A Fire on the Bayou: The Revolution of '69

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Home of Denis-Nicholas Foucault, Vieux Carré, Nouvelle-Orléans, Lousiane

June 26, 1769


It says something substantially important about what Louisiana was becoming that the three, extremely different men(1) gathered within this simple, but airy parlor were in fact half of the Supreme Council of Louisiana, rulers, such as they were, of the sprawling colony which for the moment was in the process of becoming much more. For now, however, the mood that hung around these men like a fog was black and depressed. Foucault spoke first. "The Spanish are coming--no matter what they say, they will not spare us, I know this. We three and the others have led a rebellion, a revolution, against the Spanish crown. This is treason. We will hang for our crimes."

The leader of the militia that had forced the governor from the city, Pierre Marquis, looked at Foucault bitterly. "Then what do you suggest we do? Surrender? Invite O'Reilly to dinner(2)? No." Marquis, a tall, well-built man, stood, towering over the other five. The shadows cast by the candle flames danced over his face, making something blunt and bony soft and mysterious, filled like the bayou with the vast unknown. He spoke again, his voice, like the shadows, dancing into the hearts and minds of his fellow councilmen. "No. We know these marshes, these bayous, as well as the Indians. We will move into the marshes these nights, and find the Spanish, and kill them. No longer will our lives and our land be subject to the whims of crowned heads an ocean away!" His voice had risen to a roar, and now dropped to a whisper. "Will you fight with me?" He stared at the others, suddenly fearful that they would not. But, the others stood, each nodding their assent.

The Free State of Louisiana was founded on this day in a shabby house along the Vieux Carré(3).

Notes
(1) To wit: Denis-Nicholas Foucault, High Commissioner of Louisiana; Nicolas Chauvin de Lafreniere, Attorney General of same; Pierre Marquis, leader of the rebel militia; and the three missing members, Joseph Milhet, Joseph Villere, and Balthasar Masan, all wealthy merchants and all of whom had gone to three of the four corners of the world to seek help.
(2) Which, funnily enough, they did OTL. This is our first PoD: Pierre Marquis is more realistic than IOTL, knowing that they have to fight if they want to live.
(3) And we're off! As I said, this is only our first PoD. You'll see what I mean next time!

* * *

Do comment and criticize. I know it's not much, but hopefully it's a good taste of what's to come!
 
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Replica of the original Fort St. Jean Baptiste, where the first real battle between Louisiana patriots and Spanish colonial forces occurred(1)

Fort St. Jean Baptiste, Southwestern Louisiana

July 2, 1769


Captain Jean Matisse, commander of the Fort St. Jean Baptiste, looked blearily through the open gates of his domain, as a slow drip of travelers, mainly white trappers and their Indian wives--though some were French-affiliated tribesmen who feared the Spanish incursion--passed through. He had become aware of the revolution in New Orleans only two weeks before from Joseph Milhet, and had, reluctantly, joined forces with the patriotes(2). Matisse had never, in his life, entertained thoughts of independence, but he certainly would not stand for Spanish dominance over his people. He would not stand for it!

This last week, though, the war had come very close. The Spanish response force was moving into Louisiana, and they (of course) just happened to be moving through the lands protected by his fort. And so a stream of refugees had moved towards the only defensible structure within dozens of miles. The captain sighed and stroked his mustache, a nervous habit he had developed since taking command of the fort. He had no idea how he was to feed his men, the refugees, and the animals they had been bringing in with them. And if the Spanish came...

A shout, like thunder, interrupted his thought. "The Spanish are coming! The Spanish are coming!(3)" Matisse, now fully awake despite the early morning, sprang into action, running towards the gates. "Get inside, close the gates! Any men of fighting age, seize any weapons that can be found and gather in the yard! My militiamen, get to your position with rifles, powder, and shot!" As the gate creaked shut, he looked at the yard. Perhaps fifteen grizzled, rifle-wielding trappers stood there, with perhaps thirty tribesmen armed with bow and arrow alongside. They were not enough, he thought despondently. They would have to be.

The first shot rang out, as one of his men fired through a rifle-hole in the stake-walls. A distant scream rang out, and Matisse smiled grimly as he picked up his own gun.

He would set fire to the bayou tonight.

He would die before his fort fell.

Notes
(1) Our second PoD. Unlike OTL, the western villages declare for the patriotes, meaning that O'Reilly's forces are forced to march into Louisiana from the northwest of New Orleans and subdue these before they can move on to the heartland of the rebellion, taking up significant time.
(2) The French word for patriots, and the name of our belov'd rebels.
(3) Sounds awfully familiar, eh?
 
How big will Lousiane become?

I honestly don't expect a massive Louisiana due to the very small population base but the impact it will have on North America will be immense. How will British North America react, especially its Canadien inhabitants. I assume that the American War of Independence in 1776 won't be butterflied away but it will chance drastically for sure.

Anyways, I'm following this.
 
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Augustus FitzRoy, 3rd Duke of Grafton and First Lord of the Treasury in 1769

Presidio San Miguel de Panzacola, Pensacola, British West Florida

July 2, 1769


Through the thick haze of tobacco smoke which filled the office of the Right Honorable Acting Governor of West Florida Montfort Browne(1), Balthasar Masan could see the Union Jack waving in the sun, an oppressively small window constraining his view. The fur trader sighed internally, and took another puff from his cheap wooden pipe. For almost a month now, he had sojourned in Pensacola, pressing for an audience with the governor. The funds he had brought had nearly dried up by this point; he had been lodging at an old Spanish tavern on the edge of the colonial capital, the owners of which were not particularly inclined to look upon any sorts of strangers with partiality. Masan was quite certain he had been terribly swindled by the gruff tavernkeeper on many more than one occasion.

The door opened and closed so quietly--or perhaps he was simply so lost in thought--that he did not notice the presence of the British governor until Browne placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. Masan started, spilling tobacco across the carpeted floor. Browne chuckled. "Did I surprise you, my good sir? I do apologize." Looking towards the door, he bellowed; "Guardsman! Call a servant, there's a mess that needs cleaning!" As the faint assent echoed back, Masan stood, brushing himself off and holding the pipe in his mouth for ease. Wiggling it around to the side with his tongue to allow himself to speak, the merchant said, "Do not worry, good sir! I am perhaps easily startled at times." The governor smiled faintly and genially, and Masan felt a rush, compelling him to speak.

"Sir, I have come to you for a very particular reason. This has nothing in connection with my previous journeys to your lands(2). I have brought no furs. Instead I have come with a request." Here he paused and thought, rolling the pipe from side to side. "A plea, really. The good burghers of Nouvelle-Orleans have banded together to establish a state, free of colonial domination." Here he paused again. "That is, of domination by the Spanish, who as you may or may not know have assumed control of Louisiana. The villages of the west and north are joining us--it is near sure that all of Louisiana will soon be engulfed with the fire of revolution." He paused yet again, attempting to gauge Browne's reaction. The governor's face was as stone, however. Trembling slightly, Masan moved on. "We beg for your aid. We cannot fight the might of all the Spains alone. Will you aid our cause?"

Governor Browne did not say anything for a few moments. Then, slowly, he said, "If I did not know you, Balthasar, I would refuse you without a thought.(3) I know, however, that you are a good man, of noble heart, and if you and your compatriots fight, it is for a good cause." He sat behind his large, oak desk, sighing. "I will send two regiments. It is all I can spare. They will not wear uniforms, and they will not be there in any official capacity. Meanwhile, I shall send a communique to the First Lord of the Treasury(4), informing and asking how to proceed. I do hope you know that this could perhaps have grave consequences for me if the First Lord does not approve of my actions." Masan bowed. "I understood, Montfort. I will pray that he does."

As the sun rose over Pensacola the next day, Balthasar Masan rode with dignity out of the gates of the city, at the head of twin columns of redcoats--this time, without wearing that distinctive vermilion shade, but instead forest-green. The hope of a free Lousiane rode with him.

Notes
(1) Nice name, right? This is our third and final PoD; Montfort Browne, who had been acting governor of West Florida in 1769, stays in his post for slightly longer, meaning aid to Louisiana.
(2) From what I've been able to learn, Balthasar Masan was a fur trader with significant connections in West Florida. As a landlord and mogul, Montfort Browne could have known him.
(3) As the governor did IOTL.
(4) At this point, the First Lord of the Treasury was the title of the Prime Minister--indeed, the Prime Minister still holds that title. However, the title of Prime Minister was not in official use in 1769.
 
How big will Lousiane become?

Certainly room for western expansion, but the patriotes will have to wait until Spanish colonialism falls apart before that becomes easy. Furthermore, with a much smaller population base than the OTL USA, Lousiane will need to expand through careful alliances and intermarriages with the Native Americans rather than as an "exterminate 'n' replace" settler power. Which is good news, really!

Interesting.

Brilliant.

I honestly don't expect a massive Louisiana due to the very small population base but the impact it will have on North America will be immense. How will British North America react, especially its Canadien inhabitants. I assume that the American War of Independence in 1776 won't be butterflied away but it will chance drastically for sure.

Anyways, I'm following this.

In terms of expansion, exactly my thoughts, though population will increase drastically after independence. The Canadiens...well, it'll be interesting up there for sure. ;)

Has this been attempted before? I haven't seen it...

I love it. Subbed and don't let me down!

I don't think so! I looked around and didn't see any TLs.

Thank you! I'll do my best to keep you up!
 
Sorry guys! I just bought Rust yesterday and it is addicteeve.

Isle Brevelle

West of Nachitoches

July 15, 1769


It was only gradually that Jean Matisse became aware of the creaking of the wagon he lay in or the light sprinkle of rain falling on him or the greasy quality of the light funneling through the humid air. He moved his head up very slightly, wincing as pain shot through his back and legs. He mumbled something indistinct, causing a fur-clad, blonde Acadian next to the cart to lean forward. "My captain? What did you say?" The boy's name was Achille Côté, and he was one of Matisse's men, only recently immigrated from Quebec. Matisse opened his eyes, just barely, and said slightly louder, "Côté, what happened?" Achille, face immobile, replied with, "We were defeated." Before he could continue, he was cut off by the sound of musket fire and the shouting--terrifyingly nearby--of orders in a gruff Spanish voice. In the next moment, Jean Matisse was wide awake in fear.

He realized at that moment that he and his men were prisoners of the Spanish Empire.

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Fort St. Jean, Nouvelle-Orléans

Night of July 18, 1769


Foucault stared down at the map of Lousiane in front of him and the rest of the Supreme Council, sans Joseph Milhet--whose nascent corps of pamphleteers were burning the midnight oil to rouse up the populace of Lousiane(1)--and Pierre Marquis--whose militia were moving as quickly as possible to fortify the capital of the young Free State. On the map were marked in dirty ink the movements of the Spanish forces northwest of the city, and the Freestater forts still holding out against the advance. With something of a grimace, Foucault looked through the window nearby, at the British troops guarding the walls of the fortress. It was a most exquisite irony that the damnable British were to be their saviors. But that was unimportant now.

"Four days ago, Fort St. Jean Baptiste fell to O'Reilly. He has since moved east, to Isle Brevelle, where he has made camp. The good burghers of Nachitoches continue to hold out against the Spanish--indeed, they could hold out indefinitely barring a full assault. The bayous make it impossible for the general to surround the town, and our scouts have been in and out of Nachitoches very easily. This presents an opportunity. If we move northwest and recapture Jean-Baptiste(2), we will have surrounded O'Reilly and cut him off from supply. That will leave us free to ambush his forces at Isle Brevelle or simply starve him out and force him to retreat north into even harsher territory--or perhaps better, force him to assault our forces here or at Jean-Baptiste, where we will be much better prepared than before. What say you?"

A vote has had. The plan was decided. O'Reilly would suffer for his invasion.

Notes
(1) Yes, pamphleteers! We're going to have an excerpt next time. ;)
(2) Another name for the captured fort.
 


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.
 
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