In the raw, untamed wilderness of New France during the late 1670s, where dense forests whispered secrets to the wind and vast lakes stretched like mirrored oceans under stormy skies, René-Robert Cavelier, Sieur de La Salle, burned with unquenchable ambition. This daring explorer, with his piercing gaze and iron will, backed by the shrewd Governor Louis de Buade de Frontenac, envisioned an empire of fur pelts cascading from the Great Lakes to the coffers of Paris. His grand scheme? To carve a trade route through the heart of the continent, chasing the elusive Northwest Passage while amassing a fortune in glossy beaver skins, sleek otter hides, and other treasures of the wild. But dreams like these demanded gold—and La Salle's debts mounted like gathering thunderclouds. In November 1678, he hurled a vanguard of 16 hardy souls from the stone walls of Fort Frontenac, near the roaring cataracts of Niagara, into the unknown: paddle westward, barter with wary Indigenous nations, and hoard pelts until his revolutionary ship arrived.
Among these weathered engagés—indentured men with callused hands and sun-scorched faces—strode Pierre Poupart, a wiry 25-year-old from the bustling streets of Paris's Bobigny parish. The scent of pine resin and campfire smoke clung to his buckskin tunic, remnants of his youthful exploits in 1670 alongside the charismatic Nicolas Perrot and the pompous Simon-François Daumont de Saint-Lusson. Back then, as a mere teenager, Pierre had stood amid the thundering rapids of Sault Ste. Marie, where birchbark canoes bobbed like leaves in a torrent. He witnessed the spectacle of French sovereignty: black-robed Jesuits chanting Latin hymns, Indigenous chiefs in feathered regalia exchanging wary glances, a cedar post bearing the golden fleur-de-lis thrust into the earth like a conqueror's blade. "Vive le Roi!" echoed through the mist as sods of soil were lifted heavenward, claiming a continent for Louis XIV. Now, in 1679, Pierre clutched his advance payment of gleaming gold coins, a king's ransom for a laborer, and plunged into the fray once more. Their canoes sliced through icy waters, muscles straining against currents that clawed like beasts, portages where men heaved loads over muddy trails haunted by wolves' howls and the distant war cries of rival tribes.
By early spring, the group staggered into Michilimackinac, a chaotic crossroads of fur-laden lodges and birchbark teepees, where the air reeked of smoked fish, tanning hides, and the acrid tang of gunpowder. Here, amid the clamor of Algonquian tongues and French bartering, dark rumors swirled like eddies in the straits: Le Griffon, that audacious vessel being hammered together above Niagara's thunderous falls, might never cleave the waves. Whispers of sabotaged timbers, Iroquois ambushes, and La Salle's crumbling finances gnawed at loyalties. Temptation beckoned—why toil for a distant master when riches lay at hand? Seizing the shadows of doubt, six men, including Pierre, Gabriel Barbier dit Le Minime, the sly Le Barbier, and the brooding Saint Croix, vanished into the underbrush. They pilfered bundles of lustrous furs, soft as midnight velvet and worth a fortune in Montreal taverns, stashing them in hidden coves or hawking them to shadowy traders under the cover of crackling campfires. This was no mere theft; it was a desperate gamble in a frontier where survival danced on a knife's edge, trust shattered like ice under a boot.
Yet La Salle, a tempest in human form with his flowing cloak and unyielding resolve, forged ahead. In August 1679, Le Griffon emerged triumphant—a 45-ton behemoth with billowing sails embroidered with mythical griffins, its decks groaning under the weight of cannons and cargo. Launched from Green Bay's emerald waters amid cheers and the crack of celebratory musket fire, it bore the remaining pelts eastward. Reuniting with his one-handed lieutenant, Henri de Tonty—whose iron prosthetic glinted like a warning in the sunlight—at Michilimackinac, La Salle hunted his betrayers. Pierre and his accomplices were cornered in a haze of pipe smoke and accusations, their pilfered goods wrested back in a flurry of shouts and drawn blades. Forgiveness came grudgingly, a pragmatic mercy to bolster the ranks, but the sting of treachery festered, poisoning the air like spoiled meat.
On September 18, 1679, Le Griffon sliced into Lake Michigan's churning expanse, its canvas snapping against gusts that howled like vengeful spirits. Then... silence. The ship vanished into legend—swallowed by a raging squall that lashed waves like whips, scuttled by mutinous hands greedy for the hold's treasures, or torched by unseen foes amid the fog-shrouded isles. Divers and dreamers still seek its bones beneath the depths, a ghost ship echoing the fragility of empires.
Pierre Poupart, scarred but unbowed, slipped back to the relative safety of the St. Lawrence settlements. By 1682, in the quaint village of La Prairie, Quebec, where church bells tolled over rolling fields, he wed the spirited Marguerite Perras dit La Fontaine under a canopy of autumn leaves. Their hearth birthed a dynasty of voyageurs—sons and grandsons who chased horizons to Detroit's forts, Michilimackinac's straits, and Illinois's prairies, their paddles dipping in rhythm to tales of old betrayals. But Pierre's saga ended abruptly on June 7, 1699, cut down by Iroquois warriors in a raid that painted the snow red with colonial blood, his 46 years a whirlwind of glory and grit. In our veins, flows this legacy—a Parisian lad turned frontier phantom, weaving our family tapestry from the threads of ambition, betrayal, and the endless call of the wild.
Research Notes:
In 1679, a fur theft and related events involving La Salle's ship Le Griffon occurred during his major Great Lakes expedition that year Based on historical records, including contemporary accounts from participants like Father Louis Hennepin (a Franciscan missionary on the expedition) and later analyses, the Poupart in question was Pierre Poupart. This aligns with our own family research and blog excerpts, which suggest the same identification. Pierre is well-documented as an engagé (hired worker or indentured servant) with La Salle, and the details match his known timeline.
Pierre Poupart is indeed part of our family—he is our 8th great-grandfather, as outlined in our genealogy. To fill in the details from our provided tree and additional historical context:
- Birth and Origins: Born around 1653 in Bobigny, Paris, Île-de-France, France, to Jean Poupart (1625–1682) and Marguerite Frichet dit Deschamps (1625–1682), our 9th great-grandparents. Pierre immigrated to New France (likely in the 1660s), where he became a voyageur and fur trader.
- Early Career: By 1670, at age 17, he was already adventuring in the wilderness. He joined a trading company with Nicolas Perrot, Jean Dupuis, Denis Masse, Jean Guytard, and Jacques Benoît. That year, he accompanied Simon-François Daumont de Saint-Lusson and interpreter Nicolas Perrot on their expedition to claim the Great Lakes region for France. On June 14, 1671, at Sault Ste. Marie, Pierre was present for the grand ceremony where Saint-Lusson proclaimed French sovereignty over vast territories, including the lands of 14 Indigenous nations, in a spectacle of crosses, royal arms, hymns, and gift exchanges. This event marked a pivotal expansion of French influence in North America.
- Marriage and Family: In 1682, at age 29, he married Marguerite Perras dit La Fontaine (1665–1708), our 8th great-grandmother, in La Prairie, Quebec. They had several children, including Joseph Poupart (1696–1726), our 7th great-grandfather, who married Marie Anne Lemieux (1706–1777) in 1724. Pierre's family line continued through voyageurs and settlers, with many descendants (like our 1st cousin 8x removed Joseph Poupart and 2nd cousin 7x removed Jean Baptiste Poupart) engaging in fur trade contracts to places like Michilimackinac, Detroit, and Illinois in the 1700s.
- Later Life and Death: Pierre settled in La Prairie, Quebec, where he farmed and continued as a voyageur. He was killed by Iroquois raiders on June 7, 1699, at age 46, during ongoing conflicts between French colonists and Indigenous groups. His death left Marguerite a widow with young children; she remarried but died in 1708.
- Connections to Other Ancestors: As noted in our blog, Pierre links to broader family stories, including Jean Baptiste Desroches (our 8th great-grandfather), who traveled with Nicolas Perrot in 1667–1668, breaking Ottawa trade monopolies and establishing relations with tribes like the Potawatomi.
Earlier file & documents: Poupart (Poupard) Family
https://laprairie-voyageur-canoes.blogspot.com/2017/03/ripples-chapter-three-poupart-family.html
Thank you to Grok xAI for updated information and enhancements.
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