Chapter 10
In the darkness of the early morning, the shouts of war could be heard from the Acolapissa village. The Nashitosh sat in their huts preparing themselves for battle. They inhaled the sacred smoke of their fires and painted images upon their faces. The warriors hastily met in the largest hut and frantically put together a plan for battle. They knew the Acolapissa would not waste time.
St. Denis immediately found the hut where LaRouche was being held. He stormed into the hut, sweat pouring from his forehead. LaRouche lie on a bunk, his shirt stained with blood. “Savage!” St. Denis snarled at LaRouche. “You have no idea what you have done. You are not fit to wear this uniform!” LaRouche returned an icy glare with a smirk on his face. “You men, take this vermin back to Fort St. Jean and lock him up and let him rot in there!” With that, he stormed out of the hut and made his way over to the gathering of warriors preparing for battle.
The two guards took LaRouche to the bayou and escorted him to one of the two rafts. With his hands tied, they sat him in the middle of the raft and started paddling down the bayou towards the fort.
St. Denis entered to listen to the warriors hastily plan for an attack. St. Denis sat among them, “I have dispatched men to the fort with the prisoner, but it will take several hours for reinforcements to return.”
“We cannot wait,” Natchitos said. “If help can come from the fort, then, that is good. But, the battle will not wait. We need you here now.”
The two soldiers paddled downstream with LaRouche as their prisoner. The rain began to pour on them. He sat in the middle leaning to one side, with his hands tied behind his back. Rain poured down his face. The men paddled feverishly towards the fort, as they wanted to get him in a cell as quickly as possible.
LaRouche sat quietly. Behind his back he tried to hide his hands as he attempted to unfasten the ropes on his wrists. He freed his right thumb and then his forefinger. That was enough to get a hold on the knot that held him captive. He worked slowly, trying not to arouse suspicion. Then he stopped and sat with his head laying low. He waited for the precise moment. The soldier paddling in the back switched from side to side with his paddle. He moved from the left of the boat to the right side. He took a long stroke in the water. Then, suddenly LaRouche jumped to his feet with his hands free and struck the soldier with his fist, knocking him over the edge. “Hey!” yelled the soldier at front as he turned around. But, it was too late. LaRouche grabbed the paddle and whacked him, sending him into the dark waters of the bayou. He grabbed the two rifles and jumped from the boat and waded ashore from the marsh. He fled as fast as he could towards the Great River.
The first light appeared on the horizon and every warrior in camp was posted outside facing towards the Acolapissa village. All the tribal women and girls sheltered themselves in the huts. St. Denis stood alongside Natchitos, keeping a watchful eye. Suddenly, a war cry was heard from the backside of the village. A thud landed upon the head of a warrior posted on the far side. An Acolapissa warrior, with a black painted face, came charging from the woods and landed another blow to the Nashitosh Indian and knocked him to the ground.
A surprise attack from the woods ensued. The Acolapissa began pouring out of the woods that flanked the side where the Nashitosh had expected them. St. Denis and Natchitos were amazed at how quickly they had maneuvered their way into the woods to the other side of the village before dawn. The Nashitosh warriors charged the attack. Arrows flew, clubs were thrown, and rifles fired as chaos consumed the area.
Another party of Acolapissa warriors ran out of the woods further down the shore to try and draw warriors from the village so they could fight in the open. The plan worked and many Nashitosh charged after them in the open. It was a mighty battle. Blows were struck and arrows pierced the air. Shots were fired and many men fell to the ground. Natchitos fought hand to hand against his attacker. Then, he shot him down with a quick arrow. St. Denis used his rifle and fired at will, trying to discharge as many rounds as possible but the rifle proved to be difficult in the humid, thick air. He could not keep the powder dry in the heat of the battle.
Rain began to fall on the bloody battleground. Blood flowed from arms, faces, legs and chests. The rain grew even heavier and the blood streaked down the bare skin of the warriors and turned the white uniform shirts of the French a soppy, faded red. The rifles were now useless in the rain. St. Denis fought hand to hand combat as well, punching and kicking his attackers. The battle pushed further and further away from the village and the fighting continued. Soon, the Nashitosh realized they were being drawn away from the village purposely. A yell was heard a few hundred yards away at the village. An Acolapissa warrior emerged with his bow held high and yelling in triumph. Natchitos spotted the warrior from a distance. He wiped the blood and sweat that poured down his face in the pelting rain. “The women! They are drawing us out to take our women!” he thought to himself.
“Lieutenant!” he yelled towards St. Denis. “We must retreat back to the village. We must prepare for the next wave!” St. Denis looked about holding a club he had taken from a fallen warrior. He saw that the enemy was making its way back to their village. Dead warriors lay all around the battlefield from both tribes. Some sat on the ground with terrible wounds. Those not injured helped them to their feet and to safety.
St. Denis ran over to Natchitos. “I fear they have dealt us another blow,” Natchitos said looking towards the village. “We must go back now!” St. Denis understood what he meant and began to help the other men back toward the tribal area.
When they finally reached the village, they quickly ran to the huts. They found them all deserted. The women and girls had all been taken away during the battle. They were all gone. “This will not stand!” Natchitos proclaimed. “We will take them back and die if we must in doing so!”
They tended to the wounded and sent braves out to gather the fallen in the battlefield. They acted quickly for they did not know when the next attack would occur. St. Denis sat exhausted, but thought hard to determine a way to return the women to safety. Two hours had passed, but still no reinforcements had arrived from the fort. He got up and found Natchitos. “How many warriors do we have that can still fight?” he asked.
“We number about twenty-seven, including you and me,” Natchitos guessed. “We have lost twelve souls to the battle.”
St. Denis lowered his head in sadness. He looked up at Natchitos after a few moments and asked, “How many can you spare to go and retrieve the women? You have several canoes pulled ashore on the lake, do you not?” Natchitos nodded. “We can try and beat them at their own game. If they can surprise us from the woods, we can do the same.”
Natchitos knew what he was proposing. “We’ll post twenty-one warriors throughout the woods. We will go deep into the woods and then emerge, scattered in groups of seven in three different areas outside their village. The other six will take the canoes out on the lake and then come about towards the far side of the village. We must do all this without giving up our positions.”
St. Denis nodded in agreement, “We draw them out on one side to fight, while the others come from the lakeside and rescue the women. Create a diversion!” He smiled at the keen plan. It was the only choice they had with the few men that remained. “We must move quickly!”
Natchitos and St. Denis quickly passed the plan along to the remaining warriors and gave them their assignments. They gathered up muskets and fresh gunpowder that were stowed away in Natchitos’ hut. The rain had stopped, but a thick fog and mist spread upon the land. Six men took three canoes to the lake and paddled far from shore so as not to be seen. They would make their move when they heard the sound of battle come from the shore.
Natchitos and St. Denis then led the other nineteen warriors far into the forest. It was past the mid-day hour as they slowly made their way through the marshes and swamps. They walke
d for what seemed like hours, rounding their way back towards the enemy village. They headed north all the way up to an area just outside the village. They moved with stealth to the woods edge. The plan had worked, the village was now in sight and the enemy was still within the grounds. The group separated very quickly into three groups of seven and set about eighty yards between one another. St. Denis and Natchitos were in the middle group. They inched closer to the woods edge as did the others. They awaited the signal to come from Natchitos.
Then, on cue, the sound of rifles fired into the air and shouts of war cries spilled forth from the woods. The startled warriors in the village grabbed their weapons and charged from the tribal area. Arrows started to fly from three directions so the Acolapissa charged at all of them. The Nashitosh cut them down as they charged. But more and more warriors came running from the camp. The three groups closed ranks to form a single wall to make a final stand against the charging Acolapissa. They kept charging, fifty yards away, then forty yards. With only seconds before they reached the Nashitosh, St. Denis yelled out loud, “Way low and fire!” In an instant, all of the Nashitosh crouched down low to the ground to reveal Cadillac and a battalion of French soldiers behind them with rifles pointed forward. They had made it in the nick of time and rendezvoused with St. Denis as they had come forth from the woods. They fired in unison and cut down scores of the charging Acolapissa. “Fire!” he yelled again. Smoke filled the air and many warriors fought to the bitter end.
At the same time, the warriors on the lake entered the Acolapissa village and quickly gathered the women and girls from their tribe and led them away. The Acolapissa women did not stand in their way. The warriors left the three canoes along the shore of the village and made their way back on foot to safety.
The Nashitosh cheered in triumph. The remaining Acolapissa retreated back to their village and yielded in defeat. They were no match for the Nashitosh and the French soldiers. The Nashitosh had lost five more souls in the ensuing charge, but the victory was secured with the aid of the soldiers that had arrived in a timely fashion from the fort.
Chief Red Hawk stumbled back into his village. He was devastated at the loss in the battlefield. He saw that the Nashitosh women were gone, but his tribe’s women remained. Some sat on the ground sobbing for the lost souls in the battle.
He wearily approached the lakeshore, his face scarred and bloodied. He proceeded to wash his face in the water when he noticed the three canoes sitting afloat together. They were painted with the markings of the Nashitosh. Then, an object caught his eye, sitting on a tree stump a few paces from the canoes. It was the leather pouch containing the flintlock pistol.