The History of Blanchett Graves

The history of the Blanchett Graves is the longest in the region and is mired in death and misfortune. Letters indicate that the foundation stone was laid in 1761, during French Colonial Control of Louisiana. Newly appointed Ordonnateur d'Abbadie, charged with resolving a conflict between Capuchin and Jesuit denominations, wrote from Paris commissioning the construction of a new church. His intention was to separate the two groups entirely, requesting the church be built outside New Orleans. The selected site was far south of the city boundaries. It was rumored that the administrator responsible belonged to one of the two denominations, choosing the location maliciously to force the other out the city.

Ordonnateur d'Abbadie never arrived to oversee its construction, being captured en route to New Orleans by English Warships and held as a prisoner of war. Two years later, in 1763, he arrived to serve as governor. Curiously, during the two years he held the position, he did not refer to the ongoing construction, despite his continuing financial support. Further compounding the mystery is the unfortunate fact that the Jesuits were expelled from New Orleans in 1763. Father Michel Baudouin, Vicar-General of the Jesuits during this period, also fails ever to mention the church.


Regardless, the church structure itself must have been completed in 1765. In the years that followed there are scant records of the size and character of its congregation; however, this is not unusual for the era. While there are some references to it being named “St. Sebastian Church," these are contradicted elsewhere, and their verifiability is impossible to determine.


The church resurfaces again, literally, in the early nineteenth century. It was damaged beyond repair during the hurricane of 1812 when large tracts of land south of New Orleans were devastatingly flooded. In the months following, newspapers report the unnerving story of twelve bodies found in the church. They speculate the twelve fled there for safety from rising waters and were trapped for several weeks. Starving, evidence suggests they were forced to resort to cannibalism. Further tragedy struck when the men who found the bodies perished of an unknown infection.

Consequently, the area gained a notorious reputation. As it fell into disrepair, perennial flooding and storms kept raising the corpses inhumed. Following the devastating hurricane of 1838, all remaining bodies were reburied in crypts.


Jacques Blanchett undertook this expensive act of public benevolence. Blanchett was a prominent businessman and plantation owner in New Orleans who grew immensely wealthy during the antebellum, and was rumored to be a descendant of French aristocracy (a rumor likely started by Jacques himself). As was the fashion of the time, Jacques had a romantic appreciation of ruins and fell in love with the decrepit church. Due to this, locals began referring to it as the “Blanchett Graves."

The History of Fort Carmick

In the years following the Battle of 1812, the US Government embarked on an ambitious program to better fortify and protect their territorial waters. In the closing days of the war the Americans had triumphed in the Battle of New Orleans, but at too great a risk. Inadequate coastal defenses had enabled the British to reach and assault the fortifications of New Orleans.

In order to prevent such a scenario ever occurring again, key locations on the surrounding lakes and waterways became sites of a defensive network of forts and batteries. These would deter attack from hostile foreign powers and render impotent the efforts of those unwavering in their ambition.

One such location now hosts Fort Carmick, named in honor of Daniel Carmick, an officer in the United States Marines Corps and hero of the Battle of New Orleans. With expansive views over surrounding waterways, and fire support from a parallel battery, Fort Carmick is capable of projecting its power over a wide expense of territory.

The peace of mind enjoyed by those living in the shadow of Fort Carmick was shattered during the Civil War. Following the fall of New Orleans to the Union in April 1862, Confederate forces withdrew up the Mississippi River toward Baton Rouge, leaving many of their coastal fortifications isolated. Later in 1862, the Fort was wrested from the Confederacy during a brief and bloody siege.


The Fort stayed in Union hands throughout the rest of the war. Its secure location enabled the expansion of nearby iron works and arsenals, equipping the Union for their campaigns throughout Louisiana and Mississippi. In peacetime, it became an important bastion of Federal Power during Reconstruction.

This brought affluence to the region. Military industry brought in railroads faster than elsewhere in Louisiana. This broadened horizons of trade for all manner of other local businesses, an effect that intensified when geographic changes caused the river to silt and shallow; the place would have dried up if not for the lifeline of the railway.

But the fort, and consequently the railroad, had brought in more than wealth. A former prisoner-of-war camp in the fort's vicinity was developed into a penitentiary. Traditionalists wary of industry were correct in saying criminals were being brought in by the carriage.

Fort Carmick outlived its usefulness and today, stands derelict. Peacetime rendered it superfluous, after the end of Reconstruction the need for a garrison was eliminated. Geographic changes in the river had undermined the usefulness of its position. Subsequently, numerous hurricanes battered it, causing irreparable structural damage. The fort was quietly decommissioned in 1885, and left to sink back into the mud. The locals still scrape by a living, wary of the fort which built their town and doomed them to irrelevance.

The History of Healing Waters Church

The swamp dwellers were left mainly to their own, spiritually, until the arrival of Evangelist Ishim Gird. The population, an amalgamation of French, freed slaves, Germans, Haitians, Irish, and Spanish, had brought with them their own religions and customs. In addition to this, the community was already served by the presence of two churches, though one of which was a ruin.

Gird was a committed evangelical, who came to know Port Reeker through his travels to minister at Fort Carmick towards the end of the Civil War. He became curiously enamored with the people he found, finding them lacking in the basic and essential spirituality he considered taken for granted elsewhere in the United States. Several trips to the area made him resolute in his endeavor: to save the souls of those who would otherwise be damned.


Gird was a gifted and charismatic preacher and had soon built a large following amongst the local people, but he needed a church to house the congregation. An account from the time conflates him with a sense of “hope," said to be “as foreign a sentimentality amongst the men here as literacy." He inspired acts of alms; people gave him what they had. Fundraising missions in New Orleans raised more capital, once city folk were made aware of the deplorable conditions endured by their southern neighbors.

Gird purchased land from the dwindling Blanchett estate, but ran into opposition from the Widow once she understood his intentions. Despite this, in 1870 Gird's Church was built, named Healing-Waters for the bayous it stood amongst. Gird became renowned as a minister. The populace spoke of Gird as having overcome the Widow's “curse." Gird, in private, dismissed any such notion, but declared publically that “God's will was strong than an old crone's curse." There was a newfound sense of community amongst the townspeople in their weekly congregation. This feeling did not last.


While Gird had an initial momentum, by the end of the decade this tapered to a trickle. As he entered old age, he became a shadow of his former self. Over time, his sermons turned to external dangers facing the community: industry as it devastated once serene forests, hurricanes as they deluged the lands. Then, he turned to the sins of his congregation: greed, pride, gluttony, and other cardinal sins. He became obsessed with sin, the demons that lurked within, and the fire and brimstone awaiting everyone.

His following dwindled to only the most devout and loyal. He sealed himself away from the outside world. Many speculated as to what had caused his decline, suggesting that he had come to regret the money he had invested and the isolation of the swamp. Some wondered if he had made a move to escape a dark past, one that had caught up with him. Others believed that the Crone's curse had gotten the better of him, in some unseen and invisible way. A few put it down to just being something in the water…

The History of Port Reeker

Although Port Reeker is the largest settlement for miles around, little is recorded of it. To make matters worse, what accounts we do have clash drastically with all officially recorded statistics or numbers. Comparisons have been made to Manila Village and Saint-Malo elsewhere in South Louisiana. These are mostly exaggerations, Port Reeker was not isolated to the same degree, though they do share foundational legends: Filipino pirates who overthrew their Spanish masters and settled in the swamps.

Whether or not this is true, by the mid-nineteenth century, there was a significant Creole population living in the town, mentioned by numerous traders. While the town was not exactly thriving, there was indeed a number capable of making a living fishing and selling their goods in New Orleans.


There are various stories of how the place came to be named “Reeker." Some suggest it was named for James Reeker, who founded the current town. However, no official records exist of such a man. Others point to a local legend. In 1795, a bloated whale carcass washed up at the port. As it rotted, it created a tremendous and overpowering stench. Many were at a loss as to how it turned up there. Worryingly, throughout the summer, more carcasses drifted ashore. The smell was said to have hung throughout the winter.


During the Civil War, trade to and fro Port Reeker all but ceased as they purposely isolated themselves from the broader conflict. It was following the war, during Reconstruction, that the town began to thrive. The mouth of the Mississippi had a shallow draught and was often unnavigable for ships. Sometimes, without a better option, cargo came through Port Reeker instead.

This brought the port to the attention of Henrik Graf. A businessman, Graf was eager to take any opportunity he could. In 1877, James Buchanan Eads cleared the Mississippi, and Port Reeker was faced with a crisis. Graf bought the goods warehouses and constructed his own processing plant. The logic was sound as labor was cheap out in the bayou, especially as those living there had little else to turn to.


Graf preferred to remain in the background, an orchestrator rather than an empire builder. For all his acquisitions, he preferred to retain the local and familiar branding. To some, this gave cause for suspicion: why would he avoid fronting his own ventures? His response was always the same, to preserve and honor the local character and customs.

Business boomed until the Panic of 1893. Graf, a keen financial speculator, lost thousands. It was said to have deeply affected his character. He imposed harsher and harsher conditions on his workforce, causing many to leave Port Reeker. They brought stories to New Orleans of a sad and demented man who would stop at nothing to regain the wealth he lost…

The History of Reynard Mill & Lumber

“Great vines hung down from lofty trees that shaded the banks and crossed one another a hundred – a thousand – ways to prevent the boat's passage and retard its progress as if the devil himself was mixed in it." -Strange True Stories of Louisiana by George W. Cable (1890)

“By far the most agreeable hours I passed at New Orleans were those in which I explored with my children the forest near the town. It was our first walk in 'the eternal forests of the western world,' and we felt rather sublime and poetical." -Domestic Manners of the Americans by Frances M. Trollope (1832)

The ancient Cyprus forests that beard the bayous and swamps of Louisiana have enchanted generations of writers: their shadowed bowers both menacing and mystical and their ominous labyrinths grown of moss and vine. It was said that in the Widow Blanchett's final days she was known to wander the woods alone, a forlorn figure treading ancient paths, finding communion with the ancient trunks that shielded her from the sun.

The wood's days were numbered. Throughout the nineteenth century, the United States was becoming a global power, one that necessitated a powerful navy to impose its power. This navy required lumber and towards the close of the nineteenth-century supplies in the Midwest and Northeast were nearing exhaustion. It was then that the roving eye of industry fixed its gaze on the rich virgin forests of Louisiana.

The policy of deforestation was called “cut out and get out". Cyprus trees were harvested by the dozens. The waterways they had drawn from for centuries proved to be their undoing; cut logs were floated together in enormous numbers, sometimes covering entire lakes.

New infrastructure was needed to transport this veritable bounty. The railways enabled industrial access to previously untouched lands. Mills were built, and the areas surrounding them stripped of wood. When the local supplies were exhausted, the machinery was moved to a new location, and the mill's building was left to rot like an old carcass.

Reynard's Mill & Lumber endeavored to do the same. The hurricane of 1893 severely delayed its construction; however, not one year later it was up and running, carrying out the profitable work of devastating the ancient woodland. Reynard, an expert woodsman from Appalachia, was invited by Henrik Graf to bring his expertise to the table, in return for the prestige of having the mill in his name.

The mill's year of operation was a difficult one. The local fishermen proved averse to the complexities of the industrial equipment, and in the end, large numbers of workers from out of state were brought in to fell the trees and convert them to lumber. Graf even considered them to work too slowly and sought desperate experimental ways to increase their productivity. Their work would have been irrevocable, if not for the disaster that befell the human populace of the area…

The History of the Slaughterhouse

The Slaughterhouse was once a livestock farm, owned by a man of the name William Roche. Famed for his plump and docile pigs often found snuffling amongst the hedgerows, he trusted the land, fearless of the alligators and bandits which threatened his stock. In 1850, Roche died peacefully in bed, and the delightful pastoral came to an end. His stepson took over the farm. Little is known of William Roche's wife, but she had died some years before, leaving him the guardianship of her son.

Peter Roche, known as “Young Roche," was a reformer. Before moving to the farm, Young Roche had apprenticed as a butcher in New Orleans, there exposed to all the latest innovations in the industry. He was of the belief that public slaughterhouses were preferable to private. Traditionally, sheds, outbuildings, and backyards were employed for the slaughter of livestock. Young Roche considered this old-fashioned, having seen for himself the hygienic benefit of moving the messy business of animal slaughter out of the public eye.


Many locals were unconvinced; they were rural folk after all, not averse to the grim realities of slaughter. Undeterred, Young Roche pressed forward, converting the farm to an abattoir. An old friend of his stepfathers accused him of lacking his predecessor's essential qualities: compassion and a gentle hand. He defamed Young Roche, declaring that he was only interested in the killing, rather the nurturing, of animals.

The Young Roche put his skill as a butcher to use and grew successful, though unpopular, in the community. Through the Civil War, he alienated himself further by supplying the Union occupation. He suffered for it, and in 1866 his home was burnt down, alleged to be arson. It would not be the last time he awoke to flames. Following the war, he became a recluse. It was said that in his isolation he took to gorging himself on prime cuts of meat, growing immensely fat.

The final blow to Young Roche was legislative and occurred during the Slaughter-House Cases of 1873. In 1869, the Louisiana State Legislature granted a monopoly of the New Orleans slaughter business to a single corporation. The city had been in the midst of a public hygiene crisis, the river was clogged by “intestines and portions of putrefied animal matter." The effect on Young Roche's small business was irrevocable.


The legal status of the “Slaughterhouse," as it was now chiefly referred to, was dubious. The conglomerate itself was a behemoth, stealing business away from Young Roche. A significant deal made with Henrik Graf, a good customer of Young Roche, was a devastating betrayal.

It is unknown how the Young Roche lived out the final days of his life. For the next twenty years he got by as best he could. He was regarded as a dangerous recluse, absorbed in his own gluttony and paranoia, eager to carve up whatever he could get his hands on…

The History of Upper & Lower DeSalle

One might think that the split between Upper DeSalle and Lower DeSalle was the consequence of geography, that the waterways drove a wedge between the two portions of town. Or, perhaps an administrative convenience, to split the town into two, to better manage it. The truth of the matter is in fact more personal.

It's a tale of two brothers, unworthy of their inheritance: the last in a long line of DeSalles who have lived there since their ancestors arrived in the territory. A steady decline in family fortune had naturally seen most of the DeSalle land sold off in packets and parcels, to buoy family finances. However, on the passing of Corentin DeSalle in 1872, the town was still known just as DeSalle, with but nominal differences between the two sides.

The brothers, Darin and Lewis, were fervent competitors. Their lives had always headed down different paths. If they had not been brothers, perhaps they would have never crossed paths. Or maybe it was their brotherhood itself that drove them apart, like two magnets repelling each other in different directions. However much they despised it, their lives brought them together as unwilling partners, and their life-long project was coming to terms with that, and making something of it.

Darin inherited most of the land in the upper town, Lewis the lower. Darin was a diligent landlord, and his businesses prospered. He attracted reputable businesses. He maintained his stake in the Kingsnake Mine, ensuring its continued operation, and making a tidy profit. He cooperated with the Ash Creek Lumber company to fell the nearby woods, and noting the huge profit to be made in ship building, became one of its primary customers, his self-named shipyard gaining a good reputation.

Lewis was not as industrious. He had been his mother's favorite, and surprisingly for a younger son, inherited her family home, the Pearl Plantation. But wanting nothing to do with it, or its legacy, he allowed it to fall into dilapidation. He instead took over ownership of the saloon and wiled away his time on both sides of the bar.