Legend upon the Cane (4 page)

As the night grew old, the people
began to leave a few at a time and head back to their huts. Each
one nodding to the white men still seated on the ground next to
Natchitos. St. Denis soon stood up himself and motioned to Buffalo
Tamer. He wanted to thank his hosts for their generosity. But
before he could speak, Buffalo Tamer spoke to him instead,
“Lieutenant, the chief would like to speak with you alone.”

St. Denis thought for a
moment, then said to Jean-Baptiste, “Sir, please take the men back
to the camp, I’ll follow you shortly.”

“
Are you sure
that is wise, Louis? Maybe you should wait until tomorrow,”
Jean-Baptiste insisted.

“
No, it will be
alright, there is no reason for me to fear,” he assured the
governor.

“
We can
wait for you by the river, then,”
Jean-Baptiste insisted.

“
That won’t be
necessary, Governor. I will have a ride after we talk. Please, take
the men back and get some rest.”

Jean-Baptiste was
not sure about St. Denis’ comfort level, he did not think it was
wise to be alone with the Indians. But he thought to
himself,
“He has spent a great
deal of time working with these kinds of people, he must know what
he is doing.”

The warrior from the river had
come up to the village and was waiting to escort the soldiers and
Jean-Baptiste back to their rafts. St. Denis watched as they
disappeared into the night.

St. Denis and
Buffalo Tamer followed Natchitos into a small hut, where a fire was
l
it. St. Denis thought this to be
Natchitos’ home, but it was not. It was merely a place for the
chief to come and smoke and talk with his friends.

Natchitos produced a long
leather pouch. He began to unravel the leather strings which were
tied around the pouch. He opened the pouch and pulled out an old
and long calumet. It was adorned with hawk feathers with different
symbols marked on the sides in red and gold paint. He also produced
a pouch with tobacco, a rare commodity. He lit the pipe and took a
couple of long puffs on it. He exhaled in satisfaction, and then
carefully handed the pipe across the fire over to St. Denis. He
motioned for him to smoke it as well. St. Denis did as he was
shown. Natchitos could see that he was no stranger to sharing a
pipe in the company of friends. St. Denis knew he should wait for
Natchitos to speak first. Buffalo Tamer waited patiently for his
time to translate.

After taking another smoke
from the calumet, Natchitos finally spoke, “When I awoke this
morning, I saw a dove fly over the rising sun. A dove is always a
sign of something new. Now I know why I saw this dove.” Buffalo
Tamer spoke the exact words to St. Denis in his
language.

“
I thank you for
your generosity, Natchitos,” replied St. Denis. “I am humbled by
the kindness and hospitality by you and all the people of your
tribe. But I am sure you are wondering why we have come
here.”

“
That is why I
have asked you here,” Natchitos said in return. “Let this smoke
signify a peace between you and me. I know you will honor this
peace. For I feel that your heart is a good one. Now, what is it
that you wish?”

St. Denis responded, “I am a
man of peace, and for your offering, I am grateful. I am a
wanderer, an explorer. I like to see new lands and new people. I
have come to learn from your people. We do not wish to take over
your lands and we do not wish to overthrow you. We wish to
establish relationships with the tribes all along the river so
trade can be promoted. We have goods that we can bring you and
skills that we can teach that will help you with your crops and
bring prosperity and good life to your people.”

Natchitos thought for a
moment, and then said, “A wanderer can be a good thing. I know what
it means to go and see new places. That is how we have come to live
here alongside the river.” St. Denis listened to him intently.
“What is it that you wish to learn?

“
I would like to
learn to speak your language,” St. Denis answered. “I feel if my
communication with you and your people is better, the more progress
we can make. It will also help me in understanding and respecting
your ways. With your permission, my men can show your people new
ways to cultivate land and irrigate your crops. For me, all I wish
is to learn your ways, and to learn your language.” St. Denis
produced a leather pouch of his own from a satchel he had beside
him. “With your permission, I would like to honor you with this
gift as my thanks to you.”

Natchitos looked intrigued.
He watched as St. Denis pulled open a button clasp on each end of
the pouch. He opened it and revealed a rare and hand-crafted, shiny
new flintlock pistol. It was made of polished brown wood and silver
steel. The handle was carved with an intricate design in the wood
and a rounded, gold tip on the end. The pouch also contained some
ammunition made specifically for the pistol and gunpowder wrapped
tightly. Natchitos and Buffalo Tamer marveled at the sight. St.
Denis was delighted at their curiosity. He handed it over to the
chief and let him examine it thoroughly. “It has never been fired,”
he said. “And, it is yours as a token of my gratitude.”

A small grin appeared on the
chief’s face. “I have seen the white man’s rifle, but never have I
seen one so small!” He set the pistol down and looked at St. Denis.
“I accept your peace. Our men shall work together. And, I
personally will help you with our words.”

As the days went
on, the French and the Indians began to get accustomed to
one
another. They shared meals,
they fished in the river, and even played games with rocks and
arrows. But soon the rest and relaxation and blending of cultures
was put aside, for there was work to be done. The Indians were in a
crucial time of the harvest, and welcomed the extra help in their
small corn and bean fields. The harvest was meager compared to
years past, but enough to see them through the winter. St. Denis
realized that these crops were valuable to the Indians, so he did
not want to encroach too much on their hosts and instructed his men
to not eat much of what they had harvested.

St. Denis noticed how every
morning Natchitos would go up to the top of the hill overlooking
the river and would sit and stare out for an hour or more at a
time. He wanted to go up and join him but felt it best not to
interrupt him. One day he asked Sitting Crow, brother of Tooantuh,
why Natchitos climbed and sat on the hill each morning. Sitting
Crow explained to St. Denis, “Natchitos is the chief of our tribe,
but he is also our spirit guide. He sits on the hill in the rising
sun to cleanse his own spirit.”

“
Has anyone ever
gone up there with him?” St. Denis asked.

“
No, it is not
our place to interrupt the spirit guide when he is alone with his
thoughts,” Sitting Crow said. St. Denis decided not to push the
subject any further.

After the work was done in
the fields, Tooantuh asked to form a hunting party. Natchitos
readily agreed to the idea. He knew there was ample wild game in
the forests. It was common to hunt for deer, hogs, bear, and even
buffalo during certain times of the year. The younger braves liked
to hunt for small game, such as rabbit, opossum, quail, and
squirrels. Tooantuh was eager to show off his hunting skills to the
newcomers. His skill with the bow and arrow was unrivaled within
the tribe.

One afternoon, he and
Sitting Crow, took two of the young braves, LaRouche, and two of
the other soldiers on a hunting party. They quietly stalked the
forest with Tooantuh in front of the group. He held up his fist,
signaling them to halt. He sensed something in the brush a few
paces to his right. It was a rabbit! He signaled to the youngest
brave, Natchitos’ second son, Nito, to take his best aim. But
before Nito could strike, he was startled by the blast of a musket.
They all turned to see LaRouche standing with a smoking rifle
pointed towards the brush.

“
Ah, I think I
missed him!” muttered LaRouche. Tooantuh and Sitting Crow were
dumbfounded on why he would try to kill a rabbit with such a large
weapon.

“
You missed him!”
shouted Nito. “And now you’ve scared him away.” Tooantuh scolded
him as well, but LaRouche had no idea what they were
saying.

“
Gee Sarge, at
least let the kid shoot at him first,” a young soldier piped up.
His name was Etienne Sommer.

“
Mind yourself,
soldier!” LaRouche stammered. “What’s that kid going to use
anyway?” motioning to little Nito.

Nito instinctively knew what
the sergeant was questioning. He smiled and then pulled out a
handful of small wooden arrows, about the six inches in length.
Each had a sharp, narrow arrowhead on the tips. They were called
hand darts. “This is what you use for a little rabbit, don’t you
know that?” Nito quipped in his own language. “Not that big noisy
thing!” Tooantuh and Sitting Crow both chuckled to themselves.
LaRouche was embarrassed and not amused.

A few hours
later, the hunters again came across a rabbit. Tooantuh led Nito up
to the front once again. The Indians looked back at the soldiers
and gave them an obvious look not to interfere this time. LaRouche
held up both hands in compliance and a sarcastic smile on his face.
Nito took two slow steps forward then crouched down. He slowly took
two hand darts from a pouch. He readied one dart in one hand and
held the second in his other. He waited for the right moment. The
rabbit lifted his head, sensing he had been spotted. He began to
jump and scamper away, but it was too late. Two darts split through
the air, one after the other and hit their target precisely,
thump, thump!
Nito then stood tall and proud and turned and gave a
broad smile in LaRouche’s direction. Tooantuh looked on proudly and
patted the young brave on his head. “Nice aim, little Nito,” he
said with a smile. The soldiers applauded in admiration, including
the impressed LaRouche.

Back at the
village, St. Denis and Natchitos sat in an open area near
the river. The sun was warm and it felt
good to sit and relax for a while. A swift breeze blew alongside
the river as they sat. Buffalo Tamer sat with them as well. “What
can I teach you today?” asked Natchitos.

St. Denis held up his hand
to Buffalo Tamer, “Let me try and answer him.” Buffalo Tamer
nodded. St. Denis spoke slowly in the Nashitosh language, one word
at a time, “I…seek...learn...Nashitosh...way.” Natchitos
nodded.

“
You learn fast,
my friend,” Natchitos responded. “In time, you may come to
understand our ways, but first you must learn the words and then
the purpose behind the words. The winds that blow on a prairie,
will stir up clouds to make rain in the river valley. Or they can
blow in and dry up the waters. One action can be one or the other.
One’s purpose is to prepare for the changes that the winds bring
forth.”

Natchitos took
out a small pouch of food and opened
it and offered some to St. Denis and Buffalo Tamer. Buffalo
Tamer, knowing what it was, took a piece and nodded with a thankful
smile. “Here my friend, try this. It is something I like to chew at
times like these.”

St.
Denis was intrigued. He took a piece and
put it in his mouth. A smile appeared on his face. It was bagasse,
sugar cubes cut from the stalks of cane that grew by the river. He
nodded to Natchitos in thanks, “Excellent taste!” Natchitos and
Buffalo Tamer were both in agreement.

Natchitos sat and stared at the
waters flowing by, then finished his bagasse and spat it out. “Try
to say these words, my friend: The wind blows swiftly upon the
river today.”

St. Denis thought
for a few moments, then said slowly,
“The…old…river…blows…crazy…today. Is that right?” Natchitos and
Buffalo Tamer both laughed at him. “Alright, alright,
but no laughing though!”

It was night and
quiet outside the village.
The
moon was full and bright over the river. The soldiers had gone back
to their camp for the night and no one was about the tribal
village, except for Natchitos. He was walking along the riverside
by the light of the moon.
“Peaceful,”
he thought. He
pondered all the new activity that had been happening with the
newcomers and with his own family as well. Taima was expecting
their fourth child and she had an even heavier burden to bear in
the hot summer sun. His responsibility was for her but also for the
tribe. The crops yielded little harvest this year and still the
rains were not coming. He welcomed the helpfulness of the French
but their help could only do so much. He walked along thinking of
many things.

He entered his family hut to
see Taima and his daughter, now just over four years of age. Her
name was Talulah, for she loved to play in the shallow waters. She
sat cross-legged in front of her mother who was combing her hair
with a wooden comb. Anoki and Nito were fast asleep.

Taima looked up when he
walked in, “You are restless this evening.” She finished combing
Talulah’s long hair. “Time for you to go to sleep, little one. Go
now.” Tallulah crossed her arms and pouted in protest. But then she
hopped up and hugged her father’s legs. “Good night, Father. Don’t
make Mother restless too,” Talulah said sweetly.