Charles Deslondes and the Uprising in New Orleans, 1811

 Thread starterbrendan christopher  Start dateNov 30, 2016


brendan christopherthe only private eye that mattered

Nov 30, 2016

#1




Charles Deslondes and the Uprising in New Orleans, 1811


Who among the gang would not have reviled Charles Deslondes,
the driver, master among slaves, commissioned to lash
shiftless field hands to the ground. Each day Charles watched
his ami, the cane-cutter, grind in the scalding heat, slash
at the stalk til his hands were bloodied, til the whole of him convulsed 
and, eventually, dropped to the dirt. “Delondes would shout “ Leves-toi!” 
though his whip spoke louder. But beyond the fields, 

Deslondes heard drums reverberating from Haiti, where slaves,
armed with machetes, maimed and killed their masters, set fire 
to their grands chateaux, and marched to Cap Francois. In dreams, 
Deslondes was transfixed by General Toussaint, his gallant mannerisms, 
his elegant regalia, his complete beguilement of Napoleon’s army.
Unable to reconcile the double-mask of slave and boss,
he aspired to lead an army like Toussaint’s.

When winter winds brought the season’s first squall
and the masters frolicked to their holiday galas,
Deslondes prowled among the slave cabins, instilling whispers 
of revolt. “Voulez-vous vôtres liberte?” Deslondes would ask. 
While many shook their heads for fear of being caught, he needed
just a few to join his cause, and the rest to stay silent. 

On a deluged evening Deslondes and his crew crept inside
the mansion of their master, Manuel Andree, and his son. Armed with 
cane-knives, they tiptoed up the lacquered steps and into
Andree’s bedroom. Deslondes gave his order, “L’attaquez!”
But when Andree awoke in a panic, he charged the slaves and snaked
past them down the stairs. “Lesse le partir,” commanded Deslondes. Casually,
Deslondes walked into the son’s room and stuck a knife through his throat.

Deslondes and his band then marched into the basement and seized
Andree’s cache of muskets and powder. They swept the dust 
from his military tunics and put them on. What a regal display, thought Deslondes.
“Suivez-moi,” he said. Stepping outside, he was greeted by a harras of steeds.
After his crew had mounted, Deslondes raised his musket to the sky
and watched his cadre follow suit; with General Toussaint in his thoughts,
Deslondes led them into the night. “New Orleans sera le notre!” he cried.

But Manuel Andree had other plans. The master had followed the river 
and rowed a pirogue to the other side, where he saw the lights of a mansion. 
Breathless, he rapped the door, and when an answer came, his eyes widened. 
“Surely, they’ll be here soon!” he shouted. “What do you speak of?”
asked Charles Perret. When Manuel Andree had spewed his story,
the fellow slave owner could not believe it. This was a day the masters 
had feared, but never fathomed. They would have to act swiftly

for the runaways were strengthening. En route to New Orleans,
the slaves had mobilized recruits and burnt down estates.
At every stop, Deslondes would turn, watch the tremendous flames 
engulf each home, feel the fire on his skin. He was certain that, soon,
his army would prove unstoppable, just like Toussaint's. 
And though his hero had died staring at the walls of a dungeon, Deslondes
said to himself, “Mes ennemis ne me captureront jamais.”

But just behind him, Andree and Perret were trailing the flames. 
They, too, had compiled an infantry and were hell-bent on revenge. 
As the slaves descended on their next target, the militia, from a distance, fired, 
startling Deslondes and his troupe. But Deslondes would not retreat. 
He ordered his men to turn and form a line. When the faces of their rivals
became clear through the mist and drizzle, the slaves loaded their weapons--
once, twice, again their rifles exploded, but with each attempt, they misfired

and with each step, the white men drew nearer until they were 
at a distance to pick off the slaves like fowl. Slaves, like Deslondes,
who were not sniped or speared, retreated into the cypress swamps 
behind them, “Sic the dogs on them!” said Andree. Through
the mire, Deslondes trudged, but with each labored step he heard the howls 
intensify--until the hounds toppled him. When Andree finally had his man,
Delondes just stared through him, saying it was “mon plaisir de tuer ton fils.”

Later that day, when the skies had turned clear and bright, 
the militiamen dragged Deslondes onto the muddied fields for his beheading.
With his ears piqued, Deslondes heard a swallow trilling, protesting
he thought, his execution. He would not die 
even as his torturers broke his thighs and cauterized his hands.
Over his screams, he heard the swallow chanting his name, preserving
what little strength he had left. And though his vision had blurred,

Deslondes could see himself now, in line with General Toussaint, 
each of them donning rouge uniforms, raising their fists, 
reciting a caution to those who delighted in his suffering:

Burn me, lash me, break all of my bones,
Revel in my shrieks and moans.

Go on, strike my name from your records,
Like a phantom, my visage will haunt you forever.




(Old Version)

Who among the gang would not have killed to be Charles Deslondes,
the driver, king among them, a man who would lash
shiftless slaves to the ground. Every day Charles Deslondes watched
his brother, the cane-cutter, grind in the scalding heat, slash
at the stalk til his hands were bloodied, til the whole of him convulsed 
and, eventually, dropped to the dirt. Delondes would shout “Levez-toi!” 
though his whip spoke louder. But beyond the fields, 

Deslondes heard drums reverberating from Haiti, where slaves,
armed with machetes, maimed and killed their masters, set fire 
to their bloated homes, and flocked to Cap Francois. In dreams, 
Deslondes was transfixed by General Toussaint, his gallant mannerisms, 
his elegant regalia, his complete beguilement of Napoleon’s army.
Whereas some men would have been contented by their relative privilege, 
inside Charles Deslondes burned an insatiable anger.

When the winter winds brought forth the first dusting of snow
and the overseers began attending their seasonal balls and galas,
Deslondes shifted easily between realm of slave and master.
Carefully, quarter by quarter, he began instilling whispers of revolt.
“Voulez-vous vôtres liberte?”Deslondes would ask. While many 
shook their heads for fear of being caught, he needed just a few 
to join his cause, and the rest to keep silent. 

On a rain-spattered evening Deslondes and his crew crept inside
the lavish home of their master, Manuel Andree, and his son. Armed 
with cane-knives, they tiptoed up the lacquered steps and into
Andree’s bedroom. Deslondes gave the order to strike, “L’attaquez!”
but when Andree awoke in a panic, he charged the crew and managed
to snake past them. As he raced down the steps he heard the screams
of his son. He had no choice but to leave him as sacrifice. 

Deslondes and his band then marched into the basement 
and seized Andree’s cache of muskets and ammo. They swept the dust 
from his military garb and tried them on. What a regal display, thought Deslondes. 
“Suivez-moi,” he said, stepping outside. In the wide fields stood a harras
of steeds. After his crew had mounted, Deslondes raised his musket 
to the sky and watched his men follow suit; with General Toussiant in his thoughts,
Deslondes led his troupe into the night. “New Orleans sera la notre!” he cried.

But Manuel Andree had other plans. The master had followed the river 
and taken a pirogue to the other side, where he saw the soft lights of a mansion. 
Breathless, he rapped the door, and when an answer came, his eyes widened. 
“Surely, they’ll be here soon!” he shouted. “What do you speak of?” asked the man. 
When Manuel Andree had finished his story, the man, a fellow slave owner 
named Charles Perret, scarcely believed a word. This was a day the masters 
had feared, but never imagined. They would have to act fast

for their enemies were gaining strength. En route to New Orleans 
the slaves visited neighboring plantations, adding recruits and setting fire 
to the estates. At each stop, Deslondes would turn and watch the tremendous flames 
consume each home. He was certain that, soon, his army would prove 
to be unstoppable, just as the one Toussaint had led. And while his idol,
in the end, was captured, spending his last days staring at the walls of a dungeon, 
Deslondes said to himself, “Mes ennemis ne me captureront jamais.”

Just behind him, though, Perret and Andree were following the trail of flames. 
They had assembled a small army of their own, replete with ammunition. 
As the slaves descended on their next target, the militia, from a distance, fired at them, 
catching Deslondes and his men off guard. But Deslondes would not retreat. 
He ordered his men to form a line. As the faces of the white men became clear 
through the mist and drizzle, the slaves returned fire--once, twice, again
their rifles exploded, but with each shot the rebels came up empty

and with each step, the white men grew closer until they were at a distance
to pick off the slaves like fowl. Those slaves who were not gunned down 
or speared escaped into the cypress swamps behind them, one of whom 
was Charles Deslondes. “Sic the dogs on them!” said Andree. Through
the mire, Deslondes trudged but with each step he took, he heard howls 
growing louder and louder. Finally, the dogs caught him, and when 
Andree had his man, he promised Deslondes a painful death.

Later that day, when the skies had turned clear and bright, 
the militiamen gathered on the muddied cane fields for the execution.
They watched in awe and splendor as two of their stalwarts sliced off 
Deslondes’ hands and, to preserve him for further torture, cauterized him. 
Then they broke his thighs before burning him alive on a bed of straw. 
In a coup de grace, they chopped off his head, stuck it on a pole, and fixed it 
next to his friends’ on the banks of the levee. 

There were no last words for Charles Deslondes and in the coming weeks
the masters made sure his name was wiped from the public record, 
but the fear he had struck in them was real-- that they would soon lose 
their stranglehold on a tired, cruel institution, that future rebels Nat Turner
and Denmark Vesey would pick up where he had left. It was the same fear
Toussaint had instilled in the French when he told them upon his capture: 

In overthrowing me you have cut down 
only the trunk of the tree of liberty; 

it will spring up again from the roots, 
for they are numerous and they are deep

 Reactions:John Johnson, Cheryl.Leverette and (deleted member)

Tom Riordanmember

Nov 30, 2016

#2

This kept my interest strongly, Brendan. Good story, well told! Tom

brendan christopher said:

Who among the gang would not have killed to be Charles Deslondes,
the driver, king among slaves, a man who would lash
shiftless men to the ground. Every day Charles Deslondes watched
his brother, the cane-cutter, grind in the scalding heat, slash
at the stalk til his hands were bloodied, til the whole of him convulsed 
and, eventually, dropped to the dirt. “Delondes would shout “Levez-toi!” 
though his whip spoke louder. But beyond the fields, 

Deslondes heard drums reverberating from Haiti, where slaves,
armed with machetes, maimed and killed their masters, set fire 
to their bloated homes, and flocked to Cap Francois. In dreams, 
Deslondes was transfixed by General Toussaint, his gallant mannerisms, 
his elegant regalia, his complete beguilement of Napoleon’s army.
Whereas some men would have been contented by their relative privilege, 
inside Charles Deslondes burned an insatiable anger.

When the winter winds brought forth the first dusting of snow
and the overseers began attending their seasonal balls and galas,
Deslondes shifted easily between realm of slave and master.
Carefully, quarter by quarter, he began instilling whispers of revolt.
“Voulez-vous vôtres liberte?”Deslondes would ask. While many 
shook their heads for fear of being caught, he needed just a few 
to join his cause, and the rest to keep silent. 

On a rain-spattered evening Deslondes and his crew crept inside
the lavish home of their master, Manuel Andree, and his son. Armed 
with cane-knives, they tiptoed up the lacquered steps and into
Andree’s bedroom. Deslondes gave the order to strike, “L’attaquez!”
but when Andree awoke in a panic, he charged the crew and managed
to snake past them. As he raced down the steps he heard the screams
of his son. He had no choice but to leave him as sacrifice. 

Deslondes and his band then marched into the basement 
and seized Andree’s small arsenal of muskets and ammo. They swept the dust 
from his military garb and tried them on. What a regal display, thought Deslondes. 
“Suivez-moi,” he said, stepping outside. In the wide fields stood a harras
of steeds. After his crew had mounted, Deslondes raised his musket 
to the sky and watched his men follow suit; with General Toussiant in his thoughts,
Deslondes led his troupe into the night. “New Orleans sera la notre!” he cried.

But Manuel Andree had other plans. The master had followed the river 
and taken a pirogue to the other side, where he saw the soft lights of a mansion. 
Breathless, he rapped the door, and when an answer came, his eyes widened. 
“Surely, they’ll be here soon!” he shouted. “What do you speak of?” asked the man. 
When Manuel Andree had finished his story, the man, a fellow slave owner 
named Charles Perret, scarcely believed a word. This was a day the masters 
had feared, but never imagined. They would have to act fast

for their enemies were gaining strength. En route to New Orleans 
the slaves visited neighboring plantations, adding recruits and setting fire 
to the estates. At each stop, Deslondes would turn and watch the tremendous flames 
consume each home. He was certain that, soon, his army would prove 
to be unstoppable, just as the one Toussaint had led. And while his idol 
was, in the end, captured, spending his last days staring at the walls of a dungeon, 
Deslondes said to himself, “Mes ennemis ne me captureront jamais.”

Just behind him, though, Perret and Andree were following the trail of flames. 
They had assembled a small army of their own, replete with ammunition. 
As the slaves descended on their next target, the militia, from a distance, fired at them, 
catching Deslondes and his men off guard. But Deslondes would not retreat. 
He ordered his men to form a line. As the faces of the white men became clear 
through the mist and drizzle, the slaves returned fire--once, twice, again
their rifles exploded, but with each shot the rebels came up empty

and with each step, the white men got closer until they were at a distance
to pick off the slaves like fowl. Those slaves who were not gunned down 
or speared escaped into the cypress swamps behind them, one of whom 
was Charles Deslondes. “Sic the dogs on them!” said Andree. Through
the mire, Deslondes trudged but with each step he took, he heard howls 
growing louder and louder. Finally, the dogs caught him, and when 
Andree had his man, he promised Deslondes a painful death.

Later that day, when the skies had turned clear and bright, 
the militiamen gathered on the muddied cane fields for the execution.
They watched in awe and splendor as two of their stalwarts sliced off 
Deslondes’ hands and, to preserve him for further torture, cauterized him. 
They then broke his thighs before burning him alive on a bed of straw. 
In a coup de grace, they chopped off his head, stuck it on a pole, and fixed it 
next to his friends’ on the banks of the levee. 

There were no last words for Charles Deslondes and, in the coming weeks,
the masters made sure his name was wiped from the public record, 
but the fear he had struck in them was real-- that they would soon lose 
their stranglehold on a tired, cruel institution, that future rebels Nat Turner
and Denmark Vesey would pick up where he had left. It was the same fear
Toussaint had instilled in the French when he told them upon his capture: 

In overthrowing me you have cut down 
only the trunk of the tree of liberty; 

it will spring up again from the roots, 
for they are numerous and they are deep




https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1zUPNtP3Yn0

Charles Delondes a French Moor starter of the largest revolt burnt alive. Yet freedom never dies.


Charles Delondes was not a mulatto. No mulatto has ever started a revolt or marched an army against his White father. The Franks are Blacks not Whites



Wake up out your slumber

We march armies into battle that is our legacy not protesting.

To be French means to come from Freemen Blacks of Germany or old Prussia who were Moors the sons of the kings of Africa.

To be Roman is to be Black from Moors who are the sons of the Kings of Africa.

Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ we are the bloodline of Christ. We protected the road to Jerusalem the Holy City just 9 relatives for 20 years. It was the Pope who flooded Knights Templars with unworthy knights from all over Europe who gave the Temple of Solomon a bad name. Then they put all the blame of their lost crusade upon the French Moors. Many of our relatives were burned alive and we the descendants of Christ still are oppressed.

The Nazarene Way of Essenic Studies
~ The Holy Bloodline of Jesus ~
The Esoteric Teachings of Jesus and the Nazarene Essenes

The Holy Bloodline of Jesus is the theory that Jesus Christ had a natural child with Mary Magdalene which was then taken to France, either during Magdalene's pregnancy or as a young child, and whose blood descendants in later centuries founded the Merovingian dynasty of the early kings of France

The Jesus bloodline theory has become famous through the works The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail, the book by Michael Baigent, Richard Leigh, and Henry Lincoln, which was based on Pierre Plantard's Priory of Sion, and The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown which closely follows the theory, presenting it as the basis for a fictional drama involving catholic conspiracy.

 

These authors further asserted that the ultimate goals of the Priory of Sion are:

Founding a "Holy European Empire" that would become the next hyperpower and usher in a new world order of peace and prosperity;Establishing a messianic mystery state religion by revealing the Holy Grail, which would prove Ebionite views and Desposyni claims; andGrooming and installing a "Rex Deus" on the throne of a Greater Israel.

The Theory


The main elements of the theory are that:

Jesus had a child, probably a daughter, with Mary Magdalene, with whom he was married.The descendants of this child became the Merovingian kings of France.The Church has suppressed the truth about Mary Magdalene and the Jesus bloodline for 2000 years. This is principally because they fear the power of the sacred feminine, which they have demonized as Satanic.

A secret order protects these royal claimants because they may be the literal descendants of Jesus and his wife, Mary Magdalene, or, at the very least, of King David and the High Priest Aaron.


This secret society known as Priory of Sion has a long and illustrious history dating back to the First Crusade starting with the creation of the Knights Templar as its military and financial front.

 

The Priory is led by a Grand Master or Nautonnier. It is devoted to returning the Merovingian dynasty, that ruled the Frankish kingdom from 447 to 751 AD, to the thrones of Europe and Jerusalem.


The Roman Catholic Church tried to kill off all remnants of this dynasty and their guardians, the Cathars and the Templars, during the Inquisition, in order to maintain power through the apostolic succession of Peter instead of the hereditary succession of Mary Magdalene. 
 

A variation on the theory is that instead of dying on the cross, Jesus fled to Kashmir where he died in old age, returning to Srinagar where he had originally been influenced by Buddhist teachings. 

 

This theory is lent credence by close comparisons of Jesus' sayings in the Gnostic Gospel of St Thomas, which are seen by some as closely paralleling classical Buddhist Sutras.

 

The theory also has parallels with other "disciple flight to distant lands" stories, such as the journey of Joseph of Arimathea to England after the death of Jesus taking with him a piece of thorn from the Crown of Thorns, which he later planted in Glastonbury.




The father is the bloodline so it wasn't a girl that survived Christ it was a son who became King of France.


Don't you know Defrance is the royal family of France? There were any houses of French Moors that Hughes De Payne and his 8 other relatives descend. They were the bloodline of Christ and French language created as a language of Revelation. The Franks moved from Germany then formed France.




https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Y9fUVJ5whk

Wake up out your slumber

What's in a name?


This is a chronology of warfare between the Romans and various Germanic tribes between 113 BC and 596 AD. The nature of these wars varied through time between Roman conquest, Germanic uprisings and later Germanic invasions in the Roman Empire that started in the late 2nd century BC. The series of conflicts, which began in the 5th century under the Western Roman Emperor Honorius, was one of many factors which led to the ultimate downfall of the Western Roman Empire.


De France or The Franks descendants of Germanic tribes

The bloodline of Christ



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qg-6DME8iQE

Spiritual war upon bloodlines is real



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=14DuBvpCT-w

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Since the beginning, there were also Muurish aboriginals in the area known as Germany today. Those were descendants of archaic or neolithic Africans who had brought the human seed, culture and agriculture, from Africa into Europe via the Levant, Anatolia, and Spain.

Right down to the time of Roman Empire, those tribes of black people otherwise known as Mohrs, or Moors, lived all over the expanse of area now known as Western Europe including Germany.

Those Muurs were called various pseudonyms by later writers including such names as Celts, Picts, Fomorians, Vikings. The key is understanding that many old aboriginal Europeans were Muurish Africans by bloodline and appearance.

In understanding the present ethinc composition of Europe, it is good to bear in mind historical accounts from the times of the Romans reminding us of the invasion of Europe by many nomadic tribes of central Asia. This included the Huns, the Mongols, the Goths, the Suebians, the Angles and Saxons, the Slavs, etc.

The new intruders changed the population demographics of Europe, by the sheer size of their number, and over years and centuries of internecine hostility and bloodshed. In the end, Europe is no different from the conquered land of the black Olmecs, and the Mayans, the black Caribes, the Seminoles, the black Hawaiians and other indigenous peoples who lost their land and heritage, before the onslaught of the central Asian tribes now erroneously known as Europeans.

Below, we present a few pictures of artefacts, dating from 1 B.C.E. to 200 A.D., to illustrate the original population types who by right owned Europe, but especially Germania:

Little Black people of the Rhine Forest, Mainz Germania:
Small black people are well known in German myths and are connected to the treasures of the earth, and the original people. They were recognized as miners, and smiths, workers of iron and mystics. It should be recalled that the Romans, and the Greeks who lived then in Germania also had this custom of venerating dwarfs, possible a nation of African Sans (so-called Pygmies), and followed a certain mystical practice possibly introduced by those little peoples. The God Bes of Egypt which was universally worshipped in the then ancient world, was from such a nation.

Libyan Ammon Ra in a lamp in Augsburg Germany. Ammon Ra is the God of the Ethiopians from where his veneration spread to Egypt unto Libya:

Tiber(ius), Lusitanorum: Tomb stone of an Afro-Roman military elite:

Germania: Muurish-Roman:

Neumagen, Germania: Muurish-Romans:

Relief showing the two mayors of a Roman town in Germania (Stuttgart Lapidarium):

Germanic Warrior. Note his hair:

The Aufanian Mothers (Rheinisches Landesmuseum, Bonn):

Lusitania. Tomb of Muurish-African Roman Elite:
 Lusitania

Legionnire Mainz:

This is the tombstone of Gnaeus Musius, standard bearer of the Fourteenth. Musius’ tombstone shows him with the standard (the ‘eagle’). He died at the age of 32 after fifteen service years (CIL 13.6901).

Germanic Warrior on Trajan Column. Note their hair and their faces:

All of the above pictures of ancient Germania region is the reason why the rest of the Europeans secretly make gossips about the Germans with black blood. That is why you heard them call Germans derogatory names like Huns (Huns were black Asian tribes that conquered Europe)during the WWI and WWII. Benjamin Franklin of the American revolution fame confirmed that in German, there was an enduring Muurish root-gene from time immemorial. Mr. Franklin as a result did consider many areas of Germany as black or mixed with the exception of Saxony and Coburg-Gotha areas. This is the reason one will find Cartoons like the one below. Note the colours:

Oguejiofo Annu
Feb. 05 2012

Sources

http://rambambashi./category/ancient-germany/page/2/




Moors or descendants of Meroe Sudan ruled Europe thousands of years fought against wild men

Meroë was an ancient city on the east bank of the Nile about 6 km north-east of the Kabushiya station near Shendi, Sudan, approximately 200 km north-east of Khartoum. Near the site is a group of villages called Bagrawiyah


Defrance we are Moor Blood paternal Halo group EM-215 so as Napoleon l

So Christ does have a bloodline and he had children yet we must remember the father's bloodline is the primary bloodline. So Christ and Mary would have given birth to a son.

People stopped looking up to heaven

Revelation 13:13, NASB: "He performs great signs, so that he even makes fire come down out of heaven to the earth in the presence of men."


Europe in ancient times before the lies, fake paintings and sculptures made of so called Whites was a Black continent.

So the Merovingian are Moors and Huge De Payne and his 8 relatives that formed Knights Templars were of the lineage. They are the bloodline of Christ. Yet to steal his identity and deny his bloodline legacy is the evil of Black Rome.


Wake up out your slumber

Defrance Merovingian

Your are your father's seed many generations passed. How far back does your father's lineage goes and to what and who?

Call them by their father's name Holy Quran 33:5


Moors

Merovingians


Sons of the kings of Africa

Now why would the Boule oppose a Black Negro Messiah?

Because they are not of the physical bloodline of Christ who is a Merovingian or Moor. The Merovingians are the sons of the kings of Africa.

Also there are parts of Black Rome unrepentant because of pride who wouldn't welcome a new heaven.


Wake up out your slumber

Save your strength

Truth frees you

Call them by their father's name Holy Quran 33:5



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iDwS1ZDVLIs

So the Blood of Christ is real. Now this nonsense about it coming from a baby girl is just that nonsense. Men carry the bloodline not women. This is no discrimination upon the matriarch for whom I have love for, yet fathers distinguish bloodlines not mothers. So if Christ was Black he would probably return as Black and since he was in hiding he probably would be poor like the story says born in a manger.


5g is the Apocalypse which means to uncover to reveal

When you are a certain bloodline the war is on before you are born.

The war is spiritual and most be fought and won upon that subtle ground.


Name them devils or suffer the wrath of change

Defrance Merovingian bloodline

Note:  

Francis Name Meaning

English: from the personal name Francis (Old French form Franceis, Latin Franciscus, Italian Francisco). This was originally an ethnic name meaning ‘Frank’ and hence ‘Frenchman’. The personal name owed much of its popularity during the Middle Ages to the fame of St. Francis of Assisi (1181–1226), whose baptismal name was actually Giovanni but who was nicknamed Francisco because his father was absent in France at the time of his birth. As an American family name this has absorbed cognates from several other European languages (for forms, see Hanks and Hodges 1988). Jewish (American): an Americanization of one or more like-sounding Jewish surnames, or an adoption of the non-Jewish surname.

Source: Dictionary of American Family Names ©2013, Oxford University Press


Similar surnames: Francia, Francois, Frances, Franc, Franco, France, Franca, Francom



Call them by their father's name Holy Quran 33:5


Their original name was Giovanna yet they usurp the name Francis which implies they are French which isnt so. They are Jewish converts and not Defrance which are Moor Blood.

5g is the Apocalypse which means to uncover to reveal

De is an essential and versatile preposition that allows you to say "of" in French, "some," or simply an unspecified quantity. ... As a preposition, it lets you construct a number of noun and verb phrases. The Frenchpreposition de is required after certain verbs and phrases when they are followed by an infinitive


If it doesnt have De in front of France then the surname is not of French or Franks or France origin.

De in front of the father's name makes them of France.


Wake up out your slumber

Lying is a form of stealing. Lying is an abomination as it is a 10 commandment that thou shall not bear false witness against thy neighbor.

Francis is not French only a thief who is attempting to rob the De France of the honor of being the founders of France. Lies told against Grand Master Demolay caused him to be burned alive falsely accused of heresy. Many more noble and honorable Templars who were family members were also burned alive. The Knights Templar was disbanded by the Pope and some of the dishonorable knights became of the new order of Scottish Rites Freemasonry. As you can see Francis family are Scotts and not French. Scottish Rites Freemasonry is not Knights Templars. It is a lie!



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c3gSBH9aLuo