A Brave Cajun, Threats, & Peace?

The situation was serious. The habitations of the settlers were scattered; roads and trails were through thickly timbered country and if general guerrilla warfare should break out, it could soon wipe out every family in the outlying settlements. In this hour of extremity, the “White” settlers fell on the help of one man, Louis Lacaze’s brother, Soulonge Lacaze(1). For, in all that territory between the rivers there was no other settler whose decrees were known among whites, blacks and Redbones to carry up so true and accurate to the letter of their making as were those of this “Cajun” rancher. Whether the rugged pioneer’s word was given for the fulfillment of an obligation, or the enforcement of an agreement, no man had ever known Lacaze to depart a hair’s breadth from the program. And because of this reputation, the settlers by unaminous vote chose this “Cajun” to carry the flag of truce into the Redbone Camp.

The headquarters(2) of the Redbone Clan was Hiram Morrows’ home and riding calmly up to the house without a glance to either side, Lacaze called for the men to come out. No man appeared. But after a brief interval, during which the lone rider sat motionless and patiently waited, two women came slowly from the house, saluted their visitor respectfully and stated that the men folks were all away from home(3). It was Lacaze’s opinion that the women were stating an untruth, but not deigning to dispute their word, the ambassador replied so coldly and clearly that his voice could have been heard throughout the house before him. “As you like,” he said. “I will tell you my business then.” And leaning slightly forward in the saddle the Cajun, with a voice that was deep but quiet, continued slowly. “I warn you all now, that if there is a hair of another white man’s head hurt, anywhere in these settlements as long as I am here, we will make a black burn of you.” Wheeling his prairie pony a quarter turn closer to the gate before which the women stood, Lacaze tapped his broad chest with the butt of his riding quirt as he proceeded in a tone the very mildness of which told the hearers how deadly in earnest the old Cajun was. “I will see to it that there isn’t seed of a Redbone left this side of Sabine River(4).” The Redbone women shrank closer together as their eyes glowered and remained fixed on the stern face above them. “We don’t want trouble Mister Soulonge; we want peace.” And then, without moving a muscle or allowing his piercing gaze to release his transfixed listeners, the stately horseman answered with the ring of chilled steel in his tones; “we want peace and we are going to have peace.” After a few tense seconds during which it seemed that even the dark green leaves of the big magnolia tree above his head dared not move, Lacaze pressed his knees gently against his horse’s ribs and without further word rode off at a brisk walk down the grass grown trail into the shadows of the trees which closed behind him.

1 though a French name by origin, its been legitimized into a staple redneck surname
2 Redbone descendants to this day live on recessed family parcels, usually centered around a patriarch
3 Lacaze’s instincts were probably correct, as the surrounding thickets likely contained enough Redbones & guns to get him ’kilt’
4 Lacaze though brave, was no prophet, as the epilogue will reveal