University of Virginia Library

PLACE DE LA CROIX.
A ROMANCE OF THE WEST.

There is much of beautiful romance in the whole history
of the early settlements of Florida. De Soto and
Ponce de Leon have thrown around the records of their
searches for gold and the waters of life, a kind of dreamy
character which renders them more like traditions of a
spiritual than of a real world. They and their followers
were men of stern military discipline, who had won honors
in their conquests over the Moors; and they came
hither not as emigrants, seeking an asylum from oppression,
but as proud nobles, anxious to add to their numerous
laurels, by conquests in a new world. The
startling discoveries,—the fruits, the gold, and the natives
that appeared with Columbus at the court of Isabella,—gave
to fancy an impetus, and to enthusiasm a
power, which called forth the pomp of the “Infallible

Church” to mingle her sacred symbols with those of
arms; and they went joined together through the wilds
of America.

Among the beautiful and striking customs of those
days, was the erection of the Cross at the months of
rivers, and prominent points of land, that presented themselves
to the discoverers.

The sacred symbol thus reared in solitude, seemed
to shadow forth the future, when the dense forests would
be filled with its followers, instead of the wild savage;
and it cheered the lonely pilgrim in his dangerous journeys,
bringing to his mind all the cherished associations
of this life, and directing his thoughts to another world.
In the putting up of these crosses, as they bore the arms
of the sovereign whose subjects erected them, and as
they were indicative of civil jurisdiction and empire, the
most prominent and majestic locations were selected,
where they could be seen for miles around, towering
above every other object, speaking the advances of the
European, and giving title to the lands over which they
cast their shadows.

Three hundred years ago the sign of the cross was
first raised on the banks of the Mississippi.

From one of the few bluffs or high points of land
that border that swift-running river, De Soto, guided by
the aborigines of the country, was the first European
that looked upon its turbid waters, soon to be his grave.
On this high bluff, taking advantage of a lofty cottonwood

tree, he caused its majestic trunk to be shorn of
its limbs; and on this tall shaft placed the beam which
formed the cross.

This completed, the emblazoned banners of Spain
and Arragon were unfurled to the breeze, and, amid the
strains of martial music and the firing of cannon, the
steel clad De Soto, assisted by the priests in his train,
raised the host to heaven, and declared the reign of
Christianity commenced in the valley of the Mississippi.

The erection of this touching symbol in the great
temple of nature was full of poetry. The forests, like
the stars, declare the wonderful works of the Creator.
In the silent grandeur of our primeval woods, in their
avenues of columns, their canopies of leaves, their festoons
of vines, the cross touched the heart, and spoke
more fully its office than ever it will glistening among
the human greatness of a Milan cathedral, or the solemn
grandeur of a St. Peter's.

Two hundred years after Ponce de Leon had mingled
his dust with the sands of the peninsula of Florida,
and De Soto reposed beneath the current of the Mississippi,
the same spirit of religious and military enthusiasm
pervaded the settlements made by both French and
Spanish in this “land of flowers.”

Among the adventurers of that day were many who
mingled the romantic ambition of the crusaders with
the ascetic spirit of the monk, and who looked upon
themselves as ambassadors of religion to new nations in

a new world. Of such was Rousseau. It requires little
imagination to understand the disappointment that
such a man would meet with in the forest, and as an
intruder of the untractable red man. The exalted notions
of Rousseau ended in despondence, when away from
the pomp and influence of his church. Having been
nurtured in the “Eternal City,” he had not the zeal,
and lacked the principle, to become an humble teacher
to humbler recipients of knowledge.

Disregarding his priestly office, he finally mingled
in the dissipations of society, and in the year 1736,
started off as a military companion to D'Arteguette in
his expedition among the Chickasas.

The death of D'Arteguette and his bravest troops,
and the dispersion of his Indian allies, left Rousseau a
wanderer, surrounded by implacable enemies, he being
one of the few who escaped the fate of battle.

Unaccustomed to forest life, and more than a thousand
miles from the Canadas, he became a prey of imaginary
and real dangers. Unprovided with arms, his food was
of roots or herbs. At night the wild beasts howled
round his cold couch, and every stump in the daytime
seemed to him to conceal an Indian.

Now it was, that Rousseau reviewed the incidents of
his past life with sorrow. He discovered, when it was
too late, that he had lost his peace of mind, and his
hopes of future existence, for a momentary enjoyment.
Wasting with watching and hunger, he prayed to the

Virgin to save him, that he might, by a long life of penance,
obliterate his sins. On the twelfth day of his
wanderings he sank upon the earth to die, and, casting
his eyes upward in prayer, he saw, far in the distance,
towering above every other object, the cross!

It seemed a miracle, and inspired with strength his
trembling limbs; he pressed forward that he might
breathe his last at its foot. As he reached it, a smile
of triumph lighted up his wayworn features, and he fell
insensible to the earth.

Never, perhaps, was this emblem more beautifully
decorated or more touchingly displayed than was the
one that towered over Rousseau. From indications,
some fifteen years might have elapsed since the European
pilgrim had erected it. One of the largest forest
trees had been chosen that stood upon the surrounding
bluffs; the tall trunk tapered upward with the proportion
of a Corinthian column, which, with the piece forming
the cross, was covered with ten thousand of those
evergreen vines that spread such a charm over the
southern landscape. It seemed as if nature had paid
tribute to the sacred symbol, and festooned it with a
perfection and beauty worthy of her abundance. The
honey-suckle and the ivy, the scarlet creeper and fragrant
jasmine, the foliage enamelled with flowers, shed
upon the repentant, and now insensible Rousseau, a
shower of fragrance.

Near where he lay, there was a narrow and amply-worn

footpath. You could trace it, from where it lost
itself in the deep forests, to where it wound around the
steep washed bank, and touched the water's edge.
At this point were to be seen the prints of footsteps;
and traces of small fires were also visible, one of which,
still sent up puffs of smoke.

Here it was that the Choctaw maidens and old
women performed their rude labor of washing.

In the morning and evening sun, a long line of the
forest children might be seen, with clay jars and skins
filled with water, carrying them upon their heads, and
stringing up, single file, the steep bank, and losing themselves
in the woods;—with their half-clad and erect
forms, making a most picturesque display, not unlike
the processions figured in the hieroglyphical paintings
of Egypt.

Soon after Rousseau fell at the cross, there might
have been seen emerging from the woods, and following
the path we have described, a delicately-formed Indian
girl. In her hand was a long reed and a basket, and
she came with blithe steps towards the river. As she
passed the cross, the form of Rousseau met her eyes.
Stopping and examining him, with almost overpowering
curiosity, she retreated with precipitation, but almost
instantly returned. She approached nearer, until the
wan and insensible face met her view. Strange as was
his appearance and color, the chord of humanity was
touched, the woman forgot both fear and curiosity, in

her anxiety to allay visible suffering. A moment had
hardly elapsed before water was thrown in his face and
held to his lips.

The refreshing beverage brought him to consciousness.
He stared wildly about, and discovered the Indian
form bending over him; he again sank insensible
to the earth. Like a young doe the girl bounded away,
and disappeared.

A half hour might have elapsed, when there issued
out of the forest a long train of Indians. At their
head was the young maiden, surrounded by armed warriors;
in the rear followed women and children. They
approached Rousseau, whose recovery was but momentary,
and who was now unconscious of what was passing
around him. The crowd examined him first with caution,
gradually, with familiarity; their whispers became
animated conversation, and, finally, blended in one noisy
confusion.

There were, among those present, many who had
heard of the white man and of his powers, but none had
ever seen one before. One Indian, more bold than the
rest, stripped the remnant of a cloak from Rousseau's
shoulder; another, emboldened by this act, caught
rudely hold of his coat, and as he pulled it aside, there
fell from his breast a small gilt crucifix, held by a silken
cord. Its brilliancy excited the cupidity of all, and
many were the eager hands that pressed forward to obtain
it. An old chief gained the prize, and fortunately

[ILLUSTRATION]

"He stared wildly about him, and discovered the Indian form bending
over him."—page 246.

[Description: 468EAF. Image of a hunter waking up to find a beautiful Native American woman leaning over him with water. They are on the bank of a cliff overlooking the ocean, with rocky outcroppings and a tree near the hunter's feet.]

for Rousseau, his prowess and influence left him in undisputed
possession. As be examined the little trinket,
the Indian girl we have spoken of, the only female near
Rousseau, crossed her delicate fingers, and pointed upward.
The old chief instantly beheld the similarity between
the large and small symbol of Christianity; and
extending it aloft, with all the dignity of a cardinal, the
crowd shouted as they saw the resemblance, and a change
came over them all.

They associated at once the erection of the large
cross with Rousseau; and as their shout had again
called forth exhibitions of life from his insensible form,
they threw his cloak over him, suspended the cross to
his neck, brought, in a moment, green boughs, with
which a litter was made, and bore him with all respect
toward their lodges. The excitement and exercise of
removal did much to restore him to life; a dish of maize
did more; and nothing could exceed his astonishment
on his recovery, that he should be treated with such
kindness; and as he witnessed the respect paid the cross,
and was shown by rude gestures, that he owed his life to
its influence, he sank upon his knees, overwhelmed with
its visible exhibition of power, and satisfied that his
prayer for safety had been answered by the accomplishment
of a miracle.

The Choctaws, into whose hands the unfortunate
Rousseau had fallen (although he was not aware of the
difference), were of a kinder nature than the Cherokees,
from whom he had so lately escaped.

Years before, the inhabitants of the little village,
on their return from a hunting expedition, discovered
the cross we have described; its marks then were such
as would be exhibited a few days after its erection.
Footsteps were seen about its base, which, from their
variance with the mark left by the moccasin, satisfied
the Indians that it was not erected by any of their
people. The huge limbs that had been shorn from the
trunk bore fresh marks of terrible cuts, which the stone
hatchet could not have made.

As is natural to the Indian mind, on the display of
power which they cannot explain, they appropriately,
though accidentally, associated the cross with the Great
Spirit, and looked upon it with wonder and admiration.

Beside the cross there was found an axe, left by
those who had used it. This was an object of the
greatest curiosity to its finders. They struck it into
the trees, severed huge limbs, and performed other powerful
feats with it, and yet fancied that their own rude
stone instruments failed to do the same execution, from
want of a governing spirit, equal to that which they
imagined presided over the axe, and not from difference
of material.

The cross and the axe were associated together in
the Indians' minds; and the crucifix of Rousseau connected
him with both. They treated him, therefore,
with all the attention they would bestow upon a being
who is master of a superior power.

The terrible and strange incidents that had formed
the life of Rousseau, since the defeat of his military
associate, D'Arteguette, seemed to him, as he recalled
them in his mind, to have occupied an age. His dreams
were filled with scenes of torment and death. He would
start from his sleep with the idea that an arrow was penetrating
his body, or that the bloody knife was at his
heart; these were then changed into visions of starvation,
or destruction by wild beasts. Recovering his
senses, he would find himself in a comfortable lodge,
reposing on a couch of soft skins; while the simple
children of the woods, relieved of their terrors, were
waiting to administer to his wants. The change from
the extreme of suffering to that of comfort, he could
hardly realize.

The cross in the wilderness, the respect they paid to
the one upon his breast, were alike inexplicable; and
Roussoau, according to the spirit of his age, felt that a
miracle had been wrought in his favor: and on his
bended knees he renewed his ecclesiastical vows, and
determined to devote his life to enlightening and christianizing
the people among whom Providence had placed
him.

The Indian girl who first discovered Rousseau, was
the only child of a powerful chief. She was still a
maiden, and the slavish labor of savage married life
had, consequently, not been imposed upon her.

Among her tribe she was universally considered
beautiful; and her hand had been vainly sought by all
the young “braves” of her tribe.

Wayward, or indifferent to please, she resolutely refused
to occupy any lodge but her father's, however eligible
and enviable the settlement might have appeared
in the eyes of her associates.

For an Indian girl she was remarkably gentle; and,
as Rousseau gradually recovered his strength, he had,
through her leisure, more frequent intercourse with her
than with any other of the tribe. There was also a feeling
in his breast that she was, in the hands of an overruling
Providence, the instrument used to preserve his
life. Whatever might have been the speculations of
the elders of the tribe, as day after day Rousseau courted
her society and listened to the sounds of her voice,
we do not know; but his attentions to her were indirectly
encouraged, and the Indian girl was almost constantly
at his side.

Rousseau's plans were formed. The painful experience
he had encountered, while following the ambition
of worldly greatness, had driven him back into the seclusion
of the church, with a love only to end with his
life.

He determined to learn the dialect of the people in
whose lot his life was cast, and form them into a nation
of worthy recipients of the “Holy Church;” and the
gentle Indian girl was to him a preceptor, to teach him

her language. With this high resolve, he repeated the
sounds of her voice, imitated her gesticulations, and encouraged,
with marked preference, her society.

The few weeks passed by Rousseau among the
Choctaws, had made him one bitter, implacable enemy.
Unable to explain his office or his intentions, his preference
for Chechoula, had been marked by the keen eye
of a jealous and rejected lover.

Wah-a-ola was a young “brave,” who had distinguished
himself on the hunting and war paths. Young
as he was, he had won a name. Three times he had
laid the trophies of his prowess at the feet of Chechoula,
and as often she had rejected his suit. Astonished at
his want of success, he looked upon his mistress as laboring
under the influence of some charm, for he could
find no accepted rival for her hand.

The presence of Rousseau—the marked preference
which Chechoula exhibited for his society, settled, in
his own mind, that the “pale face” was the charmer.

With this conviction, he placed himself conveniently
to meet his mistress, and once more pleaded his suit
before he exhibited the feelings of hatred which he felt
towards Rousseau. The lodge of Chechoula's father
was, from the dignity of the chief, at the head of the
Indian village, and at some little distance. The impatient
Wah-a-ola seated himself near its entrance, where,
from his concealment, he could watch whoever entered
its door. A short time only elapsed, before he saw, in

the cold moonlight, a group of Indian girls approaching
the Indian lodge, in busy conversation, and conspicuously
among them all, Chechoula.

Her companions separated from her, and as she entered
her fathers's lodge, a rude buffalo skin shut her
in. Soon after her disappearance, the little groups about
the Indian village gradually dispersed; the busy hum
of conversation ceased; and when profound stillness
reigned, a plaintive note of the whip-poor-will was heard;
it grew louder and louder, until it appeared as if the lone
bird was perched on the top of the lodge that contained
Chechoula. It attracted her ear, for she thrust aside
the buffalo-skin, and listened with fixed attention. The
bird screamed, and appeared to flutter, as if wounded.
Chechoula rushed toward the bushes that seemed to
conceal so much distress, when Wah-a-ola sprang up and
seized her wrist. The affrighted girl stared at her captor
for a moment, and then exclaimed,

“The snake should not sing like the birds!”

Wah-a-ola relaxed not his hold; there was a volcano
in his breast, that seemed to overwhelm him as he glared
upon Chechoula with blood-shot eyes. Struggling to
conceal his emotion, he replied to her question, by asking
“If the wild-flowers of the woods were known only
to their thorns?”

“The water-lilies grow upon smooth stones,” said
Chechoula, striving violently to retreat to her father's
lodge.

The love of Wah-a-ola was full of jealousy, and
the salute and reply of his mistress converted it into
hate. Dashing his hand across his brow, on which the
savage workings of his passion were plainly visible, he
asked, if “a brave” was to whine for a woman like a
bear for its cubs?

“Go!” said he, flinging Chechoula's arm from him:
“go! The mistletoe grows not upon young trees, and
the pale face shall be a rabbit in the den of the wolf!”

From the time that Rousseau was able to walk, he
had made a daily pilgrimage to the cross, and there,
upon his bended knees, greeted the morning sun. This
habit was known to all the tribe. The morning following
the scene between Wah-a-ola and Chechoula, he was
found dead at the foot of the sacred tree. A poisoned
arrow had been driven almost through his body.

Great was the consternation of the Choctaws. It
was considered a mysterious evidence of impending evil;
while not a single person could divine who was the murderer.

“The mistletoe grows not upon young trees!”
thought Chechoula; and for the first time she knew the
full meaning of the words, as she bent over the body of
Rousseau. She attended his obsequies with a sorrow
less visible, but more deep, than that of her people; although
the whole tribe had, in the short residence of the
departed, learned to respect him, and to look upon him
as a great “Medicine.” His grave was dug where he

had so often prayed, and the same sod covered him that
drank his heart's blood.

According to Indian custom, all that he possessed,
as well as those articles appropriated to his use, were
buried with him in his grave. His little crucifix reposed
upon his breast, and he was remembered as one
who had mysteriously come, and as mysteriously passed
away.

A few years after the events we have detailed, a
Jesuit missionary, who understood the Choctaw language,
announced his mission to the tribe, and was by
them kindly received. His presence revived the recollections
of Rousseau, and the story of his having been among
them was told. The priest explained to them his office,
and these wild people, in a short time, erected over the
remains of Rousseau a rude chapel; his spirit was called
upon as their patron saint, and Chechoula was the first
to renounce the superstitions of her tribe, and receive
the Holy Sacrament of Baptism.

In the year 1829, a small brass cross was picked out
of the banks of the Mississippi, near Natchez, at the
depth of several feet from the surface. The crucifix was
in tolerable preservation, and was exposed by one of
those cavings of the soil so peculiar to the Mississippi.
The speculations which the finding of this cross called
forth, revived the almost forgotten traditions of the story
of Rousseau, and of his death and burial at the Place
De La Croix.