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INTRODUCTION
When acquired by theUnited States, Louisiana’s first colonial capital was more than 100
years old, Fort Louis de la Louisiane, on the Mobile River, having been established in
1702. The site of Fort
Louis proved unsatisfactory,
however, prompting the move a few miles downstream to the place now called
Mobile, Alabama. Both village and fort were
rebuilt before the end of 1711, and growth continued as Mobile developed
into the major settlement of the colony.
Mobile
’s emergence
as a population center generated attendant development in the hinterland.
In 1717 soldiers were sent northward to establish the Poste des Alibamons
near the junction of the Coosa and
Talapoosa
Rivers, to assure French possession of the
Mobile
River
and to ensure
the alliance of the Indians in the area.
Fort
Toulouse at the Poste des Alibamons, subordinate
to
Mobile
,
added to the importance of that older settlement.
The
next year, the site that became New Orleans was recommended for
settlement. Soon more and more colonists selected homesteads along the
Mississippi. This migration, as well as
the closure of the Dauphin Island port from storm damage,
prompted the proprietary regime to move the colony’s headquarters to New
Biloxi by September, 1721. Even before the transfer was complete, word
arrived from France
that New
Orleans had been designated the province’s
administrative capital. By 1723, New
Orleans was the official residence of
Jean Baptiste Le Moyne de Bienville, the commandant-general, and the major
executive and military offices were functioning there.
As the
colonial capital, New Orleans enjoyed rapid
population growth and soon overshadowed Louisiana’s more established
communities. For example, in 1706, before New Orleans existed, Mobile had eighty-five non-military
French and Canadian inhabitants. The dramatic growth of New Orleans is best
reflected in the early census reports, their notorious inaccuracy
notwithstanding. There were in 1721 about 350 people of European origin of
descent in Mobile, but already 680 in the
New Orleans area. Some of those New Orleanians had
moved to the new capital from the old one. Indeed, just as Canada had
provided experienced settlers for Mobile,
Mobile contributed to Natchitoches, to Natchez, and now to embryonic New Orleans.
Mobile’s population dwindled despite the
many boatloads of colonists sent from France
between 1718 and 1719. The census of 1721 counted about 350 people. Less
than 300 were counted in 1726 even though over 80 French infant baptisms
were recorded during the interval. The 96 households enumerated in 1726
fell to 90 by 1728; meanwhile, New Orleans had grown to 600 family
units. It was inevitable that the fertile fields along the Mississippi, the colony’s major waterway, would have
more appeal than Mobile. Perhaps, too, there was a
mounting desire among civilians to emigrate as the military significance
of Mobile
and the Alibamons post increased. The presence of the English and their
Indian allies to the northeast and of the Spanish at Pensacola made the Mobile fort, now called Condd, of primary
importance. The ever-hostile Chickasaw to the northwest became
increasingly troublesome early in the 1 730s, leading to the establishment
of a new post on the Tombigbee River, near the friendlier Choctaw.
The fortification, built in 1735 as a depot for Bienville’s Chickasaw
campaign, became Fort
Tombecbd, another satellite of
Fort Condé de La Mobile.
Orthography
of the period, to individual and regional differences, to a poor quill, or
to the deterioration of ink or paper. The use of the shape for “i’ and
either shape for the numeral “1” is easily seen. Except when used as a
numeral each was transcribed as the letter it most resembles. The old “ “
has been replaced by the “s” it represents. The shape of “u” was often
written for “v”. Only when it was certain that “v” was meant was it so
transcribed. The double “r” often looks like “w” or “ss”. The “r” was
written as in modern script and also like a closed “v”.
Such
idiosyncrasies helped identify the scribe on the unsigned entries
encountered. For instance, Father Claude, Capuchin cure until 1726, often
used the closed “v” shape for both “e” and “r”, making his “Les”
look like “Lers”. He wrote “pierre ” in such a way that it could
be mistaken for “fevrier,” and “Jeanne” for “Tranmt”.
Even when his unusual script is chandto type, Father Claude’s erratic
capitalization and distinctive spelling can be distinguished from that of
the other Mobile priests. The “Capucin
Missionaire apostolique Curé de La Môbille, N Jean Franois, used the
capital “M” also for “Messe”; when he used accents they were
carefully placed. He spelled sai’oire “Scavoir” and “ai” as
“ay” but used the more modem “prone” and “notre”. The
Spanish priest Eon wrote French well, yet the transcript of an unsigned
entry displays his characteristic use of the accent grave for the
accent aigu.
Such patterns of accenting,
capitalization, and aberrant spelling are discernible because each series
of entries was written by the officiating priest. His records mirror his
background as well as the circumstances of the moment. They were affected
by his origins, his life and experience, his health, his capacity to be
understood and to understand the speech of other people. The variations
and errors are most pronounced in the recording of prer nais, without
doubt due largely to the limitations of those in the wedding party in
education, memory, and oral communication. The accents of those from other
countries, or even from other French provinces, certainly influenced the
scribe’s phonetic renditions.
Hesitations,
corrections, and inconsistencies made the names of people and places more
difficult to decipher, and determining the orthography of personal and
geographical names was sometimes impossible because they often appear only
once. An additional handicap imposed by two eighteenth-century naming
practices common to Louisiana and
Canada: First names were
frequently bestowed upon several members of the same family even with same
generation; sobriquets, or dit names were often used as surnames.
These cuskimmfy the problem of identifying certain individuals mentioned
in, or signing, the signatures present special obstacles. With a record,
each scribe’s characteristic penmanship allows even peculiar calligraphy
to be understood with study, but such is not the case with signatures of
other individuals. Like names and places, they are not often repeated.
Some written too awkwardly or individualistically; and some are too
damaged to be read or exhibit progression from youth to adulthood; still
others appear to be change from illiteracy to competent penmanship. A few
witnesses used old Germanic script. Even an adult used variant spellings
or different forms; in some cases, the spelling was different and members
of the same family were not consistent. Most distressing of the discovery that certain signatures had been
subsequently altered. An unknown destroyed their integrity by additions of
the particle “de” or titles. Consequentially, on the authenticity of
several other signatures. It was not usual for uthi particle de when
signing his title unless the name was wntten in full, when it had become
part of anyone’s surname. Only much closer study of the order both
baptismal and nuptial, would allow judgment of those. The signatures he
scribed as they are currently seen; the obvious alterations are noted on
the altrz?.
The archaic forms of French
found in the documents are minor hurdles. Scholars will .tIy recognize the
ancient verb endings, and they will not concern the novice. However, the
words in the church records may confuse the non-French-speaking reader
since they are Jt led in all modern dictionaries, such words as le
prosne for prone, Ia coste for cote, siné for
soussigné, scavoir for savoir, septante for soixante-dix,
endoyer for ondoyer.
The
ability to recognize such variant spellings is particularly crucial when
ecclesiastical are involved. Not only can multiple terms apply to a single
sacrament, but varying orthology can describe the particular circumstance
under which a ceremony was administered. For example, inhumer
refers to burial, but enterrement refers to the funeral
ceremony and burial. Ondoyer (endoyer) refers to the act of
baptism, usually in emergency, by priest or layman (often the midwife),
while baptiser is the ceremonial administration of the sacrament of
baptism. Private baptisms were often followed by the full
ceremony—sometimes years later—at which time the sacrament was recorded.
When a sacrament was recorded on a frii1le—volante (an unbound
page) and later entered into the register, it was usually recopied, but
not always identified as a second copy. Frequently these records break the
chronological sequence.
Further complicating the
picture are imprecise French terms for familial relationships. Sometimes
words become particularly confusing when translators apply circumscribed
modern definitions without the necessary genealogical research. Such words
as bellemère and beaucan mean either step-parents or
in-laws. Similarly, beaufrere and bellesoeur, brother-in-law
and sister-in-law respectively, were also used for stepbrother and
stepsister. Père and fib, commonly translated as “senior” and
“junior”, do not indicate that these individuals shared the same given
name. L’aisne (L’atne) identifies the elder of two men, usually
closely related, but not necessarily brothers, nor necessarily
bearing the same prénom. As the idiom of l’aThe, lejeune
means the younger. However, it was also a dit name and, as in
the? of one Mobile bride, Lejeune was a
surname, too. Finally, the significance of dit names is to be
emphasized. The dii’ should not be confused with the definitions of
“called” or “alias”. The Mobile records
show clearly that a dit name was often used instead of the surname,
and it sometimes became accepted as the surname of descendants. The
dits obviously had more importance than more modern nicknames.
The abstracts retain some of the French terms having multiple
meanings. When the trades are translated, a simple contemporary meaning
was utilized so the transcribed French word would be studied. In French,
as in all living languages, the meaning of certain words have evolved. To
illustrate, habitant (also written habitan) can mean an
inhabitant or resident, but colonial Louisiana and Canada, it
indicated a settler, usually a landowner-farmer. Even in first half of the
twentieth century in Louisiana it referred to farmers and was used to
indicate a man or family who lived on, and farmed, someone else’s land on
a share-crop basis, (maistre) translates as master. In
France, its use before a
surname was a title of honor,
— ex teachers and judges. In the
Mobile marriages, it was used before a
trade to denote one considered skilled in that trade. Some trades cannot
be precisely differentiated. An iiebusier can refer to one who
served with that early portable firearm, the arquebus, or soldier in
charge of small arms, or to an armorer, one who makes, repairs, or sells
arms. Ai1ew can be a tailor of clothing or a stonecutter, but in
Mobile, he
was more apt to be a grower of trees.
It is clear that the
definition of a word is contingent upon its context and the type of use in
which it appears. Its use was also influenced by the time and place in
which a document?
The
archaic forms of French found in the documents are minor hurdles. Scholars
will instantly recognize the ancient verb endings, and they will not
concern the novice. However, certain words in the church records may
confuse the non-French-speaking reader since they are not listed in all
modern dictionaries, such words as le prosne for prone, la coste
for cote, soubsigné for soussigné, scavoir for
savoir, septante for soixante-dix, endoyer for
ondoyer.
The
ability to recognize such variant spellings is particularly crucial when
ecclesiastical terms are involved. Not only can multiple terms apply to a
single sacrament, but varying terminology can describe the particular
circumstance under which a ceremony was administered. For example,
inhumer refers to burial, but enterrement refers to the
funeral ceremony and burial. Ondoyer (endoyer) refers to the act
of baptism, usually in emergency, by priest or layman (often the midwife),
while baptiser is the ceremonial administration of the sacrament
of baptism. Private baptisms were often followed by the full
ceremony—sometimes years later—at which time the sacrament was recorded.
When a sacrament was recorded on a feuille-volante (an unbound
page) and later entered into the register, it was usually recopied
exactly, but not always identified as a second copy. Frequently these
records break the chonological sequence.
Further complicating the
picture are imprecise French terms for familial relationships. These words
become particularly confusing when translators apply circumscribed modern
definitions without the necessary genealogical research. Such words as
bellemère and beaupère can mean either step-parents or
in-laws. Similarly, beaufrere and bellesoeur,
brother-in- law and sister-in-law respectively, were also used for
stepbrother and stepsister. Père and fils, commonly
translated as “senior" and “junior”, do not indicate that these
individuals shared the same given name. L’aisne (L’aThe)
identifies the elder of two men, usually closely related, but not
necessarily brothers, nor necessarily bearing the same prénom. As
the antonym of l’atne, lejeune means the younger. However, it was
also a dit name and, as in the case of one Mobile bride, Lejeune was a surname, too. Finally,
the significance of dit names must be emphasized. The dit
should not be confused with the definitions of “called” or “alias”.
The Mobile records show clearly that a
dit name was often used instead of the surname, and it sometimes
became accepted as the surname of descendants. The dits obviously had more
importance than more modern nicknames.
The abstracts retain some of the French terms having
multiple meanings. When the trades were translated, a simple contemporary
meaning was utilized so the transcribed French word should be studied. In
French, as in all living languages, the meaning of certain words have
evolved. To illustrate, habitant (also written habitan) can
mean an inhabitant or resident, but in colonial Louisiana and Canada, it
indicated a settler, usually a landowner-farmer. Even in the first half of
the twentieth century in Louisiana it referred to farmers and was used to
indicate a man or family who lived on, and farmed, someone else’s land on
a share-crop basis. Maitre (maistre) translates as master. In
France, its use before a
surname was a title of honor, as for teachers and judges. In the
Mobile marriages, it was used before a
trade to denote a person considered skilled in that trade. Some trades
cannot be precisely differentiated. An arquebusier can refer to one
who served with that early portable firearm, the arquebus, or to the
soldier in charge of small arms, or to an armorer, one who makes, repairs,
or sells arms. A tailleur can be a tailor of clothing or a
stonecutter, but in Mobile, he was more apt to be a cutter or
hewer of trees.
It is clear that the definition of a word is
contingent upon its context and the type of record in which it appears.
Its use was also influenced by the time and place in which a document was
written. For some terms, full understanding of their use in the Mobile archives will require further analysis. Such
is the case with the terms relating to legitimacy. A survey of the
marriages and some baptisms suggests that “illegitimate” was used for
children of an adulterous union, and “natural” for those of an unmarried
couple. Both “legitimate” and “natural and legitimate were reserved for
the offspring of a legal (i. e. sanctified) union, a
life-loig commitment. Such church-blessed marriages sometimes recorded the
children born before the ceremony. In several instances, pastoral
discretion seems to account for the choice of, or absence of, a qualifying
term in referring to children named in certain baptism and marriage
entries. Also needing further study is the terminology used for the
colony’s Indian population. Sauvage, which means
“savage” in modem France, is still spoken by
descendants of early French settlers to mean untamed, uncultivated or
wild. Yet it was the usual term employed by the colonial scribes for the
American Indian. Broader research is needed to see if their use of
Indien and Indienne was limited to those sauvages
who had become christianized or acculturated to French
ways.
Similar conflict is created by “definitions” gratuitously
given to the word “Creole.” Its meaning is precise as used in the nuptial
records transcribed for this volume. For historians, its
“historical exactitude” must be considered beyond its linguistic
implications, and in the Mobile
marriage records “Creole” designated persons born in a colony of European
or Canadian parents or grandparents. But its use in that era has been seen
elsewhere to mean “locally born” in reference to Caucasians and Negroes
(but never Indians) or to describe a native-grown
produce.
Linguistic imprecision increased the research needed to
understand the originals and to identify the principals named in them. The
development of the abstracts and their attendant annotations was a natural
consequence of both preliminary and concomitant study and led to their
presentation as lagniappe, something extra. Despite its simple
appearance, this represents the most complex labor. The refining and
updating of the handwritten abstracts w tedious. I have attempted to
provide correct data regarding each name, date, and staten1at, but errors
will undoubtedly occur.
Until
there is a firm base of good source books with indices, true comparison
its impossible. The completion of such projects will finally permit us
to ? the Louisiana stage, and to understand that
each individual life is “part of the d? long before birth, that goes
on long after death.” Hopefully this book will be a substitution for
that perception.
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