The previous day, Godefroy had explained to Radisson how he planned to go about things. Even though he didn’t understand every word, Radisson knew that the captain wanted to focus on reconciliation.
“I thank you for bringing me these gifts,” Megiscawan replied. “But I find them difficult to interpret. You want to look beyond our quarrels and yet it is the Frenchmen who have betrayed our alliance by excluding us from the peace with the Iroquois. They have allied with our enemies and abandoned us. Penikawa returned from Trois-Rivières with his hands empty. The Blackrobes did not want to give him the powder he asked for. And yet here you are giving us powder without asking for furs in exchange. Who speaks for the Frenchmen? You or the Blackrobes? Whom must I believe?”
Radisson could tell from Megiscawan’s tone and stiff posture that he was not amused.
“I understand that the Algonquins do not know who to believe. I understand your concern,” Godefroy replied. “But many Frenchmen are just as concerned as you are. The Jesuits and our grand chief agreed to a separate peace only so that we could get our strength back. Make no mistake, Megiscawan: we have not broken our bond with the Algonquins. We have only bent a little, like bulrushes in a storm. Once the storm has passed, we will stand tall again. Soon the French will impose their will on the Iroquois and our alliance with the Algonquins will be just as strong as before.”
Megiscawan nodded to show his appreciation. His silence indicated he was keen to hear more.
“I propose you come meet me this spring at the foot of the great waterfall. I will give you more muskets and ammunition in exchange for your furs. I want you to avoid the same fate as the Hurons. Your bows and arrows will not stand up to the heavy fire of the Iroquois. You need muskets. The feather is to ask you to rise high enough to look back toward the past and forward into the future: we were once allies and allies we will be once again. If you accept my offer and meet us at the waterfall, you will have to be discreet, though: the Iroquois must not find out. Now is not the time to provoke them.”
Radisson could see the traces of distrust start to fade away from the faces of the three men. Only Wakopi, the lone woman in the group, still appeared unmoved.
“Before the white men arrived,” she said, “nations would come exchange corn, stones, and shells with us. We would give them meat, canoes, and healing plants in return. The Iroquois did not bring their war up here. Then the French arrived and offered us objects that we liked. We became allies. But today, war, disease, and betrayal are ruining everything. Why so much suffering? Why are the French not honest with us? Why are they at war one day and at peace the next with Iroquois?”
“The French are also going through difficult times,” Godefroy replied. “Several of our allies have fled and left us alone. We have also been abandoned. I understand the pain felt by my Algonquin brothers, but the French are suffering just as much. We are divided over what should be done to improve our lot. I am holding out my hand to you. Other Frenchmen have taken the hand held out by the Iroquois. Perhaps in the future we will all be reunited. In the meantime, I for one will also remain faithful to my Algonquin friends.”
Megiscawan, Penikawa, Kitsikano, and Wakopi exchanged words quietly among themselves. They appeared hesitant.
“We cannot accept or refuse your gifts right away,” Megiscawan concluded. “First, we must consult the heads of family. It will take time to gather enough beaver pelts in exchange for the muskets and powder you speak of. All will have to be involved. We must first discuss the matter among ourselves. We will let you know what we decide before winter.”
“I look forward to it,” Godefroy replied, disappointed. “Before we go, I have a favour to ask. I must return quickly to Trois-Rivières if I am to keep our meeting a secret. I am supposed to be out hunting and I must bring back some game. If you would like to come hunting with Radisson and me you would be doing us a great service.”
* * *
Megiscawan, Penikawa, and two members of their family agreed to go with them. Three to a canoe, they descended the river with the current, reaching the great waterfall in only three days. There they stopped to hunt.
Penikawa knew better than anyone how to coax the animal spirits and win their favour. That evening, around the fire, Radisson watched as he took a stag’s shoulder blade out of a leather bag decorated with porcupine quills and examined it. The Algonquin held it up to the flames, looking for the lines that would show where the game was to be found.
The ritual lasted for a long time and reminded Radisson of the techniques employed by his brother Ganaha. He had forgotten how the Indians would get ready for a hunt by asking the spirits for help. Once the ritual was over, Penikawa put the bone away, looking neither disappointed nor satisfied. Radisson didn’t know what to make of it, but vowed to team up with him the next day to measure his talents against the soothsayer’s.
The group split into three at sunrise. The two youngest Algonquins went off by themselves. Godefroy went with Megiscawan, and Radisson followed Penikawa, who seemed to know exactly where he was headed. After hiking for over an hour, he stopped to rub his body with balsam boughs and motioned for Radisson to do the same. Now their smell wouldn’t chase the wild game away. They set off again more slowly, still under the cover of the evergreen forest, still in silence. Penikawa found and examined a track, then poked at it with his fingers.
“That way. Close,” he whispered to Radisson.
The sound of running water told them they were nearing a small creek. It masked the sound of their footsteps and the noise made by the branches they brushed against. Penikawa stood still for a moment. He pushed back the last curtain of foliage that separated them from the river and in one movement took an arrow from his quiver, held up his bow, and fired at a deer that Radisson now saw for the first time, standing on the other shore. The animal reared its head nervously, but it was too late: the arrow had already sliced through its neck. Radisson took aim and fired off a musket shot himself. The deer disappeared into the vegetation.
They hurried across the river and discovered their prey, dead and just steps from the water. Radisson’s musket shot had got it square in the chest. The animal had survived its double wound for no more than a few seconds. Penikawa sliced off one of its ears and offered it in silence to the spirit of the deer, which had allowed them to kill this beautiful doe. Radisson looked on in silence, with mixed feelings. He had mostly lost faith in the spirits venerated by the Indians. The constant admonishments of the Jesuits had brought him back to the Christian side (“Thou shalt have no other gods before me.”). But the more he thought about it, the more intrigued he was by how Penikawa had walked straight there, without a doubt, without the slightest detour, as though he had known in advance where the deer would be. His strange divining technique appeared to have worked…
* * *
At Godefroy’s request, they beached their game-laden canoe on a small stretch of sand not far from Trois-Rivières.
“I have something else to ask you,” Godefroy told Radisson. “I know that Ragueneau holds you in the highest esteem. He trusts you. Perhaps he will tell you a thing or two he is no longer willing to share with me. If something important comes up, please let me know.”
Things were starting to get complicated. Radisson wanted to try to remain on the fence, to serve both the Jesuits and the captain faithfully, while waiting to find out which side was right. But it wouldn’t be easy.
“I’m not asking you to betray his confidence,” Godefroy went on, seeing Radisson hesitate. “I know Ragueneau. I know his heart’s in the right place. All I’m asking is that you put the colony’s interests before the Jesuits’. You’re smart enough to be able to figure things out for yourself.”
“I’ll try,” Radisson replied.
For the last part of the trip, Godefroy let Radisson steer the canoe. It was an honour: it wasn’t every day that the captain of the militia gave up his rightful place in the stern to a young apprentice. When they arrived back in Trois
-Rivières, this piece of news spread quickly. Many would never see the young Jesuit charge in the same light again.
* * *
November took hold of the village. The harvests were taken in, animals were butchered, the time for long journeys was now over. The first snow covered the ground. It had been a long time since peace and abundance had left those living in the village feeling so serene. But Radisson found that time passed slowly, with nothing to do but chores for the Jesuits.
Father Ragueneau had plenty of time to think. He wondered about the signs God was sending him. He had failed with the Hurons. He had lost his post as superior in Québec. He had just missed his chance to leave for Iroquois country. Perhaps it was time to change how he handled himself. When Radisson returned from the forge where he occasionally went to amuse himself, Ragueneau made an effort not to ask about the latest gossip he might have heard there. He no longer asked after Marguerite’s news when Radisson visited her either. Instead, he contented himself with his work as a pastor, looking after his flock and reminding himself day after day not to be overzealous. Even with the sour-tempered Iroquois, he vowed to be more tolerant than he had been with the Hurons. He thought about this each time Radisson gave him a lesson in the Iroquois language, in which he was coming on by leaps and bounds.
The smith Charles Aubuchon was always busy with something. He was never in any rush as he went about fashioning axes, latches, hinges, nails, and pikes. Sometimes, he would tackle more ambitious projects like plowshares, and he also enjoyed forging blades for planing mouldings. His forge was the liveliest place in the village. It was always warm there, and the men liked to gather to chat in small groups and smoke their pipes. Some drank more eau-de-vie than was wise. Conversation often turned to the lack of women. The older men would tell how they would travel to distant lands before the war with the Iroquois. These coureurs des bois would trade goods and take up with young Indian girls not yet married, in keeping with their traditions. Many of them were all too keen to sleep with a Frenchman—it made them feel exotic and they were grateful for the trinkets the men gave them, too.
Every time he went to the forge, Radisson would hear plenty of malicious gossip: about men who had built their homes poorly, about men who were easily scared, about men who couldn’t hunt, about men who had no staying power. The fact there was plenty to eat was a favourite topic of conversation this year. Talking about food seemed to satisfy appetites as much as eating it. It had been a long time since providence had been so good to them.
Radisson was bored. Fortunately, there were the Iroquois language classes to remind him of fond memories and prepare for his return among the Iroquois. He felt reassured that the French had set up home there in large numbers, and that there were true advocates for peace among the Onondaga. He was no longer afraid of being among them.
Now and again, he visited Marguerite. She was also sorry there were not more women in the village. It would have made her life much easier. To be on the safe side, she always keep a poker by the door and only let married men into her home, along with her brother Pierre, the Jesuits, Claude Volant, who was courting her sister Françoise, and neighbour Dandonneau dit Lajeunesse, whom she was careful not to bring in too often before he got any ideas. Médard Chouart was the man for her. She was sure he would come back from his trip alive. She just knew it. And she would love it if Claude Volant married her sister. She knew him well and he was her late husband’s best friend.
Her eldest boy had just turned five and was already helping around the house. She was so proud of him. Other women sometimes dropped by to visit… her sister, the carpenter’s wife, Jeanne Godefroy, Antoinette Côté. They had fun together and helped each other out. They were good times.
A number of men were buzzing around Françoise. She had no choice but to get married; there were too few women in Trois-Rivières. The kindest suitors brought her food: a fish, a piece of meat, vegetables. They said it was for the Jesuits, but it was only a pretext to get close to Françoise. Others arrived, their hands empty, and behaved like parasites. They told her she was so beautiful, the kitchen smelled so good, the house was so clean and tidy. The most insistent made her feel uncomfortable. When she kept her distance, they came up to her. When she was minding her own business, there they were, under her feet. She sometimes asked Radisson to get them to leave. “Goodnight,” he told them, time and again. “See you tomorrow. Time for bed.” When the softly-softly approach didn’t work, he flat out told them to leave his sister alone. Sparks flew.
Françoise knew which men she did not want to marry. That was easy. But her heart couldn’t decide between the two or three she found to her liking. She had trouble choosing one because it was for life. Father Ragueneau had warned her: if she didn’t make her mind up soon, he would choose for her, just like any father would. Because he had just about had enough of the men who came to send their imaginations racing over her. They were a source of sin.
Claude Volant had put his role as an officer of the militia on the back burner for the winter. Finding a wife was not to be taken lightly and he intended to give the matter his full attention. He was a fine hunter and could give Françoise a skinned hare or a plucked partridge almost every day. He had also given her a brand new knife from his supply of trading goods. After making sure Françoise was in no doubt as to his intentions, he was wise enough to have a word with Ragueneau or Radisson.
People called him Saint Claude because no one could really find fault with him. His feelings for Françoise were sincere. More than just pretty and hard-working, she was made for this country, a real Radisson, just like Marguerite and Pierre. He was sure she would make the best wife in the world. Ragueneau knew that Claude was a gentleman who wanted to make her happy. He was also Radisson’s preferred suitor.
* * *
Christmas was coming. Ragueneau visited every household to remind them of the importance of Christ’s birth. He wanted one and all to purify their hearts during Advent.
Today was the Godefroys’ turn.
Radisson, who went with the priest, hadn’t set foot in the house since his capture by the Iroquois. It felt strange to walk through the door again. Pierre Godefroy welcomed him warmly, like a member of the family, but the greeting did not make up for Radisson’s memories of François. It was a wound he had trouble healing.
Jeanne, Pierre Godefroy’s wife, bustled around, clearing the hearth for the Jesuit. It was quite the visit. She unfolded two trestles stored against the wall and set the table on them. She brought over some salt pork, bread, and water. Her husband, Ragueneau, and Radisson sat facing the fire on simple wooden benches at the end of the long table.
While the Jesuit exchanged news with his host, Radisson looked around the home he had been in so often in the past. He didn’t remember the house being so small and cluttered. Four boys and two girls were still living there with their parents. Right next to him, Anne, the family’s eldest daughter, caught his attention. She had changed a lot. She was almost a woman now. She was helping her mother prepare a big stew, which was bubbling away over the hearth, in a heavy iron pot hanging from a wooden beam. Smiling and confident, she listened in on the conversation between her father and the Jesuit, often turning toward them.
Radisson was won over by a pretty face and long locks of hair that poked out from under her bonnet, by merry eyes that gleamed with the light of the fire. She was almost of marrying age. Radisson had heard she was already promised to the neighbour’s eldest son, Urbain Côté. The two families had known each other forever. And since the two youngsters got on so well, marrying them stood to reason. At any rate, for as long as Radisson was in the service of the Jesuits, he wouldn’t be allowed to marry.
“Throughout Advent, you must lead by example,” Ragueneau was telling the head of the household. “I often see your wife and daughters at the church and I congratulate them. But you, not so often. And your sons, even less.”
“We just don’t have the time, Father,” Godefroy replied. �
�It’s not that we wouldn’t like to. The women are right beside the church, but we’re out hunting, fishing, on exercises with the militia… You know that Claude, my eldest boy, often delivers mail to Québec. We’re doing our best, Father.”
“I’m not criticizing you. I’m just telling you what I see, that’s all. I would like you to make an effort during Advent. If people see you going to mass during the week, they’ll follow. You have a lot of influence, you know. Much more than I do.”
“I doubt that, Father. Everybody here admires you so.”
Ragueneau looked at him severely.
“Lying is a sin, you know. I know that many hold the mission I organized to the Iroquois against me. And you are first among them. Admit it. I am far from sure they admire me as much as you say. Of course, everyone greets me politely enough. But I know that many have unkind things to say about me behind my back. I’m no fool. I know what they’re up to.”
“If you want the truth,” replied Godefroy, “it’s not so much the mission that upsets me as the way we’ve let our allies down.”
“We had no choice.”
“It’s going to backfire. It’s started already…”
“First, we must secure a peace with the Iroquois. That you cannot deny. If not, we’re headed for ruin. At least we are at peace.”
“For how long, Father? Can you tell me for how long?”
“Pierre, please. Let’s discuss this another time. I came to talk to you about the feast of Christmas and the birth of Christ. What would we do without him? I ask you. So, then, will I see you at mass more often? Yes or no?”
“We’ll see,” Godefroy replied sullenly.
The Jesuit pulled a face and crossed his arms to show his displeasure. Jeanne intervened.
“Would you like some beef stew, Father? It’s almost done.”
“Thank you. But I have eaten my fill and I am endeavouring to do penance for my sins, as the Holy Mother Church asks of us. You should consider doing likewise.”
The Adventures of Radisson. Back to the New World Page 12