“Fresh and sweet,” he noted. “We are near the fabled rivers of north Florida.”

“I don’t think so, master. I think we are close to the Mississippi,” Nika said.

“It looks different,” Tonty said, “from what I remember.”

A fever racked La Salle’s body. He shivered like a dog climbing from an icy stream. For a moment, he saw stars and heard voices. A vision entered his mind.

“I’m sure the river is over there,” he said, pointing. “Let’s return to L’Aimable. We’ll sail west. If we hug the shoreline, we should see the muddy waters.”

In his feverish mind, La Salle was convinced they were somewhere near the Florida panhandle. In fact, they made land only a few miles to the west of the Mississippi River. Going east, they would have seen the brown water by lunchtime.

Another wrong decision would doom the expedition to failure.

“La Salle has no idea where we are,” Beaujeu noted.

“Placing a non-navy man in charge of navigation is both unheralded and unwise,” Aigron said.

Beaujeu nodded. “Return to your ship. Short of mutiny, we must follow the order.”

“Mutiny might be wise,” Aigron said, rising to return to Belle. “The damned settlers are eating my sailors’ rations. If we don’t make land and get a hunting party ashore, we may all starve to death.”

The next morning, the trio of ships began sailing west. The tiny Belle hugged the shoreline, while L’Aimable stayed in the middle. The gunship Joly stayed farther out to sea to defend in case a Spanish ship happened past. A week passed, with the Father of Waters falling farther off their stern. When the expedition finally arrived off Texas, it was low on food and lower still on morale. Events were quickly turning worse.

“These barrier islands must have been farther out to sea,” La Salle said.

“Then behind the islands is where we planted the French flag?” Tonty asked.

“I believe so,” La Salle said.

Nika sat silently, brooding. Their current location was different from what he remembered. Here, the species of birds were not the same. Not only that, the beasts he glimpsed on land were more like those that graced the Great Plains.

Even so, the taciturn Indian said nothing. No one had asked his opinion.

“Even if the lagoons are not the outflow of the Mississippi, they must be a tributary that the river empties into,” La Salle said. “We will make land, send out hunters, erect a fort for protection, then set out exploring. I have a good feeling.”

His feeling came from the fever, but there was no one to second-guess his decision.

Belle had passed the bar. L’Aimable and Joly remained outside.

“Sir,” Aigron said, “I must protest. The water is shallow and the currents tricky.”

It was the first face-to-face meeting between the two men in months.

“Belle has been inside,” La Salle noted.

“A smaller, shallow draft vessel,” Aigron said. “L’Aimable is three hundred tons.”

“I am ordering you to take command of L’Aimable and take her inside,” La Salle said, “or face charges of mutiny.”

Aigron stared at the menacing presence of Tonty only feet away.

“I will draw up orders absolving me of any responsibility,” Aigron said, “which you must sign. Then I am transferring my personal possessions to Joly outside the bar.”

“I will agree to those terms,” La Salle said wearily.

Aigron turned to his second in command. “Have sailors sound the bottom and lay a string of buoys lining each side of the channel. We enter at high tide tomorrow.”

La Salle rose. “I am turning over command of this vessel. Have a shore boat drop our possessions on land. Tonty, Nika, and I will stay on land tonight.”

“As you wish, Monsieur La Salle,” Aigron said.

La Salle, his two trusted companions, and a small party of settlers and sailors spent the night on land. The twentieth day of February 1685 dawned clear. Only a few scattered gusts of wind marred what appeared to be an otherwise perfect day. La Salle was tired. Indians from a nearby tribe had approached twice. So far the savages had remained peaceful, but they spoke a dialect neither La Salle nor Nika could understand.

Their intentions remained an unknown.

La Salle ordered a party of men to a small forested area nearby to fell a tree to be used to construct a dugout canoe for exploring the shallow waters. Staring out to sea, La Salle could see L’Aimable weigh anchor. At just that instant, a sailor jogged over to where he was standing. He was breathless and required a second to catch his wind.

“The savages,” he gasped at last, “they came and took our men.”

La Salle stared out to sea. The Belle was supposed to tow L‘Aimable through the gap, but she remained away. Was the pilot intending to take L’Aimable in on sail against orders? There was no time for La Salle to find out. Together with Tonty and Nika, he ran toward the Indian encampment.

Looking over his shoulder, La Salle watched as L’Aimable’s sails were unfurled.

It wasn’t the wine as much as the brandy that gave pilot Duhout and Captain Aigron their courage. With sails to the wind, they closed the distance. On old sailing vessels the pilot faced backward, staring at the horizon behind. With masts, riggings, and supplies stacked on deck, there is little to see facing forward.

“Port a quarter,” Duhout shouted to Aigron, who adjusted the wheel.

“Starboard an eighth.”

And so it went.

Aigron steered L’Aimable through the first shoals successfully. Lining up with the buoys, he began his run past the reef. In a few minutes, he would be inside.

“One ax and a dozen needles,” La Salle offered as trade for his men.

Nika translated as best he could, then waited to see if it was understood.

The Indian chief nodded his assent and motioned for the men to be released.

La Salle and Tonty stepped outside to stare at the water at L’Aimable.

“If they hold the present course, they’ll run her aground,” La Salle said to Tonty.

“I fear you are right,” Tonty said, “but there is nothing we can do.”

La Salle was completing the negotiations when he heard the cannon shot the expedition had agreed upon as a sign of distress. L’Aimable had run aground.

Wood rubbing against a reef makes the sound of a screaming infant.

In the lower hold, the supplies to sustain the expedition were already becoming damp. If they were not quickly removed and dried, they would be lost.

“She’s hard aground,” Aigron said to Duhout. “The reef has holed the bottom.”

“The wine and brandy,” Duhout said, “should be salvaged first.”

La Salle made his way back to the coast with his freed men as quickly as he could. As he rounded a corner and climbed up a small rise, his eyes met a grim sight. L’Aimable was hopelessly aground atop the reef, the tear in her side discharging the cargo into the water. To make matters worse, out in the Gulf of Mexico the sky was turning an angry black.

All that remained was to salvage what they could and pray for better luck, but luck would prove elusive. The rest of the day, the crew salvaged what goods they could by loading them onto small boats and transferring them to shore. At nightfall they set up camp.

Tomorrow, God willing, they would return for the rest.

The winds and the waves came calling that night, battering the stationary L‘Aimable like a punching bag being pummeled by a prizefighter, and the ship was ripped to shreds. The morning sky dawned red. At first light La Salle stood silently, watching as wave after wave washed over the few sections of L’Aimable’s hull that remained above water.