collected the
bodies of their fallen brothers and prepared them to take them home
on the long journey. Natchitos swore they would all find final rest
in their native homeland. St. Denis and his soldiers helped them
get organized for the journey. He knew it would be wise to depart
the area as soon as they could for fear of reprisal. The Acolapissa
were defeated, but they still had enough warriors to mount a
counter attack.
Natchitos
sought St. Denis before he and
the soldiers returned to the fort. “You have stood by your word, my
friend. My people are grateful to you. You have the fight of a
warrior in you, and the heart of a true man.”
“As do you, Chief
Natchitos,” replied St. Denis. “But, we must not delay, I will
organize my men at the fort, we will depart at first light
tomorrow. We shall meet you at the head of the Great River.” With
that, he left with the battalion and returned to the
fort.
Natchitos had no intention
of staying in the tribal area along the lake any longer than
needed. The entire tribe set out before nightfall in a line of
canoes down the bayou. They would travel just short of the fort and
spend the last few hours of night on the side of the bayou shores.
They lit a small fire and spoke a few words of remembrance of their
fallen brothers. “We will mourn them when the journey is completed.
The souls of our departed will find rest in our land.” Afterwards,
they quickly extinguished the fire and waited until first light. A
few warriors kept watch over the tribe throughout the
night.
At the first light of day,
St. Denis was surprised and filled with admiration to find his
friends waiting for him and his troops at the head of the Great
River. Twenty-five soldiers and the entire Nashitosh tribe set out
upon the river and made their way north. The journey would take
weeks with so many people, plus they traveled against the current
in the north heading. After nearly two weeks, they finally made it
to the mouth of the Red River and then headed west. On the fourth
day of traveling on the Red River, they stopped at the juncture
where it flowed into the Cane River.
At the sight of the Cane,
they stopped to rest and setup camp for the night. They would
complete the journey the next day. Natchitos lit a fire on the
banks of the Cane and spoke to the tribe, “These are the waters of
our country. May the ‘great spirit’ bless them as we enter them and
let it guide us to our home. We give thanks for guidance and
survival. Let this day be remembered.”
The next morning, spirits
were high as they made their way down the Cane on the final leg of
their journey. The winds blew strong throughout the morning.
Natchitos stood high in his canoe at the head of the caravan. They
rounded the bend and then a familiar hill came into view. He knew
it was the sight of their old home. He raised his spear in triumph
to signal the other canoes. The tribe yelled in celebration as they
pulled ashore.
The old wooden fort stood
along the narrow bayou further down the shore, abandoned and
dilapidated. Natchitos was glad to see the familiar lands once
again. It was late fall, but the lands were still green and vibrant
with life. Much rain had come to the area once again and
revitalized the soil. It was just as St. Denis had told
him.
As the people continued to
unload the canoes and rafts on the shore, Natchitos gazed into the
woods and toward the hill that led to their old tribal area. His
instincts told him something. He was looking for someone, but he
saw nothing. A look of concern washed upon his face. Suddenly, a
rifle shot was heard from above. One of the braves was struck in
the arm and he fell to the ground in pain.
St. Denis looked
to the hill. “Henri!” he shouted. It was LaRouche. He had been
following them the entire journey up the river after he escaped. He
looked rugged and disheveled. “What are you doing ? Have you
gone mad ?”
LaRouche said
nothing, but thr ew his rifle and
retrieved another. The
bodies of their fallen brothers and prepared them to take them home
on the long journey. Natchitos swore they would all find final rest
in their native homeland. St. Denis and his soldiers helped them
get organized for the journey. He knew it would be wise to depart
the area as soon as they could for fear of reprisal. The Acolapissa
were defeated, but they still had enough warriors to mount a
counter attack.
Natchitos
sought St. Denis before he and
the soldiers returned to the fort. “You have stood by your word, my
friend. My people are grateful to you. You have the fight of a
warrior in you, and the heart of a true man.”
“As do you, Chief
Natchitos,” replied St. Denis. “But, we must not delay, I will
organize my men at the fort, we will depart at first light
tomorrow. We shall meet you at the head of the Great River.” With
that, he left with the battalion and returned to the
fort.
Natchitos had no intention
of staying in the tribal area along the lake any longer than
needed. The entire tribe set out before nightfall in a line of
canoes down the bayou. They would travel just short of the fort and
spend the last few hours of night on the side of the bayou shores.
They lit a small fire and spoke a few words of remembrance of their
fallen brothers. “We will mourn them when the journey is completed.
The souls of our departed will find rest in our land.” Afterwards,
they quickly extinguished the fire and waited until first light. A
few warriors kept watch over the tribe throughout the
night.
At the first light of day,
St. Denis was surprised and filled with admiration to find his
friends waiting for him and his troops at the head of the Great
River. Twenty-five soldiers and the entire Nashitosh tribe set out
upon the river and made their way north. The journey would take
weeks with so many people, plus they traveled against the current
in the north heading. After nearly two weeks, they finally made it
to the mouth of the Red River and then headed west. On the fourth
day of traveling on the Red River, they stopped at the juncture
where it flowed into the Cane River.
At the sight of the Cane,
they stopped to rest and setup camp for the night. They would
complete the journey the next day. Natchitos lit a fire on the
banks of the Cane and spoke to the tribe, “These are the waters of
our country. May the ‘great spirit’ bless them as we enter them and
let it guide us to our home. We give thanks for guidance and
survival. Let this day be remembered.”
The next morning, spirits
were high as they made their way down the Cane on the final leg of
their journey. The winds blew strong throughout the morning.
Natchitos stood high in his canoe at the head of the caravan. They
rounded the bend and then a familiar hill came into view. He knew
it was the sight of their old home. He raised his spear in triumph
to signal the other canoes. The tribe yelled in celebration as they
pulled ashore.
The old wooden fort stood
along the narrow bayou further down the shore, abandoned and
dilapidated. Natchitos was glad to see the familiar lands once
again. It was late fall, but the lands were still green and vibrant
with life. Much rain had come to the area once again and
revitalized the soil. It was just as St. Denis had told
him.
As the people continued to
unload the canoes and rafts on the shore, Natchitos gazed into the
woods and toward the hill that led to their old tribal area. His
instincts told him something. He was looking for someone, but he
saw nothing. A look of concern washed upon his face. Suddenly, a
rifle shot was heard from above. One of the braves was struck in
the arm and he fell to the ground in pain.
St. Denis looked
to the hill. “Henri!” he shouted. It was LaRouche. He had been
following them the entire journey up the river after he escaped. He
looked rugged and disheveled. “What are you doing ? Have you
gone mad ?”
LaRouche said
nothing, but thr ew his rifle and
retrieved another. The
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