Chapter 1236: The Power of the Church
A child's shout echoed from the distance: "Out of bounds!"
It was clumsy French, equally so.
Then, seven or eight Native American boys came tearing over, only to realize they'd caused trouble.
An eight or nine-year-old boy hastily apologized to Napoleon: "V-very sorry, esteemed..."
He seemed to have forgotten how to pronounce the word.
Napoleon gestured for his attendant to return the ball to the child, then asked, "Are you boys playing football?"
The child stared, eyes wide, puzzled. He hadn't understood.
Carol interjected from the side, "Yes, Major. They play football for a while after class. It's their favorite thing to do."
"After class?" Napoleon mused, "What are they learning?"
Napoleon nodded, thinking, 'These Native Americans are learning quite fast.' He himself had been learning French at eight, and knew how difficult it was.
Of course, if he were to see Rahman's simplified version of French, he likely wouldn't think so.
Some of the smarter Cherokees, like Carol, could even hold simple conversations after just a year of study. However, for a true Frenchman, their French was merely understandable, and required a constant effort to resist the urge to correct their numerous mistakes.
The children left, clutching their footballs, and Carol remarked with a sigh, "This is simply the greatest game in the world.
"Everyone loves it. After the children learn to play, they even pick up hunting and combat training much faster than before."
Napoleon was somewhat surprised but quickly understood.
Playing football requires at least an understanding of teamwork, the importance of formations, and even learning to command and obey commands. These are all fundamental qualities of a competent soldier.
'It seems football training should be implemented in military camps from now on,' he mused. 'No wonder the Crown Prince created this sport.'
Someone must have informed Hassay, the Cherokee chief, as he, several tribal elders, and a throng of tribesmen came out to greet Napoleon, bowing with smiles. "Welcome, esteemed Major Bonaparte."
Although his French still carried a heavy accent, his grammar and tenses were standard, clearly indicating he had learned it long ago.
Napoleon followed him into the house, a seven-room wooden structure that served as both the chief's home and the tribe's "administrative building."
Napoleon accepted the pipe Hassay offered and took a puff. Immediately, his throat felt as if a hot iron had been shoved down it, and he had to rely on his astonishing willpower to suppress a cough.
After a moment, he retrieved the Governor's conscription order and handed it to Hassay. "By order of the Crown Prince, I will serve as the commander of the Louisiana Militia Battalion.
"As you know, the Americans have long sought to control the west bank of the Mississippi River. Just this morning, I encountered eight infiltrators.
"Therefore, we must establish an army to counter them.
"I hope the brave warriors of the Cherokee tribe will eagerly join."
Hassay's gaze swept over the order, noting clauses like "voluntary enlistment," and he nodded with a smile. "Indeed, we must beware of those cursed Americans.
"Longtooth, go fetch forty of our strongest tribesmen."
Napoleon frowned slightly. The Cherokee tribe had a population of eight or nine thousand, and he had originally planned to recruit at least 300 soldiers. Yet, the chief was dismissing him with just forty men.
He tried to maintain his composure. "Chief, all soldiers will be provided with weapons and uniforms by the Militia Battalion. They will also receive a monthly salary of nine francs."
"That sounds excellent," Hassay chuckled. "But you see, the town is expanding, spring planting is just around the corner, and then there's trade. All of this requires a great deal of manpower.
"Alright, we can spare fifty warriors for you, but truly, no more than that."
Napoleon felt this was quite different from his expectation of "one call, a hundred responses."
"We need at least five thousand soldiers to effectively protect Louisiana. The colonial government forces only number eighteen hundred. So, the Cherokee tribe should ideally provide two hundred..."
Hassay offered eagerly, "You should visit the Creek tribe. They have over two thousand warriors!"
Napoleon was silently grinding his teeth.
He had heard the Governor speak of Native American warriors; he estimated that out of two thousand, finding eight hundred qualified soldiers would be a good outcome.
Sometime after four in the afternoon, Napoleon left the town with a list of seventy Cherokee soldiers in his pocket, riding towards the Miami tribal settlement, 80 kilometers away.
A few days later, the Miami chief also sent him away with a mere sixty soldiers.
After visiting four tribes in succession, Napoleon finally lost his temper. He had recruited fewer than 300 soldiers in total – these Native Americans all wanted to preserve their own strength, letting other tribes bear the greater sacrifice.
"That's enough," he waved to his attendant. "We're returning to New Orleans. Governor, His Excellency, must issue a compulsory conscription order."
However, as he passed through Arkansas, he unexpectedly encountered a French priest on the road – Laurier, Father Vigne's assistant.
During the tedious journey, the two "French compatriots" quickly struck up a conversation.
"Are you saying the Americans might attack Louisiana?" Laurier asked, frowning.
"The intelligence department says so. And I need enough soldiers. As you know, training them will take a considerable amount of time."
"How many men do you need?"
"At least three thousand more, but these Native American tribes..."
"Please, leave it to me," Laurier declared confidently. "To be precise, leave it to the Church."
"You truly have a way?"
"Of course."
Two weeks later.
The Cherokee tribe erupted in fervor. Nearly all the young men of the tribe surged like madmen to Chief Hassay's door, even strong women were among them.
People waved their hands frantically, shouting, "Holy War! Holy War!"
"I want to join the Holy Knights!"
"Follow Battalion Commander Bonaparte to smite the heretics!"
Indeed, just that morning, the Louisiana Church had issued a call, requesting believers to participate in a Holy War against the American heretics.
Inside the chief's home, Hassay was arguing with several elders: "If we send seven hundred men, this year's spring planting will be affected."
"Let the women handle the work, we must answer God's call!"
"But Battalion Commander Bonaparte said a maximum of three hundred men..."
"Tell him our warriors don't need wages."
Meanwhile, over 1,100 Creek warriors were already en route to Baton Rouge.
On their way, they encountered hundreds of Shawnee tribesmen. The two groups immediately engaged in a "speed race," fearing that if they arrived too late, the slots for the Holy War would already be filled.
By early September, a roster listing 7,700 able-bodied men from various tribes was delivered into Napoleon's hands.
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