Legend upon the Cane (6 page)

St. Denis did not
expect this question. He thought carefully before answering. “Our
fort is a little more than a week of travel downstream. It is about
two days traveling on the Red, then at least four more days
traveling on the Great River. There is a tribe, the
Acolapissa, from which we
have bought land. They allowed us to build our settlement
on this land, as our fort and base.” St. Denis thought for a
moment. He wondered if he had said too much. But he wanted to be
honest with his new friend.

“
You truly are an
adventurer, Lieutenant St. Denis. Your travels are an inspiration,”
Natchitos said with a grin. “Good stories to
share at the fire at night. My people will not
forget you, nor will I. I wish you well on your journey. But, I
will cast a hawk’s eye on the hill to watch for your
return.”

St. Denis smiled at his
thoughtfulness. “Thank you, Great Chief. You are my friend and you
have my word that I will return. I see great possibilities for you
and your people. I will make your kindness known.” They smoked for
a while longer until the tobacco was gone.

Early the next
morning, the soldiers
and Buffalo
Tamer had already packed their camp and loaded both the rafts. St.
Denis and Jean-Baptiste stood on the banks of the Cane River while
several tribesmen looked on. Natchitos stepped forth from the crowd
and approached St. Denis. He held out his right hand and St. Denis
clasped his right arm into his in the customary handshake. “Go with
the ‘great spirit’,” Natchitos said with sincerity.

Tooantuh stood
among the crowd eyeing LaRouche sitting in one of the rafts.
LaRouche sat and glared back at him. He knew what Tooantuh must be
thinking. He was lucky to be leaving while he could.
“
Had he reported to the chief
what he had done?”
he thought to
hiimself
.
LaRouche grew even more impatient and paranoid, not
knowing what consequences he would face.

Jean-Baptiste and St. Denis
boarded the rafts and they pushed off from the banks. They turned
and paddled their rafts away from the Indians. One by one, the
Indians turned and walked back to the village. All had left except
for Natchitos, who was now sitting up on the hill in his usual
morning spot. He watched the rafts until they disappeared from
sight.

Winter
arrived in a fury that year. It was very
harsh, more so than in years past. The tribe did their best to keep
everyone warm with pelts and blankets that were given to them by
the French. Few braved the cold and food began to dwindle. On
certain days when the sun would peak from the clouds, Tooantuh
would make his way down to the river to try his luck at fishing. He
would catch only scarce amounts of fish. The winter never seemed to
end this year, and it weighed heavy on the mind of the
chief.

Taima was
entering her last month and knew at any time she could give birth
to her baby. When any woman went into labor in the village,
she was the one who came to aid with the
delivery. But this time, she was the one in need of
help.

Early in the cold night,
Taima sat silently in the hut with Natchitos and their three
children around a small fire. The cold wind blew fiercely outside,
and no one dared to step out. They were all huddled together trying
to stay warm. Natchitos stared into the fire for moments at a time,
drifting off to sleep as he sat upright. The heavy animal skins
wrapped tightly around each of them were enough to nearly hold one
in place in a sitting position without much effort. Nito and
Talulah giggled at the sight of their father napping as he sat.
Taima raised her finger to her lips to quiet them. Just then, her
eyes flew wide open and she cried out in pain. Natchitos awakened
to the sound of her labor pains. The children looked up at her with
alarm. Talulah was afraid to see her mother in such
pain.

“
Anoki, go and
summon Ayita!” Taima cried in agony. “Tell her to come with water.”
Anoki arose immediately and ran to fetch Ayita. Natchitos helped
Taima to the bed of thick animal pelts spread on the ground, trying
to calm her. He sat by the fire next to Talulah and Nito and tried
to calm them as well.

“
It is alright,
soon you will have a new brother or sister,” he said to the
children. Talulah’s eyes lit up. “I hope it’s a sister!” she said
enthusiastically.

Ayita showed up
only minutes later with Anoki
following behind her, carrying two skins full of water. “I
will need more water. Go to the river and fill what you can,” she
instructed Anoki. He did as she said and soon there were six skins
full of water for her. Anoki sat huddled together with his father
and his little brother and sister. Taima continued to cry out in
pain as the labor became more intense. Ayita cooled her head with a
damp cloth made of fox hide. She tried to keep Taima as calm as she
could. But Taima grew more restless. Her eyes opened between the
contractions and pain and saw all her family sitting around the
fire trying to keep warm. The hut was small so it was somewhat
crowded with all six of them inside. Taima’s impatience grew to an
end. She wailed out in pain again and lunged forward and glared at
Natchitos. “A mass meeting now, is it? Out! All of you!” she
snapped.

Ayita agreed. She stood and
motioned quickly to Natchitos and the three children to leave
quickly. “Go, go! Leave us now.” Natchitos did not argue. The next
minute he and the three children were all cramped inside the small
smoking hut huddling together for warmth. Not a word was said as
they sat listening to the howling wind in the chill of the
night.

Taima had the hut to her own
now and started to calm down, but the contractions continued for
several hours. Ayita stayed at her side the entire time, trying to
keep her head cool. Even though the air was freezing outside,
Taima’s forehead sweated profusely. From time to time, Natchitos
could hear his wife’s pain coming from the hut next door. He stayed
awake all of the night worrying about her. The children did their
best to try and sleep in the cramped hut.

The blustery wind continued to
blow throughout the night. Hours had passed and the small fire had
become just a small flame. Next door, Natchitos stared at the
embers in the fire bed in front of him. The fire had gone out. At
first light he would go out to find dry wood to build both fires
back up again. Suddenly, he heard a faint cry. But this time it was
not of his wife, but that of a baby. It was near sunrise when the
baby had been born.

Natchitos lifted himself up,
trying not to stir the children. Anoki looked up at him with bleary
eyes. “Stay here with them,” he said to Anoki. He stepped outside
into the cold. It was still mostly dark but a glow to the east was
visible now as the sunrise approached. The wind had finally calmed
down. He pulled aside the animal skin door slightly to his home and
peered inside. Ayita sat stirring what was left of the fire. Behind
her lay Taima, exhausted. She held close to her breast a tiny baby
boy. The baby’s eyes were closed, too weary to open them after the
long ordeal. “I will go get fresh wood for the fire,” Natchitos
said quietly. Before he turned to go out, he looked at Ayita and
said to her, “Thank you.” She nodded at him.

On the third
day,
the entire tribe came
together to hold a gathering at the tribal fire. Dances were
performed as a sign of welcome and blessings of a long and fruitful
life for the tribe’s newest arrival. At the same time, a name was
given to the baby. Despite the cold, all of the tribe attended and
a great fire was built in the center of the village. Each family
performed a dance in honor of the newborn baby. Makane, the oldest
member of the tribe, stood and spoke.

“
The ‘great
spirit’ has given us a new life. We dance to give thanks for this
gift to the Nashitosh. And, we dance for the spring to give us new
life in our fields. Now, let a new name be spoken.” He motioned
towards Taima and Natchitos.

Taima held her baby boy
closely in her arms. He was wrapped warmly and his eyes were wide
open, taking in the spectacle around him. Taima spoke, “He came
into this world in the cold wind of the night, so he will be called
Aykwa Unule (which means ‘cold wind’).” From then on, he was known
simply as Nule.

A few weeks
later
, early in the cold morning,
tragedy struck the village. Makane had passed away during the
night. Makane was known as a wise man and the medicine man of the
village. He had lived a long life. The entire tribe mourned his
death. A dance was performed amid the fire in hopes his spirit
would rise up with the burning embers and smoke. The tribal custom
for the funeral was not to bury the body. A member of the family
was responsible for taking the body away from the village and
placed alone, far out into the forest. They believed that once wild
animals came along to discard the body, the spirit would be allowed
to go free and pass on to the next life. This is why they did not
bury their dead. Makane was taken into the forest by his oldest
son, and was left alone. They mourned him for three
days.

As winter slowly
gave way to spring, the Indians were more than happy to feel the
warmer air. Life began to return to the trees and flowers in the
groves. And more animals began to appear from the woods. It was a
long and harsh winter for the Nashitosh, and now they had to
prepare the lands for this summer’s crops. Little corn and beans
were yielded
in the previous
year, so there was little seed to begin this year. The rains still
had not come when spring began, so a long dry summer was in store
for them once again.

Tooantuh and his hunters
took to the forests in search of wild game, but were only able to
find a few small rabbits and opossums. The dry weather had led the
larger wildlife away from the area.

Natchitos could
see that they had become in more dire need of food than ever
before. With the warmer weather, he had expected to see the
explorers coming down the river with much needed supplies.
“
We cannot rely on the white men
to come and help us,
” Natchitos
thought to himself.
“We have
survived hardships in the past, so we must endure this one as
well.”
But he did wish to see his
friend St. Denis once again. He had thought of him many times since
their departure last fall. He wondered of his progress with the
Acolapissa.

The days grew
warmer and very little rain fell and the crop land was dry and
dusty. They had planted what seed they had but little hope was held
for the crops to bear ample food. They lived on small fish and a
few small forest animals that they could hunt. Spring became summer
and the French still had not returned.
“Why would they build this post and then leave it to
crumble and rot?”
Natchitos asked
himself.
“Why do they not
return?”
He stood along the bayou
and stared at the fort that had been built. No one had entered the
structure the entire time it stood there. They waited for the
French to return and put it to use. But the fort had fallen into
disrepair over the long harsh winter, and showed signs of neglect.
Tooantuh had been hunting when he noticed the chief standing by the
fort.

“
The whites are
not returning as they promised,” he said sternly. “They must have
decided they can not live in this land.”

“
No,” said
Natchitos, “I sense they must have trouble. They had a purpose here
and I don’t think they would abandon their plans so quickly.
Something has happened.”

“
We
can
not worry about their
problems,” Tooantuh retorted. “We have to solve our own here. We
should tear this down and use the wood.” He walked off shaking his
head. His frustration was obvious.

Natchitos knew
that something had to be done soon or his people may starve.
One morning, Anoki came running into the
village, “Father, Father! Come quick!” He was very excited as usual
and animated in trying to beckon his father to follow him to the
fields.

Natchitos hurried behind his
anxious son and followed him into the corn fields. “Look Father,
they are growing!” Anoki said with a broad smile. Indeed, the corn
had begun to sprout. A few light rains had fallen in the prior
days. It was all the rain they had received in months. Natchitos
felt this was a sign of hope that things had finally turned for the
better. He shared the news with Taima and the rest of the tribe.
Hope had been restored, at least for a while.

The days grew hotter and the rain
had stopped. But the corn had grown to about two feet by then. But
food was still scarce and activity around the village had all but
stopped. They tried to stay cool along the banks of the Cane, but
hunger overwhelmed any sense of temporary relief from the heat.

Late one afternoon, Tooantuh
ran up the slopes to take a look at the corn fields. He fell to his
knees when he saw the fields. All the corn had wilted and fell to
the ground and was covered with dust and dried mud. The crop was
ruined from the heat. He could not pull himself up. His sadness and
weariness enveloped him.

Back in the village, Taima
sat in the shade, combing Talulah’s hair. Nule lay fast asleep,
nestled in a pile of animal pelts. Natchitos sat nearby leaning
against a large rock with his eyes closed. Taima looked up to the
sound of approaching footsteps. She gasped loudly and Natchitos
looked up startled. There stood Tooantuh, holding a wilted corn
stalk that he had uprooted. “It’s all gone,” he said wearily. Then
he dropped it on the ground. Natchitos’ heart sank in his chest. He
knew what must be done.