Legend Upon the Cane

by Keith R. Rees

  Chapter 4

  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.

  “Sleep well, my little one,” Natchitos replied. He sat beside Taima on the grass mat floor.

  “You seem troubled this evening, my husband. Tell me what weighs on your mind,” Taima said. “What do you think of these white men?” She knew the years of responsibility had taken its toll on Natchitos, but he handled each day without complaint. She was always proud of him and happy that the tribe could live in peace for all these years. But the coming of the white men troubled her as well, although she always tried to see the good in everything.

  “I like the Lieutenant very much,” Natchitos began. “His curiosity has enlivened my spirit. He has his troubles with his men from time to time, just as I do, but he handles them well. I think he is on the right path. There is no need for our people to fear them. But, other tribes in our land all agree that the white men will keep coming into our land. We will not be able to trust all of them. This is what concerns me.”

  “You have always been the steady provider for us and our children, and a wise leader for all the Nashitosh,” Taima said in response. “I never worry about this. If the whites continue to come, we can not change this. We can only be the people we are. And that is the tribe of the Nashitosh. That will never change.”

  Natchitos smiled at her. He knew her words would comfort him as usual. “Ah, the true wisdom behind the chief, that you are!” He kissed the top of her forehead. “Let us get some sleep.”

  “Yes, let us get some sleep,” Anoki insisted with his eyes still closed. Taima tried to hold back her laughter as her husband tossed a deer skin blanket at him.

  Early the next morning, St. Denis and Jean-Baptiste were standing next to a small bayou that forked from the river towards the west. It was not far from the tribal village. A tall grove of trees stood nearby with ample shade all around.

  Jean-Baptiste said, “This would be a good place to build a small structure for the trading post, don’t you think, Louis? The land is flat and the stream gives ample room to paddle away from the main river traffic.”

  “I agree,” St. Denis replied. “It is a good spot. But, we must first ask the chief for his permission. I don’t know yet how he has taken to the idea of trade with us. He is always reluctant to answer whenever I broach the subject.”

  “Has he come down yet from his perch today?” Jean-Baptiste quipped.

  “Governor, be nice. I admire a man who reserves time for his personal reflection,” said St. Denis. “I could use a minute here and there myself, sometimes.”

  “Monsieur, are you implying something?” Jean-Baptiste said with a wry smile. “But seriously, it would be a good opportunity to show the Indians how to build a more formidable structure and use our modern tools as well.”

  “I will go and speak with him,” St. Denis said. “I am ready to put the men back to work.”

  By the time they had made it back to the village, Natchitos had descended from the hill where he watched the rising sun. St. Denis had summoned Buffalo Tamer, for he was still not comfortable with his mastery of the Nashitosh language. They approached Natchitos. “Chief, my colleague and I are seeking your permission to build a small hut over by the small bayou downstream.”

  “Is this where you wish to live?” Natchitos asked curiously.

  “No,” said St. Denis. “This is where we would like to set up a trading post to be used in the future between us, the French, and your people. This would be the center of trading activity.”

  “Take me to the site that you have selected,” Natchitos replied.

  They walked down the river to where the bayou flowed towards the west. They stood in the open area among the tall trees. “Ah, a good choice indeed,” Natchitos said. “You have my permission, but there is one thing that I ask of you. I have come to trust you, the French white men. I know your intentions are good. If you pledge to fortify this hut and help me protect my people from any other outsiders, I will let you build this post. This is all I ask.”

  St. Denis and Jean-Baptiste both readily agreed, as they expected such a response. So Natchitos summoned six of his men to join the soldiers in the building of the post. Jean-Baptiste oversaw the construction of the building. The men and the Indians worked together in cutting down trees and sawing them with tools provided by the soldiers. The Indians learned quickly and were intrigued to see this new way of building. After a few days time, the post had already taken shape. Jean-Baptiste was pleased with their progress.

  It was mid-afternoon on the fourth day and the post was near completion. The sun was hot and the hard work had taken its toll. Jean-Baptiste beckoned the men to rest after they had something to eat and drink.

  LaRouche and Sommer sat under a large tree dozing in the mid-afternoon. Sommer had his cap pulled over his eyes. “I can’t tell you how much this tires me,” LaRouche said with his eyes closed. “I don’t know why we’re bothering with building this shack out in the middle of nowhere. Nobody’s going to use this place as a trading post anyway. I know I wouldn’t.”

  “Quiet down, Henri, I’m trying to get some sleep here,” Sommer said. “I’ve got my mind on Lenoire back home.”

  “Dream away, my friend,” LaRouche responded. “I’ve had enough of this and I don’t feel like napping either. I’m going for a walk.” So, LaRouche wandered off into the thick grove of trees. He walked with heavy thoughts on his mind. Frustration was growing on him as he thought of his commanding officers barking orders as the men labored away to assist in the construction of the trading post. To him, they were just wasting their time with these people.

  He walked a little further and then came upon a footpath. It pointed in the direction of the river. So he followed it until it came up to a bend. He started to slow down as he could hear the sound of the water. He could also hear the sound of women laughing. He stepped off into the brush and crouched down and slowly crept forward to try and see where the laughter was. He stretched his head out as far as he could and finally he saw them. Two Indian women were bathing in the river. They were in the water, with their backs turned toward him, laughing and enjoying the cool waters. LaRouche smiled at how his fortune had changed for the better and so quickly. The younger of the two women turned her head slightly. He could see her face now and saw that it was the beautiful young girl from the first night, Ayita. This was his chance he thought, his chance to make this journey worthwhile.

  He stood up slightly and took one step forward, when suddenly an arrow zipped in front of him and pierced the tree right next to him. LaRouche fell back startled. He stepped back clumsily, tripping over a rock and fell to the grou
nd. The women grew silent when they heard the noise behind them. LaRouche tried to scramble to his feet but Tooantuh jumped down from a nearby tree and pinned him to the ground as he pointed a spear at his chest.

  “This place is forbidden to white men!” Tooantuh said angrily. “You must not be here!” Ayita and Taima were stunned at the intrusion. They remained in the water and watched warily behind the cover of a tree log.

  “Hey, I was just seeing what the noise was in the water,” LaRouche said innocently. Tooantuh dug the spear deeper into his chest. “Hey, watch it! Let me go!”

  Tooantuh stood over him with a glare. LaRouche knew he was in trouble. He lay there silently staring back at Tooantuh. Tooantuh pulled the spear away and let him stand up. “You must never come to this place again,” he said still angry. “Go! Away with you!”

  Tooantuh turned to walk away but LaRouche bent down and pulled a dagger from his boot, “You should have never let me up,” LaRouche muttered under his breath. He lunged towards Tooantuh with the dagger but stopped in mid-air when he heard the sound of several bows being pulled taut right behind him. He slowly turned around and saw four braves pointing arrows directly at him. Tooantuh stood glaring at him in victorious defiance. LaRouche dropped the dagger at his feet and held up his hands. Tooantuh motioned to the braves and they lowered their arrows. With that, LaRouche ran like the wind towards the village.

  LaRouche ran all the way back to the building site. He ran past the trees where Sommer was resting. He stopped beside a large oak tree trying to catch his breath, leaning on one arm against the tree.

  “What happened to you? Why the devil are you running so fast?” asked Sommer. LaRouche was dripping with sweat. Sommer looked at his friend as if he’d gone mad.

  “Nothing, leave me alone,” LaRouche said, gasping for air. He stumbled along the path towards the building site. The long rest break was over and the men were resuming their work. He tried to act casually and picked up a wooden hammer and began working feverishly. He didn’t want to let on that anything had happened. But he was always looking over his shoulder after that.

  At the same time, the new post was taking shape and was nearing completion. Jean-Baptiste stood studying the building plans, and nodded his approval. Then he heard a voice behind him from a distance, “Governor!” It was St. Denis, walking up the path with Natchitos. “How is the post coming along?”

  “Splendidly,” Jean-Baptiste said with a smile. “The men work well together, it is almost completed. What do you think, Louis?” The men took a small break to admire their work along with the officers and the chief. Natchitos commended his tribesmen on their hard work. LaRouche spotted Tooantuh, and two of the other braves he had encountered earlier, coming down the river from the opposite way. He tried to hide his face and the uneasy feeling that was growing within him. He knew the incident would be reported soon, if not already. However, Taima and Ayita were not with them. They were escorted quietly to the village by another way.

  “This is excellent work they have done, Governor. You should be pleased,” St. Denis said in admiration. He patted him on the back and Jean-Baptiste nodded in agreement.

  It had been two months now since they had landed on the banks of the Cane. Firm roots had been established with the Nashitosh Indians. St. Denis and Jean-Baptiste were more than pleased with their progress and came to like the Indians and admired them greatly for their determination and for their generosity. St. Denis did not, however, want to overstay his welcome here. He knew the soldiers had grown weary and were eager to return to their life at Fort St. Jean.

  That night, St. Denis made his way toward the village and approached the warrior standing guard by the river. He asked if he could speak with Natchitos. He spoke in the Nashitosh language, which impressed the warrior. He walked with St. Denis up to the open area where the fire dances were held. “Wait here,” he said to St. Denis.

  A few moments later, Natchitos appeared from the village. “What do I owe this unexpected visit, Lieutenant?” he asked.

  St. Denis had come unaccompanied so that he might test his knowledge of the language alone. “I was wondering if I could speak to you,” St. Denis responded. “I wish to tell you of our plans.” Natchitos motioned to him to follow him into his smoking hut. They sat down across from each other in front of the fire. “There always seems to be a fire burning in this hut,” St. Denis thought to himself.

  Natchios spoke, “Some of your words are wrong, but you are learning well.” He pulled out his calumet from the long leather pouch. “I was thinking of having a smoke tonight, so I am glad you came. A good smoke and a good fire are always best shared.” St. Denis smiled and nodded in agreement. He lit the calumet and took a few long puffs on it, then handed it over to St. Denis. “What would you like to talk about this evening, my friend?”

  St. Denis continued in Natchitos’ language with broken words, but well enough to understand, “It is time for me and my men to return to the fort. We thank you for letting us live in your lands these last few months.” Natchitos said nothing, but kept smoking on the pipe. “We must go back for more supplies and give my soldiers some rest. But with your permission, I would like to return and start to promote trade in this area at the post we have built.” Natchitos passed him the pipe as if he had not heard anything St. Denis had said. St. Denis took a few short puffs on the pipe, but waited impatiently for a response.

  “The ‘great spirit’ has taught me many things,” Natchitos began. “I see wisdom in opening our minds to learn different ways. I am grateful that my people have learned about your ways. The way of the peaceful man is the way of a just man. I see this in you.” He took the pipe from St. Denis and took a few last puffs from it. “I do not know of this place where you live. Where is it that you will go? Do you live with Indians there as well?”

  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 raft
s until they disappeared from sight.