Chapter 1089: The Mississippi Alliance
The joy on Hassay’s face gradually faded.
He looked back behind him. After months of relentless encroachment by the Americans, very little of the Cherokee territory remained.
Even without another attack from the American military, more than half of his people would starve to death this winter due to the lack of sufficient farmland and pastures.
He gripped his spear tightly, wanting to order his people to reclaim their ancestral lands, but the words caught in his throat. Doing so would be no different from seeking death.
Just then, a Cherokee warrior came galloping toward him on horseback, shouting to Hassay, "Two Frenchmen are here to see you!"
Half an hour later.
In a small town at the northernmost edge of the Cherokee territory, Hassay looked at the special envoy sent by the Governor of Saint-Louisiane with disbelief. He spoke in English, "Are you saying that you can grant the Cherokee people a piece of land in Arkansas?"
The envoy produced a document signed by the Governor, Count Thiolac. "Adjacent to the Mississippi River, totaling 6.6 million acres. The vast majority of it is suitable for cultivation."
Arkansas contained over 33 million acres of land but previously had a population of fewer than a thousand people. This grant accounted for only an eighth of the habitable land on the west bank of the Mississippi.
"Abide by the basic laws of Saint-Louisiane and provide assistance should anyone invade the territory."
Hassay couldn't believe his ears. "That’s it?"
"Yes, that is all."
Hassay remained very wary. "Why would the Governor want to help the Cherokee?"
"To be honest with you, we need to deal with a common enemy—the Americans," the envoy explained. "They are like hungry wolves, frantically devouring every piece of land they lay eyes on.
"But there are too many of them. We must unite all our forces to ensure our own safety."
Hassay hesitated to nod for a long time.
After all, the conditions were simply too good to be true.
The envoy seemed to have anticipated this and produced another document. "This is an agreement already signed by the Governor. It specifies the land the Cherokee will receive and states that the Saint-Louisiane government will not interfere in your internal affairs there."
Nearly another hour passed before Hassay, feeling as if he were in a dream, gathered the tribal elders to announce the news that the French were allowing them to live on the west bank of the Mississippi River.
A tribal elder immediately cried out, "The Guide! It is the Guide! Thank the Lord!"
Indeed, everything aligned with the prophecy once again.
The Guide was leading the Cherokee to a new life.
Under the mysterious pull of the prophecy, the Cherokee tribe prepared for the migration with incredible efficiency. The French had even helped them hire a large number of open-topped wagons from the Spanish in Florida to transport tribal goods. Of course, the cost was put on credit, to be repaid by the Cherokee in installments later.
At noon the following day, Hassay’s son and several hundred young warriors set off ahead of the others to scout the terrain in Arkansas, while the main body of the tribe began their massive trek westward.
Unlike the historical "Trail of Tears" of the Native Americans, Governor Thiolac had reached an agreement with the Spanish to provide supplies along the way—the route from Georgia to Arkansas primarily went through Florida. Thus, while the journey was grueling, virtually no one died.
Two and a half months later, eight thousand Cherokee Indians finally stepped onto their new homeland.
Endless plains stretched in every direction. Massive herds of bison wandered leisurely across the grasslands, and white-tailed deer could be seen darting through the distance from time to time.
Hassay was ecstatic. With these bison herds alone, no one in the tribe would starve this year.
A few days later, representatives from the French Agricultural Services Consulting Company arrived to visit the Cherokee, bringing construction tools and a dozen wagons filled with seeds for the North American Three Sisters—corn, squash, and beans.
Hassay readily signed the loan agreement with the Saint-Louisiane branch of the Bank of France.
This money was used to purchase the tools and seeds. The French only charged him 100,000 Francs, and the interest rate was so low it was practically negligible.
He had never encountered white men who treated Indians with such equality and honesty. For a moment, he was moved beyond words.
Naturally, once a debt relationship was established, the Cherokee tribe was effectively tied to the Saint-Louisiane government.
Two days later, the Red Priest of the Creek Tribal Confederacy arrived in Arkansas to discuss establishing a diocese there with the Cherokee.
Following the recent series of miracles, the Cherokee had completely converted to the Indian version of Catholicism, so they were very supportive of the diocese.
It proved that Joseph’s strategy was correct.
When dealing with a completely illiterate population like the Indians, religious means were the most effective.
Previously, the Creek and Cherokee people had avoided each other for generations, but through their shared Catholic bond, they quickly became close allies.
In fact, the Creek tribe had also arrived on the west bank of the Mississippi just a month prior.
They had similarly been attacked by the Americans, losing vast swaths of territory in Alabama.
Then, a divine manifestation occurred. The Guide from the prophecy appeared and led them to Avoyelles, south of Arkansas. Because of their large population, their allocated land spanned 26 million acres.
Over the following months, as the American military continued to squeeze the southern tribes, a total of ninety thousand Muskogean-speaking Indians migrated to Saint-Louisiane.
In history, within five years, their numbers would have dwindled to fewer than thirty thousand due to American cannons.
While the Cherokee were migrating west, in the Ohio region of the mid-eastern North American continent, several important leaders of the Northwest Indian Confederacy gathered in a small log cabin in Toledo.
The door pushed open, and a member of the Miami tribe led two Frenchmen inside.
The confederacy leader, Little Turtle, immediately stood up and performed a chest-salute to the newcomer, speaking in standard English, "Welcome to the reservation, esteemed Mr. Bernard."
Bernard did not speak English. Instead, he signaled to the translator beside him and said, "Are you truly Mr. Little Turtle?"
The translator repeated the words to Little Turtle in Algonquian.
The latter was taken aback for a moment but switched back to his tribal language. "Of course it is I, Mr. Bernard."
"I am quite disappointed." Bernard shook his head, gesturing around the room. "I always thought Little Turtle was a hero. I didn't expect him to be content shrinking inside this tiny cage."
When the Indian leaders in the room heard the translator’s words, fury appeared on their faces.
Three Fires growled, "If you came here to insult us, you might as well draw your gun. I have never been afraid of white men!"
Bernard smiled. "Why don't you use that courage when facing the Americans?"
The group of Indians instantly lowered their heads.
The Northwest Indian Confederacy had been brutally slaughtered by the American military at the Battle of Fallen Timbers. Since then, they had completely lost the will to resist.
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