The Incredible Escape. The Adventures of Radisson 3

by Martin Fournier

  The Jesuit took another necklace from Radisson and again flung it to the ground, near the fire. He continued in a tone that grew firmer still, half his words in French, asking Radisson to translate as required.

  “I give you this second gift to require that you take care of all the Huron women and children who are still with us. May you treat them as your own. You will adopt them as soon as you arrive in your country. I want them to be well treated. Do not make slaves of them, as has happened in the past, otherwise you shall feel the wrath of the Great Spirit of the French, who is listening to me as I speak. Do it out of love for us. We are your friends and agreed to hand over the Hurons to you. You massacred those Hurons without shame, even though I loved them as brothers. If peace is broken between us, it will be your fault. So do you accept this gift? Do you promise to adopt the Hurons and treat them well?”

  The chiefs again glanced at each other. They had already made this promise at the previous meeting. But they could see that Ragueneau was having real trouble believing them. One of the chiefs brought up past negotiations.

  “Last winter, our emissaries asked you to adopt the Hurons to form one sole people with us. You agreed. Earlier, we promised you none of them would be mistreated. Those we killed had to die to avenge our dead and calm the angry spirits. Now they are at peace. You no longer have anything to worry about. All the women will be looked after. They will become Iroquois as though they had been born to our mothers and fathers. We accept the wampum and renew our promise.”

  The other chiefs agreed with a heartfelt “Ho! Ho!” The Jesuit took the third necklace and set it more gently at the feet of the chief who had just spoken.

  “This third gift is to ask you to lead us quickly back to your lands, now that the going is smooth. Promise me you’ll see to it that nothing you carry is lost, stolen, or left behind. Treasure it: these bags are precious for us and for you. Do you accept my third gift?”

  The chiefs acquiesced with a unanimous “Ho! Ho!”

  “May God be with us,” Ragueneau concluded, somewhat relieved.

  He turned to Radisson.

  “Tell them that from now on I want to see three of them always wearing one of these wampums lest they forget their promises. It will be proof of their sincerity. Tell them I insist.”

  Radisson translated his words.

  “We will wear them to please our French friends,” replied the chief acting as spokesperson. “Do not worry. Before long, we will be arriving in our country with all your goods. All will be well.”

  The meeting was over. One of the chiefs threw a little tobacco on the fire before getting up. Radisson took it to be a good sign. This time everything had followed established procedure. They retired to their shelters for the night.

  Chapter 2

  TO THE BITTER END

  The following day, things got off to a slow start. The five Frenchmen who had cut themselves off from the rest of the group categorically refused to team up with the Iroquois. They would go on, but only if they could all be in the same canoe. That was not negotiable. In return, Radisson and Ragueneau agreed to travel in separate canoes with an Iroquois crew. The Jesuit also had to get the Huron women to agree to an Iroquois leading their canoe, with two others helping them paddle, otherwise they would have slowed down the entire expedition. They consented until one of them recognized one of the Iroquois who had killed their husbands. This time, their decision was final. It took several hours of discussions and adjustments to strike a balance and calm the tensions still very much alive after the massacre.

  As they divided up the bags again, more than once Radisson made eye contact with his master. He saw great distress in his eyes, an enormous void that the Jesuit was impressively managing to keep under control. Since that morning, Ragueneau had been supervising everything, negotiating with each party, giving orders, making the men leading each canoe aware of their responsibilities. He even found the strength to comfort the most grief-stricken Hurons.

  As he watched him, Radisson could see the spark that still burned within the Jesuit. It was incredibly intense, like pure water at the bottom of a deep, dark well. It gave Radisson the energy he needed to assist his master. Ragueneau was helping Radisson’s courage return, just as his Iroquois father had done during his torture. True strength came from adversity. This setback wouldn’t stop them. Not him, not Ragueneau. They would keep on going, right to the end. Both were cut from the same cloth.

  The afternoon was well underway when the expedition got moving. Radisson was again careful to keep his trading goods close. He was now travelling with two Iroquois in the flotilla’s smallest canoe. Sorense, the youngest and sturdiest of his new companions, was the same age as Radisson. They bantered back and forth. Sorense was always keen to prove that the Iroquois were the best and could do better than the French. He was more skilful, he boasted, stronger and wiser than Radisson, who was having none of it and was determined to prove him wrong.

  Two days later, the Iroquois accompanying them changed canoes to compensate for a man who had fallen ill and could no longer paddle. Radisson and Sorense found themselves alone. Despite the lighter bags, they fell far behind the rest of the expedition. The teasing quickly became reproachful, each accusing the other of paddling like a woman, taking things easy, being clumsy… As they dragged their canoes around a rapid, Radisson voiced real annoyance at Sorense’s nonchalance.

  “Come on, you lazy good-for-nothing! At this rate, we’ll never catch up!”

  “I couldn’t care less,” Sorense replied. “At least I know the way. That’s more than you can say, little Frenchman.”

  “I said, let’s go!”

  “I’m not going to be bossed around by the likes of you!”

  Sorense shoved Radisson back onto the rocks. He leapt straight back up and struck Sorense as hard as he could. The Iroquois replied in kind. A skirmish ensued, during which they let go of the rope to their canoe, which was swept off by the current. The two broke off from their fight to watch the canoe race across the rapids. As he watched his precious trading goods and musket drift off into the distance, Radisson’s anger exploded. He launched himself at the Iroquois.

  “You savage! It’s all your fault!”

  The tussle was brief and violent. Then both realized the predicament they were in, far from the rest of the expedition, without food or weapons. They stopped. It was no time to get hurt or waste energy. They peered anxiously at the foot of the rapids to see what had happened to the canoe. Radisson thought he could see it, still afloat in the middle of the river.

  “Follow me,” he said to Sorense. “Let’s go get it.”

  Sorense would have walked in the other direction to catch up with the group ahead of them. But they had fallen so far behind the thought filled him with little enthusiasm. He too thought he could glimpse the canoe in the middle of the river and so he followed Radisson.

  As luck would have it, the canoe hadn’t capsized. It was washed up on a sandbank some three hundred feet from shore. Sorense didn’t want to risk swimming out so far. He was afraid they might drown. Radisson was prepared to give it a shot, but he had never swum so far. First he estimated the pull of the current so as not to be swept off too far. Then he walked a little upstream, took off his clothes, walked out as far as he could into the river, and began to dog-paddle. The current wasn’t especially strong. The sandbank seemed within reach. But he was tiring quickly. Keep going, can’t give up now, my life depends on it… He tried to find a foothold but the water was still too deep. He swallowed a mouthful and spluttered. He was struggling against the current as it began to carry him off… He dove forward, grabbed hold of some plants growing in the river, caught his breath, and back on the sandy bottom crawled until he at last reached the beach.

  Radisson wasted no time in pulling the canoe further out of the water to stop it from drifting off again. Then, exhausted from all the risk and effort, not to mention the fight, he sat down with an overwhelming feeling of loneliness. He reste
d for a long while, thinking of Father Ragueneau and the other Frenchmen whose company he so craved. Now and again he glanced over at Sorense. He was gesticulating at him from the shore, waving his arms wildly and whooping with joy, but Radisson had no desire to go back to his conceited companion. The sun set on the horizon in a dazzling sky. Fortunately, they had so far enjoyed good weather for the whole expedition.

  One bright spot amidst all the difficulties.

  After checking the canoe’s condition, Radisson made his way back to Sorense. They slept right there and left at dawn.

  ***

  It was tough travelling apart from the rest of the expedition, almost always in silence, and with no real rapport with his companion. Radisson again began to question the reasons for making the trip. From the very start, he had been confronted with the one thing he didn’t like about the Iroquois: their violent ways. He was eager to be reunited with Father Ragueneau, a man he respected. He still harboured hopes of clearing up his relationship to the eagle and, with a little luck, he would learn where Andoura had gotten his knife. Perhaps he would also be able to trade a little, too. But his heart was no longer in it.

  Soon they caught up with four Iroquois who had stayed behind to wait for them: Ononta (the sick man who could no longer paddle), his wife, their son, and Tehagonra, who had travelled with them for two days. Their progress was very slow. Ononta spent two whole days trying to get his strength back in a sweat lodge. No one complained because he seemed to be well respected, but the prolonged wait removed any hopes Radisson had of catching up with the other Frenchmen.

  Sorense was back to being his arrogant self. On rare occasions, he and Radisson still enjoyed teasing each other, but more often than not their rivalry led to confrontation. Sorense made sure to disagree with Radisson no matter what he said. And whenever they all ate together at camp in the evenings, Tehagonra was always talking about how superior the Iroquois were. Radisson was sure he had been one of the group who had ambushed and killed the Hurons. One evening, he confronted him about it.

  “Why did you kill the Hurons?”

  “They got what they deserved,” Tehagonra replied proudly as he looked up.

  Radisson was feeling less safe as time went on. Only Mahatari, Ononta’s wife, was nice to him. He slept badly and was constantly on his guard, which drained all his strength. His desire to be with his French companions, to eat and laugh with them, to tell them all about his misadventures and hear about their own was becoming an obsession. He thought about them all day long and sometimes felt disheartened.

  At the end of the eighth day spent with the five Iroquois, they beached their two canoes to set up camp and discovered, in a place used by other voyageurs some days earlier, a drawing of six decapitated men on a piece of bark. One of the men had short hair like the Jesuits, which was rare in this country. Radisson concluded that the six other Frenchmen on the expedition had been massacred and began to shake uncontrollably. Overcome by the thought that he was going to die, he immediately slid the unloaded musket from across his shoulder down into his hands. The gesture seemed a little pointless. The Iroquois he was up against would have finished him off ten times by the time he managed to fire.

  Sorense and Tehagonra burst out laughing. Those weren’t Frenchmen in the drawing, they said. They were at peace with them. Radisson had nothing to fear, they told him as they shoved him, laughing. Radisson dropped his musket and took out his eagle-head knife, pointing it at them while shaking like a leaf. The Iroquois countered by aiming their loaded muskets at him. Radisson didn’t stand a chance. He could picture himself tied up against the torture post again. The thought paralyzed him.

  Tehagonra and Sorense continued to poke fun at him. One ran behind him and called for him to watch out. Radisson turned around. The other gave out a war cry, and Radisson turned back around. He literally didn’t know which way to turn. Sorense waited for Radisson to turn his back then charged at him and wrestled the knife from his grip.

  “By my father Garagonké!” Radisson cried. “Give me back my knife!”

  “Just let me take a quick look,” Sorense replied smoothly. “You know that we are brothers. We’re supposed to share everything.”

  “By my mother Katari and my brother Ganaha, give it back! I am Orinha. The Iroquois of the Bear clan adopted me. I am one of your own…”

  Ononta suddenly turned toward them, stood up, and cried:

  “Stop it, both of you!”

  The two younger Iroquois stopped fooling around right away. Ononta walked over to them.

  “Give me that knife,” he told Sorense.

  He took a long look at it, then handed it back to Radisson.

  “Put it away and come eat.”

  But Radisson didn’t dare touch the food Mahatari had prepared, in case they were trying to poison him.

  After only a few mouthfuls, Ononta got up from his meal and asked Radisson to take him across to the other shore in the canoe. The invalid borrowed Tehagonra’s loaded musket and Tehagonra came with them too. Radisson followed them begrudgingly, recalling the Huron who had been killed right in front of him in the canoe. The same fate surely awaited him. The fear was unbearable. He paddled half-heartedly, ashamed at being such easy prey. As soon as they reached the shore, Ononta moved off, motioning for them to be silent. He disappeared into the woods. After a moment that seemed to go on forever, Radisson gave a start as an explosion rang out. No one had shot at him, thank God. He was still alive. Ononta soon reappeared, carrying a dead eagle. Radisson couldn’t believe that a man he had never seen hunt had managed to bring down an eagle so easily.

  Back at the camp, Ononta asked Radisson to hand him his knife again. He refused. But the man stared at him so insistently, pointing to the eagle he had just shot, that Radisson couldn’t help but give it to him. Ononta looked at the sculpted handle from all angles, then walked off with the dead eagle and the knife. From a distance, Radisson watched him carefully handle the bird, pronouncing words that he couldn’t quite make out. He feared he might be draining his favourite weapon of all its powers or casting a bad spell on him. Perhaps he had fallen victim to an evil sorcerer.

  Sorense and Tehagonra starting laughing at him again. They pushed and shoved at him, provoked him, made him look ridiculous. Radisson couldn’t find the strength to defend himself. He wanted to run off to bring the torture to an end, but it was beyond him. Mahatari came to his rescue.

  “Stop it! That’s enough. Come here, you.”

  Radisson followed her to the tent, like a child. She ordered him inside, took the knife out of her husband’s hands, and gave it back to Radisson.

  “Sleep here. That’s not Frenchmen in the drawing. No one’s going to kill you.”

  Radisson lay down on the ground. Mahatari threw a bearskin over his head. She lay down next to him.

  “Now sleep!” she ordered, holding him tight in her arms.

  Radisson was still afraid he was going to die, but at least this way he would leave this world in a woman’s arms or while he was sleeping. He fell into a deep sleep.

  ***

  When he awoke, Radisson was surprised to still be alive. He was all alone in the small birch-bark teepee, already warm from the beating sun. He listened to his companions chatting around the fire, just steps away. They were surely ready to leave. He knew they would make fun of him when he went back out, but he was no longer afraid. He took the time to enjoy the smells of bark, balsam, and fur that filled the teepee. He took a deep breath, wondering at the light that leaked through the leather flap covering the door. How wonderful it felt to be alive! He grabbed his eagle-head knife for reassurance. The energy that flooded through him convinced him that Ononta had not neutralized its powers. His companions had been telling the truth: they wished him no harm.

  Radisson nonetheless mulled over the strange coincidence. What were the chances of this man shooting an eagle at that very moment, with a single shot? Might Ononta have magical powers? Might he be a shaman?

&
nbsp; Aside from a sarcastic comment or two, the day went well. Sorense left him alone as they paddled at a steady pace. At twilight, Ononta again went off by himself, taking the dead eagle with him. Radisson couldn’t see what he was doing, but he did hear him chanting, although the words were just as incomprehensible as the previous night. Mahatari again had the Frenchman sleep in the same tent as she and her family. She asked him where he had learned to speak Iroquois. Radisson told her how Katari and Garagonké had adopted him to replace their son Orinha. She listened as he told her about his life in the Bear clan longhouse, the expedition he had gone on to Erie territory, and the honours he had received upon his return, until sleep overcame them.

  For the next few days, Radisson travelled with Mahatari and Ononta. Sorense and Tehagonra took the other canoe together.

  At last they emerged onto a huge lake and made easy progress to the mouth of a fast-flowing river on the south shore. After three days of hard work travelling upriver, Radisson at last caught sight of the French fort. He was so moved that he could not speak.

  “Gannentaha,” Mahatari said to him, pointing to the fort. “You have arrived.”

  Radisson had tears in his eyes as he saw men dressed in Canadien style bustle around the fort. After the previous summer’s dashed hopes, Pierre Godefroy’s doubts, the Huron massacre, and Radisson’s own fear that he would be next to lose his life, he had finally reached his goal in Iroquois country.

  “There he is!” shouted a man on the shore. “It’s Radisson! Here he comes!”

  All the Frenchmen working outside the fort hurried to him. Others emerged from inside through the large open gate. They gathered on the shore, shouting with joy as they watched the last missing Frenchman arrive. Radisson was excited by the boisterous welcome. Clambering out of the canoe, he embraced everyone in turn, happy to again be with his own people and speaking his language. Father Ragueneau arrived and held out his arms to him.