“What happened to you?” he asked anxiously.
“We found the Erie!” they cried out.
The three rushed off to give Kondaron the good news. He decided they would attack the enemy the next day. Ganaha was proud of his brother.
That evening, Kondaron went off to meditate. Before going back to his companions, he chopped down a small fir tree and cut off the top. Then, he gathered his nine warriors around the fire to tell them a story handed down to him by his father.
“One day,” he began solemnly, “two young brothers got lost in the woods. They had gone hunting to feed the members of their clan. They didn’t know where they were because they were so far away from their land. When night surprised them deep in the woods, far from home, they kept on going, even though they had completely lost their bearings. The next morning, they still couldn’t find their way back. For days and nights on end, they wandered up hill and down dale, tormented by worry and hunger. They used up all their arrows, then they broke their bows, and even lost their tomahawks. After wandering for a whole moon, they recognized none of the lands they were travelling through. They were driven to despair. It was then that an incredibly tall old man appeared to them, the sunlight shining down brightly on his face, and spoke to them in a loud voice: ‘I can bring an end to your suffering, for I am a powerful spirit. I know every animal, every plant, and every pathway in this forest. I can guide you home to your village, if you so desire. I am offering you my help because I can see that you are two brave young men, and strong too. I also have the power to grant you a long life alongside your wives and children. But first, you must eat, for the journey will be long. Take this.’”
Kondaron extended his hands to his companions, as though he were offering them something to eat. They listened on in silence.
“Well, this giant was the Great Spirit. The Great Spirit leaned toward them and offered them a bloody lump of human flesh. Seeing it, the youngest recoiled and hid his face in his hands, refusing to eat. But his older brother accepted the human flesh. To nourish the younger brother who had refused to touch the flesh of a man, the giant gave him a piece of bear meat, which he accepted readily. The meal reinvigorated the two brothers. They followed the old man’s directions and soon found the path back to their village.”
“The giant was a good spirit,” said Kondaron. “The two brothers lived with their wives for many more years and had many children. The younger brother became a hunter renowned for the many bears he killed, while the elder brother became a famous warrior who captured and killed many men and women. The spirit had revealed their destiny to them and allowed it to come to pass.”
Kondaron’s story was met with a profound silence. All of Orinha’s companions were familiar with the legend; most had heard it time and time again. For once, nobody followed with a story of his own, or started to sing. On the eve of combat against the Erie, all were deep in thought. Their chief’s tale reminded each of them that it was time to communicate with their guardian spirits, the spirits they chose when they became adults, from among all the spirits that brought the world to life: the spirits of the beaver, the eagle, the oak tree, the reed, the earth, the water, the sun, the spirits of all that existed. Only Orinha had never experienced this. Unlike his companions, he was quietly wondering what meaning to give to the story that troubled him more than it reassured him. Who was he? A hunter or a warrior? Perhaps he was no more than a trader, as he had often thought? Perhaps he was a negotiator, a man of peace? His life had changed so quickly.
Before leaving the village, Orinha had seen Iroquois his age shut themselves away to fast and seek the spirit that would guide their destiny. After fasting, each young man would then always wear a bag made from leather or bark around his neck or waist, a bag that contained a secret talisman. None of them would ever reveal its contents. And so Orinha understood precious little about the whole thing. On that evening, he noticed that all his companions were wearing such a bag. Was it really that important? He couldn’t say. But at that very minute, he felt vulnerable and very different from the other Iroquois. The thought irritated him. When his life was on the line, he wanted to be like his brothers in every respect, to form one body with them.
He was almost angry with Kondaron for choosing this moment to tell his story, even though he realized it was a source of inspiration for his comrades. What could he do to rid himself of his uncomfortable feeling? Orinha looked for solace in Ganaha’s eyes, but his elder brother kept his head down, lost in thought. To perk up his courage, Orinha recalled Garagonké’s enthusiasm when he told him he wanted to go to war. The memory comforted him a little.
Kondaron beckoned Orinha to follow him outside the walls of the camp. Once they were a few steps away, in the flickering light of the fire, Kondaron gave him a small bark cylinder, sewn together at both ends with roots through which long leather thong had been threaded. Kondaron knotted it solemnly around Orinha’s waist, saying:
“This talisman will protect you for the entire journey. You must trust its power. The spirit that lives in it is powerful enough to watch over both you and me. It is part of my own spirit. You must never open it and you must not know what it contains. All I can tell you is that this spirit lives in the sky like the Great Spirit of the French, and his anger is terrible. But his power is also on our side, especially in battle. I ask you to respect him and to always be careful not to anger him. May the spirit be with you. You have nothing to fear any more.”
So saying, Kondaron went back to sit by the fire without further explanation. Orinha rushed after him, hoping to question him.
“How can I respect him if I don’t know who he is? Tell me, Kondaron. Tell me more. Tell me what I have to do.”
But the chief remained silent. He now gazed sternly at the fire and threw a few handfuls of tobacco onto it. They disappeared into the air as smoke.
“Tell me how to pray to him, how to worship him,” Orinha insisted. “Please teach me.”
Kondaron said not a word. But Ganaha noticed the bark cylinder tied around his brother’s waist and smiled over at Orinha, relieved that Kondaron had found a way to protect him.
“You must rest,” Kondaron finally declared. “Sleep well, for tomorrow we will need all our strength. Put your faith in the spirits— they are on our side. You have nothing to fear.”
But that night Orinha had too many questions to be able to sleep. He nervously touched the bark cylinder Kondaron had given him, wondering which spirit might be watching over him, and if the spirit really could protect him. He was tempted to break open the bark to have a look, but he knew that would be the worst thing he could possibly do. In one fell swoop, he would undermine the morale of his companions, upset their beliefs, and turn Kondaron against him for years to come. And perhaps the spirit might get angry and do him harm. No, better follow Kondaron’s advice and be cautious. Caution was a virtue that Orinha had begun to learn in his suffering and that he now intended to nurture. His thoughts turned to Kondaron’s story. Would he have chosen to eat the human flesh or the bear meat? At first blush, it seemed clear to him that he would have opted for the bear meat, even though he had gone out of his way to become a warrior. What did that mean? On the eve of risking his life in combat, Orinha wondered if he had made the right choice. He would have liked to know for sure.
For his part, Kondaron was relieved to have helped Orinha. At the risk of angering his guardian spirit, he’d taken a small piece of a charred wood from his own bag and cut off the top of the pine tree he had chopped down for that very purpose. Then, he’d placed the talismans in a bark cylinder for Orinha to wear throughout the campaign, for as long as he was Kondaron’s responsibility. After the campaign, he would ask Orinha to give him back the cylinder and help Orinha find his own guardian spirit. Kondaron had devised this solution so that all his warriors could go off to war with the best possible chance of success.
He was confident because his spirit was one of the most powerful. For as long as he could remembe
r, his father and uncles had placed high hopes in him. They often told him he was born under a lucky star. And when the time came for him to leave childhood behind, all his family were convinced the change would do him good and the spirits would continue to support him. But the encounter that would change his life was still far away. After a week spent fasting alone in a small bark shelter, nothing had yet happened. Hunger tormented him, almost to the point of unconsciousness. He even feared he would have to abandon his quest. The spirits seemed to have abandoned him. Without warning, a violent storm erupted. In the small bark shelter swept by the wind and rain, Kondaron was terrorized. Lightning streaked across the sky and thunder reverberated throughout the forest. Suddenly lightning cracked right where Kondaron was looking. Dazzling white-hot light flooded over him for minutes at a time. The trunk of a fir tree shattered and fell, very slowly, heavily toward him, like a giant shadow looming in the blinding light, its top gently brushing past his arm, like a caress…
When the storm was over, Kondaron could see again and realized it had been the encounter he had been hoping for. The spirit of the Thunderbird, one of the most powerful, one of the most formidable, had shown itself with all its might and touched him, transfigured him. The Thunderbird was his guardian spirit. Kondaron then broke off the top of the fir tree and gathered some of the scorched trunk. Back home, he secretly put them in a leather bag he had made, the same bag he wore to this day, the bag that had always brought him luck.
EACH TIME ORINHA found sleep, a frightening dream hit him: an enemy cracked his skull open, he fell into a precipice, the Erie devoured him. He woke up with a jump and, eyes wide open, gazed for a moment at the thousands of stars glistening in the infinite sky. The wind rustled the leaves, which stirred in the night. The peace and quiet calmed him a little. But he realized he did not understand the link between the message of peace from the great prophet Deganawida and his father’s desire to have them sow terror to the ends of the earth. Why must salvation for all involve the death of so many? There was something in this way of thinking that he could not quite grasp.
Once again sleep overcame him.
In the early hours of the morning, Ganaha awakened him with a violent shake. Orinha was the only one still asleep. All the other warriors were preparing to leave, their faces daubed with war paint, weapons at the ready, impatient and nervous. When he saw the painted face leaning over him, Orinha leaped to his feet, ready to fight for his life. The scene reminded him of the day he was captured. But by then he was awake. He recognized his brother and pulled himself together. There wasn’t a minute to lose. Ganaha painted broad strips of brown, black, and red over his face as Orinha swallowed a piece of cold meat. He picked up his musket, his tomahawk, his bow and his arrows, checked that the medicine bag Kondaron gave him was still there, around his waist, and caught up with the others. They ran to the river and flung their canoes into the water.
“I’m going with you!” Orinha shouted after his brother.
“Kondaron knows. We will always fight together. Don’t worry.”
Orinha, Ganaha, Otasseté, and Shononses teamed up in one of the big canoes. Atotara climbed into the second with Kondaron, Tahira, and Deconissora. Tahonsiwa and Thadodaho took their places in the small canoe. The two young warriors led the war party as it set off toward the Erie fishermen.
CHAPTER 7
ATTACK!
THE MEN PADDLED RESOLUTELY up the stream. It was still in flood and they advanced easily, sometimes carrying their canoes over obstacles or eagerly beating a path along the bank. As soon as they reached the lake where Orinha and Atotara had spotted the Erie fishermen, they hid their canoes in the woods and set out around the lake on foot. At about midday they caught sight of the fishing huts. Kondaron went on ahead to scout around. When he returned, he whispered: “I counted five men and four women gathered around the huts. I don’t see anyone on the lake. We’ll attack without muskets. Everyone ready.” Orinha thought it just as well he persuaded Atotara not to attack using their firearms. He threw his companion an accusing look, which Atotara pretended not to see. Ganaha whispered into his brother’s ear: “They don’t stand a chance. It’s going to be a breeze.” Their chief moved ahead and motioned the others to follow him: “On my signal,” he whispered, “we all attack at once.”
Taking every precaution as they crawled through the high grass, they drew closer to the unsuspecting fishermen closer and closer along the shore. Suddenly Kondaron let out a terrifying cry, stood straight up, and fired an arrow into the closest man. Eight other Iroquois followed suit, roaring at the top of their lungs. A flurry of arrows struck the Erie, as the warriors stormed the helpless fishermen. Orinha was so surprised at how fast everything was moving that he was always a second behind his companions. In an instant, the Iroquois had leaped on their prey like wolves: one struck a runaway down with his tomahawk; the others clubbed anyone who tried to resist. Orinha struck a man that Ganaha had wounded and finished him off. A woman sprawled on the ground was easy pickings for him. The skirmish lasted only a few seconds. No Erie survived.
The ten Iroquois then scalped their victims, proudly holding their prizes up and shouting with joy. As a precaution, Ganaha ran over to the huts to make sure no one was hiding there. Orinha followed him. The first was empty, but an old woman was in the second, paralyzed by fear. Without any hesitation, Ganaha dispatched her with a blow of his club to the head. Orinha, distraught at his brother’s violent reflex, could not hold back: “What did you do that for? She wasn’t doing anybody any harm!”
“Not so,” Ganaha replied calmly. “She could have told the others there were only ten of us and the Erie would have hunted us down. Think about it, Orinha: we’re far from home with nobody to help us. There are thousands of Erie here, all around us. There’s no mercy: it’s them or us. Take her outside; then come with me. There’s something else we have to do.”
Orinha threw the woman’s body, still bleeding, over his shoulders and added it to the pile of mutilated corpses. Ganaha took her scalp and Kondaron handed one to each warrior. All were happy to display the sign of victory on their belts: ten enemies down, without danger or injury! Orinha was not used to revelling in death and felt uncomfortable with a bloody scalp hanging from his belt. The image of his friends’ scalps flashed before him. But he forced himself to think like an Iroquois: every scalp compensated for the death of a warrior fallen in battle. He thought of Orinha, Garagonké’s real son, whom he was replacing, whose tragic death he had now made amends for. Now he was fully entitled to bear his name. Orinha said to himself, “So be it: a balance needs to be restored between the spirit world and our world.” The thought brought him comfort.
It was time to decide what to do next. Kondaron suggested they find the village where the fishermen were living to carry out a surprise attack before the Erie discovered the massacre and mounted a defence. He wanted to strike like lightning while they still could. Everyone agreed with the strategy. They grabbed any objects of value belonging to the fishermen: charms, pipes, headbands, an old iron knife. Then they threw the bodies into the lake after weighing them down with rocks.
Before Kondaron led the group west, where he believed they would find the enemy village, Ganaha gave Orinha some advice: “Keep your eyes peeled. If Kondaron and I are killed, if we all die apart from you, you must find your way back to the canoes and flee to our village to tell everyone about our victory and how bravely we fought. Keep your wits about you, Orinha. Your life depends on it. And I promise you that if you die and I survive, I will tell our father Garagonké how well you fought.”
They covered the distance on the run, in Indian file, bent double so no one could see them. Orinha stayed on Ganaha’s heels, registering every landmark ten times more carefully than usual. As the hours went by, in spite of his fatigue, he thought about his attitude, telling himself that the next time they attacked, he would have to react instantaneously, just like his companions. That was what a real Iroquois warrior did: he exploded
and showed no mercy. Orinha felt sick at the thought of the poor fishermen they had surprised and massacred just because they were Erie. But he understood: kill or be killed was the iron law. War was without mercy.
They kept running, but slower, so as not to tire themselves out. Silence and vigilance were their watchwords. At the head of the group, Kondaron seemed to know where he was leading his warriors. Ganaha and Orinha were right behind him. Shononses, their best archer, brought up the rear. When evening came, they stopped to regain their strength and eat the fish they took from the fishermen. These they cooked over a tiny fire that they put out as soon as they could lest someone see the smoke. Otasseté and Tahonsiwa took turns standing guard through the night.
In the early hours of the morning, they were awakened by women’s voices singing, echoing in the distance. The troop headed toward them right away. After a few minutes’ walk, they saw the women hoeing the soil around young corn shoots. Kondaron made a long detour around them. He and his companions soon came within sight of a large Erie village surrounded by a high stockade. They stopped at the edge of the wood, crouched in the undergrowth, weapons in hand. The village was no more than one hundred paces away. This time Kondaron motioned to his warriors to use their muskets to terrorize and kill or wound as many Erie as possible.
Kondaron’s plan was to wait until the women returned from the fields before attacking. The women would walk right by them, no doubt accompanied by a few men, and the gate to the village would open to let them in. They would use the confusion sowed by their musket salvo to quickly attack the village and take prisoners, before making their escape.
The plan was a good one, but waiting under the burning sun was easier said than done. They had nothing to drink and hunger gnawed at them. Ganaha could not take it any longer and motioned to Orinha and Shononses beside him that he was going to try to get into the village to get water. “Its sheer madness!” thought Orinha, afraid that his brother wouldn’t come back and would spoil their plan. But he could not raise a fuss for fear of drawing attention to the troop. Helpless, he looked on as his brother crept away, walked around the stockade to the back of the village, and disappeared. Orinha despaired! The wait was unbearable. Parched and terrified, he had to make a superhuman effort to stay hidden.
Adventures of Radisson Page 11