Legend upon the Cane (11 page)

Ayita sat sobbing
uncontrollably.
Natchitos touched
Ayita on the shoulder, “You must be brave. He must be taken to a
proper place for mourning.” She looked up at Natchitos. “Take Anoki
with you. He can help you.” Ayita stopped sobbing and looked at her
husband then at Natchitos and Anoki with confusion. “He must be
taken to the proper place for mourning,” Natchitos said again. She
nodded her head in understanding.

Natchitos stood
and turned to St. Denis. “There is nothing we can do to change
t
hese events. We must prepare now
for what awaits us. There is no time to waste. Stand with me,
Lieutenant, or go on your way and leave us.”

“
You have my
word, Natchitos, I will stand with you,” St. Denis said
reassuringly. He turned to Cadillac, “Sir, I am afraid that Red
Hawk will retaliate for this. Can we send for help to settle this
matter?”

Cadillac answered him, “I’ll
do what I can, Louis, but we are allies of both tribes. It would be
easier if we could explain to Chief Red Hawk what happened. But I’m
afraid it may not do any good. I will take some of the men back
with me in one of the rafts.” He turned quickly and made his way
down to the bayou.

After everyone
had left the
area, Anoki quietly
helped Ayita take Tooantuh’s body down to the bayou and lifted him
into one of the canoes. They set out on the bayou in the cover of
darkness.

In the darkness
of the early morning, t
he shouts
of war could be heard from the Acolapissa village. The Nashitosh
sat in their huts preparing themselves for battle. They inhaled the
sacred smoke of their fires and painted images upon their faces.
The warriors hastily met in the largest hut and frantically put
together a plan for battle. They knew the Acolapissa would not
waste time.

St. Denis
immediately found the hut where LaRouche was being held. He stormed
into the hut, sweat pouring from his forehead. LaRouche lie on a
bunk, his shirt stained with blood
. “Savage!”
St. Denis
snarled at LaRouche. “You have no idea what you have done. You are
not
fit
to wear this uniform!” LaRouche returned an icy glare
with a smirk on his face. “You men, take this vermin back to Fort
St. Jean and lock him up and let him rot in there!” With that, he
stormed out of the hut and made his way over to the gathering of
warriors preparing for battle.

The two
guards
took LaRouche to the bayou
and escorted him to one of the two rafts. With his hands tied, they
sat him in the middle of the raft and started paddling down the
bayou towards the fort.

St. Denis entered to listen
to the warriors hastily plan for an attack. St. Denis sat among
them, “I have dispatched men to the fort with the prisoner, but it
will take several hours for reinforcements to return.”

“
We
can
not wait,” Natchitos said. “If
help can come from the fort, then, that is good. But, the battle
will not wait. We need you here now.”

The two soldiers
paddled downstream with LaRouche as their prisoner.
The rain began to pour on them. He sat
in the middle leaning to one side, with his hands tied behind his
back. Rain poured down his face. The men paddled feverishly towards
the fort, as they wanted to get him in a cell as quickly as
possible.

LaRouche sat quietly. Behind
his back he tried to hide his hands as he attempted to unfasten the
ropes on his wrists. He freed his right thumb and then his
forefinger. That was enough to get a hold on the knot that held him
captive. He worked slowly, trying not to arouse suspicion. Then he
stopped and sat with his head laying low. He waited for the precise
moment. The soldier paddling in the back switched from side to side
with his paddle. He moved from the left of the boat to the right
side. He took a long stroke in the water. Then, suddenly LaRouche
jumped to his feet with his hands free and struck the soldier with
his fist, knocking him over the edge. “Hey!” yelled the soldier at
front as he turned around. But, it was too late. LaRouche grabbed
the paddle and whacked him, sending him into the dark waters of the
bayou. He grabbed the two rifles and jumped from the boat and waded
ashore from the marsh. He fled as fast as he could towards the
Great River.

The first light
appeared on the horizon and every warrior in camp was posted
outside facing towards the Acolapissa
village. All the tribal women and girls sheltered themselves
in the huts. St. Denis stood alongside Natchitos, keeping a
watchful eye. Suddenly, a war cry was heard from the backside of
the village. A thud landed upon the head of a warrior posted on the
far side. An Acolapissa warrior, with a black painted face, came
charging from the woods and landed another blow to the Nashitosh
Indian and knocked him to the ground.

A surprise attack from the
woods ensued. The Acolapissa began pouring out of the woods that
flanked the side where the Nashitosh had expected them. St. Denis
and Natchitos were amazed at how quickly they had maneuvered their
way into the woods to the other side of the village before dawn.
The Nashitosh warriors charged the attack. Arrows flew, clubs were
thrown, and rifles fired as chaos consumed the area.

Another party of Acolapissa
warriors ran out of the woods further down the shore to try and
draw warriors from the village so they could fight in the open. The
plan worked and many Nashitosh charged after them in the open. It
was a mighty battle. Blows were struck and arrows pierced the air.
Shots were fired and many men fell to the ground. Natchitos fought
hand to hand against his attacker. Then, he shot him down with a
quick arrow. St. Denis used his rifle and fired at will, trying to
discharge as many rounds as possible but the rifle proved to be
difficult in the humid, thick air. He could not keep the powder dry
in the heat of the battle.

Rain began to
fall on the
bloody battleground.
Blood flowed from arms, faces, legs and chests. The rain grew even
heavier and the blood streaked down the bare skin of the warriors
and turned the white uniform shirts of the French a soppy, faded
red. The rifles were now useless in the rain. St. Denis fought hand
to hand combat as well, punching and kicking his attackers. The
battle pushed further and further away from the village and the
fighting continued. Soon, the Nashitosh realized they were being
drawn away from the village purposely. A yell was heard a few
hundred yards away at the village. An Acolapissa warrior emerged
with his bow held high and yelling in triumph. Natchitos spotted
the warrior from a distance. He wiped the blood and sweat that
poured down his face in the pelting rain
. “The women! They are drawing us out to take our
women!”
he thought to
himself.

“
Lieutenant!” he
yelled towards St. Denis. “We must retreat back to the village. We
must prepare for the next wave!” St. Denis looked about holding a
club he had taken from a fallen warrior. He saw that the enemy was
making its way back to their village. Dead warriors lay all around
the battlefield from both tribes. Some sat on the ground with
terrible wounds. Those not injured helped them to their feet and to
safety.

St. Denis ran
over to Natchitos. “I fear they have dealt us another blow,”
Natchitos said looking towards
the village. “We must go back now!” St. Denis understood what
he meant and began to help the other men back toward the tribal
area.

When they finally reached
the village, they quickly ran to the huts. They found them all
deserted. The women and girls had all been taken away during the
battle. They were all gone. “This will not stand!” Natchitos
proclaimed. “We will take them back and die if we must in doing
so!”

They tended to the wounded
and sent braves out to gather the fallen in the battlefield. They
acted quickly for they did not know when the next attack would
occur. St. Denis sat exhausted, but thought hard to determine a way
to return the women to safety. Two hours had passed, but still no
reinforcements had arrived from the fort. He got up and found
Natchitos. “How many warriors do we have that can still fight?” he
asked.

“
We number about
twenty-seven, including you and me,” Natchitos guessed. “We have
lost twelve souls to the battle.”

St. Denis lowered his head in
sadness. He looked up at Natchitos after a few moments and asked,
“How many can you spare to go and retrieve the women? You have
several canoes pulled ashore on the lake, do you not?” Natchitos
nodded. “We can try and beat them at their own game. If they can
surprise us from the woods, we can do the same.”

Natchitos knew what he was
proposing. “We’ll post twenty-one warriors throughout the woods. We
will go deep into the woods and then emerge, scattered in groups of
seven in three different areas outside their village. The other six
will take the canoes out on the lake and then come about towards
the far side of the village. We must do all this without giving up
our positions.”

St. Denis nodded in
agreement, “We draw them out on one side to fight, while the others
come from the lakeside and rescue the women. Create a diversion!”
He smiled at the keen plan. It was the only choice they had with
the few men that remained. “We must move quickly!”

Natchitos and St. Denis
quickly passed the plan along to the remaining warriors and gave
them their assignments. They gathered up muskets and fresh
gunpowder that were stowed away in Natchitos’ hut. The rain had
stopped, but a thick fog and mist spread upon the land. Six men
took three canoes to the lake and paddled far from shore so as not
to be seen. They would make their move when they heard the sound of
battle come from the shore.

Natchitos and St. Denis then
led the other nineteen warriors far into the forest. It was past
the mid-day hour as they slowly made their way through the marshes
and swamps. They walked for what seemed like hours, rounding their
way back towards the enemy village. They headed north all the way
up to an area just outside the village. They moved with stealth to
the woods edge. The plan had worked, the village was now in sight
and the enemy was still within the grounds. The group separated
very quickly into three groups of seven and set about eighty yards
between one another. St. Denis and Natchitos were in the middle
group. They inched closer to the woods edge as did the others. They
awaited the signal to come from Natchitos.

Then, on
cue
, the sound of rifles fired
into the air and shouts of war cries spilled forth from the woods.
The startled warriors in the village grabbed their weapons and
charged from the tribal area. Arrows started to fly from three
directions so the Acolapissa charged at all of them. The Nashitosh
cut them down as they charged. But more and more warriors came
running from the camp. The three groups closed ranks to form a
single wall to make a final stand against the charging Acolapissa.
They kept charging, fifty yards away, then forty yards. With only
seconds before they reached the Nashitosh, St. Denis yelled out
loud, “Way low and fire!” In an instant, all of the Nashitosh
crouched down low to the ground to reveal Cadillac and a battalion
of French soldiers behind them with rifles pointed forward. They
had made it in the nick of time and rendezvoused with St. Denis as
they had come forth from the woods. They fired in unison and cut
down scores of the charging Acolapissa. “Fire!” he yelled again.
Smoke filled the air and many warriors fought to the bitter
end.

At the same time, the
warriors on the lake entered the Acolapissa village and quickly
gathered the women and girls from their tribe and led them away.
The Acolapissa women did not stand in their way. The warriors left
the three canoes along the shore of the village and made their way
back on foot to safety.

The Nashitosh cheered in
triumph. The remaining Acolapissa retreated back to their village
and yielded in defeat. They were no match for the Nashitosh and the
French soldiers. The Nashitosh had lost five more souls in the
ensuing charge, but the victory was secured with the aid of the
soldiers that had arrived in a timely fashion from the
fort.

Chief Red Hawk
stumbled back into his
village.
He was devastated at the loss in the battlefield. He saw that the
Nashitosh women were gone, but his tribe’s women remained. Some sat
on the ground sobbing for the lost souls in the battle.

He wearily approached the
lakeshore, his face scarred and bloodied. He proceeded to wash his
face in the water when he noticed the three canoes sitting afloat
together. They were painted with the markings of the Nashitosh.
Then, an object caught his eye, sitting on a tree stump a few paces
from the canoes. It was the leather pouch containing the flintlock
pistol.

The Nashitosh tribe was
reunited once again after the decisive battle. They collected the
bodies of their fallen brothers and prepared them to take them home
on the long journey. Natchitos swore they would all find final rest
in their native homeland. St. Denis and his soldiers helped them
get organized for the journey. He knew it would be wise to depart
the area as soon as they could for fear of reprisal. The Acolapissa
were defeated, but they still had enough warriors to mount a
counter attack.