For Freedom, for Equality, and for God do we stand.
For the Rights of the Free Men of Lousiane of All Creeds & Qualities
For a Free and Christian Nation
--excerpt from a pro-rebel pamphlet in Nouvelle-Orléans
Isle Brevelle
West of Nachitoches
Night of July 24, 1769
Jean Matisse nearly collapsed as he climbed out of the wagon where he had been lying for so long, and, using the edge of it to support himself, casually leaned over to throw up. Wiping his lips with a disgusted groan, he looked around for something to support himself, and, seeing a gun lying nearby, latched on to it and began limping out of the wagon circle. He had been woken up, as with the last three nights, by the sound of screaming and rifle shot in the distance. This time it was different. Closer, and with, he thought, more French than Spanish, unlike usual. This time, the Lousianians had quit their policy of sniping off Spanish soldiers, and had truly joined battle.
He had to get out of here. They would mistake him for a Spanish soldier at first glance, he knew that. And he was far too weak to join the assault. He didn't know where Achille had gone, only that he had run off into the forest at the first sound of shooting. Matisse grimaced as he took another step towards the dark trees. The bullet still lodged in his back caused him pain with every passing moment. The fire-lights and shouting were closer now, and he moved as quickly as he could, nearly weeping because of the pain. Suddenly, he heard it--a horse, barreling out of the forest, riderless. He whistled, and waved his arms. The horse, well-trained, ran over to him, snorting with fear. He rubbed its face quickly, trying to calm it down, and began to climb up onto its back. He did not know how long it took, only that by the time he was on the horse, he was woozy and barely conscious. With the last effort he could muster, he kicked the sides of his mount and they rode off into the darkness.
The next morning, a horse with an unconscious rider was found in the swamps around Nachitoches by local hunters.
* * *
St. Louis, Upper Lousiane(1)
July 26, 1769
"Traitor! Kill him!" August Chouteau winced as another one of the grimy mob gathered spat at his erstwhile business partner, Pierre Laclede. The unfortunate Pierre stood tied to a post on a small wooden stage in the town center, and--how humiliating!--was weeping freely, the flag of Lousiane flapping sternly overhead. Laclede had built this town only five years ago; he had brought these people here and made them, if not wealthy, at least happily prosperous. And then he had made the fatal mistake of arguing against the revolution to a town brimming with real Frenchmen (real Indians too) who despised the Spanish takeover of their land. Chouteau shook his head. Look where it had gotten Laclede.
Striding forward, Chouteau mounted the stage and waved his arms, signaling for the townsmen to quiet down. After a few moments, they obliged with some confusion. He began striding the breadth of the stage, stroking his flintlock pistol thoughtfully as he did. "Friends. Countrymen. Patriotes. This man is not an evil man. He is a man who became caught up in his mercantile affairs. One who, in his quest to accumulate material possessions and make for himself a mountain of wealth, forgot what really matters in this world. Justice. Freedom. And above all, loyalty." He tapped Laclede's head with his pistol--almost lovingly--prompting a whimper. "Loyalty and the common bonds of virtue and Christian love are what binds we Lousianians together. Monsieur Laclede has forgotten these." He placed the mouth of the pistol squarely on Laclede's forehead, striking a dramatic executioner's pose. "For this, I, August Chouteau, elected Chairman of the Governing Council of the District of St. Louis, do sentence him to death." The gunshot could be felt, almost. Laclede slumped, the tears from his now-lifeless eyes mixing with blood. The townspeople began to cheer ecstatically as Chouteau nodded to two nearby militiamen to drag away the body.
Nearby, representatives from the Dakota and Osage tribes who had chosen to ally themselves with the rebels(2), watched in silence as the body of their old friend was dragged away.
* * *
"...The defeat at Isle Brevelle marked the beginning of the end for Spanish control over Lousiane. O'Reilly's force was still generally intact--six hundred out of the two thousand troops had been killed or captured with another hundred severely wounded, leaving thirteen hundred troops still in good shape. Realizing that Fort St. Jean Baptiste had been captured behind him, and that retreating north would leave him nearly beyond almost nonexistent supply lines surrounded by a hostile, well-armed populace, O'Reilly made the fateful decision to move southeast, circumventing Nouvelle-Orléans, in an attempt to capture rebel stronghold La Balize on the southern passes(3). If he could succeed, he would be in control of a major city with a large depot of weaponry and ammunition as well as a good supply of food and access to the Gulf. The key word, of course, being if..."
--Excerpt from L'Etat Libre de Louisiane: Une histoire
Notes
(1) Yes, THAT St. Louis. August Chouteau and Pierre Laclede are both real life characters--Pierre Laclede was a fur trader and business partner of Gilbert Antoine de St. Maxent, a loyalist who ended up selling the rebels out to the Spanish. August Chouteau, 19 years old at this time in our story, was a new arrival to St. Louis who would later end up building up the area around the city.
(2) Now that the revolution has spread, the Dakota and Osage who work as fur traders with the people of Upper Louisiana have joined our rebellion! Yay!
(3) Today Plaquemines Parish in southeastern Louisiana.