Chapter 1036: The Creek Tribal Alliance
"Hold on a moment," Cekili interjected, raising a hand to interrupt Father Vigne. "Are you saying you want us to raid the Port of New Orleans?"
He exchanged glances with the tribal elders sitting beside him, and they all erupted into laughter simultaneously.
A burly, middle-aged man, his skin covered in concentric circle tattoos, glared coldly at Vigne. "You were sent by the Spanish, weren't you?"
"I know your little game—as soon as our warriors set foot in Biloxi, your hidden troops will spring their trap. Hmph, the Americans already tried that trick on us."
Vigne waved his hands frantically. "No, no, you won't encounter a single soldier, I promise."
"Once you reach the Port of New Orleans, you can loot to your heart's content. Specifically, target the American ships."
"Everything you seize belongs to you. Just... try to avoid unnecessary killing."
Cekili laughed even louder. "You promise? Do you really think I'd believe you?"
Vigne gestured to the six priests standing behind him. "Until your people return safely to the tribe, we will remain here as your guests. If anything goes wrong, you are free to kill us at any time."
Cekili and the others immediately stopped laughing.
Leaving aside the fact that these Frenchmen were willing to stay as hostages, the offer of one hundred and fifty flintlock muskets plus ammunition was enough to justify the risk.
A single month of grueling hunting for the entire tribe would yield enough furs to trade for ten guns at most, and that was without even counting the ammunition. The cunning white traders sold gunpowder for more than the price of the guns themselves.
This single deal was equivalent to a year and a half of the tribe's hard labor.
Besides, raiding the Spanish was something they did frequently; they were on familiar paths and knew every door in the area.
Cekili signaled for his tribesmen to lower their weapons and took a more serious tone. "What is your ultimate goal in this?"
"As you know, the American army is currently threatening New Orleans."
The chief sneered. "So, if we rush there, we'll serve as a distraction to draw the Americans' attention?"
"No, Chief Cekili. Quite the opposite. The Spanish army will hold the Americans at Baton Rouge. Even if the defensive line is breached, they will buy you more than enough time to retreat. What I need you to do is this..."
Baton Rouge was a vital town northwest of New Orleans. With Lake Pontchartrain to the east, the two locations formed a natural barrier protecting the land routes to the city.
Once the priest finished outlining the requirements, Cekili gave a slight nod. "I can send three hundred warriors to attack the port... once I have seen those weapons."
"That is far from enough, Chief," Vigne countered. "You will need at least a thousand men to truly throw the Americans into a panic."
"We don't have that many fighting men to spare."
"You could seek an alliance with the Coweta and Cassita tribes. Naturally, I will provide them with ample compensation as well."
The muscular man beside the chief immediately waved his hand in dismissal. "Impossible. We have a blood feud with them."
Vigne turned his gaze back to Cekili. "You must realize that for the Indian tribes, the most lethal enemies are the Americans. And the Spanish, of course."
"The primary reason you have been repeatedly defeated by the Americans is your lack of unity. The tribes of Ohio formed an alliance and once sent the American forces into a rout. The name 'Little Turtle' strikes fear into the heart of every American soldier."
"If you can set aside your grievances with the Coweta and Cassita tribes, the Americans will never dare to set foot in Creek territory so lightly again. You might even have a chance to reclaim the lands of the Altamaha people."
Years ago, the American Brigadier General Wayne had taken advantage of the campaign to crush the Burke rebels to slaughter the Altamaha people, expanding the state of Georgia by a third in the process.
Linguistically and culturally, the Creek and Altamaha were virtually identical, essentially distant relatives.
After the Altamaha lands were occupied, the American state of Georgia shared a border with the Indian tribes of the Alabama region. American harassment of these three tribes had become frequent ever since.
"Cooperation..." Cekili frowned, shaking his head. "I fear that will be very difficult to achieve."
"This is precisely the opportunity you need," Vigne urged. "You can use the weapons I provide as gifts to seek peace with those two tribes."
"Furthermore, a joint raid on New Orleans will yield a massive amount of loot, which will greatly enhance your prestige among the three tribes. Meanwhile, I will continue to provide you with my full support."
The subtext of his words was clear. If the three tribes formed a coalition, Vigne would support Cekili as the leader of that alliance.
Cekili was finally swayed by the prospect of becoming a legendary leader like Little Turtle. He nodded firmly. "I will try."
The following day, a ship transported over four hundred and fifty flintlock muskets—requisitioned from Spanish warehouses—up the Alabama River to the Creek tribe.
Cekili loaded these weapons onto wagons and set off with Father Vigne toward the Coweta tribe.
The negotiations did not go smoothly at first.
The Coweta and Creek had been at odds for years, with frequent ambushes and skirmishes between them. Although the Coweta chief, Harjo, didn't kick Cekili out—thanks largely to the sight of over a hundred muskets—he remained very reluctant to discuss cooperation.
After a day of fruitless negotiation, Cekili decided to give up and prepare to head to the Cassita tribe to try his luck there.
Just as they were stepping out of Harjo's quarters, an unexpected turn of events occurred.
A sturdy Indian youth, about twenty years old and wearing three black eagle feathers in his hair, called out to Vigne. He offered a standard French bow, hand over his heart, and spoke in English. "Honorable Father, I am Hatki. I heard you have come from France?"
The priest returned the greeting politely. A man so young wearing three eagle feathers clearly held a significant status within the tribe.
"Yes, Mr. Hatki," he replied in English. "I am French."
The young man looked visibly excited as he pulled out a slip of paper with French writing on it. "Do you know this place?"
"210 Rue de Charonne. Yes, I know it. It's in the Saint-Antoine district."
"That's wonderful!" Hatki immediately fished out twenty dollars in gold coins. "When you return to your country, could you please deliver this money to Miss Anna Sorel de Fraise? Tell her it is a token of gratitude for saving me and my sister. She lives at this address."
Before Vigne could respond, the youth produced another five dollars. "Although a holy man such as yourself likely cares little for material wealth, I must offer you something for your trouble. Please, do not refuse."
Vigne didn't take the money. Instead, he asked in surprise, "Did you say Miss Anna Sorel de Fraise?"
He repeated the name in French for emphasis.
Hatki nodded vigorously. "Yes, that's her. It seems you know her?"
"Yes... yes, I do," Father Vigne nodded. 'Who hasn't heard of the Crown Prince's rumored mistress?'
"I will ensure this money is properly delivered to her."
"Thank you so much!" Hatki bowed again, much like a European gentleman might. "By the way, what brings you here today?"
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