“Perfect.”
Father Le Jeune stood up.
“I have a favour to ask you, Father. I tried to find my mother, Marie Radisson. She lived in the faubourg Saint-Antoine. But our home was destroyed and my mother left. If ever you could help me…”
Le Jeune did not dare respond right away.
“Unfortunately,” he said at last, “the worst atrocities were committed in that very faubourg. Many left their lives there.”
“My mother was very devout. Perhaps she took refuge with the nuns.”
“Perhaps. I’ll see what I can do. But I’m afraid you shouldn’t hold out too much hope. My advice is to pray with all your heart for the duration of the retreat. Your mother is surely in need of your prayers, wherever she may be.”
Part III
In New France
Chapter 5
False start
Once at Percé, Radisson found a small boat to take him to Québec. Along the way, he was struck by just how wild Canada was: there were trees, mountains, coves, and rivers everywhere. There wasn’t a soul to be seen before the trading post at Tadoussac where the Indians came to trade furs with them. After a rest day, the Marie-Anne went on. More trees, mountains, coves, and rivers until Île d’Orléans outside Québec.
Who wouldn’t be moved at the appearance of the small settlement at a bend on the St. Lawrence? Radisson was no exception. It was a heartwarming sight as a hundred or so homes at the foot of Cap Diamant and a few larger buildings on top of the cape came into view.
As soon as he reached dry land, Radisson walked up Côte de la Montagne to meet the Jesuits’ superior in New France. Father Le Mercier gave him a warm welcome in his roomy residence. After reading Father Le Jeune’s letter to him, Le Mercier asked Radisson to report to Father Paul Ragueneau in Trois-Rivières without delay. Ragueneau would know how best to use him. Radisson also took the opportunity to ask if his sisters were still alive. They were.
He boarded another boat. The last homes at Cap Rouge were behind them. For two more days, the shores of the St. Lawrence were completely bare: no French buildings, no Indian villages, only trees and the mighty river they were making their way up, a pathway paved by the sun.
The village of Trois-Rivières came into view. Just a few cables more and Radisson would be back to where he had started. Sails tacked, the boat glided along until it reached the shore. Radisson had been waiting for this moment for so long and was the first to jump ashore. None of the five men who watched them arrive recognized him. They didn’t suspect for an instant that the young man who had disappeared three years earlier could be back. Everyone was sure he was dead, killed by the Iroquois.
“What’s this, Michel?” a well-built Jesuit cried out from shore. “Your boat looks pretty much empty to me.”
“I did what I could, Father. I have rope, knives, and tools for you.”
“The devil take you!” the priest replied impatiently. “If it goes on like this, I’m going to have to go get everything I need myself. Show me what you have then.”
Radisson intervened.
“Excuse me. Are you Father Ragueneau?”
“The very same.”
“I have two messages for you, Father. One from Father Le Mercier in Québec, and the other from Father Le Jeune in Paris.”
“Paris?” inquired the Jesuit, surprised.
Radisson handed him the letters and he opened Father Le Jeune’s immediately. He had not seen him in years, although he regularly sent him progress reports and letters.
The young man who handed you this message has undertaken to serve the Jesuits in the colony. The Iroquois captured him near Trois-Rivières three years ago and he is well versed in their language and customs. He should be of use to you…
Help at last! Father Ragueneau looked up enthusiastically.
“You couldn’t have come at a better time! What’s your name?”
“Pierre-Esprit Radisson.”
“Seriously? You’re the brother of my servant Françoise. Everyone thought you were dead.”
“That’s me. I’m Françoise and Marguerite’s brother.”
“Well, what a turn-up for the books! Your sisters will be overjoyed, believe me! Go find them right away. We can get to know each other later, back at the residence.”
Ragueneau had made quite the impression on Radisson. He couldn’t have been more different to the weak and sickly Poncet. The young man hurried to the gate in the stockade that ran around the village. It was wide open.
What a strange sensation it was to see the thirty or so tiny wooden homes huddled together, the steeple from the modest Jesuit chapel towering over them. There was hardly a soul left in the village. No guard watched over the entrance. The relaxed atmosphere contrasted sharply with the situation Radisson had known three years earlier.
He grew excited at the sight of Marguerite’s house. He burst in without knocking, ready to surprise her, but she wasn’t there. He walked around the house and found her out back, hauling a heavy bucket of water up from the well. As he walked up to her, his heart beating so hard he felt it might jump out of his chest, Marguerite turned around and saw him. She stood rooted to the spot, thinking it might be Radisson. After a moment of incredulity, she was certain: it really was her brother, back from the dead. She dropped her bucket and ran to take him in her arms. They hugged each other. Marguerite was crying with joy.
“My brother,” she sighed. “My little brother.”
She took a step back to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. But it really was Radisson, in one piece and alive and well. Still stunned, she cupped Radisson’s face in her hands.
“Where were you? What on earth happened to you? For the love of God.”
Radisson couldn’t muster a reply. He could still hear Marguerite’s last words to him: “Whatever you do, don’t go wandering off from the fort.” So much suffering could have been avoided if only he’d listened to her. So much time had passed since. He was so happy to have found her again. Still unable to speak, he held her close. They embraced again, in silence.
“Everyone thought you were dead! What happened to you?”
Radisson took Marguerite’s hand and led her over to a bench beside the back door.
“It’s a long story” was all he managed to say.
He fought back tears as he smiled at her with all his heart.
“The Iroquois adopted me. I lived with them for two years. Then I ran away. I had to go back to France before I could get back here… I’m so happy to see you!”
“Me too! I was so angry at myself for letting you go!”
“No, no, it was my fault. You’ve nothing to feel bad about. Nothing would have happened, if I’d listened to you. It’s all my fault.”
Marguerite’s oldest boy, now four, walked out of the house. He came and hid himself in his mom’s skirt, sensing that something out of the ordinary was happening. He looked up at Radisson with big questioning eyes. Inside the house, the youngest howled, but Marguerite didn’t seem to hear him.
“They tortured me. But I got through it.”
“The main thing is you’re alive,” she said.
“And how are you? How’s your husband?”
Marguerite held her son tight.
“He’s dead. The Iroquois killed him in an ambush, scalped him along with twenty others. I’ll never forget how he died.”
Radisson remembered the story the widow Guyard had told him.
“It was all the French commander’s fault. He didn’t understand how things work here,” Marguerite continued. “He ordered them to counterattack the Iroquois. They were running away after attacking us. But it was a trap. Everyone here suspected as much. We knew we shouldn’t go out. Véron obeyed his orders, just like the others. Twenty-two dead, all told. The French commander included. It was tough. But things are picking up now. There’s peace again.”
“With the Iroquois?”
“Yes. No one knows why, but you won’t hear us complaining. Las
t summer, first they went back on the offensive, then, from one day to the next, it was peace talks they wanted. Pierre Boucher and then the Jesuits took care of everything. Father Le Moyne was really great. Now they’re busy working on a big mission to the Onondaga. That’s practically all anyone’s talking about.”
Radisson couldn’t believe it. How times had changed since his capture! Nonetheless, he was in no hurry to talk about his past as an Iroquois warrior. Those who lived in Trois-Rivières, and even his own sister, would never forgive him.
“I’ve been thinking about remarrying,” Marguerite went on. “A woman can’t stay a widow long around here. We need children and plenty of them if we’re going to see better days.”
Radisson was a little taken aback.
“Anyone in mind?”
“Médard Chouart. He went off last summer with Indians who had allied with the French. Far from here. It’s a really dangerous trip. We can’t be sure he’s ever going to come back, but I’ll wait for as long as it takes. He’s the man for me, the man I chose.”
“He’s off trading?”
“Maybe. The Indians he went with still want to trade with us, even though they’re far from the Iroquois. But no Frenchman has ever set foot there. It’s so far that Médard wasn’t sure he would be able to bring back any fur. But he wanted to go so as to stay in their good books. Médard is so brave. I trust him. And while we’re waiting, this year everyone is tending the fields because trade is at a standstill and the Iroquois have finally left us alone after stopping the harvests for two years. It was really tough, Pierre. You can’t imagine how hard it was. Lots of people died, so much suffering. But things are looking up now that you’re back.”
“It wasn’t easy for me either, you know. I’ll tell you all about it.”
The brother and sister fell silent for a moment, lost in thought. There was so much to catch up on, so much to tell each other. Radisson didn’t want to bring up their mother’s disappearance, though.
“What are you going to do now?” asked Marguerite.
“I’m going to serve the Jesuits.”
“You? Work for the Jesuits?”
Marguerite would never have pictured her brother working for a religious order. He had always been a bit of a rebel. Like her. The polar opposite of their mother and their sister Françoise. She had a hard time getting her head around how her brother had managed to survive his time with the Iroquois.
“You should go find Françoise,” she said. “She’s having a hard time of things, too. She’s changed a lot. You’ll see.”
Radisson found his other sister cooking in the Jesuits’ big kitchen. He didn’t want to startle the most fragile member of the family and so he stood back in the doorway. She kept her back to him, thinking that a Jesuit brother or father had just come into the room. But after a moment she realized that a stranger was waiting to be seen to and she turned around. She too froze as she thought she recognized her brother. He seemed more mature and headstrong, hardier, more muscular. But he was looking at her with a glint in his eye, as though he knew her. She couldn’t believe it was him, and yet… Suddenly she fell to her knees, her hands joined in prayer, and thanked the heavens.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, and all the saints,” she whispered. “Pierre? Is that really you? My brother?”
“It’s me!”
She picked herself back up. He walked over to her, swept her up in his arms, and held her tight. He twirled her around as Françoise sobbed uncontrollably.
“Thank you, dear Lord. Thank you. It’s a miracle.”
Radisson set her back down. They gazed at each other, their hands clasped. She had changed a lot, he thought. She was now a woman. She was pretty and had a good figure, was less frail than she had been before.
“How are you? Marguerite told me things haven’t been easy around here…”
“Not at all!” Françoise replied, wiping away tears. “Lots of people have died. And we’ve been so terribly hungry. But things are getting better now. And yourself? What happened to you? Where on earth were you? The Iroquois didn’t kill you like the rest?”
Radisson told her of his misadventures, without mentioning his life as a warrior. Instead, he stressed his talents as a hunter, which had meant he had been spared. Françoise sat down with him at the big table and neither spoke much. Being together again, in good health, and filled with the hope of better days to come was great consolation for everything they had been through. They had never been particularly close, but that day the feeling of being reunited as a family was hard to beat.
Soon it was time for Radisson to meet Father Ragueneau, the man whose orders he would now be following. He left Françoise, promising they would see each other very often now, without further explanation.
He went into the next room, which doubled as Father Ragueneau’s office and storage room. The Jesuit was opening one of the crates that had arrived that morning from Québec.
“Be seated. I’m almost finished,” he said. “I imagine your sisters were delighted to see you again.”
“Yes, Father. They were very, very happy.”
“And what great news! Françoise told me of your disappearance. Everyone thought you were dead along with your two friends. It was just that we had never found your body. But by the grace of God, the Iroquois spared you. More often than not they give no quarter. Just like this peace that has come down upon us from heaven. A true miracle! Did your sisters tell you we were at peace?”
“Marguerite told me, yes.”
“And that’s the very reason why I need you. Please, sit down.”
The Jesuit moved aside a roll of bark that was blocking one of the room’s two chairs. They sat facing each other, on either side of a small pine table.
“Father Le Jeune tells me you are now in our service. Our superior believes it is here that you will be of greatest use. Is that so?”
“That’s how I understand it.”
“Perfect. I need some help preparing an important mission among the Iroquois. Did you ever travel with them?”
“Yes. I went on long canoe trips with my family.”
“You speak their language?”
“Fluently.”
“Excellent. Your knowledge will be a big help to us. But, first and foremost, I must make sure Father Le Jeune told you all about our way of working. You know we are a little like an army? You must obey me like a soldier follows his commander’s orders, just as I must obey Father Le Mercier, my superior. The system is a simple one, and it works well.”
“So I was told.”
“I want you to help me prepare the expedition. This Iroquois mission will be just as important as our mission among the Hurons. We will be staying with the Onondaga, who invited us. Are you familiar with them?”
“A little. I stayed with the Mohawks.”
“Of course. The nation that never tired of attacking us. It stands to reason they were the ones that captured you. The Onondaga appear to be less threatening. They are asking us for missionaries and we are not afraid to send them. They have become real allies. Father Le Moyne has been living with them for one year now and he is sure they are acting in good faith.”
“In the final days I spent with the Iroquois, an Onondaga delegation came to my village specifically to talk about peace.”
Radisson was careful not to add that the delegation had been poorly received by the Mohawk leaders.
“The most surprising thing,” Ragueneau went on, “is that peace came about overnight. A revelation! When Father Le Moyne took the chance to go with them last fall, some believed it was a ploy. I myself was very suspicious. But they really did have a change of heart. That’s why we need to seize this opportunity and settle among them in numbers. As you might well imagine, there is a great deal to prepare. You really couldn’t have come at a better time.”
Ragueneau’s enthusiasm enthralled Radisson. He had been listening to him for barely five minutes and already shared his assurance and verve.
Radisson wasn’t sure he would be able to shoulder the responsibility Ragueneau had suddenly thrust upon him before even getting to know him, but he vowed to do everything he could to rise to the challenge.
“Follow me now. I’ll show you to your room and introduce you to Brother Leboeme. Then we’ll go to the smith. He’s going to have his work cut out.”
* * *
News had spread like wildfire around the village: one of their own had disappeared and was back home, safe and sound. The Iroquois hadn’t gotten him. Lots of people stopped by to congratulate Radisson on their way back from the fields. The next day a party was thrown in his honour, a real feast washed down with plenty of eau-de-vie.
While Ragueneau made his way to Québec to try to gain the governor’s support for the mission, Radisson began putting together the materials required to build and equip the fort the French would build among the Onondaga. The Jesuit had given him a rough list. The smith, Charles Aubuchon, would make the hinges, latches, locks, racks, and other ironware that would make the fort invincible. He would need to work non-stop to get everything done on time. Radisson would have to have more iron sent from Québec to cover the huge order. What’s more, Aubuchon would also have to sharpen and repair any tools that were already available: drill bits, blades, planes, handsaws, and pit saws would all be needed for their construction work.
The Adventures of Radisson. Back to the New World Page 9