Jacob Ardemus Monroe, Adventurer
11 December, 1939
My name is Jacob Ardemus Monroe, being 69 years old, born on July 18, 1868 of Thaddeus and Katherine Monroe in my father’s cabin in the settlement of Locust Fork on the Black Warrior River in the County of Cahaba, in the state of Alabama. The Jacob part of my name comes from the Bible which my father read to us every night, while Ardemus was the name of my great-grand father, and of his grandfather. It is a name that has served me well over the years.
When I was a young boy I seemed to be more a dreamer of dreams than I was a doer of things. Growing up among the hills and hollows of my home, my soul would stir restless at the rustling of the wind or at the echo of a Whippoorwill’s song late on a summer's night and my mind would search for truth in every passing cloud and in every starlit night. It was a time of want without reason, of need without purpose and of knowledge without wisdom, a time of yearning for what was not and for dreaming of what might be. I knew there were many truths to be learned far from the land and river that had sustained me, and many questions yet to be asked.
And so came to pass.
On the 25th day of March in my 25th year, after a lifetime of waiting and a week of goodbyes, I left Locust Fork to find whatever else there was to find, to see and feel and know what the world had to offer outside of the only home I'd ever known.
Know that some of what I tell you will bring you tears of happiness, while others will bring tears of sadness. That is one truth of life I come to know far too well.
Jacob Ardemus Monroe,
Adventurer
Chapter 1 – The Adventure Begins
As the shores of the Black Warrior river disappeared behind me and the sounds of the water rushing past Bear Rock gave way to the sounds of the woodland I felt a freedom like I hadn’t felt before and a sadness I didn’t expect. The roots that bound me to my home ran deep and long across four generations of the Monroe family, back to my great-grandfather Ardemus who settled in Locust Fork in the spring of 1826, having traveled to Alabama from North Carolina with only his horse and two pack mules and a desire to see and do things he had not dared before.
My journey from Locust Fork wasn’t going to last forever. I knew would return one day, hopefully as a wiser and richer man. I didn't know when or how. The same fate and circumstance that determined my path of leaving would one day determine the path of my return.
I had little money and just a few belongings. My horse's name was named Ahoti, a name given to him by my father. It was an Indian name that means restless one but those times had long since passed him by. Now he was getting along in years and his back had become more swayed and his pace had slowed but he was still a good horse that wouldn’t abandon me in times of trouble although he had a natural fear of mountain lions and bears and every kind of snake, or anything that resembled a snake.
In Ahoti's saddlebags I had $43, a U.S. Cavalry compass, two boxes of shells for my Henry rifle, one box of 45 caliber shells for my pistol, and a Bowie knife that my father gave to me on my sixteenth birthday. It was my father that taught me the skills needed for survival in the wilderness. He believed them necessary knowledge for a boy becoming a man. It’s something I’d thank him for many times in the months and years to come. Other supplies were strapped to Ahoti’s back along with a blanket to sleep on.
I couldn’t imagine being more prepared to face the world.
The first part of my journey was going to take me to Cheaha Mountain some ten days northeast of Locust Fork. The town of Ft. Payne was a former cavalry post and was nestled at the base of Cheaha. I planned to spend a day or so there to buy supplies and enjoy the last of civilization I'd see before heading up the mountain. Beyond that, I had no plans.
It would be several hours before I stopped to rest. I followed an old wagon trail for the first two hours but eventually took to my own trail, choosing to cross over Sadler’s Ridge and not go around it. After an hour’s climb to the top and another hour of resting on the cool ground under the shade of a Sycamore tree, Ahoti and I headed north with the mid-afternoon sun to our left and the breeze to our back. Sunset was still a few hours away and I wanted to put more miles behind us before making camp.
The next few hours was pretty uneventful other than coming within eyesight of a small black bear that nearly made Ahoti jump out of his skin. Some two hours before sunset I made camp beneath an overhanging rock near the bottom of a shallow ravine at the edge of a deep forest. It would provide a good shelter and, from its smoke-darkened appearance and drawings on the rock face, it looked to have provided shelter for many others before me.
At the time I was not aware that another human called these woods home, a displaced Frenchman by the name of Etienne Marceau. As I soon found out, Etienne was very aware of my presence and he was not happy that I was there.
Chapter 2 – Jacob and Etienne
The sun was less than an hour from disappearing behind Sadler’s Ridge when the Frenchman first made himself known to me. I turned around to reach for my canteen and there he stood, setting sun at his back. I couldn’t tell much about him other than he was big. My pistol, my knife and my rifle were all with Ahoti, a mistake I would not make again. I picked up a rock to defend myself.
Only, he didn’t come at me. He just stood his ground and after a long moment, he spoke.
“Monsieur, you have been tramping through my woods for half a day. You have scared away every beast, grand et petit, for kilometers. Tell me why I should not kill you.”
I could barely make out his outline against the sun but I could see no weapon and he didn’t sound as angry as he would have me believe. I shaded my eyes with my forearm hoping to see his face but I could not.
He pressed the point. “Monsieur, I am awaiting your response and I am losing my patience quickly with you.”
The sun was blinding me. I turned my face to the ground only to see a timber rattler that had crawled to within six feet of me. He was well disguised and practically covered with leaves. I kept my eyes on him as I spoke. “Bon monsieur Frenchman. There is no reason to kill me, mon ami.” I had just used every word of French that I knew. “I am just a tired traveler passing through, hoping to rest for the night. I didn’t know you were here or I would have gone on a little further.”
“I have heard you and smelled you for many hours. You make the noise of ten men. Perhaps a man of your grace should not venture into the woods. There are many dangers here -- mountain lions, bear, wolf. However...” he paused and took one step forward “in this forest, not all danger walks on four legs. Do you understand me well, monsieur?”
“Yes. I do understand you Frenchman. And I know all about the dangers of the forest, even more than I’d like to about right now. My name is Monroe, Jacob Ardemus Monroe. If you aren’t going to kill me right away, would you mind doing something about that rattlesnake that's about to crawl across my boot?”
The cold steel of his blade flashed briefly as it flew through the air with deadly accuracy and nearly severed the rattler’s head. “I have been watching him. Now I have food to eat. Perhaps I will wait and kill you on a full stomach.” He came toward me and picked up the rattler by its tail. It was even larger than I’d thought. He pulled his blade from the ground, cut the snake’s rattles off and tossed them onto the ground at my feet. “Those will serve you well, weary traveler, if you survive the night. Even the bear fears the rattlesnake. Do you know the way to properly prepare snake?”
“Yes, I do. I know how to prepare snakes and rabbits and just about any other kind of animal you might find around these parts.” There was an uneasy pause for a moment as we stared at each other. Even though he was just a few feet away from me, in the shadows I still could not see him clearly. “I told you my name, Frenchman. How about you telling me yours?”
“You wish to know the name of your executioner, eh?” He took out a leather strop from a deerskin pouch and sharpened the blade of his knife across it as he spoke. “Very well. I am Etienne Gerard Marceau the First, Emperor and ruler of this very forest in which we stand, son of Rene Philippe Marceau -- a thief and a scoundrel that was guillotined by the Emperor Napoleon III in the courtyard at Versailles when I was but a small boy. I witnessed it with my own eyes.” He paused and looked at me again. It was the first time I could glimpse his face. It was so weathered that I couldn’t tell his age. He had a beard and wore a black beret and there was a scar running from his left ear down his neck. “It is my father’s blood that is coursing through my veins.”
“My father is a farmer and it his blood that flows in my veins. Perhaps we are not so different.”
“Perhaps. Before the night has passed, we will know more of each other, yes?”
I picked up the rattles of the snake and looked them over. “This snake will be good enough for supper, Etienne, but there are other things for us to eat around here – mushrooms, roots, berries, other plants.” Etienne didn't respond. “I can probably find some snails if you want escargot."
He laughed as he wiped the blade of his knife across his buckskin pants and placed it in a scabbard that was strapped across his shoulder like a quiver. “Perhaps you can also find truffles.” He looked at me again, longer this time. “Go and find your plants and roots. I will prepare the snake for cooking. ” He paused again. “You are a lucky man today, monsieur. Do not be foolish.”
I retrieved my knife from Ahoti’s saddlebags and went deeper into the woods. When I returned to the camp the sun was soon to disappear behind the ridge. Etienne had already skinned the snake and started a fire. “It is good that you have returned before the darkness was upon us, mon ami. You would not wish to be captured by la bête.”
“La bête, Etienne? Is that another Frenchman? Why would he want with me? I'm just a man looking for someplace else.”
Etienne sliced the snake into pieces and placed them on a thin flat rock he had staked above the fire. “La bête -- the beast. The beast is no man, mon ami.”
“The beast? Do you mean a bear or a mountain lion? I've heard stories about ogres but I never believed in them.”
Etienne turned his head slowly to face me. “Le bête is not those things you speak of mon ami. There are many things to be feared in these woods, especially when the sun is gone. Even I, Etienne, Emperor of this very forest, do not venture far into the night. I wish someday to go back to France or maybe go north to Quebec. It would not serve me well to be dead.” Etienne's eyes glowed like embers in the firelight. “In the forest, it is what you do not believe to be true that will get you killed. You will be dead, and no one will ever know of you again.”
Then, he laughed again.