Legend upon the Cane by ketihrees

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.

Chapter 6
     
    It was late
summer , in 1702, at Fort St.
Jean. There was much activity about the fort as this was the
busiest time of year. Traders were coming down the Great River
(which was also called the Colbert River by the French) in large
numbers with pelts and food to trade.
    Life was busy for the French
officers, for the task of keeping the Spanish explorers out of
their territory was a daily chore. The Acolapissa Indians were not
as accommodating to the French as they had been in the past as
well. Their demands increased as time went on. Despite this, St.
Denis continued to press Governor Bienville to let him take some
men back up to the head of the Red River to establish the trading
routes in that area. Jean-Baptiste knew that this was a key area in
the trade routes, having seen this area for himself, but he could
not afford to spare any men in these hectic days.
    The fort was
situated on the northern banks of
the river. The Acolapissa Indians were situated on the shores of
Lake Pontchartrain. The explorers had to travel a few miles north
on narrow bayous that ran through rugged and murky swamplands to
get to the village. The Indians were regular visitors to the fort
for trade with the settlers. A good relationship had been
established between them and the French in the early days, but now
they began to resent the ever growing number of white traders and
settlers in the area.
    Fog was common in these
waters of the lower delta, the air was very humid and hot and
mosquitoes were a common problem as well. On this morning, the fog
was very thick upon the river. St. Denis was checking provisions
for the troops that were preparing to head west in the following
days. A garrison was prepared to setup front lines to the west to
counter the Spanish incursion.
    He walked outside the