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A KI NGD OM OF WAT ER
Indians of the Southeast
Series Editors
Michael D. Green
University of North Carolina
Theda Perdue
University of North Carolina

Advisory Editors
Leland Ferguson
University of South Carolina
Mary Young
University of Rochester
A KINGDOM
O F WAT E R
Adaptation and Survival in
the Houma Nation

J. Daniel d’Oney

University of Nebraska Press

Lincoln
© 2020 by the Board of Regents of the University of
Nebraska. All rights reserved.

Library of Congress Cataloging-­in-­Publication Data

Names: D’Oney, J. Daniel, author.
Title: A kingdom of water: adaptation and survival in
the Houma Nation / J. Daniel d’Oney.
Description: Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press,
[2020] | Series: Indians of the Southeast | Includes
bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: lccn 2019030113
isbn 9781496218797 (hardback)
isbn 9781496220066 (epub)
isbn 9781496220073 (mobi)
isbn 9781496220080 (pdf )
Subjects: lcsh: Houma Indians—­Louisiana—­
Politics and government. | Houma
Indians—­Louisiana—­History.
Classification: lcc e99.h72 d66 2020 |
ddc 976.30049738—­dc23
lc record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019030113

Set in Adobe Caslon by Mikala R. Kolander.

He did not say, “Thou shalt not be tempested,
thou shalt not be travailed, thou shalt not
be dis-­eased.” But He did say, “Thou shalt not
be overcome.” —­J ulian of Norwich
 Contents

List of Illustrations ix
Acknowledgments xi
Introduction: To Cast a Wide Net xv

1. “He and I Shall Be but One”: The Forging

of Houma and French Alliances 1
2. “We Should Be Obligated to Destroy
Them”: Houma Remove to Bayou St. John
and Ascension 17
3. In the Shelter of a Duck’s Nesting
Place: Shifting Power and Politics
along the Mississippi 31
4. A Kingdom of Water: Adaptation
and Erasure in Bayou Country 53
5. “So-­Called Indians”: The Houma
Quest for Education 79
6. A Paper Genocide: The Fight for
Recognition 109
Conclusion: The Sea of Galilee 135

Notes 147
Bibliography 171
Index 185
 Illustrations

Maps
1. Detail of Carte de la Louisiane, 1732 6
2. Plan of the city of New Orleans, 1798 21
3. Detail of hydrological and topographical
map of Louisiana 55
4. Map of Dulac, 1894 56

Photographs
1. Houma woman weaving palmetto 65
2. Houma women and man 65
3. Indian family on Bayou Caillou 66
4. Houma man on quaking prairie with coffin 66
5. Houma man with pirogue and coffin 67
6. Cemetery at Point au Barré 67
7. Wilhelmina Hooper and students,
Dulac Indian Mission School 99
8. Students, Dulac Indian Mission School 99

ix
 Acknowledgments

One of the great pleasures that researching and writing this book afforded
me was the opportunity to meet some truly extraordinary people. In
archives, private homes, libraries, and fishing boats, people invariably
went out of their way to help in my research. Total strangers spent hours
sifting through archival basements to help me find an obscure source or
drove me to a distant relative’s house so I could listen to elders recount
an ancestor who was long dead but hardly forgotten. Looking back, I’m
humbled by how generous so many people were, and it’s a great plea-
sure to offer brief, albeit too brief, thanks for their kindness and support.
Initial thanks go to my maternal grandparents, JC and Myrtle Rae
McGowen, who imparted their love of history to me. Cotton farmers
in northeastern Louisiana, both were deeply interested in every aspect
of their world and by far the smartest people I have ever known. They
taught me a profound respect for both the written and spoken word, a
deep awareness of the link between people and their natural environ-
ments, and a comfort with knowing that the world owes you nothing. The
hours they spent recounting family histories to me are among the hap-
piest in my life. Similarly, I owe a great debt to my parents, who pushed
me to constantly question the world around me, made a lot of sacrifices
for my benefit, encouraged me even as they sometimes wondered when
I would ever finish school, and have been my most ferocious supporters.
Several teachers made all the difference in my life, particularly Mary
Jayne White, my senior English teacher at Bastrop High School. Retired
in 2016 after fifty years, Mrs. White exemplifies what a difference the
right teacher can make in the life of a student, and her hours of instruc-
tion, guidance, and patient mentoring serve as a guide for how I hope I
am with my own students. She would be followed by Emily Batinski of
the Latin Department at Louisiana State University (lsu) and James
Hardy of lsu’s Honors College, who offered unconditional support to

xi
their students while also setting a very high bar. At Arizona State Uni-
versity, Peter Iverson and Robert Trennert encouraged me to look back
to my home state when devising a course of research and gave me the
freedom to choose my own path. Nancy Hawkins mentored me when
I interned with the Louisiana Division of Archaeology, and her profes-
sionalism and class still give me a yardstick against which to measure
my own behavior (I invariably fall short in comparison, I should add).
Institutions that generously helped me locate sources include the
Louisiana State Archives, Louisiana State Museum, Louisiana State
Library, Terrebonne Parish Public Library, Ellender Memorial Library
at Nicholls State University, the National Archives, lsu Law Library,
Louisiana State Division of Archaeology, Northwestern State Univer-
sity of Louisiana, University of Louisiana at Lafayette, the Earl K. Long
Library at the University of New Orleans, the Historic New Orleans
Collection, the Smithsonian Institute, the Bureau of Indian Affairs, the
Terrebonne Parish School Board, and the Lafourche Parish School Board.
The majority of my sources were in Hill Memorial Library at Louisiana
State University, where I owe a special debt to Germain Bienvenu and
Judy Bolton. Last, the librarians at Albany College of Pharmacy and
Health Sciences (acphs) were tireless in getting sources for me, either
by borrowing the documents or by acquiring scans. Many thanks to all
the acphs librarians, but especially Lauren Grygiel and Kate Wantuch.
Several organizations were very generous in their funding. Albany Col-
lege of Pharmacy and Health Sciences awarded me two Summer Schol-
arship of Discovery awards, and I am very grateful for working in such a
supportive environment. The Louisiana Endowment for the Humanities
(leh) awarded me a Louisiana Publishing Initiative Grant at exactly the
right time, and they will never know how grateful I am for the financial
help and kind words. John Kemp of the leh was particularly unflagging
in his support and enthusiasm for the project and offered much helpful
and timely advice. The T. Harry Williams Oral History Center at Louisi-
ana State University was very generous with equipment, technical exper-
tise, and occasional financial aid while I was conducting oral interviews.
I would like to extend my thanks to Matt Bokovoy and his associ-
ates at the University of Nebraska Press for their professionalism, cour-
tesy, and patience, and to the four anonymous reviewers who read this

xii Acknowledgments
book at different stages. These scholars offered thoughtful and mean-
ingful advice about strengths and weaknesses in my work, taking time
out of their schedules to help me make this a stronger book. For that I
am very grateful.
I would also like to thank Theda Perdue, one of the pioneers of South-
eastern Native history, who introduced herself at a conference years ago
and asked me to submit my manuscript to the University of Nebraska
Press. She remained unfailingly supportive and patient in following years
and was gracious enough to include me in a 2011 National Endowment
for the Humanities Summer Seminar at University of North Carolina
Chapel Hill so that I could interact more freely with others in my field.
Dr. Perdue has offered valuable criticism, advice, and encouragement
over the years, and I can say with absolute certainty that this book is
much stronger for her help.
This book would have been impossible without the generosity and
help of many, many members of the United Houma Nation (uhn). Each
one of the hundreds of people I met was kindness itself, and though it is
impossible to thank all these people, there are four I would like to single
out. I met (now Dr.) Bruce Duthu of Dartmouth when I was a student
at lsu and he was a young lawyer giving a class presentation about the
Houma; he was the first person to make me aware of the uhn. I met
Kirby Verret during my archaeology internship when I drove to Dulac;
he was working on his home’s plumbing at the time and spoke with me
while I helped him dig up his front yard. Kirby was very generous in
making my first introductions to uhn members, and I am deeply grate-
ful for that. Likewise, former Principal Chief Brenda Dardar Robichaux
made time in her busy schedule to speak with me on a number of occa-
sions, and her experiences gave me insight into many unrecorded but
vital facets of Houma history. Lastly, Michael Dardar has been a great
sounding board and friend over the years. Michael serves as the tribe’s
unofficial historian and has a lengthy publication record of his own. He
provided valuable criticism and gave me one of the nicest compliments
I’ve received when he said that this isn’t the kind of book a Houma would
have written, but that the Houma are okay with it.
Last, a word on reciprocity, an often-­debated topic among indigenous
peoples and those who work with them. I lived in the town of Houma

Acknowledgments xiii
for a year while conducting research in bayou communities and, both
during my time living there and in the years since I left, absolutely every-
one treated me with courtesy and respect (I must add that this kindness
came not only from Houma Indians but also non-­Natives and Indi-
ans of other tribes, even when those people maintained tense relations
with the uhn). Though not a coffee drinker, I learned to appreciate the
high-­octane beverage served in households I visited, which could not be
refused without offending the host; within several weeks I was close to
addiction. While I can still thank some of the many Houma who shared
their memories and experiences even when they had better things to do,
passing years have made it impossible to thank others. Still, we do the
best we can, and reciprocity is vital in our dealings, as scholars and as
human beings, with people who extend their trust to us. I turned over
copies of previous drafts and research materials to Brenda Dardar Robi-
chaux with a request that they be used for good. Likewise, I lodged my
oral interviews at the T. Harry Williams Oral History Center at Lou-
isiana State University and made sure that the uhn would have access.
In terms of reciprocity, can I ever repay the kindness extended to me?
No, of course not. But I have done my absolute best to not abuse that
kindness, to show gratitude, and to help others along the way. And that’s
the best I know how to do.

xiv Acknowledgments
 Introduction
To Cast a Wide Net

In August and September 2005 the world watched on television as

hurricanes Katrina and Rita swept across the Louisiana coastline with
the force of two invading armies. Either storm would have been cat-
astrophic in its own right, but the combined force of these hurricanes
hitting less than a month apart was like something out of a nightmare.
One of the world’s great cities flooded, and smaller but no less cultur-
ally rich communities were more than a dozen feet underwater. Homes
that had stood for generations buckled, and millions of people fled as
far from the invading waters as they could. Katrina shattered levees in
New Orleans but also southward along the Mississippi, flooding bayou
communities and creating a vast, unbroken sheet of the Mississippi Gulf.
Roofs were ripped off, and when Rita hit several weeks later there was
little to stop downpours from above and storm surges from below. And
amid this devastation and mayhem, many heard for the first time of a
tribe that had lived along the waterways of southeastern Louisiana for
centuries: the Houma nation.
Any person with loved ones in the paths of Katrina and Rita surely
felt the expected mix of emotions: anger, fear, frantic worry. For those
of us who had friends among the Houma, though, there was a further
concern: How could these people survive as a nation? Many Houma had
fled from Katrina to relatives in bayou communities that now sat directly
in the path of Rita. When Rita hit, nine feet of storm surge water went
into districts that had offered refuge. Over four thousand Houma Indi-
ans had lost their homes to the first storm, and five thousand more lost
theirs in the second. Other tribes had been moved from their traditional
homelands, but at least these lands remained. How does a nation sur-
vive when its very soil is eroded from below and flooded from above?

xv
 From the vantage of a decade later, fears that the Houma would dis-
solve as a nation in the same way as their homeland have proven to be
just that—­fears. Far from an anomaly in its history, Katrina and Rita
were simply further disasters with which the nation had to grapple, and
the Houma regrouped, recovered, and rebuilt the same way they had
for centuries. They appealed to outside communities, used the media to
their advantage, and forged alliances with traditional rivals when it was
to their advantage to do so. Far from defining them as a people, Katrina
and Rita simply made the Houma exercise behaviors they had mastered
over preceding centuries as they interacted with a variety of tribal, colo-
nial, federal, and state officials.
A Kingdom of Water is not a tribal or cultural history, though it is
couched in a narrative that examines the nation’s history after 1699.
Rather, it is a study of how one Native American group successfully
navigated a constantly changing series of political and social landscapes
between 1699 and 2005 while maintaining its identity as a nation. Even
before the arrival of the French, the Houma had formed alliances either
with or against other Indian peoples. After 1699 they included the French
in their networks and played a vital role in the early history of Louisiane,
ironic given that a French governor came dangerously close to exter-
minating them. After 1763 and the Gallic retreat, both the British and
Spanish laid claim to tribal homelands, and the Houma cleverly played
one empire against the other until the Americans took control of the
region. Some alliances were advantageous and others disastrous, but all
reflect Houma awareness of their changing political and social land-
scapes. Moreover, these alliances also reflect the Houma’s understand-
ing that they lived in constant danger and that perpetual movement and
change was the only way to navigate dangerous waters.
When they first met the French in 1699 the Houma lived on the east-
ern bank of the Mississippi River, just above modern Baton Rouge. Several
years after that an epidemic devastated the nation, and they attempted to
rebuild their numbers by absorbing the Tunica tribe. Somewhere between
1705 and 1709 the Tunica rose up against their hosts, slaughtered many of
them, and drove the remainder south. Survivors fled downriver to Bayou
St. John but moved back upstream a few years later to escape the cor-
rupting effects of New Orleans. Settling in modern Ascension Parish, the

xvi Introduction
Houma were forced to relocate once again in a few decades by pressure
from surrounding farmers and hysteria over Native uprisings. Just before
the Louisiana Purchase, they began their last migration, a journey down
the waterways of southeastern Louisiana that would take them ever closer
to the Gulf of Mexico. Houma tradition maintains they relocated down
Bayou Lafourche to modern Houma, Louisiana, where they spread out
along bayous radiating from that town like fingers from an open palm.
After 1763 settlers kept pushing the Houma farther into the marsh,
and with the change in environment their world changed dramatically
as they turned this refuge into a new homeland. Fishing and shrimp-
ing became mainstays of the Native communities, Indian women inter-
married with nearby Euro-­Americans and produced large families with
French last names, and the nation adopted Catholicism as its dominant
religion. After the Civil War and consequent restructuring of class sys-
tems, the Houma found themselves caught in a three-­tiered system of
segregation. Realizing that education was one way to retain lands con-
stantly under assault from trappers and oil companies, the Houma fought
to keep from being shunted off to black schools during the Jim Crow
era. The first attempt to integrate Terrebonne Parish schools began in
the early twentieth century and was not resolved until five decades later.
Currently, the tribe is fighting for federal recognition.
Placing the Houma at the center of their own history is a great chal-
lenge given the gaps and biases throughout the archival record. René-­
Robert Cavelier, Sieur de La Salle sailed past the tribe in 1682 and missed
them because a thick fog prevented him from seeing what stood only a
short distance away, and this first mention of the Houma serves as a met-
aphor for the subsequent historical record. Almost every account from
the colonial period to the modern era mentions the Houma solely in
light of what the observer valued, and readers must examine these sources
accordingly; in no way were these documents unbiased or complete in
their perspective. French priests and explorers made only the briefest
visits to the nation, and primary documents devote little attention to the
culture of the Houma, concentrating instead on practical concerns such
as food, the time it took to get to a village, diplomatic protocol, and the
number of warriors the nation could provide. The French made inci-
dental references to cultural aspects such as gender—­a deceased female

Introduction xvii
warrior who dressed as a man and led other warriors into battle, or that
three matriarchs presented Iberville with foodstuffs during a ceremony—­
but with absolutely no interpretation of what this information might
mean.1 Likewise, the archaeological record reveals little. The Houma
village of 1699 has never been definitively located and would have been
influenced by later Tunica arrival, in any case. Likewise, many early vil-
lage sites along southeastern Louisiana’s lower bayous have been either
eroded or inundated. Until now only the Grand Village in Ascension
has garnered excavation, and even that was very brief.2 While other sites
might reveal a wealth of information in the future, they have not yet.
Even determining how many Houma there were based on primary
documents is impossible. Colonial estimates varied wildly, not surprising
given that Houma settlements were some distance from each other and
visitors invariably recorded traveling to only one village. Moreover, the
Houma were seasonally mobile, and this would have greatly influenced
the number of people in a village at any one time. Adding to the confu-
sion are multiple spellings of the same name, something that began in
the colonial era and continued well into the twenty-­first century; this
includes the name of the tribe itself, names of individuals within the tribe,
and names of non-­Natives interacting with the Houma. Amid the welter
of languages, colonial powers, and individual actors, it is not unusual to
see the same person referred to by six or seven variations of their name.
As with the French, Spanish and English officials valued the Houma
for what the nation offered, and when the tribe’s influence waned so
did colonial interest. Much of what we know about them from the late
1700s and early 1800s derives from a lawsuit and the writings of Louis
Judice, a colonial official tasked with maintaining peace in one section
of the Mississippi River. After the early 1800s the Houma lived at the
very ends of bayous in extreme southeastern Louisiana, places they relo-
cated to specifically so they would be ignored and left in peace. Newly
arrived Americans were only too happy to oblige them. This stemmed
partly from how the new federal government recorded Indians, the inac-
cessible location of Houma villages, and the fact that settlers had driven
the nation down the bayous and were pleased to erase them from the
American consciousness. As in the colonial era, population estimates
and the spelling of names varied wildly.

xviii Introduction
 So, is it impossible for the Houma to take their place at the table
of history based on surviving materials? Whatever the archaeological
record might reveal in the future, it does not reveal much now. Archi-
val documents from the French, Spanish, and English are biased and
contain gigantic gaps both in material and interpretation. Federal and
state records were maintained by people who, at best, were completely
uninterested in the nation and, at worst, had a vested interest in their
being forgotten. There were no Houma Indian newspapers or essayists
such as one finds among the Cherokee or other Southeastern tribes, and
personal documents were invariably lost when hurricanes washed over
bayou communities. Though John Swanton had conversations with tribal
elders via translators, the first oral histories of the nation only began in
the late 1970s.
Examining the Houma through surviving materials seems like a bleak
task; yet, when one carefully studies the sources one begins to hear these
people speak. I knew that I would never be able to base this book on
traditional archival materials and therefore would have to cast a wide
net in primary and secondary sources. My research path included as
many areas as possible—­archaeology, legal cases, records of the Catho-
lic and Methodist faiths, references to the Houma in biographies of the
region’s notable people, school board records from Lafourche Parish and
Terrebonne Parish, newspaper articles, courthouse records, oral inter-
views from the Houma Bicentennial Commission and Bruce Duthu,
hurricane chronicles, personal letters, immigration records, lists of land
purchases and sales, tax records, federal census figures, academic theses
and dissertations, photographic archives, and a variety of other sources.
My greatest primary documents were the people who spoke with me.
Some of these were members of the United Houma Nation and other
tribes who consented to recording, some were Indians and non-­Indians
who spoke with me but chose not to go on the record, and some were
people who had never heard of the Houma. In this last group, the deck-
hands, pilots, and captains I interacted with during my time as a histo-
rian with Delta Queen Steamboat Company were invaluable in helping
me understand the rivers, bayous, marshes, and swamps of southeastern
Louisiana, a region as much “waterscape” as landscape and to which the
Houma nation is inextricably tied.3

Introduction xix
 Neither my research nor my writing of this book took place in a
vacuum, and I am indebted to many, many people whose scholarship
suggested a theoretical framework for my own work. Ironically, H.L.
Bourgeois and his virulent 1938 “Four Decades of Public Education in
Terrebonne” gave me one of the best perspectives, because it revealed
what challenges the Houma faced in the early twentieth century more
eloquently than any other source. Ernest Downs’s and Jenna Whitehead’s
1976 “The Houma Indians: Two Decades in a History of Struggle” was
invaluable, as were the publications of Janel Curry-­Roper in the 1970s
and 1980s. They were among the first scholars to look at the Houma from
a variety of perspectives, and their work set a very high standard. Bruce
Duthu’s articles on the Houma remain a model of clarity and insight
besides offering a valuable legal perspective. Bruce is also the first member
of the Houma nation to write about their history, which gives his work
a very scholarly yet very intimate perspective. Nicholas Ng-­A-­Fook’s An
Indigenous Curriculum of Place: The United Houma Nation’s Contentious
Relationship with Louisiana’s Educational Institutions links many chal-
lenges facing the nation today with their historical struggles. Michael
“T-­Mayheart” Dardar has written widely on the Houma nation, but his
Women-­Chiefs and Crawfish Warriors: A Brief History of the Houma People
stands out as a publication by a tribal elder and historian. Mark Mill-
er’s Forgotten Tribes: Unrecognized Indians and the Federal Acknowledg-
ment Process is a wonderful examination of the federal-­recognition bids
of the Houma and several other tribes. All of these authors influenced
my own work and, in the case of Bruce, Michael, and Mark, challenged
me during spirited debates.
On a broader level, Daniel Usner’s works on Natives in the Lower
Mississippi Valley remain seminal, and his Indians, Settlers, and Slaves
in a Frontier Exchange Economy: The Lower Mississippi Valley before 1783
endures as the standard against which I measure writing in this field. I
should add that reading his book while in graduate school at Arizona
State University made me look back to Louisiana for my own research,
so it is quite an understatement to say that he merely influenced my the-
oretical perspective. Now retired, Dr. Carl Brasseaux remains one of the
major historians of Louisiana, and his numerous works on Cajuns, Cre-
oles, and Native Americans offer a model of clarity and interpretation.

xx Introduction
He was also extremely generous in making documents available to me
and gently nudging me during our discussions, for which I will always
be grateful. Jay Precht’s work with the Coushatta and Brian Klopotek’s
examination of the Louisiana Choctaw are outstanding and offer com-
parative models against which to examine the Houma. Susan Sleeper-­
Smith’s publications on Indian women and French men of the Great
Lakes might seem geographically removed, but they offer a valuable
framework for examining gender relations in the Lower Mississippi Val-
ley. I would also be remiss if I did not mention Robbie Ethridge’s pieces
on the shatter zone and cultural adaptation, Malinda Maynor Lowery’s
writings on the Lumbee, and Theda Perdue’s works on women and cul-
ture change as influences on this book.4
I received valuable feedback on my work from colleagues and several
anonymous reviewers, and one rhetorical question I repeatedly heard was,
“Why should we care about the Houma?” Other peoples, both Indian
and non-­Indian, have adapted to changing environments; indeed, this is
a primary characteristic of human beings throughout history. Acadians,
Yugoslavs, Canary Islanders, Germans, and various other ethnic groups
have settled along the waterways of southern Louisiana and tied them-
selves to the landscape, so this certainly is not specific to the Houma.
Other Native Americans of the Jim Crow era endured segregation and
later fought for public education. Likewise, women of various ethnic-
ities partnered with European men and created children from those
unions, to which New Orleans’s nearby free people of color attest. Cer-
tainly, indigenous peoples around the world have been relocated when
a dominant power desired their homeland. One can isolate almost any
facet of Houma history and find that same experience in another cul-
ture, particularly among Louisiana and Southeastern tribes. So what
makes the Houma different?
When I was a teenager I read a definition of great literature that has
stayed with me since: a great story is absolutely specific to its time and
place while rising above its time and place. The Great Gatsby and War and
Peace are forever tied to their eras and locations while at the same time
revealing something greater about the human condition. I think this is
true of any great story, and the Houma nation has a great story. Their
experience is unique to them, and there is no way to mistake it for the

Introduction xxi
history of any other Native American nation. In their colonial interac-
tions, their lawsuits, their embracing of Catholicism and the French lan-
guage, and their adaptations to the bayous of southeastern Louisiana, they
stand alone. At the same time, their story illustrates themes shared by a
number of other indigenous peoples—­their struggle to survive and adapt
in a hostile world, to create new homelands, to pull from the dominant
society as a means of protecting their core identity.
One last point about what readers will find missing in this work.
Southeastern Louisiana is both extremely rich and extremely compli-
cated in its geographic and cultural fabrics. So too is the Houma nation.
While writing this book I went into great detail on contexts and nuances
that people might not understand unless they are from the area. Unfor-
tunately, that resulted in A Kingdom of Water stretching over five hun-
dred pages in its initial form, which made it somewhat unwieldy. I was
ruthless in my edits and also placed many details in notes so as not to
slow the narrative. Looking back from the other side of massive cuts, I
found that streamlining my work made it stronger and more concise but
eliminated many points that were, in the words of one of my reviewers,
“very interesting but not vital to the story.” Bearing these cuts in mind,
I want to remind readers that the historical players in this work were
far more than statistics or names in a census record. They were human
beings—­passionate in thought, energetic in action, chiefly concerned
with their own goals, and every bit as vital as we are now.
Historians usually end the first section of their works by claiming any
inaccuracies as theirs alone. I will follow tradition and say that any errors
of fact or reconstruction fall on me and only on me. A Kingdom of Water
is one person’s interpretation of how the Houma nation adapted to the
changing political and social climates of Louisiana between 1699 and
2005. But it is only one person’s interpretation, and readers should view
it in that light. This is the first full-­length monograph on the Houma
nation’s history, and I hope it encourages others to continue this research.
If anyone finds errors or draws a radically different interpretation from
mine, I will be delighted, because this means they are further examining
this important topic and either correcting things that should be corrected
or simply drawing their own conclusions. Either will make me happy.

xxii Introduction
A KI NGD OM OF WAT ER
 1
“He and I Shall Be but One”
The Forging of Houma and French Alliances

At 10:30 in the morning of March 20, 1699, a group of three Houma

ambassadors stood on the eastern bank of the Mississippi River and
greeted a party of nine men paddling upstream toward them. Though
neither group could know it at the time, this meeting would change
their respective histories and usher in political and social change neither
group could have imagined on this fresh spring day. But all that lay in
the future. All the Houma ambassadors knew for certain at this moment,
while the Mississippi’s surging waters rose as they had for centuries and
the sun rose above their heads, was that a group of eight Frenchmen led
by a hated Bayougoula tribal leader was paddling toward them. These
visitors could furnish military and economic advantages against rivals
such as the very Bayougoula who was singing a greeting, and the next
few hours would thus be critical in forging alliances. Raising calumets
over their heads and singing loudly in welcome, the Houma men greeted
the landing party.1
The Muskhogean-­speaking nation that welcomed their guests had
emerged from the Lower Mississippi Valley shatter zone of the 1500s
and 1600s. They had once been part of the larger Chakchiuma group
located in north-­central Mississippi at the confluence of the Yazoo and
Yalobusha Rivers and were distantly related to both the Choctaw and
Chickasaw.2 By 1682 the Houma had migrated southwest and established
villages on the Mississippi’s east bank. While they shared linguistic pat-
terns and cultural ties with several surrounding tribes, the nation viewed
itself as a separate people, sui generis. Shâkti Humma, or “red crawfish,”
indicated not only the giant crawfish that created the world by pulling
up mud and kneading its claws but also its earthly cousin, a tiny crea-
ture that raised its pincers in aggression no matter how large the enemy.

1
“Houma” in all its pronunciations and later spellings meant “red,” and
the nation’s warriors maintained the red crawfish as their war symbol.3
The nation’s leaders had good reason to be cautious, flanked by adver-
saries and with possible foreign enemies now stepping on their shore.
Their homeland stretched between the Koroa tribe to the north and the
Bayougoula to the south, encompassing parts of modern East Baton
Rouge Parish, West Feliciana Parish, and Wilkinson County, Missis-
sippi. This territory was attractive to both their neighbors, and, indeed,
competition for land was what turned the Houma and adjoining Bay-
ougoula into rivals.4 They regularly engaged in combat over natural
resources and jealously guarded their boundaries.5
Surrounding tribes certainly would have coveted Houma territory.
Geography, wind, and river currents joined forces to make the west bank
of the Mississippi and the east bank to the south completely flat, but not
the hills stretching behind the Houma party. On the contrary, the east-
ern shore’s level floodplain of rich, dark, river-­deposited soil rose quickly
to high, steep bluffs. Eons of wind currents depositing Chinese glacial
silt made these bluffs an ideal habitat for the Houma nation—­f ree from
flooding, lushly fertile, and difficult to take in warfare. The ground rose
sharply in timbered slopes above the floodplain, and clear streams raced
quickly through quiet, peach-­colored valleys. The area assured a constant
food supply, be it from rich stores of corn, beans, and squash or from
abundant wildlife in the river and air as well as on land. With villages
overlooking the greatest water route in North America and backed by
footpaths winding through the region, the Houma sat at a transporta-
tion crossroads and had no intention of losing this treasured place to
traditional enemies such as the Bayougoula. Thus, their welcome to the
French was as much a pursuit of allies as it was hospitality.6
Houma distrust of the Bayougoula was amply justified. Indeed, the
only reason the French arrived at the Houma village at all was because
of tribal conflict. The exploration party was led by Sieur de Iberville, a
scion of one of New France’s most powerful families, and he was trac-
ing the steps of René Robert Cavelier, Sieur de La Salle.7 La Salle had
sailed downriver past the Houma village during the foggy night of March
31, 1682, and continued to the river’s mouth, where his proclamation on
April 9 united French Canada and the French Caribbean.8 It brought

2 “ He and I Shall Be but One ”

the mightiest river in North America, one of the mightiest in the world,
under Gallic control and legally supported the French’s claim, in their
minds, to an empire stretching from the Appalachians to the Rockies.
Thus, the party was exploring the Mississippi to ensure the continued
growth of French power.
Rowing upstream from the Gulf of Mexico rather than downstream
from Canada, Iberville sought proof that he indeed traveled the same
river La Salle had in 1682 and was particularly interested in finding the
major fork in the river described by Chevalier Henry de Tonty, one of
La Salle’s lieutenants. Called Le Bras Coup or La Main de Fer (The
Iron Hand) because of the metal appendage he wore, Tonty explored
on his own during and after La Salle’s trek and claimed to have met the
Houma in 1686.9 Iberville checked landmarks and spent several days
questioning the Bayougoula about the fork in the river, but his efforts
were bedeviled by inconsistencies in the La Salle accounts and doubts
of Native trustworthiness. Frustrated and convinced that the “intelli-
gent and cunning” Bayougoula leader was feeding him false information
to prevent his meeting the Bayougoula’s traditional enemies, he had no
alternative but to continue upstream and spend several days with the
Houma.10 Thus, if the Bayougoula chief ’s plan was indeed to derail a
meeting and possible alliance, as Iberville believed, it backfired.
Before the Houma ambassadors and Iberville ever caught sight of
each other, political alliances of the Lower Mississippi Valley had laid
the foundation for their first encounter. On February 17, 1699, Iberville
had sung the calumet with Bayougoula ambassadors who acted as proxies
for other tribes and by doing so became a formal ally with four nations
west of the river and seven nations east of the Mississippi, the Houma
one of the latter.11 Thus, in one of the ironies characterizing the intricate
politics of Indian nations along the Gulf Coast, the Houma had already
symbolically absorbed the French politically due to the efforts of their
rivals the Bayougoula, the very nation attempting to derail an alliance
between the two in March. The French thus technically stepped ashore
not as strangers to the Houma but as political allies.
The Houma party and the Bayougoula leader sang to each other for
several minutes and then reached upward to honor the sun, rubbing their
hands over each other’s faces and chests and then those of their visitors.

“ He and I Shall Be but One ” 3

All fourteen men smoked and parleyed for thirty minutes, after which
the Houma escorted the visitors to their village, singing effortlessly even
though the party climbed steep hills the entire way. Around one o’clock
a separate delegation of three Houma men relieved the previous group
and repeated the calumet smoking ceremony. This new delegation led
the French party to three huts about three hundred yards from the vil-
lage, where they stayed until word came from the Ouga, or tribal leader,
that they had permission to enter.12
Their Houma escorts ushered the party into the village and introduced
them to the Ouga and two of his principal men, who greeted the party
while carrying small white crosses. Even at seventy, the chieftain stood
five feet, ten inches tall, strong and vital. Iberville’s host and another
leader grasped the thirty-­eight-­year-­old under his arms and guided him
to his seat for fear he would stumble or otherwise hurt himself while
under village protection, a paternalistic gesture the older man repeated
several times over the next few days. Ever the political animal, Iber-
ville noted that the Ouga also had a son of around thirty whom he was
grooming to succeed him.13
Just as the Houma leader made it clear to Iberville and his men that
they were under his protection, so were all formal interactions and fes-
tivities over the next few days designed to project an image of strength
tempered by hospitality. After the Ouga and his principal men embraced
Iberville and his party, the Houma guided them to mats in the middle
of a well-­maintained village square about two hundred yards across. Sur-
rounded by several hundred villagers, they again smoked the obligatory
calumet and exchanged presents in front of the temple. For the Houma,
this gift giving was much more than a mere exchange of material goods.
On the contrary, as with so many tribes, the goods themselves were sec-
ondary at this point in Houma history and indicated a cementing of
bonds between allies. “Proper” gift giving and trade were inextricably
bound with ceremony, discussion, and the forging of social alliances.14
The next few hours were devoted to dancing, an entertainment partic-
ularly suited to displaying both strength and beauty. Around four o’clock
Houma musicians and singers assembled with gourd drums and were in
turn joined for three hours of energetic dancing by twenty young men
and fifteen young women “splendidly adorned in their style, all of them

4 “ He and I Shall Be but One ”

Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 B u b a l u s m i n d o r e n s i s Heude

Fig. 1 c. ⅛ n. Gr. Fig. 2 c. ⅓ n. Gr.

Abh. Ber. K. Zool. Anthr. Ethn. Mus. Dresden 1896/7

Nr. 6 Meyer, Säugethiere Celebes-Philippinen Taf. IX

1 A b n o r m e S c h w e i n e - E c k z ä h n e 2–3 B a b i r u s a a l f u r u s Less.

n. Gr.

Abh. Ber. K. Zool. Anthr. Ethn. Mus. Dresden 1896/7 Nr. 6

Meyer, Säugethiere Celebes-Philippinen Taf. X
 1 S c i u r u s t o n k e a n u s A. B. Meyer c. ¾ n. Gr. 2 S c i u r u s
l e u c o m u s Müll. Schl. unter ⅓ n. Gr. 3 S c i u r u s r o s e n b e r g i
Jent. c. ⅓ n. Gr. 4 S c i u r u s t i n g a h i A. B. Meyer c. ⅗ n. Gr.

Abh. Ber. K. Zool. Anthr. Ethn. Mus. Dresden 1896/7 Nr. 6

Meyer, Säugethiere Celebes-Philippinen Taf. XI
 1 S c i u r u s m i n d a n e n s i s Steere 2 S c i u r u s s a m a r e n s i s
Steere

c. ⅔ n. Gr.

Abh. Ber. K. Zool. Anthr. Ethn. Mus. Dresden 1896/7 Nr. 6

Meyer, Säugethiere Celebes-Philippinen Taf. XII
 P h l œ o m y s c u m i n g i Wtrh.

c. ¼ n. Gr.

Abh. Ber. K. Zool. Anthr. Ethn. Mus. Dresden 1896/7 Nr. 6

Meyer, Säugethiere Celebes-Philippinen Taf. XIII
 1–2 P h l œ o m y s c u m i n g i Wtrh. 3–6 C r a t e r o m y s s c h a d e n b e r g i (A. B. Meyer) n.
Gr.

Abh. Ber. K. Zool. Anthr. Ethn. Mus. Dresden 1896/7 Nr. 6

Meyer, Säugethiere Celebes-Philippinen Taf. XIV
 C r a t e r o m y s s c h a d e n b e r g i (A. B. Meyer)

⅓–¼ n. Gr.

Abh. Ber. K. Zool. Anthr. Ethn. Mus. Dresden 1896/7 Nr. 6

Meyer, Säugethiere Celebes-Philippinen Taf. XV
 1 Phalanger celebensis (Gr.) 2–3 P h a l a n g e r s a n g i r e n s i s A. B.
Meyer

c. ⅓ n. Gr.

[I]
[Inhalt]
 Abhandlungen und Berichte des
Königlichen Zoologischen und
Anthropologisch-Ethnographischen
Museums zu Dresden Bd. VII 1898/99

Nr. 7

Säugethiere
vom
Celébes- und Philippinen-
Archipel

II
 Celébes-Sammlungen der Herren
Sarasin

von
A. B. Meyer
Anhang
J. Jablonowski: D i e l ö f f e l f ö r m i g e n
Haare der Molossi

M i t 1 1 Ta f e l n , d a v o n 8
colorirt
 Verlag von R. Friedländer & Sohn in
Berlin
1899

[III]
[Inhalt]
 Inhaltsverzeichniss
Seite

Tafelerklärung V
Alphabetischer Index VII
Addenda VIII
Einleitung 1
Primates
1. M a c a c u s m a u r u s F. Cuv. Taf. I und II 2
M a c a c u s t o n k e a n u s n. sp. 3
2. C y n o p i t h e c u s n i g e r (Desm.) 4
3. C y n o p i t h e c u s n i g e r n i g r e s c e n s (Temm.) 4
4. Ta r s i u s f u s c u s Fisch.-Waldh. Taf. III Fig. 1–2 4
Chiroptera
5. P t e r o p u s w a l l a c e i G r . Taf. IV Fig. 1 5
6. P t e r o p u s a l e c t o Temm. 5
7. P t e r o p u s h y p o m e l a n u s Temm. 6
8. P t e r o p u s m a c k l o t i Temm. 6
9. X a n t h a r p y i a m i n o r (Dobs.) 6
10. C y n o p t e r u s l a t i d e n s Dobs. 7
C y n o p t e r u s b r a c h y o t i s (S. Müll.) 7
11. U r o n y c t e r i s c e p h a l o t e s (Pall.) 8
12. C e p h a l o t e s p e r o n i Geoffr. 9
13. C a r p o n y c t e r i s a u s t r a l i s (Ptrs.) 10
14. R h i n o l o p h u s m i n o r Horsf. 11
15. H i p p o s i d e r u s d i a d e m a (Geoffr.) 11
16. M e g a d e r m a s p a s m a (L.) 12
17. V e s p e r u s p a c h y p u s (Temm.) 12
18. V e s p e r u g o p e t e r s i n. sp. Taf. IV Fig. 2 13
 V e s p e r u g o p a p u a n u s o r i e n t a l i s n. subsp. 14
19. V e s p e r u g o m i n a h a s s a e n. sp. Taf. IV Fig. 3 14
20. V e s p e r t i l i o m u r i c o l a Hdgs. 16
21. N y c t i n o m u s s a r a s i n o r u m n. sp. Taf. IV Fig. 4–6
und Taf. X Fig. 3, 4 und 28, und Taf. XI Fig. 2 und 2a 16
N y c t i n o m u s a s t r o l a b i e n s i s n. sp. Taf. X Fig.
19 und 30, und Taf. XI Fig. 6 19
Insectivora
22. C r o c i d u r a f u l i g i n o s a (Blyth) 20
Carnivora
23. V i v e r r a t a n g a l u n g a Gray 20
24. P a r a d o x u r u s h e r m a p h r o d i t u s (Schreb.) 20
25. P a r a d o x u r u s m u s s c h e n b r o e k i Schl. 20
Rodentia
26. S c i u r u s l e u c o m u s Müll. Schl. 21
27. S c i u r u s l e u c o m u s o c c i d e n t a l i s A. B. M. [IV] 21
28. S c i u r u s s a r a s i n o r u m A. B. M. Taf. V 21
29. S c i u r u s m u r i n u s Müll. Schl. 21
30. S c i u r u s r u b r i v e n t e r Müll. Schl. 22
31. M u s r a t t u s L. 22
32. M u s n e g l e c t u s Jent.(?) 22
33. M u s e p h i p p i u m Jent. 23
34. M u s m u s s c h e n b r o e k i Jent. Taf. VI Fig. 1 23
35. M u s c a l l i t r i c h u s Jent. Taf. VII Fig. 1 24
36. M u s h e l l w a l d i J e n t . Taf. VII Fig. 2–10 25
37. M u s x a n t h u r u s Gr. Taf. VI Fig. 2–10 25
38. L e n o m y s m e y e r i (Jent.) Taf. VIII 26
39. C r a u r o t h r i x l e u c u r a (Gr.) Taf. IX 27
Ungulata
40. S u s v e r r u c o s u s c e l e b e n s i s (Müll. Schl.) 27
41. B a b i r u s a a l f u r u s Less. 28
 42. C e r v u s m o l u c c e n s i s Q. G. 29
Marsupialia
43. P h a l a n g e r u r s i n u s (Temm.) 31
44. P h a l a n g e r c e l e b e n s i s (Gr.) 31
Anhang: D i e l ö f f e l f ö r m i g e n H a a r e d e r M o l o s s i
von Dr. J. J a b l o n o w s k i , Assistenten am Museum. Hierzu
Taf. X und XI 32

[V]

[Inhalt]
 Tafelerklärung

Tafel I M a c a c u s m a u r u s F. Cuv. vom Pik von Seite 2

Bonthain, Süd Celébes, mas sen. Circa ⅓
nat. Grösse
Tafel II Schädel von M a c a c u s m a u r u s F. Cuv. Seite 2
vom Pik von Bonthain, mas sen. 1 norma
facialis, 2 norma lateralis, 3 norma verticalis,
4 norma basalis. ¾ nat. Grösse.
Tafel III 1–2 Ta r s i u s f u s c u s Fisch.-Waldh. von Seite 4
Nord Celébes. 1 mas ad., nat. Grösse; 2
juv., circa ⅔ nat. Grösse.
3 Ta r s i u s s a n g i r e n s i s A. B. M. von Seite 5
Siao, Sangi Inseln. Circa ½ nat. Grösse.
Tafel IV 1 P t e r o p u s w a l l a c e i Gr. von Nord Seite 5
Celébes. Nat. Grösse.
2 Kopf von V e s p e r u g o p e t e r s i n. sp. Seite 13
von Nord Celébes. Doppelte nat. Grösse.
3 Kopf von V e s p e r u g o m i n a h a s s a e Seite 14
n. sp. von Nord Celébes. Doppelte nat.
Grösse.
4–6 N y c t i n o m u s s a r a s i n o r u m n. Seite 16
sp. von Central Celébes. 4 nat. Grösse. 5
Kopf in doppelter nat. Grösse, 6 Tragus in
vierfacher nat. Grösse.
Tafel V S c i u r u s s a r a s i n o r u m A. B. M. von Seite 21
Central Celébes. 1 nat. Grösse, 2 ½ nat.
Grösse.
Tafel VI 1 M u s m u s s c h e n b r o e k i Jent. von Seite 23
 Nord Celébes. Nat. Grösse.
2–10 M u s x a n t h u r u s Gr. von Nord Seite 25
Celébes. 2–8 nat. Grösse, 9 und 10 circa
fünffache nat. Grösse.

rechter
3 Vorderfuss von unten
rechter
4 Hinterfuss von unten
Schädel
5–6 in der norma lateralis
Schädel
7 in der norma verticalis
Schädel
8 in der norma basalis
linke obere
9 Zahnreihe in
derselben Orientirung wie der
Schädel
linke10
untere Zahnreihe,
desgleichen

Tafel VII 1 M u s c a l l i t r i c h u s Jent. von Nord Seite 24

Celébes. Nat. Grösse.
2–10 M u s h e l l w a l d i Jent. von Nord Seite 25
Celébes. 2–8 nat. Grösse, 9 und 10 circa
siebenfache nat. Grösse.

rechter
3 Vorderfuss von unten
rechter
4 Hinterfuss von unten
Schädel
5–6 in der norma lateralis
Schädel
7 in der norma verticalis
Schädel
8 in der norma basalis
linke obere
9 Zahnreihe in
derselben Orientirung wie der
Schädel
linke10
untere Zahnreihe,
desgleichen
Tafel VIII L e n o m y s m e y e r i (Jent.) von Nord Seite 26
Celébes. Nat. Grösse.

linker 2Vorderfuss von unten

linker 3Hinterfuss von unten

Tafel IX C r a u r o t h r i x l e u c u r a (Gr.) von Nord Seite 27

Celébes. Nat. Grösse.

linker 2Vorderfuss von unten

linker 3Hinterfuss von unten

Tafel X und XI H a a r e d e r M o l o s s i . Seite 32 fg.

Siehe nähere Erklärung Seite 53 des
A n h a n g e s von J. J a b l o n o w s k i .

[VII]

[Inhalt]