Pride of the King, The (4 page)

Rene and his father left to repair the damage done to their bateaux during the storm. The party who had found Lauren consisted of twenty-two men who had been trading flour, corn and pelts in New Orleans for the precious commodities of silk, sugar and gunpowder imported from Paris and the Indies. They made this arduous journey once a year from the village of Kaskaskia in the Illinois Country to obtain supplies for their isolated colony to the north. Originally, the group had been over ninety souls strong, but the hurricane had left the convoy fragmented and disorganized and several crew members had died.

For the rest of the morning the group worked at a feverish pace, mending sails and repairing holes in their flat-bottomed barge-like vessels called
bateaux
. The men were tired but anxious to start for home. Although it took only three weeks to paddle down the Mississippi, the return upstream took a painstaking three months. They missed their families and wanted to put the exhausting journey behind them.

   Monsieur Lupone stood up, wiped his hands on his trousers and ordered, "Finish tarring that last canoe and we’ll be off. There’s one thing left I must attend to before we embark."

The storm had left the group with no skipper, and the men turned to Gabriel Lupone for leadership. His patient but firm disposition won their respect as well as his keen sense of justice.

He started up the hill toward the house with Rene behind him. He turned to his son and barked, "What are you so interested in? Don't start any silly, schoolboy ideas. We know nothing about this girl, and I
cannot
be saddled with an injured female. Now go back to the crew and put the last of the pewter into those crates."

Grumbling, Rene returned to the
bateau
and pitched pewter plates into a wooden box, watching the plantation house. His father was right. He was interested in this girl. She would be an inviting diversion on the way home, and he secretly hoped that they would be unable to locate her family.

Gabriel entered the sitting room and looked at Lauren apprehensively. He watched the girl sleep while he considered his options. He concluded that there was only one solution, to find her family immediately. "How are you feeling?” Gabriel asked as he squatted down in front of the girl.

Lauren opened her eyes and swallowed hard, trying unsuccessfully to clear her throat. Monsieur Lupone dipped a drinking gourd into a bucket of water and placed it to her lips.

"Where is your family, your husband? I must know so we can find you shelter."

Lauren only stared at him.

"Have you no family, child?"

Lauren shook her head slowly.

"Where is your husband? You must find the strength to tell me. Our party must return to Kaskaskia immediately. I am sorry, Madame--is your husband dead?"

Lauren licked her lips and whispered, "Dead."

"I am sorry," he said, sympathetically. "Do you live here?"

Lauren considered the question a moment then said, "No, the English Colonies.”

Lupone blinked in disbelief, slapped his thighs and bellowed, "Well I can't take you there! Damn it to hell!"

He stood up and paced the room, shaking his head. He turned to the window and looked down at the group of men, loading the last of the supplies onto the bateaux. He knew they must start for home. "What the hell am I supposed to do?” he mumbled to himself.

He turned away and paced again. Suddenly, he stopped and looked down at Lauren. "It is the only way. You must come with us."

*                 *              *

"Mama, come quickly! They're home!" cried the child dashing from the cabin, leaving the door open.

Madame Lupone wiped her hands on her apron and took a shawl from the peg. "Come, little one," she said softly as she picked up the baby. Glancing into the cracked mirror on the bureau, the woman smoothed her hair into place.

The years had been kind to Anne Lupone. After seven children, two miscarriages and a lifetime in the Illinois Country, her pale skin was smooth and free of wrinkles. In her middle years, Anne’s hair was still the color of corn silk and her figure firm. She attributed it to her happy marriage to Gabriel.

"Mama, you are so slow. You must come now!" little Justina cried. The child ran back and took her mother’s hand pulling her in the direction of the docks on the Kaskaskia River. The entire village was in a flurry. The convoy had returned from New Orleans that morning and brought needed supplies as well as letters from relatives and friends in France.

"Be careful with that, Cassill, that barrel holds Madame Peron’s fine china!" barked Gabriel at a pock-faced young man as he hoisted a box roughly upon his shoulder.

Gabriel looked drawn and tired. The expedition had been a success, but the trip had taken a toll on him.

The entire convoy of eighty eight arrived safely in Kaskaskia. The storm had separated them for three months, but in the end there had been only two deaths, an extraordinarily low number for such a perilous journey.

The villagers rushed down to greet their loved ones, and when Gabriel looked up he saw Anne with the baby and Justine running toward him. The little girl threw herself into her father's arms, and Gabriel sandwiched the children against his chest as he hugged his wife. "My God, woman, I've missed you," he said, kissing her.

"Where are the other children?" he asked, anxiously.

"They are here and there," she replied. With tears in her eyes she asked, "Where is Rene?"

"I don't know right now," he said stretching to see over the barrels and crates, looking for his eldest son. "But he is well."

Anne studied her husband. She could see the lines grow deeper in his face after each expedition, but this time when he returned the furrows were even more pronounced. "What went wrong? You seem weary."

"Oh, I'm alright. There were one or two problems to deal with," he said, with a sigh. He turned to pick up a barrel and continued, "First there was the storm, and then there was this girl--"

Suddenly, without warning, Lauren burst around the corner and slammed into Gabriel. The force of the impact knocked him back several steps.

"Oh, Monsieur, I'm so sorry!" she gasped, staggering back with her hand over her mouth. "I didn't see you. Rene was chasing me--"

Next, Rene came around the corner and crashed into Gabriel too. The boy apologized sincerely, but his chest was heaving with laughter.

"You see, my dear wife," Gabriel said, exasperated, "Here are the two problems that have made me so very weary this journey."  

Chapter 6

Being young and resilient, Lauren made a full recovery from her injuries, but the battle was hard-fought. It was not the broken ribs or punctured lung which plagued her throughout the journey but a fever which threatened her life.

For days she lay in a tent on the bateau, tossing and turning, sliding in and out of consciousness. She was alone most of the time. The men of the convoy had little time to nurse her. They themselves battled exhaustion, illness and inclement weather as they paddled against the current of the Mississippi. Rene had not forgotten his new friend though, and he tended to her as much as possible, inevitably having to return to the paddles. The convoy needed every strong back for rowing.

After weeks of fighting for her life, Lauren's fever broke, and she awoke to pain and weakness. There were endless days of flies biting her limbs and eternal nights of mosquitoes pursuing her flesh. In the evening, she took shelter under her blankets preferring the stale air under the covers to the feeding frenzy of the bugs. In spite of these hardships, the girl grew stronger. It was several months before she could do any kind of work on the journey, but even then as she assisted in food preparation she was pale and weak.

Her presence put a strain on the men as well. They were not used to the company of a female, and many resented having to cover their backs in the hot sun. From sunup to sundown they pulled at the oars, their muscles aching and their legs cramping. Occasionally the men sang the song of the voyageur, but most times they were silent, rowing back and forth, lost in the rhythm of their labor. Rowing upriver, fighting the powerful current of the Mississippi was a grueling task. Several of the group succumbed to fatigue, and one slave lost his life, dying with paddles in hand, when his heart gave out. The monotony was nearly intolerable, and morale was low.

Every night the group broke camp somewhere along the river's edge. The Chickasaw Indians, enemies of the French, were native to this area, so the men of the convoy carefully scouted each campsite before lighting a fire and rolling out bedrolls. There had been dangerous encounters with these tribes in the past, and every man knew well the age-old grudge these Indians held against the French.

Dinner each night consisted of corn and bacon or dried venison. Each man consumed as much food as possible, replenishing energy expended throughout the day. There was little time for gaming or conversation after the evening meal, and the paddlers would drop heavily onto their bearskin bedrolls exhausted from the day’s work. Unfortunately, a good night’s rest would not follow. Bugs would plague the men, robbing them of precious hours of sleep and causing them to toss and turn. They would awaken weary and bad-tempered, condemned to the same drudgery the next day.

When Lauren finally became aware of her surroundings, she realized that the country in which she traveled had changed considerably. Gone were the cypress trees and Spanish moss as well as the sultry closeness of the Louisiana air. The temperature here was cool. The trees were different, reflecting brilliant colors in the crisp sunshine, and there was freshness in the air which filled her lungs like never before. So this strange land is the Illinois Country, she thought. The nuns had spoken of it occasionally. She had no idea this wide river traveled so far to the north, and she wondered why these people would want to live so far into the wilderness.

It was also strange for Lauren to be in the company of so many men. Her life had been exclusively with women, and it was disconcerting to be in the presence of twenty-two males. The men avoided Lauren, but she was keenly aware of their eyes on her when she turned her back. Gabriel did not like having such an attractive young female on the voyage, and he felt responsible for her safety. These men had not been with women for a long time, and her vulnerability robbed his peace of mind.

As her strength returned, so did her enthusiasm and she found the journey to the north to be a grand adventure. The prospect of a new home filled with fresh new faces excited her, and it quelled, for a time, the restlessness that plagued her. By the time they reached the Illinois Country, Lauren was in full health and ready to approach this new life with bold resolve.

The convoy left the Mississippi River and was heading up one of its tributaries when someone shouted, "Home!"

Standing on the tips of her toes, Lauren shaded her eyes. Kaskaskia was still upriver, but she could see smoke circling from chimneys and a cluster of buildings. Standing watch on a bluff across the river was a timber fort with four bastions. Dogs were barking in the distance, and there was an air of excitement as the convoy approached the village.

"There will be time for greeting your families later," shouted Monsieur Lupone firmly. "We must unload our cargo, and then you may return to your homes."

Lauren’s heart was pounding in her chest. Her eyes were riveted to the people standing on shore. They did not look so very different from the city dwellers of New Orleans.
The women wore colorful bodices over muslin waists and ankle length skirts made of calico or wool. The men wore vests over cotton shirts and knee britches with long woolen stockings. Some were clothed entirely in buckskin, but everyone, man and woman alike wore moccasins.

The French were not the only inhabitants of Kaskaskia. Black and Indian slaves stood on the riverbank waiting for the bateaux. Once they were at the landing, Monsieur Lupone barked orders, directing his crew and the slaves to unload.

Lauren drank in every nuance of Kaskaskia. For the first time in her life she was a participant, not a bystander watching from an oak tree behind convent walls. The village was in an absolute uproar. There were oxen pulling carts from the river, fathers carrying children on their shoulders, and women rushing to and from market gathering food for the homecoming celebration. Every resident looked relieved. Loved ones had returned home at last, and supplies had arrived before the winter winds.

Unlike the streets of New Orleans, Lauren saw little poverty here. The villagers seemed prosperous and well fed. It was obvious this back country was fruitful.

Similar to Southern Louisiana, the homes were constructed of a series of posts set directly onto the ground joined with
bousillage
, clay mixed with straw aggregate. Most had wood shingle or thatched roofs, a porch on two sides, and always a picket fence enclosing the yard. The smoke from the fireplaces smelled heavenly to Lauren in this crisp air, and she gathered her jacket more closely around herself.

Anne Lupone looked at Lauren, "I see you wear Rene's capot. Have you no warm clothing?"

"I have nothing beyond the clothes on my back."

Anne stopped walking and looked at Lauren, "How is this?"