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ARKANSAS AND THE JESUITS IN 1727—A TRANSLATION - By W. A. Falconer
I - Letter from Father du Poisson, Missionary to the Akensas to Father......Among the Akensas, October 9, 1727
(The following letters were translated from a French work entitled, "Choix
des Lettres Edifiantes, ecrites des Missions etrangeres," published by LaSociete Bibliographique—at Paris,
in 1837. My translation is made from the sixth volume of the third edition. I have preserved the spelling of proper
names as Used in the text.
W. A. Falconer is an attorney of recognized ability. Born June 16, 1869, at Charleston in Franklin County, Arkansas,
he attended public school in Charleston and in due time the State University. He also spent some time at the University
of Virginia where he studied law. Settling to the practice of his profession at Fort Smith, Arkansas, in 1895,
he has since served three consecutive terms as county and probate judge of Sebastian county. In May, 1909, he was
appointed a member of the State Board of Railroad Commissioners, of which board he later became the chairman.)
Are you curious, my dear friend, to learn something the least curious, and yet, something which costs most dear
to learn by experience? Well, it is the mode of travel in the Mississippi region, a country, at the same time,
so vaunted and so decried in France.
And would you like to hear about the people found there? Then, here goes and I ask no more than this: if the story
of my journey bores you, charge it to the country; if it is too long, charge it to my desire to talk with you.
During our stay at New Orleans, we saw peace and good order re-established by the care and wisdom of the commanding
general. There had been two parties among those who were at the head of affairs; one was called "The big band"
and the other "The little band." This division has disappeared and in all quarters there is hope that
the colony is more solidly established than ever. Be that as it may, we awaited every day the arrival of the pirogue
which carried Father Tartarin, Father Donutreleau, one of our monks, and the nuns. What hastened our departure
was to spare the Reverend Father de Beaubois an increase of his embarrassments, altho it was the worst season for
traveling on the Mississippi. Moreover this Father had on his hands Brother Simon, who, with some rowers (engages),
had come down from the Illinois country (des Illinois) and who had been expecting us for three or four months.
Simon is a gift from the Illinois Mission. Here they call "rowers" (engages) those who engage themselves
to row in canoe or boat, and, we might add, to drive mad those who employ them.
Well, then, we embarked, May 25, 1727, Father Souel, Dumas and I, under charge of our good natured Simon. Father
de Guienne and Le Petit intended, within a few days, to take another route; the former, as you know, among the
Abbamons, and the latter among the Chasses.
Our baggage and that of our boatmen made a pile more than a foot above the sides of our canoes (pirogues). We were
perched on a mass of bales and boxes, with no chance to change our positions. It was prophecied that we would not
go far with this outfit. In ascending the Mississippi, it is necessary to go very slowly because the current is
so strong.
Scarcely had we gotten out of sight of New Orleans, when an overhanging branch struck a chest, overturned it, threw
a young man who was on board a somersault and gave Father Souel a severe blow. Fortunately it was broken in its
first assault; otherwise both the box and the young man would have gone into the water. This accident decided us
when we arrived at Chapitoulas (aux Chapitou-las), three leagues from New Orleans, to send a dispatch to Father
de Beaubois and ask him for a larger canoe.
During this time we were in a known region. The barbarous name which it bears indicates that it was formerly inhabited
by savages. Now the same name is given to five concession (land-grants) along the Mississippi. M. Dubreuil, formerly
of Paris, received us at his estate. The next three belong to three brothers, Canadians, who came to this section,
"with a staff in their hands and a girdle about their loins" and who have prospered better than the concessionaries
from France, although the latter sent over millions of franc to found (fonder) their (grants) concessions, which
are, indeed, now, for the most part, quite founded (fondues). The fifth belongs to Mr. de Koli, a Swiss, master
(seigneur) of the estate of Livry, near Paris, one of the finest men one can find. He came over in the same vessel
that we came on, to see for himself the condition of his concessions, for which he has fitted out ships and made
infinite expenditures.
On each of these concessions there are at least 60 negroes. Maize, rice, indigo and tobacco are cultivated, and
they are the crops which have succeeded best.
I speak of "concession" and I shall again have occasion to speak of it, as well as of "etablissement"
settlement, and of "habitation," plantation. You probably do not know what it's all about; then have
patience and read the explanation.
A concession is a certain tract of land conceded or granted by the Indies Company to an individual or to several
persons who have formed a society to clear and improve this land. In the time of the greatest vogue of the Mississippi
they were known as comtess or earldoms; hence the concessionnaires- are the gentlemen of this country.
They are not people who intended to renounce France. They equipped vessels filled with managers, stewards, storekeepers,
agents, workmen of various trades, provisions and supplies of all kinds. They busied themselves in penetrating
the forests, in building cabins, in selecting fields and in burning the cane and trees.
These beginnings must have seemed quite arduous to persons ill-accustomed to such labors. The managers and their
sub-alterns contented themselves for the most part in places where some Frenchmen were already established, and
there they consumed their provisions; and scarcely was the work begun before it was ruined. The laborer, poorly
paid or poorly fed, refused to work, or became his own paymaster—the stores became their prey. There you recognize
the Frenchman. This is one of the reasons which kept the country from being developed as it should have been, notwithstanding
the prodigious expenditures which have been made for that purpose.
A habitation or plantation, is a smaller portion of land granted by the company. A man with his wife or a partner
clears a little tract, builds a house on four piles and covers it with bark, and sows some maize or rice for his
provisions. Another year he raises a larger crop and plants tobacco. If he reaches the point finally of owning
two or three negroes, that's the end of his troubles.
That is what is known as a habitation or plantation, and a habitant is a planter. But alas! How many are mere beggars
when they begin.
An establissement or settlement is a district, or canton, where there are several plantations close together, forming
a sort of village.
Besides the concessionnaires and planters there are in this country people who have no other business than to rove
about:
1. Women or girls drawn from the workhouses of Paris, from la Salpetriere, or other places of like repute, who
find that the marriage laws are too hard and the charge of housekeeping too troublesome. Voyages of 400 leagues
do not alarm these heroines. I know already two of them whose adventures would furnish material for a romance.
2. Voyageurs: these are, for the most part, people sent for cause to the Mississippi country by their parents or
by the legal authorities and who, finding that the land is too low to dig, prefer to engage themselves in rowing
and in ferrying from one bank to the other.
3. Hunters of Chasseurs: these ascend the Mississippi at the close of summer, two or three hundred leagues, into
the regions where there are buffaloes; they make "flat sides" (plats cotes), that is to say, they dry
the flesh which is on the sides of the buffaloes and salt the rest; they make bear's oil also. They descend the
river towards spring and supply the colony with meat. The country from the upper region to New Orleans makes this
trade necessary, because it is not sufficiently inhabited and cleared up to permit the raising of cattle. At 30
leagues from here buffaloes begin to be seen. They are in troops in the prairies and along the rivers. A Canadian
last year, sent down to New Orleans 480 tongues of buffaloes which he and an associate had killed during the winter.
We left the Chapitoulas on the 29th. Although a larger boat had been sent us, and in spite of the different arrangement
of our people, we had almost as much discomfort as before. We had only two leagues to make that day to sleep at
the Burned Canes, at the house of M. de Benac, manager of the concession of M. d'Artagnan. He received us cordially,
and regaled us with a Mississippi carp, which weighed 35 pounds. Burned Canes embraces two or three concessions
along the Mississippi—it is a place much like the Chapitoulas. Its situation appeared to me even more beautiful.
The next day we made six leagues; more than that is scarcely ever made in ascending the river. We slept, or, rather,
we camped at the Germans (aux Allemands). This is the quarter assigned to the languishing remnant of that band
of Germans who had perished of distress, either at Lorient, or on their arrival in Louisiana. Their plantations
show great poverty. It is here really that one begins to learn what a voyage on the Mississippi means.
I will now give you some idea of it so as not to be obliged to constantly repeat the same thing.
We left at the time of high water. The river had risen more than 40 feet above its ordinary stage. Almost all the
country is low ground. Thus we were exposed to the chance of finding no camping place (cabasnage), that is land
on which to sleep and kindle a fire. When such a place is found, this is the way we sleep. If the ground is still
muddy, as is the case when the waters begin to recede, a bed of leaves is made, so that the mattress will not sink
in the mud. Next a skin or a mattress is spread and bedding, if there is any. Three or four canes are then bent
in a half-circle and the two ends are stuck in the ground, which are separated from each other according to the
length of the mattress. On these canes three others are laid at right angles and upon this little edifice is spread
the baire, that is, a great sheet or cloth, the ends of which are carefully tucked under the mattress. It is in
these tombs, where the heat is stifling, that the traveler is obliged to sleep. The first thing done after landing
is to make the baire in all haste. The mosquitoes do not permit you to do otherwise. If one could sleep in the
open air, he could enjoy the freshness of the night and would be only too happy. When a dry spot cannot be found
there is even greater reason to complain. Then the boat is tied up to a tree. If a large drift is at hand, the
kettle can be heated on it, and if hone is found, it means sleeping without supper. More correctly one does not
sleep, for he remains in the same situation as during the day, exposed all night, to the fury of the mosquitoes.
A drift is a mass of floating trees uprooted by the river and constantly driven on by the current until stopped
by the roots of a tree still standing or by a point of land, when they accumulate, the one upon the other, they
form enormous piles. Some of them can be seen which would furnish abundant fuel for your good city of Tours for
three winters. These places are difficult and dangerous to pass. It is necessary to graze these drifts, for the
current is rapid there and if it should push the canoe against these floating trees the canoe would immediately
disappear and be engulfed in the waters under the drift.
Our voyage was in the season of the most intense heat, which increased each day. During our trip we had only one
whole day of cloudy weather. A broiling sun constantly shone over our heads, with no means of constructing an awning
above our canoes and thus obtain a little shade. Besides, the height of the trees and the denseness of the woods
which border both banks of the river the whole way, do not permit the traveler to taste the slightest breath of
air, although the river is a mile and a half in width. The air is felt only in the middle of the river which it
is necessary to cross in taking the short cuts. We pumped water through canes from the Mississippi to quench our
thirst; although quite muddy, the water is not bad.
Another refreshment which we had was the grapes which hang from the trees almost everywhere and which we snatched
off in passing or which we gathered when we landed. There are, in this country, or at least among the Akensas,
two kinds of grapes, one of which ripens in the summer and the other in the autumn. They are of the same species.
The berries are quite small and afford a juice that is quite thick. There is another species; the bunches have
only three berries which are as large as De-mascus plums. Our savages call them asi or contai; that is, grapes
or muscadines.
Our provisions consisted of biscuits, bacon, salty, and quite rancid, rice, corn and pease. The biscuit failed
us a little beyond Natchez. We had no more bacon after ten or twelve leagues from New Orleans. We lived on pease,
and then on rice, which lasted until our arrival here. The seasoning consisted of salt, bear oil and a hearty appetite.
The most common form of nourishment in this country, almost the only kind for many people and especially for the
voyageurs is hominy (gru).
They crush the maize to remove the outer husk, and boil it a long time in water. The French sometimes season it
with oil. That is hominy. The savages, after pounding the grain quite fine, cook it sometimes with suet, more often
with water only and make a sort of mush. Moreover, the hominy takes the place of bread,—a spoonful of hominy and
a piece of meat go very well together.
But the greatest annoyance, without which the rest would only be play, and surpasses belief, unless one has experienced
it, is the mosquito,—the cruel persecution of the mosquito. The plague of Egypt was, I believe, not more cruel:
Dimittem in to et in servos tuos et in populum tuum et in domos tuas omne genus muscarum et impelebuntur domus
Aegyptiorum diversi generis et universa terra in qua fuerint:
There are little gnats, regular fire-brands, whose bite is so sharp or rather so burning that it seems as if a
spark of fire has fallen on the spot which they have pricked. There are other insects like gnats, that are firebrands
too, (brulots), but which are smaller. You hardly see them. They attack the eyes especially. Then there are wasps
and there are horse-flies; in a word there is omne genus muscarum. But I should not speak of the others without
mentioning the galli-nippers, or mosquitoes (maringouins). This little animal has caused more swearing since the
French have been on the Mississippi than all the swearing up to that time in all the rest of the world! Be that
as it I may, a swarm of galli-nippers (mosquitoes) embarks with the traveler in the morning; when he passes across
the sandbars or near the cane, (as is almost always the case), another swarm hurls itself with fury on the canoe
and does not leave it. It is necessary to keep your handkerchief constantly flapping, and this scarcely troubles
them, for they make a short flight and instantly return to the attack. Your arm tires sooner than they do. When
you land for dinner, from ten o'clock to two or three o'clock, you have a whole army to fight. You make a (boucane),
that is, a great fire, smothered with green leaves. You must get in the midst of the smoke to avoid the persecution.
I do not know which is better, the remedy or the disease.
After dinner you would like to take a little nap at the foot of a tree, but that is absolutely impossible. The
time for repose is passed in fighting mosquitoes. You re-embark with the mosquitoes; at sunset you land, then you
must run and cut canes, wood and green leaves, to make the sleeping place, the fire and the smudge; it is every
fellow for himself. Then there is not merely one army, but several armies that must be fought. It is the inning
of the mosquitoes; they eat you, they devour you; they get in your mouth, in your nostrils, in your ears; face,
hands and body are covered with them. Their stingers pierce through your shirt and leave a red mark on the flesh,
which swells up if you are not innoculated against their bites.
Chicagon, in order to convey to his people some idea of the multitude of Frenchmen that he had seen, told them
that "There were as many of them in the big town (Paris) as there were leaves in the trees and mosquitoes
in the woods."
After supping in haste, you are impatient to shut yourself up in your baire, though you know you will stifle there
with the heat. With what address, with what subtilty you glide under this baire! A few mosquitoes always get in
and one or two are enough to spoil a night's rest.
Such are the trials of a Mississippi voyage. How much the voyageurs suffer for a very modest gain!
There was in the canoe which went up the river with us, one of those heroines of whom I have spoken, who was on
her way to join her hero. She did nothing but chatter, laugh and sing. If for a little temporal gain, if for crime
even, one makes such a voyage, should men bent on the saving of souls fear it? But I return to my journal.
The 31st we made seven leagues; in the evening, no landing place; only water and biscuit for our supper; lying
stretched out in the canoe, eaten by mosquitoes during the night. (It was Whitsunday eve, a fast day!)
June 1st we arrived at Oumas (Aux Oumas) at a French plantation, where we found enough land not inundated to enable
us to camp there. We spent the next day on that place to give rest to our equipage.
Father Dumas and I embarked in the evening on a canoe, which was to make during the night the same distance that
we would have made the next day, and thereby we avoided the intense heat.
June 3rd we arrived very early in the morning at Bayagoulas, (name of an extinct nation), at the house of M. du
Buisson, manager of the Paris brothers' concession. We found beds of which we had almost forgotten the use. In
the morning we secured the repose which the mosquitoes had denied us during the night.
M. du Buisson omitted nothing for our comfort. He regaled us with a wild turkey. They are altogether like our domestic
turkeys, but of a better flavor.
The concession appeared to us well managed and in good condition. It would be still better if it had always had
such a manager. Our people arrived in the evening and we left Bayagoulas the next day charmed with the good manners
and graces of M. du Buisson.
Framboise (Rasberry), chief of the Sitimachas, who was a slave of M. de Bienville, came to see us and to invite
us to dine at his house, which we expected to reach about noon. He had already given the same invitation when he
went down to New Orleans with his tribe to chant the calumet for the new commandant. That gave occasion for the
following adventure. The overflow had forced the Sitimachas to flee back into the woods. We fired a musket to announce
our arrival. A musket-shot in the Mississippi woods is a clap of thunder. Immediately a little savage presented
himself. We had a young fellow with us who knew the language and who spoke to him, and then told us that the little
savage had been sent to guide us, and that the village was not far away. It needs be said that this young fellow
was hungry and he saw very well that we could not make a camp on account of the waters. On the strength of his
word, we got into an Indian canoe which was there. The child took the lead. We had scarce started when the water
failed us; it was little more than mud. Our servants who assured us that it was only a step further, pushed the
canoe forward with their arms; the hope of a feast with Framboise encouraged them; but finally we found nothing
except fallen trees, mud and holes where the water soaked in.
The little savage left us there and disappeared in a moment. What a plight to be in these woods without a guide!
Father Souel leaped into the water; we did likewise. It was something amusing to see us paddling about among the
briars and bushes and up to our knees in water. Our greatest trouble was to draw our shoes out of the mud.
Finally, much bespattered and very weary, we arrived at the village which was more than a half league from the
river. Framboise was surprised at our arrival. He told us coldly that he had nothing for us. In this we recognized
the savage. Our interpreter had deceived us, for Framboise had not sent to seek us; he did not expect us and had
thought that he risked nothing in inviting us, being persuaded that the overflow would keep us from reaching him.
However, that may have been, we turned back quite quickly and without a guide. After wandering a little, we found
the Indian canoe, got in it and regained our own as best we could. Those who had stayed, had much fun with our
appearance, and our adventure. We never had laughed so much; in fact, it was the only time that we had laughed.
There was no land on which to make a fire, as I have said, and it was necessary to content ourselves with biscuit.
In the evening we arrived above Manchat. The Manchat is a branch of the Mississippi, which empties into Lake Maurepas.
No land, no camp-fire, no sleeping place and millions of mosquitoes during the night. No ta iterum; it was a fast
day! The waters began to subside and this made us hope that we would longer have to sleep in the canoe.
The Sitimachas inhabited the lower part of the river in the beginning of the colony. They then killed M. de Saint-Come,
a missionary. M. de Bienville, who commanded for the King, avenged his death.
The map of the Mississippi incorrectly locates the Sitimachas nation. That is not its only error.
After these little evidences of Mississippi erudition I will return to my trip. On the 4th we slept at Baton Rouge.
This place is so called because at that place there is a tree painted red (un arbre rougi) by the savages, and
which serves to mark the hunting limits (qui sert des bornes pour la chasse) of the nations who are above and below.
There we saw a French plantation, abandoned to the deer, rabbits, wildcats and bears, which had ravaged everything.
Four of our people went hunting and returned next day with no game except an owl.
The 7th we dined at the concession of M. Mezieres. It had the appearance of just having been started. We found
there a shanty, some negroes and a simple rustic, who treated us neither well nor ill.
In the evening we camped at Pointe-Coupee opposite the house of a settler, who greeted us kindly. Rain delayed
us next day and allowed us to make only one league. This brought us to the home of another settler. His house,
resting on four piles, protected us only moderately well from the frightful storm. What a need these good people
have for consolation, both spiritual and temporal!
On the 9th scarcely were we embarked when an execrable odor came out of the woods. They told us that there was
an animal in the woods called a polecat (bete puante), which scatters this bad odor wherever it goes. In the evening
we camped at Petits Tonicas, in the canebrake. They fire this cane in the winter and cut it in the summer, in order
to make their camps. The Indian village is on the bank, and is distant from the Grands Tonicas ten or twelve leagues
by river. By land there is only one point or tongue separating the two villages.
Formerly a portage was made in going by land. They still call this cut off "The portage of the cross."
The river has penetrated this point and covers it entirely during the high waters. We had next day to cross this
place, a distance of two leagues, to avoid the ten leagues that we would have had to cover if we had continued
our journey by the Mississippi. At Petits Tonicas, we got a savage to serve us as guide.
On the 10th, we therefore entered this forest, this sea, this torrent; for it is all that at the same time. The
guide, whose language nobody understood, spoke to us in signs. One interpreted them one way, another, another;
thus we proceeded at a venture. Nevertheless, when a person is entangled in these woods, he must go on or perish,
for if he trusted himself to the current to carry him back, this swift flood would certainly cast his canoe against
a tree, which would break it into a thousand pieces. But for that we would have withdrawn from so dangerous an
enterprise as soon as we had entered upon it.
It was necessary constantly to row the boat a zigzag course to keep it from being struck by the trees. Sometimes
it would be wedged in between two trees which did not leave space enough for passing, contrary to the expectation
of the man in charge. Now it was a torrent, whose entrance was almost closed by a drift, or merely by two trees
of enormous length and thickness, and which being cross-wise of the current rendered it more impetuous; sometimes
the entrance was entirely closed by a tree; then it was necessary to change the course in the chance of finding
a like obstacle a moment later, or of striking shallow water, mud and briars; then it was necessary to shove the
boat over by force of our arms. Often one of our men was obliged to throw himself into the water up to his neck
and fasten the boat to a projecting tree so that if the current proved stronger than the force of the oars, and
caused the boat to go backward, it would not be broken against a log.
Our boat ran the greatest risk. It began to fill in a current which was forcing it backward, and one moment we
thought we would sink, but the force of the oars saved us, and by good luck, there was neither a drift nor a tree
turned crosswise.
After having passed another which only left a passage way the width of the boat, our canoe remained for a moment
immobile between the force of the current and that of the oars. We did not know whether it would advance or go
back; in other words, we were then between life and death; for if the oar had given way to the force of the current,
we would have been hurled against a large tree which lay almost entirely across the current. Our party who had
gone on just ahead of us in the other boat, looked on in a sad and mournful silence and raised a great cry of joy
when they saw us out of danger.
I would never finish, if I attempted to relate all the labours of this day. This passage is called "The passage
of the cross." A traveler who knows what it is and yet attempts it, merits the madhouse (les Petites Maisons)
if he escapes. By this cut-off we lessened our voyage only by one short day. The Lord saved our lives, and we came
at length to the end of these two fatal leagues.
We arrived, then, at 4 or 5 o'clock, at Grands Tonicas. The chief of this nation came to the water's edge to receive
us, to grasp our hands and embrace us. He had skins and a matting spread out before his hut, and invited us to
sleep there. Then he presented us with a huge dish of blackberries and a basket of green beans. It was a real feast
to us. The Passage of the Cross had not permitted us to stop for dinner. The chief had been baptized, and a number
of his tribe, by Mr. Davion; but since the return of this missionary to France, where he retired soon after the
arrival of the Capuchin Fathers in this country, he has little of Christianity except the name, a medallion and
a string of beads. He speaks French a little. He asked after M. Davion. We told him that he was dead. He expressed
regret and seemed to desire a missionary. He showed us a medallion of the King, which the commanding general had
sent him in the name of his Majesty, with a writing which certifies that it is in acknowledgment of the attachment
that he has always shown for the French, that this present was made to him.
There are some French among the Tonicas and they expressed great sorrow that they had no missionary. Father Dumas
said mass the next day very early, in the house of the chief, and we were much edified that there were some Frenchmen
to profit by this opportunity of coming to the Sacrament.
The 11th we passed the night, for the last time, in the canoe.
The 12th we camped at Ecors Blancs, and the 13th at Natchez. We immediately paid a visit to the Reverend Father
Philbert, a Capuchin, who was cure there. He is a man of good sense, who was not frightened at seeing us, as his
confreres had been at New Orleans. Moreover he is a man of integrity and very zealous. We then descended to the
river bank to make camp.
The French settlement at Natchez is becoming important. They make tobacco there which is considered the best in
the country. The location is quite elevated and from it you can see the Mississippi winding as if in an abyss.
There is a countless number of hills and valleys. The land of the concessions is more level and more beautiful.
The excessive heat prevented us from going there as well as to the Indian village. The village is a league distant
from the French. It is the only nation, or almost the only one, where is to be seen a sort of religion and government.
They maintain a perpetual fire, and they know by tradition that if it goes out they must replenish it from the
Tonicas.. The chief has great authority over those of his nation and compels them to obey him. This is not so with
most of the nations. They have chiefs who are so only in name; each one is master and yet one sees no sedition
among them. When the chief of the Natchez dies, a certain number of men and women must be immolated to serve him
in the other world. Several have already devoted themselves to death at the time when he shall come to die. On
such occasions they are strangled. The French are doing what they can to prevent this barbarity, but they have
great difficulty in saving anyone. They say that their ancestors crossed the seas to come to this country Some
persons who know their history and usages better than I do, pretend that they have come from China. Be that as
it may, the Tonicas and the Natchez are two great nations, each of which should have a missionary. The chief of
the Tonicas is already a Christian, as I have told you. He has much influence over his people, and moreover, everyone
admits that this nation is very well disposed towards Christianity. A missionary would find the same advantage
among the Natchez, if he had the good fortune to convert the chief; but these two nations are in the territory
of the Reverend Capuchin Fathers, who so far have learned no savage tongue.
We left Natchez on the 17th and we, Father Dumas and I, embarked on a boat which was leaving for the chase. Our
men had not yet secured their provisions,—that is, had not bought and ground their maize. Now sandbars began to
appear; on them we found turtle-eggs, a new delicacy to us.
These eggs are a little larger than pigeon eggs. They are found in the sandbars. The sun makes them hatch. The
tracks that the turtles make lead to the discovery of the places where they have concealed their eggs,—of which
quantities are found. From them omelettes are made which taste good to people who have been living on hominy. It
is estimated that from New Orleans to the Natchez is about 100 leagues, and from the Natchez to the Yatous is 40;
we made this second stage without other adventure, than that we were overtaken one night by a violent storm with
lightning and thunder,—judge if one is well protected from the rain under a cloth.
The next day a savage, who went up with us, landed in order to go hunting. We continued our journey, but we had
not made half a league, when he appeared on the bank with a deer on his shoulders. We camped at the first sandbar
to dry our clothes and to make a big campfire. The repasts that they have after the hunt are quite after the Indian
mode. Nothing can be more pleasant. The animal is in pieces in a moment; nothing is lost.
Our voyageurs draw from the fire, or from the kettle, each one according to his fancy; their fingers and some little
sticks serve them in the place of every kind of kitchen and table utensils. To see them covered only with a breech
clout, and more sunburned and discolored by smoke than the Indians, extended on the sand or squatting like apes,devouring
what they have in their hands, you would not know but what it was a band of Gypsies, or people making a witches
revel.
On the 23rd we reached the Yatous (Yazoo). This is a French post, two leagues from the mouth of the river of the
same name, which flows into the Mississippi. There are an officer, called a commandant, about a dozen soldiers
and three or four settlers. In this place was M. Le Blanc's concession which has gone to decay like many others.
The land is elevated with hills and not very open. It is said that the air there is unhealthy. The commandant,
on our arrival, fired off all the artillery of the fort, which consisted of two pieces of wry small cannon. The
fort is a miserable affair where the commandant lodges, surrounded by a palisade, but well defended by the situation
of the place. The commandant received us in his home with much graciousness. We camped in his court yard.
Our two canoes, one of which bore Father Souel, missionary to the Yatous, arrived two days after we did. The fort
gave him the same honors which it had given us.
This dear father had been dangerously ill during the trip from the Natchez. At Yatous he began to recover. He has
written me since my arrival here that he had again been taken sick, but that he was convalescing when he wrote.
During our stay at Yatous he bought a house, or rather a cabin, while waiting to complete his arrangements for
locating among the savages who are a league distant from the French post.
There are here three villages which speak three different tongues and which compose a rather small nation. I know
nothing else about them.
On the 26th Father Dumas and I re-embarked. From the Yatous to the Arkansas it is counted 60 leagues. We arrived
there July 7th, without any other adventure than that we once had a feast (chaudiere haute) of a bear which one
of our men killed in a hunt.
The villages of the Akensas are badly located on the map. The river at its mouth makes a fork. Into the upper branch
flows a river which the savages call Niska, Eau Blanche, White Water, which is not marked on the map, altho it
is a considerable stream. We entered by the lower branch. From the mouth of this branch to the place where the
river divides is seven leagues; from where it is two leagues to the first village which contains two tribes, the
Tourimas and the Tougin gas. From this first village to the second it is two leagues by water and one by land.
It is called the village of the Southouis.
The third village is a little higher up on the same side of the river: here are the Kappas (Quapaws); on the other
side and opposite this last village are the French settlements.
The three Indian villages which embrace four tribes, bearing different names, form only one nation under the common
name of the Akensas which name the French have also given to the river, altho the Indians call it Ni Gitai, Eau
Rouge, or Red Water. They speak the same tongue and are in all about 1200 souls. We were but a little way from
these villages when a band of young Indians, having seen us, raised a great shout and ran to the village.
A French pirogue, which had preceded us by a day, had notified them of our coming. We found the whole village assembled
at the landing. As soon as we had landed, an Indian inquired of one of our men whom he knew and who understood
the language, "How many moons will the black chief remain among us?"
"Always," replied the Frenchman.
"You lie," said the Indian.
The Frenchman answered:
"No, there will always be with you, men to teach you to know the Great Spirit, just as among the Illinois."
The savages believed him then, and said:
"My heart laughs when you say that."
I had this same Frenchman conduct me to the village of the Southouis, by land. Before arriving there, we found
the chief under his antichon (this is the name which the French give to a sort of arbor, open on all sides, and
where I the chief goes to enjoy the cool air).
He invited me to sit down on a mat, and presented me with some hominy (sagamite). He spoke a word to his little
son who was there. He immediately gave a savage yell, and cried with all his might: "Panianga sa, panianga
sa, the black chief, the black chief." In an instant the whole village surrounded the tent. I had someone
explain to them with what purpose I was there. I heard on all sides only the word, "igaton." My interpreter
told me that it meant,"That's good."
The whole assembly conducted me to the water, giving great yells. An Indian made us cross the river in his canoe
and after walking an eighth of a league, we arrived at the French settlements. I lodged in the Indian Company's
house, which is also that of the commandants when there are any here, and I felt a great joy in being at the end
of the 200 leagues which I had had to travel. I would rather make twice the voyage that we made across the sea
in the same season than to go over the one I have just had.
Father Dumas was only at the half-way point of his journey to the Illinois. He re-embarked the day $after his arrival.
There is not a settlement to be found between here and the Illinois; but one scarcely ever fails to kill some buffaloes
which accommodate people very well who have nothing but hominy (gru) on which to live.
Adieu, etc.
II - Letter of Father du Poisson, Missionary to the Akensas, to Father Patouilet
(Written from the Akensas country, probably about December, 1727.)
Reverend Father:
Accept the compliments of a poor Mississippian who esteems you, and, if you will pardon his saying so, who loves
you as much as the best of your friends.
The distance between the places where Providence has placed us both will never weaken my affection for you, nor
lessen the gratitude I feel for the friendship which you saw fit to have for me when we lived together.
The favor that I beg of you henceforth is to think of me a little, to pray to God for me and to give me from time
to time some precious news of yourself.
I am not yet sufficiently acquainted with the country and the morals and manners of the savages to give you an
account of them; I will simply say that the Mississippi presents to the traveler nothing beautiful or rare except
itself. Nothing spoils it except the continual forest on its banks and the frightful solitude which oppresses the
traveler during the entire voyage.
Having nothing curious, therefore, to relate to you of this country, permit me to entertain you with an account
of what has happened to me since I have been at the post to which Providence has destined me.
Two days after my arrival the village of the Southouis sent two savages to me to ask if I would permit them to
come to sing the Calumet in full regalia,—that is, with all the body painted in different colors, wearing tails
of wildcats at the places where artists paint wings in the pictures of Mercury, carrying the Calumet, or pipe of
peace in their hands, and with their bodies ornamented with rattles which announced their arrival from afar.
I replied that I was not like the French chiefs who command warriors and who come with stores from which to make
them presents; that I had merely come to teach them to know the Great Spirit, whom they did not know and that I
had brought only the things necessary for this purpose; that, however, I would accept their calumet on the day
when some canoe of mine should come up the river. This was equivalent to putting them off until the Greek calends.
They rubbed the calumet over my face and turned away to carry my response. Two days later the chief came to make
the same request, adding that it was without any design, that they wished to dance the calumet before me. "Without
design" means with them that they make a present without any view of its being repaid. I had been warned on
that score. I knew that the hope of booty (butin) rendered them quite eager and that when the Indian gives even
"without design" it is necessary to pay him double or he becomes discontented. Hence I made the same
response to the chiefs that I had made to their envoys. Finally they returned once more to the charge to ask if
I would at least allow their young people to come and dance at my house, "without design," the dance
of the discovery (la decou-bierte),—(that is what they do when sent out to locate the enemy). I replied that I
would not be averse to it, that their young people could come and dance and I would watch them with pleasure. The
whole village except the women, came the next morning at daylight. There was nothing but dancing, singing and haranguing
until noon. Their dances, as you may imagine, are rather bizarre.
The exactitude with which they keep time is as surprising as the contortions and the effort they make. I saw very
plainly that it would not do to send them away without making them a feast. So I borrowed from a Frenchman a kettle
which is similar to those they have in the kitchen at the Invalides.
I gave them meal without stint. Everything passed off without confusion. Two of them assumed the office of cooks,
divided the portions with the most exact equality and distributed them in the same way. The only exclamation heard
was the usual one, "Ho," which each one uttered when given something to eat.
Never have I seen people eat with less grace and greater appetite. They went away quite contented, but soon one
of the chiefs spoke to me again of receiving their calumet. I answered them as I had done before. Moreover, it
is quite expensive to receive their calumet. In the beginning when it was necessary to humor them, the managers
of M. Laws' concession and the commandants, who received their calumet, made them many presents. These savages
here believed that I was going to re-establish the former fashion; but if I were able to do so, I would be sure
not to, because there would be danger that in the end they would hear me speak of religion only from interest.
And it is known from experience that the more you give the Indians the less reason you have to be pleased with
them, and that gratitude is a virtue of which they have no conception.
I have not so far, had the time to apply myself to their language. But, since they pay me frequent visits* I question
them. "Talonjajai?" "What do you call that?" I know enough of it to make myself understood
in the most ordinary things. There is no Frenchman here who knows it thoroughly. They have only learned it superficially
and only what is necessary to know in trading. I already know as much about it as they do.
I foresee that it will be very hard for me to learn it so as to speak of religion to these savages. I have reason
to think that they are persuaded that I know their tongue perfectly. A Frenchman was speaking of me to one of them,
when the Indian said: "I know that he is a great spirit, because he knows everything."
You see that they do me infinitely more honor than I deserve. Another one delivered me a long harangue, of which
I only understood the words: "Indatai," "my father;" "uygihguai," "my son."
I replied quite at random, when I saw that he questioned me; "Ai," "Yes;" "igalon,"
"that is good.'
Then he passed his hand over my face and shoulders and did the same with himself. After all these motions he went
away looking quite well pleased. Another came some days later for the same ceremony. As soon as I learned of his
coming I sent for a Frenchman and asked him to explain to me what I should say, without it appearing that he was
acting as my interpreter. I was anxious to know whether I had made a mistake in my answer to the other one. He
asked if I would consent to adopt him as my son. He said that whenever he returned from the chase, he would, "without
design," throw his game at my feet; that I need not ask as the other Frenchman did, "for what are you
hungry?" that is, "what do you want me to give you?" but that I should make him sit down and feed
him as if he were my own son and that when he returned the second time, I could say: "Be seated my son; now,
come, here is some paint and some powder."
You see the genius of the savage. He wanted to appear generous in giving "without design" and yet did
not want to lose anything by it.
I replied to his discourse: "Igaton the'," "very good," or "I consent," after which
he passed his hand over me as the other one had done.
Here is another incident which shows how generous they are. Day before yesterday I received a visit from a chief.
I gave him a pipe and tobacco,—to fail in that would be to be wanting in courtesy. A moment later he took a painted
deer skin which he had left in the hall of my house and put it over my shoulders. That is their custom when they
give presents like that. I asked a Frenchman to inquire of him what he wished me to give him.
"I have given without design," he said. "Do you think I would barter with my father?"
However, a few moments later, he said to the same Frenchman that his wife had no salt, and his son no powder. His
object was just that,—The Indian gives nothing for nothing and you must observe the same maxim in dealing with
him, unless you would invite his contempt.
A painted, or matachee, skin is one painted by the Indians in different colors and on which they paint pipes, birds
and animals. Those of the deer serve as table covers and those of the buffaloes make bed coverings.
The French settlement among the Akensas would be considerable if M. Law's credit had held out four or five years.
His grant or concession, was here in a boundless prairie, the entrance to which is two gun shots from my house.
The Indian Company had made him a grant in the form of a square, and it is about 100 leagues around it, I think.
His plan was to build a city there, establish manufactures, have a quantity of vassals and troops; in fine, to
make a duchy of it. He began to work just before his downfall. The effects that he sent into this country amounted
to more than a million and a half francs. There were among other things superb equipments sufficient for two hundred
cavalrymen. He had also bought 300 negroes. The French engaged for this grant were people of all sorts of trades.
The managers and subalterns, with 100 men, came up the river in fine boats, to start the enterprise. They planned
to provide supplies for those whom they had left below on the river. The chaplain died on the way and was buried
on a sandbar in the Mississippi. Twelve thousand Germans were engaged for this concession. That was not a bad start
for the first year; but M. Laws was disgraced. Of three or four thousand Germans who had already left their country,
a great part died at Lorient, almost all upon landing in the country; and others were countermanded. The Indian
Company took over the grant and soon after abandoned it and everything went helter-skelter. About 300 Frenchmen
remained. The fine character of the soil and climate alone kept them, for they have received no outside aid.
My arrival gave them pleasure, for they thought this meant that the Indian Company did not intend to abandon this
section, as they first believed, since a missionary had been sent there.
I could not tell you with what joy these good people received me. I have found them in great need of everything.
This misfortune, with the excessive and unusual heat which they have had this year, has put everybody on the sick
list.
The few remedies which I brought with me have been a great aid to them. The time which I have had to give to the
sick has not prevented me from giving each Sunday and each feast-day, an exhortation during mass, and an address
of instruction after vespers. I have had the consolation of seeing that the greater part of them have profited
by it, and have come to the Sacrament and that the rest are disposed to profit by it.
It is indeed a reward for the greatest labors, if they are followed by the conversion of even one sinner.
The fatigue of the sea and of the Mississippi, which are still greater, and the change of food and of climate and
of everything, have in no way altered my health. I am the only one of the French who has been preserved from sickness
since I came here. Yet they used to complain of the pallor of my complexion before I left France. One could not
complain, for the opposite reason, of Father Souel, who has already been sick three times since he has been in
this country.
Pray God that He gives me grace to consecrate what strength I have to the conversion of the savages. Judging from
a human standpoint, there is little good to be done among them, at least, in the beginning, but I hope for everything
by the grace of God. I have the honor to be, respectfully.
III - Extract from a Letter of Father Lepetit to Father D'Avagour:
New Orleans, July 12, 1730. Reverend Father: (P. 296) After having given you some idea of the customs and genius
of the Natchez, I will now give you an account of their perfidy and treason. It was on the 2nd of December, 1729,
that we learned that they had surprised the French and had almost annihilated them. The sad news was brought by
one of the settlers who had escaped their fury and it was confirmed on succeeding days by other French fugitives.
The alarm and consternation at New Orleans were general. Altho the carnage occurred more than 100 leagues from
here, you would have said that it had happened under our very eyes.
Each mourned the loss of a relative, friend or property, and all feared for their lives for there was ground for
believing that the conspiracy of the Indians was universal.
This unexpected massacre began on Monday, October 28,1729, toward 9 o'clock in the morning. Father du Poisson had
just come to perform the burial service of his companion, Brother Crucy, who died suddenly from sun-stroke. He
had gone to consult M. Perrier and take measures with him necessary for bringing the Akensas down the river for
the accommodation of travelers.
He reached the Natchez November 26th, just two days before the massacre. The next day, which was the first Sunday
in Advent, he said mass in the parish and preached in the absence of the curate. He intended to return in the afternoon
to the Akansas, but he was delayed by some sick people to whom he had to administer the Sacrament. Monday, he had
just said mass, and was carrying the holy viaticum to one of the sick, who had confessed the evening before, when
the slaughter began.
The chief, Big Leg, caught him around the waist, threw him to the ground and cut off his head with the strokes
of a tomahawk. As he fell the priest said only, "Oh! my God, Oh! my God!" M. Du Codere drew a sword to
defend him when he was himself killed by a gun-shot fired by another Indian whom he did not see.
The Illinois, (who remained faithful to the French), left on June 1st, to join the Akensas and fall upon the Yazous
and the Carroys. The latter were in retreat intending to retire among the Tchikachas where they were carrying the
French scalps which they had taken. But they were surprised on the way by the Tchatchoumas and by some Tchactas
who took from them 18 scalps and recovered the French women and their children.
A little later they were again attacked by a band of Akensas who took four of their scalps and made several women
prisoners. These good savages, on their return, met two canoes of French hunters, whom they robbed, after their
custom, from their heads to their feet, as they wept over the death of the French and of their Father in Jesus
Christ.
They swore that while there was an Akensas (un Akensas in the world, the Natchez and the Yazous would not be without
an enemy. They showed a bell and some books which they were carrying, they said, for the first "black chief"
who comes to their village. That was all that they found in Father Souel's cabin.
The faithful Akensas mourn every day in their village for the death of Father du Poisson. They beg with great insistence
for another missionary. We cannot refuse to grant this request of a nation so amiable and at all times so devoted
to the French.
There is nothing to fear at New Orleans. As for the missionaries, they are very tranquil. The perils to which they
are exposed, seem to increase their joy and reanimate their zeal. Remember them and me in your holy sacrifices,
in whose union I am with respect, etc.
IV - Extract from a Letter of Father Vivier to Father.........
In the Illinois Country. November 17, 1750 - (P. 326)
One hundred leagues above the Natchez, (a nation now destroyed), are the Akensas, an Indian nation of about 400
warriors. We have near(?) them a fort with a commissary to furnish supplies to those who go up to the Illinois
country. There are several settlers, but in May, 1648, the Chicachots, our irreconcilable enemies, seconded by
some other barbarians suddenly attacked this post, killed several people, and took away 13 in captivity. The rest
fled to the fort in which there were then only about a dozen soldiers. They acted as if they wished to attack,
but scarcely had they lost two men, when they beat a retreat.
pg. 379
MICHAEL SHELBY KENNARD - By George P. Kennard
Michael Shelby Kennard, son of G. W. and Eliza Hobson Kennard, was born February 12, 1833, at Gaston, Sumter
County, Alabama, and attended school at that place until his fifteenth year. He then entered the University of
Alabama, where he graduated with honors in July, 1852. On the 16th of September of the same year he was married
to Mary Saunders, at Saunderville, Sumner County, Tennessee. Nine children blessed this union. In the spring of
1853 he taught a select school in the parish of West Feliciana, Louisiana, at the same time employing his leisure
hours in the study of law. Removing to Batesville, Ark., in July, 1854, he was there admitted to the bar, and successfully
practiced his profession until the beginning of the Civil War. Here, also, he entered the field of journalism by
establishing "The Independent Balance," a paper devoted to the interests of his town and county; and
so ably did he conduct the editorial department of his paper that it soon found place in the front rank among Arkansas
newspapers of that day. With characteristic determination to excel in this as in every undertaking, he soon had
one of the best equipped printing offices in the State, and was prospering, both as lawyer and editor, when the
war came to blight his prospects. In 1860 he was sent as a delegate to the Bell and Everett convention, Baltimore,
Md., and afterwards as a delegate to the constitutional convention at Little Rock that passed the ordinance of
secession. On his return to Batesville, he joined Colonel Sweet's Texas regiment; was captured, with his whole
command, at Arkansas Post, and sent to Gratiot prison, St. Louis, Mo. After being kept there for three months,
he was sent to Alton, Ill., where he remained for nine months, until released through the efforts of his brother-in-law,
Col. Rolfe S. Saunders, a warm personal friend of Mrs. Abraham Lincoln. While in the army he received a wound in
the head from which he suffered headaches in later life.
With this brief summary of the principal events in his early life, I have given the reader an introduction to the
man whose work as an educator deserves larger mention than one can give it in a short journalistic sketch. The
life of M. Shelby Kennard during the thirty-six years from the end of the Civil War until his death in 1901 was
rich in materials that would grace the pen of the most skillful biographer.
One of his first acts at the close of the war, which I mention because it strikingly reveals the virtuous magnanimity
of his soul, was to destroy accounts which he held against his fellow-citizens to the amount of several thousand
dollars. Although these accounts were just, and legally collectible, his sympathy for his debtors, who, like himself,
had suffered the losses incident to those four terrible years of strife, prompted him to generously release them
from all previously incurred obligations to him. He did not, however, demand like treatment from his creditors;
and, though some of them relentlessly pushed their claims against him, he would not take cover from their ungenerous
exactions under the bankrupt law; but, preferring poverty with unstained honor to material comforts enjoyed at
the expense of self-respect, sold his home in order to pay his debts.
Though now at the bottom of the ladder of fortune (financially speaking), the reputation that he had already won,
both as a lawyer and as an editor, predicted for him a future of brilliant success, had he chosen to continue in
either of these vocations. Neither of them, however, was to his liking. God had ordained him for a higher calling.
He was born to be a teacher, and now entered upon the life-work for which he was peculiarly fitted, both by natural
endowment and education. His transient labors in other fields were divergences from the path prescribed for him
by Providence, whose kindly hand now led him back into the way from which a youthful ambition had for a short time
lured him.
Under the influence of a godly father, who was a Baptist minister, he had early been led to faith in Christ. From
that time to the end of his life he was a devout and consistent Christian of the Baptist persuasion. While pursuing
his studies in the University of Alabama, he was impressed with the belief that God had called him to the Gospel
ministry, and in letters to his fiancee expressed his intention to make this his life-work. So tenacious was this
impression that it led him, even in advanced age, to accept from his church a license to preach, though he was
never ordained to the full work of the ministry. His mind seemed never to be entirely relieved of this obligation,
however, until he had the pleasure of seeing one of his sons, the writer of this sketch, ordained to the Baptist
ministry. It was this ineradicable conviction that God had called him to devote his life to the service of others
that led him to enter upon his life-work as- a teacher; and no one fully acquainted with the man, and thoroughly
apprised of his success in his chosen field of labor, could doubt the wisdom of his choice. His teaching was preaching,
most fruitful of results, because his auditors were the young, whose minds were as clay in the potter's hands.
He held before them the beautiful ideal of a blameless life, and exemplified it by his own. He kindled in their
minds the fire of a holy ambition, and taught them to detest an ugly act or an impure thought. Each daily session
of his school was opened with the reading of God's word and prayer; and in those chapel exercises I have frequently
heard him lecture his pupils with tearful emotion. No one could come under his influence without receiving an inspiration
to strive for the loftiest and best in being and conduct.
In addition to the moral influence of his life and teaching upon his pupils, he possessed superlative skill as
an instructor. With a mind clear, penetrating, sharply analytical, and disciplined to rigid accuracy by its love
of truth, he quickly perceived the source of the pupil's confusion, wisely guided him out of his perplexity, and
insisted upon his clear solution of every difficulty and complete mastery of every problem. His motto in teaching
was, "Thoroughness first; then progress." He insisted upon accuracy in details. Every sentence that came
from his own lips or pen was ready, without change, for the printer's page. He was not guilty of such a fault as
a misspelled or mispronounced word, or a mispunctuated sentence, and he taught his pupils to aspire to the same
degree of accuracy. He believed that education consists in having the mind well disciplined and prepared to grapple
with life's problems, rather than in having it crammed with a confused mass of useless knowledge; and it was his
conviction that this task is best accomplished by the thorough mastery of a few subjects, rather than by an attempted
acquaintance with many.
A few general statements may serve to set his moral character before the reader in clearer light. Never was a soul
less sordid; he was absolutely free from the love of money. He taught out of pure love for his profession—a love
arising from his love to God and to his fellow men. He found the greatest pleasure in assisting young men and young
women to obtain a liberal education; and, to this day, there are many of these that gratefully remember the help
he gave them. No impure word was ever heard from his lips by any member of his family, nor, I am sure, by any one
else. He was disgusted with anything that bore the slightest resemblance to vulgarity or obscenity. He was scrupulously
honest in all his dealings with his fellow men, and conscientiously truthful. In this respect, his life fulfilled
the description in the fifteenth Psalm of the man that shall dwell in God's holy hill: "He that speaketh truth
in his heart; he that sweareth to his own hurt, and changeth not." Though not lacking in self-respect and
consciousness of his own ability, he was retiring and modest, and never sought to push himself into such prominence
as his most intimate and appreciative friends thought he deserved. Though amply qualified for any office within
the gift of the people, only once could he be induced to seek a prominent office—that which he was best of all
qualified to fill—the State superintendency of public instruction. His failure to secure the office resulted from
political wire-pulling, in which he would not participate to avoid defeat.
The limits of this sketch forbid more than the briefest mention of further events in Mr. Kennard's history. Nor
is it necessary to expatiate upon any of these where one is not attempting to write a complete biography. After
teaching two or three years at Batesville, he was induced by friends that knew his worth to move to the adjoining
county of Izard, where he founded LaCrosse Academy. Three years thereafter, in the year 1870, the citizens of Warren,
Bradley county, in the southern part of the State, having learned of his ability and success as a teacher through
one of his former patrons, addressed to him an urgent petition to become the principal of the Warren Academy, offering
to guarantee him a salary of $1,500 and to make him a deed to their entire school property. In response to their
invitation he moved to Warren, but generously refused to accept either the guarantee of salary or the deed to the
property. After six well-spent years in Warren, he returned to LaCrosse in 1876. This move of two hundred miles
was made in wagons, sent by his LaCrosse friends, whose desire to have him return caused them to offer this free
transportation for his family and household goods. For eight years, LaCrosse Collegiate Institute, as it was then
known, flourished under his management; and here he would probably have spent his remaining years but for one of
those terrific disasters that are frequently wrought by nature's violent forces. In the year 1884 a cyclone wrecked
the school building and practically destroyed the whole village. The people of the community, impoverished by their
own losses, could only replace the wrecked building by a smaller and cheaper one. The village never recovered from
the ravages of the storm. Mr. Kennard soon found it necessary to go elsewhere for a support for his family. He
afterwards taught at Smithfield, Evening Shade and Newport. He later was elected professor of Greek, Latin and
mathematics in Mountain Home Baptist College, where he remained five years. During part of the time he held the
office of president of that institution. Returning again to LaCrosse, he labored for three years under the strain
of declining health, caused by some disorder of the stomach.
Closing his last session in March, he set out for Heber Springs, hoping to obtain relief from those waters; but,
reaching Batesville on his way thither, he was compelled by failing strength to stop at the home of some friends
there, where, after a month of suffering, he died in the spring of 1901, surrounded by his wife and children, who
had gathered to his bedside to witness the end of his virtuous career. His last words, spoken in a whisper to his
wife, were these: "I am trusting in the blood of the everlasting covenant of our great God and Savior, Jesus
Christ." In the beautiful cemetery at Batesville, his first Arkansas home, not far from the river, whose flow
is ceaseless as the tide of years, his body rests, awaiting resurrection at the trump of God; but in the "beautiful
isle of somewhere" his spirit exults in a beatific vision of Christ, and his memory here is cherished by many
to whom his life was a benediction. As a token of their affection, his pupils have adorned his grave with a modest
monument—the only kind that would have suited—and on it are engraved his last words. Not less than three thousand
young men and young women of Arkansas were trained for life by his teaching, and from him caught a glimpse of that
better life that awaits the faithful "beyond this bourn of time and place;" and all of them that may
chance to read these lines will join with the writer in this estimate of his character:
"His life was gentle, and the elements So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up And say to all the world,
'This was a man "
The following is a letter of appreciation written June 26, 1916, by one of Professor Kennard's former students,
William T. Hopper, who at the time of writing it was treasurer of the Home Savings Bank of Los Angeles, Cal.:
"I am just in receipt of your letter in reference to Professor Kennard, and beg to say: Having studied four
years under him in Mountain Home Baptist College, from which institution I graduated in 1895, and having been intimately
associated with him in institutes and normals, I am convinced that he was truly one of the strong men of the Nation.
Had he had the disposition to put himself forward he could no doubt have held any position of public trust with
distinction and honor, but he preferred the modest but more important work of training the youth of the country,
who idolized him in life.
"One of his pet sayings was this: 'No one knows anything well until he is able to explain it to others and
he continuously drilled that into his pupils. When we would say we knew, but could not explain, he invariably said
we did not know until we could explain. Once when I was examiner of Baxter County, and was holding an institute,
I said that no one could teach in the schools of Baxter County who in any way used intoxicating liquor. Professor
Kennard at once took up the thought and said with emphasis that these words should be written in gold and placed
in every school-house in the county."
pg 386
EARLY DAYS OF CAMDEN - By Mrs. A. A. Tufts
The story of the early days of Camden has been told more than once in the columns of our newspapers, and from
these accounts I have gleaned a few of the main facts. For the rest I will simply recall some facts as related
by my father and mother, who settled here in 1844. It was then called Ecore Fabre. They came from Gainesville,
Ala., stopping at Helena eight months, before finally deciding upon this point. I remember a certain old oak center
table which for many years was the prominent feature in our living room, and one day I crawled under it and saw
the words "Ecore Fabre" in large black letters. This was part of the shipping address, and I, who was
born some years after the name of Camden was adopted, had to ask what Ecore Fabre meant. I was told then the story
of the first white man who ever lived here. He was a French trapper, who must have been a man of fine judgment,
as he chose to tie up his skiff and pitch his tent on the bluffs of the Ouachita at this point, hence the name
"Fabre's Bluff." It was near the close of the year 1844 that some of our citizens began to agitate the
subject of a change of name, and conflicting reports have been made as to why the name of Camden was chosen. Among
these reports the most plausible seems to be that Gen. Thomas Woodward selected Camden, in honor of his native
town of that name in Alabama. At this time residences were of the most primitive style, built of logs, on the plan
known as that of "two pens and a passage." The younger members of the family were usually assigned sleeping
quarters in the loft. I remember hearing my mother tell of her embarrassment once, while my father was entertaining
some distinguished guests, when one of the boys, becoming a little frightened at some unusual noise outside, came
crawling down the narrow, steep stairway very thinly clad; and, as he was coming backwards, did not realize the
presence of the guests. The first church in Camden was built by the Methodists in 1844. Before that time religious
services had been held in a private house. The church was a modest wooden building forty feet square on the same
lot where the handsome brick church now stands. The laying of this cornerstone was a great event. The Blue Lodge
took an important, part in the ceremonies, and the "Heroines of Jericko" and "Good Samaritans"
marched bravely in the ranks. They were all there, even to Mrs. Peter Pope, who had told her husband on the night
of her initiation that if she saw or heard anything "contrary to the word of God," right then and there
she was going to turn back. Dear sainted souls! Any of them would have died a martyr's death rather than be untrue
to their ideals! My father used to tell us of one day during the Sunday service, in this old church, when a boy
slipped in and quietly passed the word along to the men and boys that a wild cat had been sighted in the ravine
which divided the town north and south. A good brother was making a long prayer, and when he uttered the final
amen and rose from his knees, every male member of the congregation had disappeared. Before the close of the sermon
which followed they all came trooping by, with dogs in hot pursuit of the wild cat. Our men would never leave "an
ox in the ditch" nor a wild cat in the ravine, even on Sunday. Ezra Hill was the first merchant in Camden.
He was a wealthy and influential man, and his daughter, Elizabeth, afterwards Mrs. Vaughan, was a prominent figure
in social life. Her name is preserved by our little Miss Elizabeth Vaughan Holmes, her great-great-granddaughter.
Of all the names which have lingered in the memory of the old settlers none possess so much interest as that of
Berenice Woodward, whose charming personality and early pathetic death enshrined her in all hearts.
General Woodward's residence was the first frame house built in Camden. My father, Judge Scott, was the first lawyer,
and had an office in a small log cabin near the residence of Mr. W. W. Brown. There was a gruesome story of the
first hanging. A white man named Dowdy killed an Indian on the main street of the town, under circumstances which
resulted in a speedy sentence. There was no need for setting a death watch, the Indians attended to that. They
spent their time watching him stealthily through the cracks of the log jail, and at meal times especially would
jeer at him and make remarks such as, "Eat heap, Dowdy— get fat—hang nex' week." He was hung in due time,
and one of my brothers, now a Confederate veteran, fainted at the sight, and as he tumbled down from the lofty
perch he had selected for a good view, it happened to be my father who rescued him. The surprise was mutual, as
father had strictly forbidden the boy attending the hanging and had remarked that he was only going out for "a
little drive," in hunter's parlance—mother saw to it that day that my brother escaped his usual punishment
for disobedience.
Hiram Smith was the first postmaster, and letters were expensive luxuries, with postage at twenty-three cents.
Rowland B. Smith was the first boy born in Camden. Certain newspaper writers have tried to prove that he was not,
but if there is a discrepancy of about ten miles involved there will be no trouble about that, as Camden will undoubtedly
reach that limit before long. Historians may destroy some of our most cherished ideals. They are welcome to the
cherry tree and the hatchet; they may even lay violent hands on that other member of the Smith family, Captain
John, of Jamestown, and his dusky charmer, but we refuse to part with our first "boy baby," as he was
called.
Our first livery stable was owned by a man who rejoiced in the name of Napoleon Bonaparte Sullins, but was some
times called "Dick" for short. The first tombstone brought to Camden was to mark the resting place of
Thomas Stone. This stone was an object of the most intense interest to all the surrounding country, and was one
of the sights to be enjoyed by visitors. Berenice Woodward had the first piano, and it was not uncommon for Indians
to slip up near the house to peep curiously through the window and listen, with great wonderment, to her playing.
The first tailor in Camden was John Works, a diminutive specimen of mankind, who was the wonder of all the small
boys of the town. Blood-curdling stories were told of his previous life; he had purely been a pirate, or at the
very best an absconding husband and father. The most generally accepted thing was that he had been a soldier in
the Texan war and an active participant in the battle of San Jacinto; and afterwards a noted gambler and horse-racer—always
a brave fighter, who carried a bowie knife stuck down the back of his neck. From the day he appeared in Camden
he led a singularly quiet life, was a consistent Methodist, and when he died many years ago left his little fortune
to missionary work. Doctor Ponder was the first physician.
Previous to his arrival it was necessary to send to Washington, some fifty miles away, for medical service, so
it is not surprising to hear of the old ladies who went from house to house with simple remedies in their little
reticules, and many choice recipes for preparing broths and poultices and teas. The first log house was the home
of John Nunn, and here court met, religious services were held and the postoffice kept until suitable buildings
were erected. When the Nunns first came, there were so many bears prowling around the town that Mrs. Nunn used
to tie her small children to the bedposts for fear they might stray out of doors and be eaten alive. Sterling Backana
was our first mayor. In beautiful Oakland cemetery will be found many another loved and honored name of those who
gave their best to the upbuilding of Camden.
"May they rest in peace and may perpetual light shine upon them."
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