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 that 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 honours 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,
that 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 mouths 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 cotton-wood tree, he
caused its majestic trunk to be shorn of its limbs;
and on this tall shaft placed the beam that 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. Peters. Two
hundred years after Ponce de Leon 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,
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,
he 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, 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 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; and 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 enameled 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 round the steep-washed bank until it 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 labour 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 returned almost instantly. She
approached nearer, until the wan and insensible face
met hers. Strange as was his appearance and colour,
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 sank again
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
cloakfrom 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 for Rousseau,
his prowess and influence left him in undisputed
possession. As he 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 in the perfection of a
miracle. The Choctaws, into whose hands the unfortunate
Rousseau had fallen, (although he was not
aware of the difference,) were not the bloody-minded
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, that 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 it is natural to the Indian mind, on the display
of power they cannot explain, they appropriately,
though accidentally, associated the cross with a
Great Spirit, and looked upon it with wonder and
admiration. Beside the cross there was found an
axe, left by those who had formed 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
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 on his breast, were
alike inexplicable; and Rousseau, according to the
spirit of his age, felt that a miracle had been wrought
in his favour: and on his bending knees he renewed
his ecclesiastical vows, and determined to devote
his life to enlightening 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 labour of savage married
life had, consequently, not been imposed upon her.

Among her tribe she was universally considered
beautiful; and her hand was 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 bosom 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 that Rousseau passed
among the Choctaws, had made him one bitter, implacable
bitter 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 labouring 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 father'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 whippoor-will
was heard; it grew louder and louder,
until it seemed 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 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 Waha-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 whole tribe. 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 being 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 carvings 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.