Eyes of an Eagle: Jean-Pierre Cenac, Patriarch: An Illustrated History of Early Houma-Terrebonne

3. November 1860: Determination

Clinging to his carpetbag satchel, Pierre hunkered down in a corner of the deck where he could brace himself against the jostling caused by high seas, wind, and rain. Only a few weeks out, and he had already learned that anyplace was better than the passenger hold below deck during a storm. Frightened women would be crying there, and children always took their cue from them. Even here above deck he could hear the children below screaming every time the barque slammed down into a violent wave. Most of the men tried to remain stoic, but he had seen the fear on their faces, too, and he didn’t want to feel worse than he already did. I’m glad I passed up my supper portion. The storm clouds were already on the horizon when the crew doled out our miserable meal, and I’d just be losing it now, anyway. Maybe I shouldn’t have tried so hard to board this particular barque at the last minute. But I was so tired of waiting. When the captain sent word down on the quai that he could accommodate one more, I ran so fast I practically fell off the gangway. Passenger Number 88, Pierre Cenac. I couldn’t stop grinning. Pierre smiled a wry grimace as salt spray smacked his face. Number 88, huddled in the corner. Number 88, pants getting looser every day. Number 88, who’ll never sail on the ocean again, if he ever reaches land. He tried to concentrate on what had sustained him for more than a month. Remember how excited you were. Remember the high hopes and the feeling of adventure. Remember all the hard work to get to that gangway. One month of misery past, one more month to go. Pierre forced thoughts of his first days on the placid sea. He was fascinated by the large sea birds that followed the ship. With their wide wingspans and their long beaks, they were so different from the warblers and even the big crows in the fields and woods of the mountains. When the crew up in the rigging had yelled that they sighted whales one sunny day, he was one of the first passengers to reach the rail. The big creatures’ lumbering dives and surfacing had made him stop breathing for a moment. Pierre also loved the moonlit nights when he stood near the bow as its waves stirred up ocean phosphorescence and made the water glow. CHAPTER 3 November 1860: Determination ThebarqueSigyn,sistershipoftheTexas Opposite,Pierre’sworkman’stravelvisa datedFebruary16,1860 39 Chapter 3 Oui, think of those things. That’ll get you through tonight’s storm. But it was hard to sustain the good moments and much too easy to dwell on the misery he had felt on too many days. Fear of unpredictable sea conditions had subsided somewhat, several days after the ship emerged from the mouth of the Garonne River at Bordeaux. But sickness had broken out among the passengers, and many lay so enfeebled in their little berths that he was afraid that they would never reach New Orleans. Everybody got seasick, and Pierre was beginning to think he would never stop retching, even when he reached dry land. As for company, there was a lot of it, but it was at too-close quarters. Not that there wasn’t a lot to observe if he could position himself just right so that no one would see him watching and think him impolite. Fourteen-year-old Pablo had taken a liking to the blonde fraulein his own age, but no matter how many false starts he made in her direction, he never managed to achieve actual talking distance or a conversation. Pierre watched Pablo’s daily battle with his awkwardness and felt compassion for the young man. Unobserved, Pierre could not help but hear the highpitched voice of an old Parisian woman who made fun of the more provincial passengers and gossiped about the “scandalous” behavior of some of the crew. Pierre often thought it would be nice if he could sit beside pretty Mademoiselle Suchet and exchange a few words, but her Maman guarded her like a tiger. He had thought about offering them part of the baguette he had been protecting for a month as an opening gesture, but decided Maman would turn up her nose at the stale, hard bread, no matter how hungry she...