Chapter 8
Two days later, St. Denis and a small company of soldiers made their way towards Lake Pontchartrain. He was eager to deliver the proposal to Natchitos about returning to the Cane River. The incident at the tribal village had been reported to him, so he left LaRouche at the fort and relieved him of his patrol duties. He thought about his confrontation with LaRouche and wondered how his actions may have affected the relationship with the Nashitosh.
“You’re orders were to simply patrol the area, soldier!” he scolded LaRouche. “Nothing more! Your actions could cause severe consequences with our tribal negotiations. You are never to return to that area again. Do you understand? You will be reassigned!”
He sat in the raft and thought more about what had happened. He knew this had not gone over well with LaRouche, but it did not matter. The incident would give the Indians all the more reason to not trust them anymore.
They came to the head of the bayou and pulled their boat ashore. They walked towards the Nashitosh village. As they neared the village, a lot of activity could be seen. The Indians grew anxious as the white men approached. Tooantuh and Natchitos appeared together and approached St. Denis and his men. Natchitos held up his hand to tell them to stop.
“Come no further. We cannot allow you to enter our village,” Natchitos said to St. Denis. St. Denis motioned to the soldiers to stay where they were.
“May I approach?” he asked Natchitos. “Not the soldiers, just myself.” Natchitos nodded to him. St. Denis walked up to them with a contrite look on his face. “I know what the soldier, LaRouche, has done. I have dealt with him and he will be reprimanded. It will not happen again.”
“He is not welcome here anymore,” Natchitos spoke in return. “He has dishonored Tooantuh and his wife. Therefore, he has dishonored our tribe.”
“I understand and you have my deepest apologies, great chief,” St. Denis pleaded with him. “With your permission, I would like to speak to you of another matter.” Natchitos looked at Tooantuh, then back at St. Denis.
“What is this matter?” Natchitos asked impatiently.
“I am going to offer Chief Red Hawk the promise of more lands around the lake, including this area,” St. Denis said grimly.
“Why would you do such a thing?” Natchitos asked in bewilderment. Tooantuh began to get very angry.
“Wait!” St. Denis interrupted. “I am also here to ask you if you would like to return home!” The expression on Tooantuh’s face changed, as well as Natchitos’. St. Denis saw that he had their attention. “Yes, it has been proposed that we return to the Cane River area and re-establish the trading post there as we intended from the beginning, but as your guests. We would only do this if you grant us the permission to do so and allow us into your country once again.”
“Go back, home?” Natchitos thought to himself. The idea had all but left him now. “It is not my country anymore,” Natchitos replied. “The land will be too dry anyway. The land is for the ‘great spirit’ now.”
“But the ‘great spirit’ holds your spirit there as well, does he not?” St. Denis asked. “The river is there for you as your right. And it always will be. Besides, we have word from our scouts that the land is lush and fertile and waiting to be sewn with the seeds of the Nashitosh once again. If you decide this will be good for you and the tribe, then we shall depart in three month’s time.”
Natchitos stood for a moment and thought about what he had said. A tear appeared on the side of his eye. He thought for a long moment more, then spoke, “Call to your men, you are welcome to enter our village.” They followed Natchitos and Tooantuh into the village. Tooantuh assured the people that it was alright and not to fear the soldiers. Natchitos sat at the head of the fire and asked for the tribal members to come forth.
He spoke loudly and firmly to all of the tribe. “The Lieutenant has proposed to us a wonderful thing. We are to return to our home and let our children grow there.” The people smiled with happinesss and relief. The older members hugged one another and laughed with joy.
Natchitos continued, “I have agreed with this man that this will be so, and that we will trade with the white men and let them live among us. This accord will be made so from this day forth.”
St. Denis smiled and knew that the beginning of something wonderful was taking place. There was much work to be done yet, but a positive change in the right direction was now at hand.
Natchitos continued to speak to the tribe, “But, before we depart from this sacred land, where the ‘great spirit’ had led us, we will give thanks to Chief Red Hawk, and the rest of our brothers, with a great feast and dancing at the fire. They have been our hosts and we will honor them with a grand celebration.”
The tribe began to make preparations for the feast that was to be held in three month’s time. Hunters hunted for wild game, fishermen caught ample fish in the lake and grain was gathered to make bread. Corn was gathered from the crops, as it was the time of harvest. Everyone in the tribe did their part in preparing for the celebration.
Natchitos extended an invitation to the feast to Chief Red Hawk and his tribe. St. Denis delivered the proposal to Red Hawk for his tribe to take control of more lands around the lake and offered a guarded passage for his people to come and go as they pleased to the tribal area of the Houma. Red Hawk was agreeable to everything that was proposed.
At the fort, LaRouche was reduced in rank to Sergeant for his insubordination and was assigned to three weeks of kitchen duty. After cleaning up once again after the soldiers’ meal, he stumbled his way back to the barracks. He plopped down on his bunk, next to Sommer, who was writing in his journal. “I can’t believe I’m stuck doing kitchen detail. It’s making me sick,” he whined.
“You picked a fight with a man defending his wife, you idiot,” Sommer said firmly, no longer concerned about LaRouche being his superior. “If you ask me, you’re lucky Girard stepped in when he did. That Indian was ready to pounce on you like a panther.”
“I should have beaten him down when I had the chance,” LaRouche said arrogantly. “He’s had it coming for a long time! Trust me, I will get him back. I need to get into that camp again. I know exactly what needs to be done.”
Sommer put down his journal, “Forget about it, Henri. You’re not going back there. You’re banned as it is. Just let it go. Besides, how are you going to return without anyone seeing you?”
“I know those swamps like the back of my hand,” he boasted. “I’ll get in alright, and I know just when to do it, too.” Sommer looked at him as if he were crazy. He kept waiting to hear LaRouche’s big plan, but LaRouche knew better. He was keeping that one to himself.
Legend Upon the Cane Page 9