Louisiana History Collection - Part 1 (46 page)

The speaker changed. An elderly man stood, shouting his rage, shaking his fist in the direction of the French. When he sat down, another rose, speaking in measured tones. When this man sat down in his turn, there was silence.

Listening to the conversation around her, Elise understood that Reynaud had suggested they fight on, that the French were as bad off as they were. He said that the soldiers, many of whom were colonists with duties and obligations back in New Orleans, would soon grow tired of wasting powder and shot on a fortress they could not take. If they were patient, the French would send officers to talk of peace on Natchez terms. The elderly man who had spoken first had disagreed. He was enraged at the protracted siege, claiming that Reynaud would have the Natchez fight like the French instead of in their traditional way. He urged that they creep out at night and surround the French, killing them as they slept. The last man to speak disagreed with both. He feared that they would all die of disease and thirst where they were. The fever had weakened the warriors so that there were not enough fit to man the wall or to make a successful attack. He demanded that an embassy be sent to the French to sue for peace and arrange a meeting for the discussion of terms.

The argument, shifting first one way, then another, continued far into the night. They could scarcely hold the wall for lack of able-bodied warriors, nor could they agree on an attack for the same reason. On the other hand, so vicious was the French offensive that it was feared they would slaughter a peace delegation before its members could speak. There were those who wanted to burn two of the Frenchwomen as a warning to the French of what would happen if they continued and also in retaliation for the Natchez who had been put to the stake by Governor Perier. The suggestion was shouted down, but the threat of it left an uneasy feeling in the air.

At last Tattooed Arm got to her feet. She spoke with quiet conviction, finally putting forth a proposal that caused silence to descend.

“What was it?” Elise leaned forward to ask Little Quail who was sitting a couple of rows in front of her.

“The mother of the Great Sun has suggested that a Frenchwoman be sent to speak for us with the commandant of the French.”

“Any such woman would be likely to tell the commandant to level the village.”

“Most would do that,” Little Quail agreed. “Most, but not you, I think.”

“No, but then it seems unlikely that the warriors of the Natchez would hide behind the skirts of a woman.”

Little Quail frowned. “They would not look at it that way. The matter is delicate and also out of the ordinary. Who better than a woman, keeper of the peace and preserver of life, to represent them? A Frenchwoman who will come to no harm?”

“Reynaud will not allow it.”

“He must if it is the decision of the council. If this was a party of warriors away from the village, it would be different: his word would be supreme, even before that of the Great Sun. But here the fate of everyone must be decided and so the council will prevail.”

The elders conferred among themselves. The Great Sun was consulted, then he motioned Reynaud to him. Finally a pronouncement was made. While it was being spoken, Reynaud stood scanning those gathered on the outskirts of the council. He moved toward Elise, threading his way, coming to her as if he had known where she was sitting all along. When he stopped before her, he reached down his hand to help her to her feet.

“Come, my love,” he said, his eyes steel gray, mirroring the angry reluctance that gripped him. “You have been chosen.”

When morning came, Tattooed Arm, Little Quail, and Helene arrayed Elise in finest style. A gown of snuff brown velvet trimmed with lace and gold braid was brought from the storeroom for her use. Over it went a long cloak of woven swans-down, soft white with swirling designs of gold and red dyed in the soft and floating material. Her hair was braided and coiled on top of her head and held by shell combs. Necklaces of freshwater pearls were placed around her neck and earrings of gold purloined from the French were hung in her ears. No shoes could be found to fit her and so she wore her white wedding moccasins on her feet.

In the little time left, Reynaud, the Great Sun, and Tattooed Arm coached her on what she was to say. From the top of the stockade a white cloth was waved as a sign of truce. Cane whistles shrilled. Drums beat. The narrow barricade at the fort’s opening was pulled aside.

At the last minute, Reynaud blocked her way. His gaze moved over her as she stood so straight in her dignity before him. Her skin was touched lightly with gold from exposure to the sun these last weeks, but was flawless in its texture. Her hair shone in the first sunlight of the day; her amber-brown eyes were steady. She was beautiful in that moment, a woman of purpose and courage. He reached out to take her hand, carrying it to his lips.

“I’m not sure I can let you go,” he said quietly.

She met his eyes, searching their dark depths, noting the strain in his face and the exhaustion, noting also a burn across his shoulder where a brand from a blazing house he had been helping to extinguish had struck him. “I will return.”

“Will you? What if the French won’t permit it?”

“They must if they are to save the others.”

“They might prefer to take them by force. There is that risk.”

“The council has decided. I must go — for all of us, your people and mine.”

“If you don’t return—”

Her grip on his hand tightened. “Yes?”

Light flared in his eyes, then died away to stark pain. “You will remain in my heart always.”

The French would let her return. They must and yet his words brought a tight knot of anguish to her throat. Before she could speak, however, the cane whistles shrilled again, drowning sound. Beyond the entrance of the fort could be seen the blue of uniform jackets as a French contingent formed to meet whoever might be emerging from the fort. They must not be kept waiting. With tears making her vision swim, she freed her hand and turned away. Alone, with the soft breeze catching her cloak and blowing its light weight around her so that it gleamed like gossamer in the sun, she moved from the fort.

The king’s lieutenant, the Chevalier de Loubois, was polite. His distaste as his gaze rested on her Indian cloak was obvious; still, he led her to his command tent and seated her on a stool. Refreshments were brought. A number of the other officers and men had gathered round. Among them was St. Amant and Elise nodded to him with a smile of recognition. Loubois sipped his wine, lounging at his ease on his camp chair, then, with sudden impatience, bid her to state her purpose in coming.

Elise drew a deep breath. “I have been directed to say to you: The Natchez have lived long and prospered in this land. When the French came here because there were too many men in their own country, the Natchez said to them, ‘Welcome, there is land enough for all.’ When the winters were long and food scarce, they divided what they had with the French, leaving their bellies less full so that the French could live. Often when the floating houses, the ships that brought the food of the French did not come, the Natchez took the soldiers of the French into their villages; they fed them, housed them, and their women made them at ease, taking pleasure with them as friends.

“In return, the French gave the Natchez the white man’s diseases. They treated them as slaves, taking from them what they did not give freely, beating them. The French would say that they gave guns and blankets. But what need had the Natchez for guns when their bows and arrows brought them all they could eat? What need was there for blankets when the furs of the animals were warm, when the women of the Natchez could make fine mantles of feathers and the fibers of the mulberry tree?

“Now in the last harvest season, the commandant at Fort Rosalie demanded the lands of the Natchez were they have lived for years beyond memory of the eldest man, the best and richest lands of the children of the sun. Were the Natchez to die without the corn standing ready to harvest, to die of moving in the winter season of cold and hardship so that the commandant might have what he wanted of them? The path of friendship does not require such a sacrifice, only the path of war. The Natchez therefore took the path of war. Commandant Chepart is dead and they have retrieved the value of all they had given to the French who came to the Natchez. They wish now only to live alone, at peace, without communication with the French. They will give up the French women and children they hold in return for your given word that they will be allowed to live unmolested by either the French or their enemies the Choctaws. In token of this pledge, they request that you withdraw a distance of at least three leagues from the fort at which time they will release the captives.”

The Chevalier de Loubois stared at her, leaning forward with his arm braced on one leg. His face was rigid, unyielding. When he spoke, it was as if he had heard nothing of what she had said except the offer of the return of the prisoners.

“In your opinion, Madame Laffont, how much longer can the Natchez hold out?”

“I couldn’t say,” she answered, her features stiff.

“Can’t or won’t? You see, I have heard of your affair with Reynaud Chavalier, of his gallant rescue of yourself. The man is the lowest form of life in this colony, a half-breed traitor. You owe him nothing. You lived through the massacre, have seen the Natchez at close quarters, are fully aware of the treatment of the French prisoners. You have information that is valuable to us. If you have any feeling for your country or your countrymen, you will tell us what we need to know.”

“I am not a military man,” she answered slowly, feeling her way. “What do I know of the ability of men to hold out during a siege?”

“I spoke not of their morale, but of their food supplies. Are they plentiful? How much do they have stored? What of water? What are their thoughts concerning the guns of the French?”

“The food seems adequate, also the water. They have not yet begun to ration it.” It was true only in the strictest sense. The water was rationed for everything except drinking and putting out fires. The lack of bathing was almost as great a hardship, but the king’s lieutenant need not know that.

“What of the guns?”

“They seem to be doing little damage.”

“Yes, yes,” the chevalier said, rubbing his hands together, directing his gaze toward the ground before he looked up again. “Why then this offer? We were most surprised to see a flag of truce.”

“I think that they truly wish to live in peace. They feel the massacre was a blow struck in retaliation for all that Chepart had done against them. It was a blood vengeance brought on the commandant’s head by his own actions. It is done now and honor is satisfied. They feel that your presence here is for the sake of the women and children. They will give them to you if you will leave them alone. If you take the prisoners and go away, then you will have nothing to fear from them.”

“That is childish reasoning! The Natchez have killed hundreds of our people. Governor Perier has sent to France for reinforcements, guns, supplies to put down a major uprising of the Indians. They will be here in a few months’ time.”

“Are you saying, Chevalier de Loubois, that because the governor has sent for more troops from the Company of the Indies he cannot now settle this matter of the Indians peaceably and without farther bloodshed?”

“You have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Indeed? To me it sounded remarkably as if the governor would prefer continued Indian trouble because otherwise he is going to appear like the boy who cried wolf.”

“That is not at all the case,” he snapped.

“Then if peace is important to Governor Perier and the company, I don’t see how you can afford to ignore this appeal, particularly as it may be the only opportunity you will have to secure the release of the captives unharmed.”

“What do you mean?” he asked sharply.

“The French women and children share the danger of the Indians and the hardships of the siege. How will you answer to the governor and the people of New Orleans if they die before you subdue the Natchez?”

“That will not happen.”

“I assure you, Chevalier, that much though you despise the Indians in that fort over there, if you press them, if you force them into a corner, they will die to the last man before they will surrender. If you harm their women and children further, there will be no fury to compare with theirs.”

“Are you saying that they will harm the captives?”

“It isn’t impossible. Governor Perier burned the Natchez women.”

He stared at her with an arrested look in his eyes before he put his hands on his knees and pushed to his feet. His manner was abrupt as he spoke. “I will have to think on this. I will rejoin you in an hour.”

St. Amant moved at once to her side, refilling her wineglass that she had hardly touched. Picking it up, placing it in her hand, he said, “Drink this. I believe you need it.”

“Yes, thank you,” she answered distractedly. As he complimented her on her appearance, she only shook her head as if the words were meaningless, which indeed they were.

“And the other women, how do they fare?’

She sent him a straight look, giving him her attention with an effort. “Much as you might expect. But are you sure that is your true interest, the other women, or is there one in particular who concerns you?”