France formerly possessed in North America a vast empire, extending from Labrador to the Floridas, and from the shores of the Atlantic to the most distant lakes of Upper Canada.

Four great rivers, deriving their sources from the same mountains, divided these immense regions: the river St. Lawrence, which is lost to the east in the gulf of that name; the Western River, whose waters flow on to seas unknown; the river Bourbon, which runs from south to north into Hudson’s Bay; and the Mississippi, whose waters fall from north to south into the Gulf of Mexico.

The last-named river, in its course of more than a thousand leagues, waters a delicious country, called by the inhabitants of the United States the New Eden, to which the French left the pretty appellation of Louisiana. A thousand other rivers, tributaries of the Mississippi—the Missouri, the Illinois, the Arkansas, the Wabache, the Tennessee—enrich it with their mud and fertilize it with their waters. When all these rivers have been swollen by the deluges of winter, uprooted trees, forming large portions of forests torn down by tempests, crowd about their sources. In a short time the mud cements the torn trees together, and they become enchained by creepers, which, taking root in every direction, bind and consolidate the dÉbris. Carried away by the foaming waves, the rafts descend to the Mississippi, which, taking possession of them, hurries them down towards the Gulf of Mexico, throws them upon sandbanks, and so increases the number of its mouths. At intervals the swollen river raises its voice whilst passing over the resisting heaps, and spreads its overflowing waters around the colonnades of the forests, and the pyramids of the Indian tombs: and so the Mississippi is the Nile of these deserts. But grace is always united to splendor in the scenes of Nature: while the mid-stream bears away towards the sea the dead trunks of pine-trees and oaks, the lateral currents on either side convey along the shores floating islands of pistias and nenuphars, whose yellow roses stand out like little pavilions. Green serpents, blue herons, pink flamingoes, and baby crocodiles embark as passengers on these rafts of flowers; and the brilliant colony, unfolding to the wind its golden sails, glides along slumberingly till it arrives at some retired creek in the river.

The two shores of the Mississippi present the most extraordinary picture. On the western border vast savannahs spread away farther than the eye can reach, and their waves of verdure, as they recede, appear to rise gradually into the azure sky, where they fade away. In these limitless meadows herds of three or four thousand wild buffaloes wander at random. Sometimes, cleaving the waters as it swims, a bison, laden with years, comes to repose among the high grass on an island of the Mississippi, its forehead ornamented with two crescents, and its ancient and slimy beard giving it the appearance of a god of the river throwing an eye of satisfaction upon the grandeur of its waters, and the wild abundance of its shores.

FULL-SIZE -- Medium-Size

Such is the scene upon the western border; but it changes on the opposite side, which forms an admirable contrast with the other shore. Suspended along the course of the waters, grouped upon the rocks and upon the mountains, and dispersed in the valleys, trees of every form, of every color, and of every perfume, throng and grow together, stretching up into the air to heights that weary the eye to follow. Wild vines, bignonias, coloquintidas, intertwine each other at the feet of these trees, escalade their trunks, and creep along to the extremity of their branches, stretching from the maple to the tulip-tree, from the tulip-tree to the holly-hock, and thus forming thousands of grottoes, arches and porticoes. Often, in their wanderings from tree to tree, these creepers cross the arm of a river, over which they throw a bridge of flowers. Out of the midst of these masses, the magnolia, raising its motionless cone, surmounted by large white buds, commands all the forest, where it has no other rival than the palm-tree, which gently waves, close by, its fans of verdure.

A multitude of animals, placed in these retreats by the hand of the Creator, spread about life and enchantment. From the extremities of the avenues may be seen bears, intoxicated with the grape, staggering upon the branches of the elm-trees; cariboos bathe in the lake; black-squirrels play among the thick foliage; mocking-birds, and Virginian pigeons not bigger than sparrows, fly down upon the turf, reddened with strawberries; green parrots with yellow heads, purple woodpeckers, cardinals red as fire, clamber up to the very tops of the cypress-trees; humming-birds sparkle upon the jessamine of the Floridas; and bird-catching serpents hiss while suspended to the domes of the woods, where they swing about like the creepers themselves.

If all is silence and repose in the savannahs on the other side of the river, all here, on the contrary, is sound and motion; peckings against the trunks of the oaks, frictions of animals walking along as they nibble or crush between their teeth the stones of fruits, the roaring of the waves, plaintive cries, dull bellowings and mild cooings, fill these deserts with a tender yet wild harmony. But when a breeze happens to animate these solitudes, to swing these floating bodies, to confound these masses of white, blue, green, and pink, to mix all the colors and to combine all the murmurs, there issue such sounds from the depths of the forests, and such things pass before the eyes, that I should in vain endeavor to describe them to those who have never visited these primitive fields of Nature.

After the discovery of the Mississippi by Father Marquette and the unfortunate La Salle, the first Frenchmen who established themselves at Biloxi and at New Orleans entered into an alliance with the Natchez, an Indian nation whose power was redoubtable in those countries. Quarrels and jealousies subsequently ensanguined the land of hospitality. Amongst these savages there was an old man named Chactas, * who, on account of his age, wisdom and knowledge of the affairs of life, was the patriarch and the beloved of the deserts. Like many other men, he had acquired virtue by calamity. Not only were the forests of the New World filled with his misfortunes, but he bore the tale of his calamities even to the shores of France. Kept at the galleys at Marseilles by a cruel act of injustice, restored to liberty, and presented to Louis XIV., he had conversed with the great men of that age, and had been present at the fÊtes of Versailles, at the tragedies of Racine, and at the funeral orations of Bossuet: in one word, the savage had contemplated society at the moment of its greatest splendor.

For several years Chactas, restored to the bosom of his country, had been in the enjoyment of repose. Nevertheless, Providence granted him even this favor dearly: the old man had become blind. A young girl used to accompany him on the hills of the Mississippi, just as Antigone formerly guided the steps of Odipus over the CithÆron, or as Malvina conducted Ossian over the rocks of Morven.

In spite of the numerous acts of injustice to which Chactas had been subjected by the French, he was very partial to them. He ever remembered FÉnÉlon, whose guest he had been, and desired an opportunity for rendering service to the fellow-countrymen of that virtuous man. A favorable occasion presented itself. In 1725 a Frenchman named RenÉ, driven thither by his passions and his misfortunes, arrived at Louisiana. He ascended the Mississippi as far as the territory of the Natchez, and asked to be accepted as a warrior of that nation. Chactas, having questioned him, and finding him not to be shaken in his resolution, adopted him as a son, and united him to an Indian girl called CÉluta. Shortly after this marriage the savages prepared to go beaver-hunting.

On account of the respect with which the Indian tribes regarded the old man, Chactas, although blind, was appointed by the council of the wise men to command the expedition. Prayers and fasts commenced, the jugglers interpreted the dreams, the manitous were consulted, sacrifices of tobacco were offered up, fillets of elk-tongues were burnt, the assistants examining whether they sputtered in the flames, in order to ascertain the will of the genii; and at length they started, after having partaken of the sacred dog. RenÉ was of the party.

With the assistance of the counter-currents, the pirogues reascended the Mississippi, and reached the bed of the Ohio. One moonlight night, while all the Natchez were asleep at the bottom of their pirogues, and the Indian fleet, under a crowd of beast-skin sails, was flying before a mild breeze, RenÉ, who had remained alone with Chactas, asked him to tell the story of his adventures. The old man consented to satisfy his curiosity, and began in these words:—

FULL-SIZE -- Medium-Size

FULL-SIZE -- Medium-Size

FULL-SIZE -- Medium-Size