by John Farrow
The Iroquois looked on, amazed, as the youth removed a string made of stone—a stone string!—from the collar around the animal’s neck, and the lowly wolf, freed, scampered around the feet of the youth. Taignoagny spoke to the beast in a strange tongue, and the beast lay down on its side and went to sleep. The Iroquois murmured amongst themselves, and a few believed that this would be a good time to slay the wolf-like beast. Taignoagny spoke again, and the animal woke up. The young man spoke and the animal rolled over and over and over, and when it was done it stood up like a man on its two hind legs and placed its front paws on the young man’s chest. The foolish young man rubbed his face on the animal’s face and on its neck. The animal had big teeth, but it did not bite him. Then Taignoagny bent down and put his hand on Kamanesawayga’s moccasin.
“Now you will see what you have not seen before,” Donnacona announced.
“Today I see what I have never seen before. A wolf who is not a wolf, who listens to the words of a man and goes to sleep when he is told. Today I have seen a man kiss a wolf and the wolf lick his face. Do they fornicate together?”
“Now you shall see something you will not believe.”
“This troubles me,” Kamanesawayga confessed. “Your son has his hand upon my foot.”
“He wants your moccasin.”
“He has his own!”
“Let him have it, Kamanesawayga, if you are a brave chief.”
Challenged, the chief allowed Taignoagny to remove his moccasin. The shoe had been decorated with multicoloured beading and caribou hair, a moccasin worthy of a chief’s foot. The young man presented the moccasin to the nose of the animal to sniff, then flung it as far as he could into the woods. He spoke sternly in that strange tongue to the animal.
“My moccasin!” Kamanesawayga called out. “How will I walk?”
Donnacona laughed. “Do you want your moccasin back?” he asked.
“Tell your boy to find my moccasin or I will cut off his feet!”
Donnacona kept on laughing. “The beast will find it for you,” he said.
The animal had not moved, but stared into the woods where the moccasin had been thrown. Taignoagny held out a finger above him. When he spoke again, the animal ran into the woods as fast as a jackrabbit—as fast as a real wolf—and men and women scattered from his route.
The poor excuse for a wolf rummaged around in the woods, and they could hear the fallen leaves flying about and the branches of bushes snapping when suddenly the animal raced out of the woods again with the moccasin between its teeth, and a great excitement rose up among the Iroquois who had witnessed this magic. The animal ran straight up to Taignoagny.
The young man pointed to the chief of the Hochelaga tribe, and spoke in a quiet voice to the animal in the language called French, saying also the name of Kamanesawayga. The white man’s animal turned then and walked towards the chief. Although standing, the chief pulled his shoulders back and turned his head away, afraid to look into the face of the four-legged beast. The animal looked back at Taignoagny, who encouraged him with the white man’s words. The lowly wolf put the moccasin down at the feet of Kamanesawayga, then sat on its haunches, staring up at him, panting.
The old chief looked down at his moccasin. Then he stared into the eyes of the panting wolf-like beast and knew that everything he had ever perceived about the land of the living had changed today, even before the white man had appeared. He put his foot into the shoe. The slobber of the poor-wolf was on the moccasin as he stuck his foot into it, but the animal with the big teeth did not bite him.
“Rub his fur … his head … his neck—he likes that!” Donnacona called out, which caused his two sons to chortle. They knew that their father had himself refused to do so, out of fright.
Kamanesawayga was less reticent than the chief of the Stadacona Iroquois, and slowly, he lowered a hand. Looking into the eyes of the lesser wolf, he touched its head. The fur was long and soft and warm. The eyes of the lowly wolf were moist and friendly, like the eyes of a contented woman. He stared for a long time as the lowly wolf panted, its big tongue lolling out. Then the chief straightened. “This troubles me,” he said.
“In the land of the pale skins,” Domagaya stated, “animals live in the village. They wait for someone to be hungry, to come and kill them. They wait to die.”
Kamanesawayga grunted in a strange way. These stories were difficult.
Donnacona, passing on the knowledge brought to him by his sons, repeated what he knew to be great lies. “In the white man’s land, big animals carry the white man on their backs, and go wherever the white man wants to go.”
Kamanesawayga glared at him, his eyes full of fear and fury, then looked at Donnacona’s sons. “Why do the big animals do this?”
“To make the men with the pale skins happy,” Taignoagny said.
“So the white man will not be tired when he goes a long way,” added his brother.
“If my sons tell lies, I will drown them in the river!” Donnacona vowed. He did not believe his sons, but he also did not believe that Kamanesawayga would ever to go the land of the pale skins to learn whether they had lied or not.
Taignoagny called his dog to his side and the animal obeyed, standing still even as the youth fastened the stone string to its collar. The chief returned to the perimeter of the fire and squatted down opposite Donnacona again.
“I will tell you something about the white man’s animals you will not believe. Do not believe me, Kamanesawayga, for if you do, your dreams will be troubled.”
Kamanesawayga was not a man to be tempted this way. “Tell me,” he said, “so that I will not believe you.”
“The white man has animals like the moose, but smaller. The female small moose gives milk, like a mother gives milk to her children. In the white man’s land, they drink the milk of this moose. That is why the white man has white skin.”
The chief of the Hochelaga Iroquois lowered his head to think about such strange matters. When he raised his head again, he said, “Men who drink from the milk of animals cannot be men. They talk to animals, they drink animal milk—these men cannot be men. They must be half-men, half-animals.”
Those who heard him speak nodded sagely.
“The animals across the sea live in animal lodges—”
“—like the beaver,” Kamanesawayga said, approving of this.
“Like the beaver,” Domagaya agreed. “Only the white man builds the lodges for the animals, and these lodges are bigger than any longhouse we make for our own people. Some animals live in the white man’s longhouse.”
The news passed through the gathering like a breeze through falling leaves, creating a rustle and a stir. Kamanesawayga shook his head.
“Do these white men have white women, or do they fornicate with animals the way they suckle at an animal’s teat?” the chief inquired.
“Their women live in longhouses as large as mountains with walls of gold and smooth, white stone,” Domagaya explained. “These women wear special clothes for fornicating.”
Kamanesawayga nodded, as though he had expected such audacious news.
“I have a gift for you,” Taignoagny said. He secured his stone string to the lowly wolf again.
“You give to me the listening wolf?” Kamanesawayga inquired, aghast, yet oddly enchanted by the prospect. He remained affected by the soft eyes of the beast.
“I cannot. When an animal is given to a man as a young beast, it belongs to that man. It cannot belong to another man. If it is given away, men may accept this, but the animal will never accept this. The animal was given to me by the Great White Chief of France, King Francis the First. The full name of the beast, he told me, is King Francis the Second.” Taignoagny then laughed, and added, “But you must always laugh when you say that. No beast understands a name so long, so I must call the animal King. He answers to that name. I cannot give you King, but to honour the great chief of the Hochelaga Iroquois, I give you this.”
Taignoagny handed him
the stone string.
Kamanesawayga held it in his hands and examined it, then gazed at the young man’s father thoughtfully. “What great powers do we have,” he asked, “in the white man’s eyes?”
His friend knew how to reply, for he had heard the white men speak of it often. He nodded before he spoke, for this was a vital mystery that he had chosen to impart. “They believe it is a great magic,” he said, “that we live here.”
Nodding, the chief consented to meet the salt-skinned men who had come down the river, in peace and in curiosity.
Donnacona, greeting Cartier on the banks of the river, declared, “Kamane-sawayga waits to meet the great man with skin the colour of sea foam who comes from the clouds across the sea.”
Cartier nodded. He was excited, too. The Iroquois village at Stadacona was small, having fewer than two hundred souls. He imagined from his first view from the river that Hochelaga was home to more than two thousand souls, and he had already marvelled that these people had cleared the land and were growing food, which had not been true at Donnacona’s village. He believed that he was meeting a man of greater stature than his guide. Together, the Iroquois family and Cartier, along with the king’s man, his first mate, his cabin boy and a handful of trusted and adept seamen armed with harquebusiers, knives and spears, commenced the upward journey from the riverbank to the community that dwelled on the side of the mountain.
Iroquois watched from the trees.
The king’s man walked alongside Cartier. “You are here now, Jacques. Will you name this place?”
“The village is called Hochelaga by the Iroquois,” the captain asserted.
“The village,” Gastineau pointed out to him in a harsh tone, for he knew that the captain understood what he meant, “but not the island. Nor the mountain.”
“We shall see,” Cartier demurred.
“You have not named the river. I know why, Jacques. You must name this island properly. You must name the mountain. It is outrageous if you do not do so! We cannot have every important landmark named Cartier!”
Cartier stopped along the trail. “My dear Gastineau. Of course I shall name the island. I shall name the mountain. Yet it is only fitting that you allow me to experience the place awhile, the better to deduce its potential and meaning. For example, if an Iroquois were to cut off your head this afternoon, I’d name the mountain Gastineau’s Head. On the other hand, should we all survive, I might imagine something more in keeping with this auspicious encounter.”
“You try my patience, Jacques.”
“Look,” said Cartier, bothering no more with the man’s preoccupations, “the chief.”
And so the two divergent peoples met, through the determined and visionary sea captain and the elderly, experienced and thoughtful chief. The Iroquois spoke first. He said, “Welcome.”
And Cartier, understanding him, said back in the man’s own language, “Thank you. I am glad to meet you here this day. I bring to you the best wishes of the Great White King of France, Francis the First, and of the people of France, the land that dwells beyond the ocean and the clouds.”
“I welcome you in the name of the people of the land,” Kamanesawayga stated, “who have dwelled in the world from the beginning, who came here to this place from the stars before the stars had light, to live in the forests with the bear and the deer and the wolves and the moose, to live as men and women under the sky and under the sun as long as the sun has light.”
Donnacona listened to the speech and wished that he had said all that when he first met Cartier on the Gaspé beach. Instead, he had said only, “You do not wear the fur of animals.”
Cartier was affected by the speech also, and wished that he had initially been more eloquent. He now felt himself at a disadvantage, even while he confirmed to himself that his intuition had been correct. Kamanesawayga was a great chief. Donnacona, by comparison, merely a courtier.
“I thank you for your great welcome,” Cartier said.
Kamanesawayga, grunting softly, sniffed the foul air. He took a step back. “I have no moose to give you milk,” he said. “I have no listening wolves who will chase your moccasins or your ducks. I have no homes of bright stones filled with our young women. Why have you come here from beyond the sea and the clouds to the land of the forest?”
The man spoke quickly, and Cartier, comprehending only a portion, waited for Taignoagny to conclude a stilted translation.
“I have heard of the great island in the middle of the great river,” Cartier stated, “for it is a river more great than any revealed to the white man, and I have heard of the great Iroquois nation that lives upon the island and guards the way to the land of gold and diamonds. I have heard these things, and I desired to meet the great chief of the Hochelaga Iroquois.”
Domagaya had to explain what gold and diamonds were to the satisfaction of the chief, who nodded.
“You want stones?” the chief asked him.
Cartier concurred. “Stones that shine brightly,” he qualified.
Kamanesawayga nodded, and let out a grunt. “I understand,” he said. “I enjoy stones that shine as the sun. I have heard stories of your magic. Show me your magic, so I will know for myself if the sons of Donnacona speak truth or lie like the babbling children of a man who is only a fool and farts often.”
“I will drown my sons,” Donnacona insisted, “if they lie to you.”
Domagaya said, “They have magic spears that make the birds fall down.”
Cartier removed his plumed cap and placed it under his elbow. “Jean-Marc,” he instructed a seaman, who was a crack shot, “fire at will.”
To shoot a flying bird with a musket was a tall order, yet Jean-Marc tamped down the gunpowder and prepared to light it with a spark. The spark ignited and the wick caught fire and the two thousand men and women present on the hillside, those in the clearing with the visitors and those who remained amid the trees, responded with sounds of fright and amazement as the wick frizzled and Jean-Marc took aim at a crow stationary in a leafless tree. The bird cawed and stared back at the gathering. The frizzy fire suddenly made a big noise, and the crowd fell back a foot and gazed at the seaman to see if he remained yet alive. Then someone shouted, and everyone looked as the crow fell down through the bare tree limbs.
When the bird hit the ground, Taignoagny gave a command and his animal ran into the woods to fetch the crow. King came back with the crow between his teeth, and this was a magic greater than the death of the crow: the willingness of an animal to help a man.
Kamanesawayga observed this magic and was troubled and impressed. “We will eat,” he said to Cartier. “I have venison and corn.”
“Corn?” Cartier asked Taignoagny, not understanding the Iroquois word.
“Indian food,” Domagaya explained.
“It is the plant that grows in the fields,” Donnacona revealed.
“We shall eat,” Cartier confirmed. “You shall show me your island. I have many gifts to give to the great chief of the Hochelaga Iroquois.”
Kamanesawayga wondered what gift he might receive from the white men who possessed such strange magic. He wondered also what gift he might impart that would not humble him, nor disgrace his people. Perhaps he would offer the white man many raccoon hides and beaver pelts to help him with his bad stink. Perhaps that would make for a worthy gift.
After the visitors were fed, having consumed with great delight the Iroquois corn and venison, and despite the French sniffing themselves—for they had begun to fart incessantly, although in general their farts were congenial—Kamanesawayga took Cartier on the long hike to the top of the mountain. He gazed out across a great plateau to the rolling hills, an unimaginable, improbable distance. Only Cartier’s cabin boy walked alongside him to the final lookout, and Kamanesawayga, taking note of this choice, brought along only a grandson of similar age. The larger entourages for both men were bidden to stand back.
The wind was bitter late in the day, winter approaching.
&nbs
p; “I thank you for the animal furs, Kamanesawayga,” Cartier said, “for the pelts of ermine and fox, the beaver and the raccoon. The Great White King of France will be honoured to receive them.”
“They give a man a good smell,” the chief said. “I thank you for the smelling waters and the cutting tool, for the blankets and the coat.”
The scissors had been a last-minute inspiration on Cartier’s part. They were small, but when the Iroquois saw how neatly they trimmed fingernails, the men were amazed and the women abuzz as they took turns cutting each other’s hair. The perfume, on the other hand, confused the Indians, and Cartier had to be very stern in making sure that nobody drank it. Taignoagny spoke for a long time about perfume, and often the Indians had laughed as he told them that they could wear it to help them bear the stench of the pale-skins, but Cartier was never clear on what was meant.
He and Kamanesawayga had been getting along, and they had learned to speak Iroquois very slowly to one another, so that each grasped the other’s meaning. Before them, beyond the river island, beyond the rapids, stretching west to the setting sun, the magic kingdom awaited Cartier’s exploration.
“I have one more gift to ask of you,” Cartier noted. “I seek one more trade between us.”
Kamanesawayga concurred with a grunt. “I also want one more trade.”
“I will give you my dagger with the blade of steel, forged in a hot fire, which cuts well. You will give me yours made of stone.”
Kamanesawayga agreed to the trade, which seemed like a good one to him, and the two men exchanged knives. Cartier looked at the Indian’s knife, and smiled, and handed it to Petit Gilles for his safekeeping. Kamanesawayga then made a request of his own: “You will give me your hat with the long feather.”
Cartier gave away his plumed hat. In exchange, he requested and received the chief’s beaded “small-coat”—his vest. He gazed longingly at the distant kingdom one last time, then commenced the trek downward through the trees as the sun was setting.