The Adventures of Radisson. Back to the New World

by Martin Fournier

  Godefroy was the first to reach the dying animal. He ordered the dogs back. Radisson joined him, his heart pounding, amazed at the courageous animal’s power. Even in death, it was magnificent! Their strategy had paid off; they had finally gotten the better of it. The hunters had reason to be proud of themselves. Thanks to them, ten or fifteen people would be eating meat for several weeks.

  Côté and Dandonneau arrived shortly afterwards, out of breath. They had heard the Algonquins fire two shots while they were running over. Perhaps they had killed another moose. Godefroy barely heard them, too busy with his long knife dismembering the still-quivering animal. The day was drawing to a close. There was no time to lose if they wanted to bring the moose back to camp before nightfall.

  “Guillaume! Radisson! Go fetch two sleds,” Godefroy ordered. “And hurry!”

  Their work was far from done. Their victory savoured, now they had to run to make sure the moose wasn’t devoured during the night by wild animals. Côté, who had already been running for a long time, fell behind Radisson. They looked for the path they had made that morning to save their strength, but drifting snow had almost erased it. The run was tiring, especially the long uphill stretch to the camp. Radisson was surprised to find himself sweating just as much as at the height of summer. He was terribly thirsty and ate snow picked up by his mitt on the way past. Thoughts raced around his head.

  Why had Godefroy not offered up part of the moose as a sacrifice? That’s what Penikawa had done right after killing the deer. His brother Ganaha, too. The moose was so strong, so beautiful that it had to be thanked for giving up its life to them. And if they weren’t going to thank the Indian spirits, then they should thank God. He could feel the immense, rich, and generous nature around him command him to do it and he said a short prayer to himself: “Thank you, God, for giving us this food.” But something wasn’t quite right. He wasn’t sure what.

  He took off a mitt and grabbed hold of his knife. A current of energy ripped through him, without him being able to say where it came from, or what it was. He felt as much an Iroquois as a Frenchman. The sensation relieved him a little. He made it up the last of the slope with new enthusiasm. Once at the camp, he took two sleds and trailed them behind him on his way back down. He met Côté, who turned around. Both followed their own trail back to the moose. The sun was disappearing behind the hills by the time they were back beside the moose. Godefroy and Dandonneau had finished gutting it and had cut it in two. The men tied each half onto a sled and set off right away. They were back at the camp by nightfall, almost having to feel their way in the dark, beneath a cloud-covered sky. There was no sign of the Algonquins. But the four Frenchmen were not worried about them at all. They had brought all they needed with them to spend a day or two in the woods.

  * * *

  One of the Algonquins returned to camp the following morning. They had killed a second moose and it was so heavy they needed help bringing it back. They made the return trip by day’s end, just in time to take shelter. The snow was falling more and more heavily now, and the wind had picked up. A storm raged all night long.

  In the small hours of the morning, a thick covering of snow had piled up on the roof of animal hide, which was threatening to give way. They took turns all day clearing the roof and freeing the ventilation hole. Otherwise smoke might build up too quickly in the shelter and smother them. The wind made it hard to keep the fire burning and flurries of snow half-extinguished it. It grew colder and colder inside the shelter. The air was stuffy. The men lay on the ground under beaver pelts, coughing slightly, their eyes stinging from the smoke. Radisson could now see the dangers of winter he had been told about. The snow and the cold could prove fatal to the inexperienced. The howling of the wind, zero visibility, and the slaps he got in the face from the snow every time it was his turn to clear the shelter taught him a lesson he would never forget. Time passed slowly. There was nothing to do but hunker down and wait.

  The storm wore itself out at the end of the day, but they were not able to head back to Trois-Rivières before gathering all their gear from under the snow and building two new sleds to carry the moose on. The storm had damaged part of the shelter. The last night was the hardest and coldest of all.

  Homeward bound, the new sleds did not slide as well over snow that was deeper than ever. The men sank into the snow in places, despite their snowshoes. The dogs had a tough time of it. They took a full day to reach the banks of the Saint-Maurice, instead of the half day it had taken them on the way out. After another day of slow going, even though they put in more effort than ever, Godefroy divided the group in two. Four men and the dogs would bring back the moose and the best sleds to Trois-Rivières, while he and Radisson would stay put with the rest of the gear. They would wait for help in a small shelter they took no time to build.

  To pass the time, Radisson hunted hares not far from camp. From time to time, he was happy enough to admire the superb snowscapes the storm had left behind, a whimsical artist that had draped nature with giant ridges and valleys, as though hewn by knife and ironed smooth. The sky and the snow were as pure as prayer. Around the evening fire, they had ample time to go back over the visit from the Iroquois.

  “As soon as I saw them go by,” Godefroy said, “I wondered where those who had come with them were hiding. Because four people can’t make such a long trip in the winter. It’s too difficult. I asked the Algonquins to patrol and make sure no one saw them. They found them. There were twelve of them waiting for the emissaries you met. I had them kept under surveillance the whole time, just in case they decided to ambush us and take prisoners, as they tend to do. But they really did come in peace. They stayed very quiet and waited for their chiefs. They didn’t even hunt so as not to draw attention to themselves. They had enough provisions with them.”

  Radisson still didn’t really feel like Pierre Godefroy’s son. His assurance and authority intimidated him. François’ death was also too fresh in the memory. And his desire for Godefroy’s daughter wasn’t making things any easier… she was a little like his sister. All this stood in his way. What’s more, the captain wasn’t much of a traveller. He had never visited the Hurons like Ragueneau, Véron (Marguerite’s late husband), or Claude Volant. Godefroy had never lived among the Iroquois, like he had. That made a world of difference in Radisson’s eyes. The captain did have experience and know-how, but he didn’t feel as close to him as he would have liked.

  “I’m certain the Iroquois are asking for the Hurons because they want to weaken us,” Godefroy went on. “Judging by what Médard Chouart told me—and he worked for the Jesuits among the Hurons for a long time—a few of the Hurons’ best warriors took refuge on Île d’Orléans. The Iroquois want to make sure we don’t have them, that’s for sure.”

  Radisson didn’t really agree. Their intimate surroundings emboldened him. He took a chance and contradicted the captain.

  “I think that Andoura, the chief who concluded the negotiations with us, is telling the truth. He really does want to adopt the Hurons as brothers and treat them well.”

  “What does that change?” Godefroy asked, with the hint of a smile. “Think about it. Any Huron is going to rather be adopted than exterminated, that’s for sure. Hundreds have become Iroquois already. But lots of them hate us. They’re not happy we ruined their land and they would be pleased to see the back of us if the Iroquois forced us to go back to France or wiped us out completely. But it doesn’t matter to us if the Iroquois kill them or adopt them. We’re going to lose allies either way. It can only weaken us.”

  Radisson realized he had misread the situation, but took his idea further.

  “The Iroquois are our allies now…”

  “Do you really think so? Let me know how that’s going in two or three years’ time. Médard Chouart and I are the ones who are right, along with all those who support us. We need to keep the Algonquins, Hurons, and all the smaller nations around the Great Lakes on our side, anyone who traded with us in the
past. We all need to join forces and get ready to go back to fighting the Iroquois. Because it’s going to happen. They’ll take up arms against us again, mark my words.”

  Radisson didn’t have an answer. The captain’s opinion was based on so many years of experience that he was starting to worry about his trip. Was he doing the right thing risking his life over there?

  “Don’t worry about going,” Godefroy added. “As long as you don’t outstay your welcome, you have nothing to fear from the Iroquois. They’ll try and get everything they can out of us before switching sides. The Jesuits and the governor say yes to everything they ask for. They’re smart enough to make the most of it.”

  Radisson wanted to meet with the Iroquois again to understand how they had influenced him. He wanted to meet a shaman and question Andoura. He had to go back to their lands. And once there, he would have a clearer idea of their intentions.

  “I have something else to tell you. I had the four emissaries followed when they left Trois-Rivières. You remember one of them was seriously ill? Well, he was dead by the time they met with those waiting for them. They held a small ceremony, fastened him to a sled, and brought him back with them. You know it’s never good when an emissary dies during a negotiation? The Iroquois see it as a bad sign. I wanted you to know.”

  Radisson also thought it augured badly. He knew the Iroquois superstitions. The death of a chief favourable to the French could only work against them. It was bad news.

  It took four days for the two Algonquins, Côté, and Dandonneau to return with three more men. The group made it back to Trois-Rivières without incident. The frozen moose meat was cut into pieces with an axe and shared equally between the six hunters and the Jesuits. The men who came to help were also given a small share. Even though it was Lent, Ragueneau gave permission to organize a feast for the whole village. It was a great opportunity to treat themselves to a delicious meal.

  Chapter 9

  One step back, one step forward

  The good times were over as quickly as they had begun.

  Father Ragueneau was keen to meet with the governor of the colony. The matter at hand was too important to send news of it with a messenger. Accompanied by Radisson, Leboeme, and Pierre Boucher, he travelled from Trois-Rivières to Québec before the spring weather made getting around more difficult.

  Radisson loved travelling in winter. He enjoyed the bracing air, the light that shone down on the immaculate snow, the views that stretched as far as the eye could see through the bare forests, the clear tracks left behind by game, the magical way the sleds glided across the frozen surface. The evenings were lively around the campfire and in their makeshift shelters. Winter unveiled another world that was more austere, but more precious, too. It magnified many times over the value of each moment spent in comfort, the value of life itself as it stubbornly shone through the harsh conditions.

  They were fortunate enough to be travelling in good weather. Father Ragueneau took control and hurried them along. His unfailing determination and high spirits galvanized their efforts. By making this detour to Québec, Radisson was aware the Jesuit was already preparing his trip to Iroquois country. It was an encouraging sign.

  They took only five days to reach the capital.

  After spending the night in the Jesuits’ college—its grandeur and stone walls reminding Radisson of the cities of France—Ragueneau brought Radisson with him to meet the governor, Jean de Lauson. His residence was at the top of Cap Diamant, a stone’s throw from the cliff. The new Jesuit superior, Jean De Quen, accompanied them.

  Radisson waited his turn in a sombre room filled with hundreds of books. He had never seen so many! He wondered what use they might be and if it was possible to read so much. In the faint light of the fire that turned the hearth red, he was busy deciphering a few words printed on the leather when Father Ragueneau suddenly opened the door to the governor’s office and beckoned him in.

  The room was sparsely decorated and had only basic furniture. An eye-catching portrait of a smartly dressed man in a wig—no doubt the king of France, whom the governor represented in the colony—hung from a wall. Sunlight flooded into the room through two large latticed windows overlooking the river. The view was spectacular. Governor Lauson, a short man, was sitting behind a large wooden desk with twisted feet. He looked at Radisson good-naturedly. Radisson wasn’t much impressed by the plump old man. The two Jesuits stood on either side of him.

  “They tell me you lived a long time with the Iroquois,” said Lauson.

  “For two years, sir. With the Mohawks.”

  “And you speak their tongue fluently?”

  “I do, sir.”

  “Very well,” the governor acquiesced. “Father Ragueneau is counting on you to assist him when you are with the Onondaga, along with the Hurons they asked from us. We have decided it serves no purpose to oppose this request.”

  Radisson felt as though the decision was no concern of his. He remarked Father Ragueneau’s resigned expression.

  “They tell me you are the man who prepared last summer’s expedition and that you will prepare this summer’s, too. Your master says you have a great talent for this.”

  “I try my best, sir.”

  “You should allow sufficient space for some fifty Hurons who are no longer of help to us here. They are a bad influence on our settlers. They were of greater use when they would bring back great quantities of furs. If the Iroquois wish to take some of them off our hands, so much the better. We do want to please them.”

  Radisson was amazed to hear the governor speak this way. Ragueneau had asked him to argue the case for limiting the extent to which they would honour the promise, by saying he had seen Hurons treated as slaves when he lived among the Mohawks, for example. But judging by the look on Ragueneau’s face—every word from the governor dealt him a hammer blow—the matter was no longer up for discussion. Jean de Quen looked calmer. Radisson ventured a comment to help his master.

  “I hear some of them are good warriors…”

  “We have all the soldiers we need,” Lauson responded. “The main thing is to remain at peace with the Iroquois.”

  “We have invested a great deal in the Iroquois mission,” explained Jean de Quen. “The Huron adventure is behind us. Now, we must look forward. A lasting peace with the Iroquois will be of benefit to all the colony.”

  Radisson wondered why he had been called in. Everything seemed to have been settled.

  “Father Ragueneau tells us you are interested in the fur trade. Is that so?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “One of our objectives is to revive trade by allying with the Iroquois,” the governor explained. “I have taken charge personally so that the prosperity of past days might return, but nothing has helped. I therefore ask you to do your utmost to trade with the Iroquois, along with other Frenchmen who will have the same task, for as you know, trade is vital to the colony.”

  “I will do my best, sir. I promise you that.”

  “We also ask you to reveal nothing of our conversation to whomsoever,” added Jean de Quen. “I remind you that I am your superior and you must do as I say. Everything concerning the decisions made by our governor and our Society must stay between us.”

  “I will not say a word, Father. You can be sure of it.”

  “Very well,” concluded the governor. “This conversation is over.”

  Father Ragueneau had found no way to protect the Hurons. Radisson was disappointed.

  * * *

  The heat and the waiting were unbearable. A prisoner to his black soutane and his commitments, Father Ragueneau was becoming more discouraged by the day. He feared seeing his project compromised for good. Because the Iroquois had not respected the agreement. They had not arrived on the longest day of summer as promised.

  The makeshift camp the Hurons and the French had made just outside Montréal was becoming more uncomfortable by the day. They had been ready to spend a few days there and now a month had pas
sed. Had something happened to the Iroquois? Had they changed their minds after learning that Mohawks had attacked the Hurons who had sought refuge on Île d’Orléans? Doubt and inactivity were eating away at Ragueneau’s morale. Sitting in front of his teepee in the middle of the camp, the Jesuit sweated profusely under the baking July sun.

  Radisson would have liked to do more to help him, even though he had already found extra canoes in Montréal, improved the water supply, and bought the food they needed. Much as he would have liked to, he wasn’t able to conjure up the Iroquois at the foot of the Lachine rapids! And he couldn’t correct the mistake made by the Frenchmen who had allowed the Mohawks to walk off with dozens of Huron prisoners without lifting a finger.

  The Hurons with them had explained everything. In May, three hundred Mohawks launched a surprise attack on Île d’Orléans. They killed a number of Hurons and took around sixty of them as prisoners. They brazenly walked past Québec in broad daylight with them, chanting their death song. The French hadn’t done a thing to free the Hurons. Radisson had never seen Indians as angry with the French. Of the hundred Hurons on the expedition, most had agreed to go to the Onondaga out of spite, reckoning they had nothing left to lose. They no longer considered themselves to be in an alliance with the French and feared further Mohawk attacks. They hoped the Onondaga would be less cruel. The Hurons who wished to remain in the colony had moved to within a stone’s throw of Governor Lauson’s residence in Québec. That way the French would have to defend them if the Mohawks attacked again.

  The more time passed, the more Radisson was leaning toward the side of Godefroy, Chouart, and all those who refused to turn their backs on the old alliances. Since he had committed himself to following Father Ragueneau, though, he kept his word. Backing out was out of the question, even though the torture he had faced at the hands of the Mohawks would sometimes return to haunt him at night.