de Ricouart is on the voyage to the Biloxis. The ferry boat is following us; however, I do not think it is heading to our destination. I don’t know where it is going.

The wind carried us gently, and we arrived at the fort around 5 o’clock in the evening. There are quite a number of sick people; however, the work continues to progress. In 7 or 8 days, the bastions will be finished.

Some attribute the illnesses to the water, others to the provisions. Perhaps it is simply due to the season, which causes humoral changes in every country.

April 21

It is raining, and when it rains here, it is usually for several days. The rain and the illness are apparently delaying our voyage.

It is still raining, and when it rains here, it is usually for several days. The rain is as much inside as outside. All I was able to do was find a small spot where I could place my altar under cover. If I stay here, I will not be long without being better sheltered.

April 22

M. d’Iberville has not left for the Biloxis as he had planned. The wind prevented him, and I do not know when M. de Sauvolle will depart for the Colapissas.

April 23

Bad weather and nothing else.

April 24

The wind is still coming from the south, and consequently still contrary to M. d’Iberville, who wants to go take soundings in the river of the Billochis.

April 25

The wind hasn’t changed, but it has calmed somewhat. That was enough to persuade M. d’Iberville to depart.

He left at 8 in the morning with M. de Ricouart. The longboat is well enough armed to make headway against the wind.

April 26

The wind, which was contrary to M. d’Iberville, is favorable…

Regarding M. de Sauvolle, we set out early in the morning under the guidance of a native. We covered nearly 7 leagues and made camp at a point of land which the little native who dove for us some time ago named.

April 27

We left “Musket Point” very early in the morning. We went to say mass at the end of a bayou called Bay Saint Louis. The natives call it the Lake of Points or Catahoula [my best guess]. We dined there, and afterward we set out again, leaving the longboat and all our baggage under the guard of four sailors. It is more than enough just to carry ourselves through woods and on trails so barely marked. At a league and a half, we came upon a river about the size of the Marne. Our young men tied several logs together and first sent across all their packs. The servant of M. de Sauvolle stepped out from a bush where he had undressed and appeared in the middle of the river with his shirt bundled on his head. As we watched him swim, fear overtook him; he cried out, fainted, and sank to the bottom before anyone could help him. An Iroquois native who was piloting our raft grabbed him by the middle of the body, and finding him dead, let him fall. He shouted back to us from the water: “He is dead,” and so the poor boy was never seen again.

We climbed onto the logs and crossed the river. After a short rest and many reflections on the tragic event I just described, we continued our route. The path is nothing but crossings from every side. One often encounters streams and marshes that interrupt the way. We console ourselves when the water doesn’t rise past the waist. For me—who dislikes getting my feet wet and who has no heels—it seems a bit much. But here is something worse: thunder rumbles, rain falls, no shelter, no fire, mosquitoes join in, nothing to protect ourselves. It makes for a miserable night for people who have marched six hours through the middle of the marshes.

April 28

One gladly gets up early when one has slept so poorly. At daybreak, our native guide woke us up, and we followed him through very bad paths — mud, thorns, swamps, streams, heat — none of this suits a traveler as unaccustomed as I am, who is nearly barefoot.

Here is something to console us from all our troubles: one of our men just killed a deer. Another even greater consolation — a herd of buffalo has been spotted. Our men are surrounding them now — what a discharge, good God! There must be at least twelve buffalo down. I ran to the action and found two buffalo dying. We halted immediately to butcher the meat, but unfortunately there was no cooking pot, and we were forced to eat it all roasted. But how can fifteen or sixteen men eat a buffalo in one sitting? We made boucanned meat from all the rest and will place it on a platform to retrieve when we pass back through.

24

The paths are still very bad, and the stream we crossed on rotten tree trunks is dangerous, for there is enough water to drown a man if his foot slipped.

After eight or nine hours of marching, we arrived at the Colapissas. However, this is still only the small village; the main one is five leagues farther, and we can only get there by canoe.

The people of this little village lavished all kinds of affection on us and gave us whatever they had out of kindness. They sent messengers to the main village to notify them of our arrival and to send canoes.

30

We are obliged to spend another night here — the canoes from the main village still have not arrived.

Here they are at last, but it is already past noon.

We will not leave until tomorrow. Five singers came on behalf of the chief to sing the calumet of peace to M. de Sauvolle; they are very well-formed men. There are only six cabins in the village where we are, and the inhabitants are forced to sleep outside in order to shelter the strangers. The ground is sandy and there are few cleared fields, and all the natives can do is gather just enough corn to live on. As for hunting, they only speak of it — the buffalo and deer eat their crops, and they have no thought to kill them for food.

May 1, 1700

I embarked with the delegates from the great village on a small stream; I do not know where it ends, but it is cluttered with many branches that often force us to make dangerous detours. After two hours of navigating the stream, we reached a fairly large river. The Colapissas call it the River of Pearls. It took us to a small port from which one goes on foot to the village, a path of about two leagues.

The main village of the Colapissas consists of only 15 or 20 cabins. They are surrounded by a palisade of stakes — built since the invasion of the Chickasaw, who attacked two small Colapissas villages, completely destroyed them, and carried off about 50 people. They had two Englishmen at their head.

The people of those two villages have taken refuge here. They live under bark shelters while they wait to build more permanent homes. Altogether, there are about 500 gathered here now, among whom are three hundred well-formed men. This nation is one of the most humane I have seen in the country.

The chief and the most important people of the village came out to greet M. de Sauvolle and presented him with a cross, after which they gave him every mark of sincere friendship and perfect trust. The cabin where we have been housed is never empty — neither of food nor of people coming to look at us.

May 2

This makes two feast days without Mass due to lack of a chapel. In the absence of Mass, we held a lesser ceremony which edified the natives and to which they contributed as much as they could. We raised the banner of salvation in the middle of their village. It was they who made the cross and who erected it, and our men had only to sing around it. Afterwards, they made a kind of bonfire in the square, and the best dancers of the nation, dressed in ceremonial garb, performed as best they could.

I am both consoled and afflicted at the sight of these spectacles. I am delighted to see the instrument of our salvation become an object of reverence among the barbarians, but at the same time I cannot help but grieve to see that it is still a useless instrument to these poor blind souls, and that even at the sight of this saving cross, many of them will perish miserably for lack of knowing its power.

May 3

We set out under uncertain skies. The Chief of the nation followed us with part of his small retinue. After a brief halt, everyone boarded very narrow canoes, easy to capsize, and we made our way like the natives, with some of them among us.

Our flotilla split in two half a league from the port. A detachment went back overland to retrieve our smoked beef, while the rest of us followed the current of the River of Pearls, without being tempted to stop and fish for pearls.

We covered a good twelve leagues in under seven hours. We made camp, slept fairly well, and at first light we returned to the water.

May 4

After some difficulty navigating through fallen timber, we reached one of the two mouths of the river. There, we were unable to sleep or eat due to the mosquitoes. We set out around midnight to reach the sea, but the natives, sensing the swell, decided it was unwise to proceed.

May 5

Around four in the morning, we put ashore and came to a small island where, after enduring several heavy downpours, we got back into the canoes to reach Bay St. Louis by a small canal winding through the land. But since no one in the group had ever taken that route, we became lost and could not find our way again. We went from stream to stream until we no longer found any water, and not knowing which way to turn, we returned to the guidance of our Native companions, who undertook to lead us overland to Bay St. Louis where our shallop was waiting.

They had taken on more than they could manage, and the guide led us into the worst of the terrain without being able to get us out. We followed for a time the advice of several individuals, all of which proved mistaken. After many wanderings and turns, we found ourselves surrounded by swampy ruins, without knowing how we got there. Still, we kept walking, not knowing where we were going, with rain on our backs, our feet in water, and grass up to our chins.

I put my foot within two fingers of a rattlesnake. It is well known how dangerous it is to touch such an animal and that its bite is fatal. A native warned me just in time of the danger, and I leapt away. M. de Sauvolle, who was following me, killed the snake with a musket shot.

After crossing some rivers on felled trees placed across them and finding ourselves abandoned by our guide — who had been sent off with a Frenchman to reach the shallop and come retrieve us — we judged it wise to be led instead by an old Colapissas, who serves as something like a governor to a young Chief of that nation.

This man led us, I believe, across a hundred streams and just as many bad spots to make camp in the middle of the woods.

We built a large fire to dry off, and no sooner were we dry than the storm started up again. That, along with a swarm of mosquitoes — which bite even more viciously in the rain than in dry weather — made for a most miserable night. All I could do was recite my breviary to the end, and it is a miracle that I didn’t lose it in the water, along with my compass and all the other small items I had with me.

May 6

We follow the old Colapissas through water up to our waists, rain on our backs…

May 6 (continued)

My cheeks and legs are scratched by thorns; my leg is wounded in two places. I am without heels and without soles. I have eaten nothing in twenty hours but a few pieces of hard biscuit. I haven’t slept at all in three nights. I hear nothing but groaning and complaining. I don’t know where I’m going, and I doubt that our guide knows either. Thunder crashes in a terrifying manner and shakes the earth. No shelter, no Mass, and extreme heat. If all this were suffered for God and with patience, it would have value in Heaven. But impatience, complaints, human motives, weariness, and disgust — all that removes much of the merit.

Our guide, however, has not lost courage. He keeps pressing forward and has told us so many times that Bay St. Louis is near, that one of our party climbed to the top of a tree to see if he could spot it. He thought he saw it, and this gave us courage. We fired off our guns, and around eleven o’clock, we heard a reply.

M. de Sauvolle judged it best to halt and wait for the men from our shallop, having them fire from time to time to help us guide them in, as had been agreed before we parted ways.
Around four in the afternoon, two men arrived in a canoe and told us where we were. We immediately sent them back to fetch the shallop. From that moment, everyone began to relax and get a bit of rest.

May 7

The shallop arrived via a river near where we had camped and brought us all to Bay St. Louis, where I celebrated Mass in thanksgiving for our safe return. We ate a small meal and immediately embarked to head back to the fort, M. de Sauvolle in a small canoe with four men, and I with two of our gentlemen in the shallop.

The wind was not in our favor. We disembarked to dine or sup whenever it failed us, and everyone prepared to sleep aboard the shallop to avoid the mosquitoes and to be ready…

8 May

We were about to set out when the wind rose—and not just a little, but violently. We dropped anchor and tried to hold our position as best we could, but everyone agreed that it was blowing too much toward the coast and might carry us off course, so we raised the anchor again. The wind increased and stirred up a heavy sea; our shallop was terribly tossed. Our native companions had never experienced such a storm. Water came crashing over the sides of the boat, and if not for a tarred cloth fastened along the gunwales, which we lifted as best we could, we would have taken on water and sunk. We spent four anxious hours. When daylight came, and our pilot could see well enough to steer, he used the wind to head for the ship. We were making good progress when our mast broke, which certainly didn’t help. Nevertheless, with great effort and hard rowing, we managed to reach La Renommée around eight in the morning.

This day and those that follow are days of rest. I will remain on the ship for some time to collect what I need and to write my letters. If anything noteworthy happens, I will record it here as I have done so far, but I will not let empty days pass without some mention. I am obliged to go to the the fort to build my dwelling. I continue my journal where I can. M. de Bienville has returned from his expedition inland and he found the whole region flooded. One must admit that after all the hardships of these journeys, there is something divine that sustains us—for except for one man who is suffering from bloody flux, all have returned in fairly good health. They got to within four days’ journey of the Spaniards and were accompanied by native allies who are only one day from them. No mines were found, but from all appearances, they were likely not far off. The Red River is navigable and good in many places, and it may prove useful.

To those who might wish to go visit the Spaniard, it has been learned in all these villages that a fairly large group of Black and mixed-race individuals had deserted and settled in a separate area where they persist in their revolt. M. de Montigny and M. Davion have come to the fort at Biloxi; the former is returning formally to seek help, and the latter is returning to his mission to learn the language. They are good men who undertook the missions with more zeal than caution. They are fortunate to find M. d’Iberville here to assist them.

Twelve of the Spanish deserters, who had been wandering for a long time through the villages, arrived here starving. M. d’Iberville will do with them what he deems appropriate. We are on the eve of their surrender. I have returned to the ship to bid farewell to the officers and to thank them for all the kindnesses they have shown me. Having done and said this, I conclude and pray to God, for the sake of Religion, that they will return next year to establish a colony here properly.

Letter — at the Détroit, September 1, 1701

I do not know, Monsieur, whether you have learned that M. de Pontchartrain has ordered the establishment of this post. In any case, I will tell you that I was chosen by M. de Callières to carry out the establishment with M. de La Mothe, who has the command.

To this end we departed with a Jesuit (who has since returned), a Recollet, two junior officers, and one hundred men on June 5, taking the route of the Ottawa. Our general did not deem it advisable to have us pass by way of Niagara—which is much more convenient and shorter—wanting first to see the affairs settled between us and the Iroquois before using that route.

To give you an idea, Monsieur, of what the Détroit is, in case you do not have one: you know that it is a river that is about twenty leagues long, into which Lake Erie empties to flow into Lake Huron. Another lake is found in this river, called Lake Sainte-Claire, which lies about ten leagues from the latter. It spans ten leagues across and about fifteen in width, very rich in fish, as is the river itself, which runs at 41 degrees latitude and flows from its mouth to Lake Erie, from north-northeast to south-southwest. The land to the north extends toward the Miamis, where there is a river that one can reach in six days, from which it is easy to go to the Mississippi. This is solid land at the bottom of Lake Huron, which connects to Lake Ontario. The Detroit is one hundred leagues from Michilimackinac [Jesuit trading post in the Great Lakes] and another hundred from the lower part of Niagara, which is 150 leagues from Montreal. And if this post is to be settled, it has been resolved that barges will be built at Katarakoui [Fort Frontenac, Kingston, Ontario] to transport the necessary goods to Niagara, where a fort will be built to support carts for the portage. These carts will be received by other barges that will carry the goods to this place, from where they can be sent to the Miamis, to Chicago, and to the Bay to trade with those numerous nations.

Our fort is a square arpent in size, with bastions placed very advantageously on an elevation separated from the river by a gentle slope of about 40 paces, which forms a very pleasant glacis. Care was taken to place it at the narrowest part of the river, which is a musket-shot wide, while everywhere else it is a good quarter of a league. And if this post is settled, the land is very suitable for eventually building a beautiful and large city.

The various features found in this land make it altogether pleasant. The climate is as temperate as that of Touraine and winter, according to the natives, lasts at most six weeks. It is a delight to see this river lined with an infinite number of pear trees, quantities of plum trees of various species, chestnut trees, walnut trees, and French hazel trees, and to find there the vine, which is one of the most beautiful adornments, bearing grapes that are reasonably large and good.

At intervals, one finds very large dry and wet prairies filled with grass more than three feet tall. They are interrupted only by fruit trees or hardwoods of exceptional height and various species, such as soft and hard walnut, red and white oak, poplar, whitewood, elm, ash, and cottonwood. This diversity continues deep into the interior, which has been carefully surveyed and found to be so fertile that it is hoped its richness will not refuse the diligent farmer what nature alone has already produced so abundantly.

It is in these woods and vast prairies that countless numbers of buffalo, cows, stags, does, deer, bears, and wild turkeys are found, which have been of great help to support our soldiers and travelers engaged in labor, who lacked provisions from the moment of their arrival. Four or five hunters have been enough thus far to supply them, despite the intense heat that ruined part of their game, which gives a sense of the abundance of animals to be found on the continent.

In the prairies around Lake Sainte-Claire and the river with its many islands, there is an abundance of game including pheasants, quails, lapwings, red partridges, cranes, swans, bustards, ducks of various species, teals, and turtle doves. If this settlement is continued, it will be…

The means of preventing the English from coming to seize it, in order to take from us the trade with the upper nations, to restrain the Iroquois and to keep our allies in their duty—whom it will be much easier to assimilate to French ways and to whom we can preach the Gospel thanks to the proximity of the French and the number of missionaries who will be present. We are situated here over one hundred leagues from Quebec, and ships arrive there very late.

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