Legend Upon the Cane

by Keith R. Rees

  Chapter 5

  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 cannot 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.