By the time we get back to the chapel, the arrow attack has slowed, the odd one flaming in and hitting dirt before it sputters out. As I’d guessed, the building is full of frightened Huron and a smattering of other tribes, babies crying and women talking in low, excited tones to one another. Some peer outside, and it dawns on them it’s safe to head out into the better air from the stuffiness of the building.
Fires burn here and there, a few longhouses already smoking ruins. Some of the donnés’ small residences are wrecks as well. The ramparts are so still I’m frightened our soldiers have somehow mysteriously disappeared, but then I see movement in the shadows and realize they lie still for good reason as they watch and wait for an attack.
I take these few quiet moments to join Isaac and Gabriel in the chapel.
“Brothers,” I say. “Let us pray.” I recite the Hail Mary and then whisper words of encouragement to Isaac. “We will be strong for them, for the innocents. We must be brave for the small children who we love. We will act selflessly for these people in the understanding that our life’s work is finally coming to fruition. We must remind ourselves now, here where our peers can hear us, that we will die for them if this is what the Lord deems necessary. I commit my physical body,” I say, my voice steady, “to these ones for whom we travelled so far. I will die for these ones in the hopes that their souls may find the light of Heaven.”
Gabriel takes his turn now, and I’m surprised to hear his voice shaking. But he finds his strength as he, too, commits his life.
When it’s Isaac’s turn, he looks up at me and then at Gabriel, his eyes wet with tears. “I no longer cry tears of sadness, only joy,” he says. “For I know I will die for these ones, and not only for myself. We will die for something greater. Thank you, my brothers, for now I understand my role. Now I realize what I must do.”
A calm has settled over him that I’ve never seen before. His back’s straighter and he no longer looks about him frightfully like a whipped dog. Together, the three of us recite the Lord’s Prayer, and just as we finish a great cry goes up from the ramparts, followed by the thundering of muskets.
I HEARD HIM
I’m with Carries an Axe and our child, resting by the fire, discussing possible names for her. We consider the names of those close to us who’ve recently passed, wondering if our child might hold any of their spirits.
She has the eyes of my grandmother, Carries an Axe says.
I wish I’d known her. I wish I’d known my own grandmother. I push the thought away. “We could name the child after her, maybe,” I say. “What was her name?”
“She Is from the South,” he says. We think about this, gazing at our baby who’s awake now but still unseeing. Without speaking it, we both know this isn’t the right name. We laugh.
As the baby begins to cry and I lift her to my breast again, a loud thunk strikes the roof. As soon as I look up, I see a tear of fire that spreads so fast I’m left breathless.
Carries an Axe jumps up and begins pulling me to the door. As the crackling above grows louder, I yank on him and tell him to hold the baby, then run back and pull my broken raven from its tether above our bed.
“Are you crazy?” Carries an Axe shouts over the flames.
Thinking quickly, I grab some moss for the child and her rabbit furs. Underneath them, Gosling’s beautiful birchbark box shines in the light from the blaze above. I grab it, too, then bound for the door.
Our baby wails, I can see from her open mouth as we hurry away from the heat of the flames that now begin to consume the longhouse. I watch as everything we have, our few sad possessions, burn up in the night.
All around us, men yell and arrows slice through the air, burning the colour of the summer sky until they hit the ground or a long-house before they explode like a small sun. Carries an Axe shields our baby with his body as we make our way through the panic of people. Leading me to the place of the great voice, he shouts over the din, “Their roof is strong, but stay near the entrance in case it catches on fire.” He passes me our child. “Do you hear me? Don’t get caught inside in the middle of that place or you might not get out if there’s a rush for the door.”
I nod, my baby screaming in my arms now, and Carries an Axe runs for the ramparts.
The murmur of women hushing crying babies and the smell of sweat and fire and something more pungent below it push at me as I walk in the door. The chapel is a large outer room, another one attached to it where the crows claim the body of the great voice resides in a big, shiny box. The crows have their small fires burning so we have enough light not to trip over one another. Outside, the shouting and the occasional boom of shining wood puncture the air. We all wait with held breath for the arrows that will hit our structure. I stay near the door as Carries an Axe requested, and as I see fewer and fewer arrows light the night sky, I decide it’s safe to venture out a little way with a few of the others, breathing in the cool air.
Eventually, most everyone inside comes out now that it’s grown quiet again. We talk and some laugh, but the tension that hovers above us, crushing down, keeps us quiet and ready to flee back into the crows’ house. I hear some of the older women discussing how the Haudenosaunee are merely testing us, harassing us with these arrows, trying to cause us to panic while they hope to destroy as much as possible.
“When they sneak up to the palisades in the middle of the night and put them to fire,” one old woman says, “then we should be worried.”
I see that a few of the buildings have burned down. The Haudenosaunee have announced themselves. There’s some sense of relief just below the fear now.
I see Christophe Crow walk by, and so my baby and I follow him. He walks into the holy house and meets with Gabriel and Isaac. They each take turns whispering to one another as they hold hands. It’s a strange custom of theirs I’ve grown used to. I watch as Isaac speaks. Something seems to come over him. It’s as if he grows taller in front of my eyes. He feels so intense it’s like he’s burning. The other two notice this as well. I fear for poor Isaac. All the tension and fear have made him loose in the head, I think. He knows well the cruelties the Haudenosaunee are happy to inflict. I’d be scared, too, if I were to have to face it a second time.
Just as they release each other’s hands, a sudden thundering makes me duck my head and cover my daughter’s body. It takes me a moment to realize that many shining wood are firing at once. Over the screaming men and the splintering wood, I panic, thinking I can hear Carries an Axe calling to me. Women run back into the building as I try to get out, shielding my baby from the pushing and jostling. Outside, thick smoke obscures the ramparts, but I see men lying on the ground below them, some writhing in agony, others motionless. What’s happened? Is Carries an Axe among them? I’m sure I heard him cry out for me.
Once it goes quiet again, with my child in my arms I run out to those on the ground, slowing as I get to them. Three of the hairy ones have great oozing holes ripped in their chests. One man’s face is missing. Gagging, I cover my daughter’s eyes from the sight, even though she can’t see yet. Warriors shriek outside the gates. More shining wood booms. I see a young Wendat lying broken on the ground near the palisades. No. Weaving through the dead or wailing men, I reach him, his face in the dirt. This isn’t Carries an Axe. He’s taller and leaner.
I’m about to move on when I hear my name shouted. Looking above me to the ramparts, I see it’s my father.
“What are you doing?” he demands.
“I heard Carries an Axe,” I shout back. “I think he’s been hurt.”
“I just saw him. He’s fine. Leave now!” Bird yells just as men around him make their shining wood roar.
I run back to the safety of the holy house.
PLUGGING THE BREACH
The enemy sends in the odd volley of flaming arrows throughout the night to keep us from sleeping. Small bands of them who dare to sneak close to the palisades scream out as loud as they can in order to keep us ungrounded. We answer by le
aning over the walls and firing arrows or shining wood down at them. A short time before dawn is to break, my head nodding, I hear the strange sound I’ve become accustomed to over these last years, the three crows rising from their light slumber and chanting their prayers in their strange rhythm. I don’t want to admit it, but I’ve grown to like it.
Fox’s voice startles me. “They just don’t know when to be quiet, do they?” he says, and we laugh. He then goes silent and cocks his ear.
I wait for him to tell me what he hears. And then I hear it, too. The soft scrape of a blade cutting something.
He motions to me and I follow him down the ladder, carrying my shining wood. On the side of the village near the river, the sound grows louder. We hunch in the dark and listen. My eyes begin to adjust. That’s when I see it for a heartbeat, the flash of a blade. I touch Fox’s shoulder and point. With the moments passing, it becomes apparent what we peer at. Someone on the other side of the palisade, just a few lengths of a man away from us, has found a weakness, a group of logs that weren’t dug into the earth deep enough, tied by leather thongs that he now cuts through with his knife.
We lower ourselves onto our bellies and crawl silently toward the logs, the darkness still protecting us. I have a plan and let Fox lead. When we’re close, we see that a few logs are leaning at an angle, creating a gap almost big enough for a man to slip through.
Again I touch Fox’s shoulder, giving him the sign on his skin that I’ll strike first and he should follow immediately. I aim my shining wood at the break in the palisade and then pull the hammer back with my thumb. Staring down the length of it, I steady on the break in the logs. My finger pulls the trigger and the shining wood speaks, sparks shooting out from it followed by a kicking roar and flash of light. I can hear the men on the other side scream as Fox and I stand with our clubs and run to the break. Fox beats me to it and launches himself halfway through.
“You dropped three of them,” he shouts, struggling with something I can’t see. “Pull me back through.” I grab his legs and waist, yanking as hard as I can so that he slides safely out onto our side, dragging a severely wounded Haudenosaunee behind him.
“Take that rope quick,” he says, pointing to a strip hanging from the gap.
While he holds the moaning man up, I wrap the leather tight around his wrist.
“Now tie him to those logs. Quick, before any more come.”
I do what Fox asks, the warrior now hanging in the palisades, his body plugging the breach.
“That might give them pause if they try to come in this way again,” he says, braining the enemy with his club. “You’ll not keep me up all morning with your crying.”
I BESEECH THEE
I gently wake Isaac and Gabriel. The fighting has grown quiet and they, along with most of the women and children, have fallen into a light sleep. We must maintain our routine, though. The three of us will give thanks for the new day, and then we’ll hold Mass, just as we do every morning.
We stand in a circle and sing the Lord’s Prayer in Latin before preparing for Mass, opening the tabernacle and removing the Hosts and the chalice that holds the spring water that will become Christ’s blood.
As I’m about to ring the hand bell to awaken the sleeping ones, the boom of a musket not so far away shatters the still air. Babies start crying, and I hear people shuffling to their feet throughout the chapel. The night sky lightens to a grey hue. There won’t be any sun today.
Gabriel returns from investigating the musket that was fired so close to us. “The sauvages killed one of the Iroquois and have strung him up on the palisades,” he reports grimly. “They fall into their barbaric ways so easily.”
I gather all who can fit into the chapel as the light grows strong enough for us to see one another, and it beams through small arrow holes in the roof, the dull rays kissing the heads of many of the women in front of me.
I bless myself, and the faithful follow suit, and then I see that a group of donnés and soldiers, their faces blackened, have joined us in the chapel, too, removing their hats and helmets, the unconverted turning to look at them.
I pray for all our souls, beseeching You, Lord, to take care of us in this time of great crisis. Smoke from still-burning houses drifts in, and a few people cough in fits.
My sermon will be kept short. As a couple of babies begin to cry, I speak in French and then in Huron of how we must stay resolute in the face of the aggressor, that we must face our greatest fear with the deep understanding in our hearts that if the enemy is to take our physical lives, You, Lord, will welcome our souls into the eternal place with open arms.
“I beg Thee, Lord, to hear our prayers. Amen.”
The congregation who understands responds with “Amen,” and then it’s time for Isaac, Gabriel, and me to prepare Communion by blessing the Host and chalice. As congregants line up, shouting erupts outside, and I watch how the neat lines of the faithful fall into immediate disarray as women push away from the door, men fighting to make their way to it, the shouting outside growing louder, followed by the booming of muskets again.
READY BESIDE ME
We’d expected this when dawn came, but even I’m shocked by how many Haudenosaunee warriors pour from the trees, their faces painted like ours in the colours of blood and squash blossom and charcoal.
Every available man in the village waits with shining wood or bow atop the ramparts or down on the ground, aiming through cracks in the palisades as the enemy advances across the field. I watch their progress as they come roaring over it, thick lines of them struggling through the mud but still keeping a good pace.
“Look at how many of them have the shining wood,” Fox says.
“Just wait until they are close,” I say, “and keep your head down when they fire.” That’s when we’ll have them in trouble. “As they try to reload, we’ll stand and shoot down upon them.” The only problem with my plan is that there are so many enemy that they come in waves.
A few of our war-bearers fire their shining wood too early, passing them down to be reloaded and now standing helplessly on the ramparts wondering what to do. The Haudenosaunee are halfway across the fields now, close enough I can begin to make out their grimacing faces, their mouths open in a howl. They are brave to attempt such an assault. And they will pay.
Without warning, the whole group of them comes to a halt and the world goes quiet but for their panting breath. What are they doing? Hundreds of war-bearers just standing in the middle of the field, their chests heaving, stare up at us. And then a group of them parts for a tall, muscular one, his entire face painted the colour of blood. He raises his arms.
“I am Tekakwitha,” he says, “and I have been given the solemn duty of asking you this only once. Will you surrender to us?”
To put down our arms and allow them in means that most all of us men will face the caressing while our women and children are taken away to become Haudenosaunee. Everyone in this village knows that.
As if Fox reads my mind, he speaks. “I’d rather die a war-bearer than a prisoner. If they kill us today, they’ll take our women and children anyway. Me, I’d rather go to Aataentsic smiling and on my feet.”
I let out my fiercest shout, my throat tight.
Tekakwitha drops his arms and is swallowed up by his war-bearers, who, answering my scream, advance once more.
“Wait!” I call out to the men around me. “Wait until they fire first and keep low, then return it.” My shining wood is cocked, my bow ready beside me after I take that first shot.
Their warriors are now close enough to shoot at us, and they drop onto one knee, aiming up. Others arrive and stand behind them, still others pulling back on their bows, ready to release.
“Drop your heads!” I shout just as the first blasts rip into the grey morning air, the noise so loud it draws my breath from me. I cover my face with my forearms as the sound of iron tearing into the wooden stakes sings out, and some men above and below scream as the wood splinters and pi
erces them, the smoke of the shining wood bitter enough to burn my nostrils. I see some men stand to return fire too early, and a second wave of blasts erupts, sending them flying back off the ramparts as they hit hard ground with a thud.
“Now,” I tell Fox, and we both stand, surprised at how close the Haudenosaunee are below us, their faces, some painted like charcoal with snow dots, others in strips like blood, all of them with long feathers tied in their hair, look up at us or frown down at their weapons, struggling to reload them. I choose the biggest warrior I can see, aim, and fire at his chest. The lead ball rips through the wooden breastplate he wears as he flies onto his back. In the time it’s taken me to shoot once, Fox is already notching a third arrow and takes down an enemy who decided to run away from us.
I grab Fox and pull him hard just as arrows slice through the air, sticking dully into the palisades or flying overhead. Only then do I realize my ears are filled with a dull pounding as if I were standing close to a waterfall.
I can feel more than hear the thumping as Haudenosaunee chop at our defences with their axes as quick as they can. Those who are able pour boiling pitch down onto the heads of the ones below. The screaming and thundering are a throb in my ears.
Rather than reload, I pick up my bow and, peering through the palisades for the right moment, I stand, the arrow ready, and fire into another Haudenosaunee. At least now the waves have stopped approaching. The ones who have decided to brave this frontal assault are all crowded below, shouting and firing back at us or working their axes on the logs of the palisades.
The Orenda Joseph Boyden Page 42
