Adventures of Radisson

by Fournier, Martin

  For the first time since his capture, Radisson held a weapon. He was happy and relieved to see that his captors trusted him. Eager to show himself worthy of their trust, he stood up to his waist in water on the sandy bottom at a gentle bend in the river, where, like the Iroquois around him, he waited patiently without moving. He held his harpoon tightly in his right hand, just above the water. Barely five minutes had gone by when an enormous fish came to a standstill right in front of him. Radisson couldn’t believe his eyes. Gently moving its fins to stay just below the surface, the fish rested nonchalantly, indifferent to his presence.

  What incredible good fortune! He was paralyzed for a moment, admiring the rainbow on the trout’s back, lit up by the sun’s rays shining through the clear river water. “God has given me this chance to win the Iroquois’ esteem,” he thought. Pulling himself together, he thrust the harpoon into his prey with all the force he could muster. The fish reacted so powerfully that it seemed as though it was going to explode! Radisson grabbed the harpoon tight and raced to the shoreline, just managing to keep the speared fish from wiggling off. The monster was struggling furiously. Radisson flung it down onto the sand and sank the harpoon deeper into its flesh with all his weight. The giant trout continued to flail about, this time with such strength that, once again, it almost escaped. But he kept the harpoon planted deep in the fish and the struggle quickly swung in his favour as sand flooded the gills of the deposed king of the river. It tired and suffocated. Soon, victory belonged to Radisson.

  Extraordinarily proud of himself, he held up his trophy so that all his companions could see the enormous fish he had just caught. Radisson could feel tears welling in his eyes as he saw Ganaha run over, laughing and gesticulating wildly, showering him with words he didn’t understand. His keeper took his harpoon from him for a moment and raised it high in the air before returning it to his protégé.

  That evening all the Iroquois in the band were happy to share the giant trout, which they grilled over the fire with the other fish they’d caught. Radisson’s was the biggest by far. He handed it out to his companions with indescribable joy, as though giving a precious gift to his family, and reserved the choicest cuts for Ganaha and Ongienda, who congratulated him. By the light of the fire, long after the sun had set, Ganaha painted Radisson’s whole face red, talking to him non-stop, in high spirits. Radisson barely understood a word of it, but he felt the words flood over him as though he had always spoken Iroquois. He knew that his fate had taken a turn for the better. God was with him.

  EVER SINCE the fishing episode, Radisson felt safe among his captors. They were visibly happy with him and increasingly treated him as one of their own. Radisson was at last getting the chance to travel and discover the world around him and began to forget some of his misfortune. For him, America was one surprise after another. He sometimes wondered if life as an Iroquois wasn’t as worthwhile as life as a Frenchman.

  They paddled across a beckoning lake. Radisson looked around in awe at the natural beauty all around him. He admired the greenery that cloaked the land in a host of dazzling shades. After a week of travelling south from Trois-Rivières to the region they were now passing through, the flora had been completely transformed. Uncertain new shoots had given way to lush foliage. Huge trees towered over the lake. In the distance, to the east and west, he saw mountains taller than any he had ever seen in France or New France. The canoes wove their way between peaceful wooded islets, as in a game of hide and seek. All around, the crystal-clear water abounded with fish and the forests teemed with game.

  Once they reached the other side of the lake, they stopped for a long portage. The stronger members of the group carried the birch-bark canoes on their shoulders, while the others took the food, weapons, and ammunition. The trail was well marked and the Iroquois knew it by heart.

  Ganaha showed more and more concern for Radisson, teaching him new words every day. Using gestures and a basic vocabulary that was growing by the day, they managed to communicate. Despite his delight, the young Frenchman couldn’t help but wonder how a condemned man could so quickly become almost a brother. There was something he didn’t understand about the Iroquois’ attitude, something that made him suspicious. Something else might happen to turn them against him, he feared. Having completely lost his bearings, he had been overwhelmed by events and was in no position to think clearly.

  After the portage, they put their canoes back into the river that flowed from the south and left the high mountains behind them. Tributaries swelled the river beneath them, driving them forward. In places, the water became so tumultuous that Radisson thought it would be better to get out and walk along the riverbank as they did before. But no. Despite the danger, the Iroquois plunged into the powerful rapids and tore down the river. Whenever the canoe began to toss about, Ganaha motioned for him to move to the back and keep still. Radisson contented himself with admiring his guides’ strength and dexterity, even when the canoe took on water and the rocks came close to capsizing them. Ganaha and his brothers manoeuvred the canoe expertly and all ended up for the best.

  After three days at this furious pace, the band stopped on an island that stretched almost all the way across the river. Another group of Iroquois had already set up camp there. They appeared to be from the same nation, but a different village. They greeted each other warmly and exchanged news. To everyone’s surprise, a quarrel broke out between Ganaha and a young Iroquois from the other band who angrily remarked that Radisson hadn’t even been roughed up. He was furious that a French prisoner was being treated so well. He wanted to see him suffer, to burn his flesh to show him who was in charge. Ganaha, who hoped to adopt Radisson and put him to good use working for his family, would hear nothing of doing him harm. Why torture a prisoner who had shown nothing but good will and had so many fine qualities? The young Iroquois from the other band shouted down each of these arguments and was determined to see the Frenchman punished like the enemy he was. Before the altercation could get out of control Ongienda intervened, warning the cocky young warrior their family affairs were no concern of his: “If you want our brother to suffer so much, go right ahead,” he shouted. “Fight him yourself. If you win, he’s all yours. Do whatever you like to him. But if you lose, he is ours and no one will so much as touch a hair on his head. Let’s see who’s stronger: you or him.”

  Radisson had been looking on from a distance. He realized they were talking about him because they pointed over at him more than once. What he didn’t know yet was that Ongienda had challenged the young Iroquois to fight him. But he figured out what was going on soon enough when all the Iroquois formed a circle around him and his opponent, who was gearing up to fight. The youngster was taller but scrawnier than he was. They faced each other. Ongienda stood between them for a moment, apparently convinced that Radisson would come out on top, then stepped away and signalled for the fight to begin.

  The young Iroquois threw himself at Radisson, punching and kicking him furiously. Radisson instantly understood that his life was in danger, so violent was the attack. His assailant’s face was disfigured with cruelty. So Radisson fought back with the same rage. The fight was bitter. Blows rained down. Blood poured from their bodies. The Iroquois bit Radisson, who cried out in pain. Overcome by hatred and thanking God for having had him carry so many heavy barrels for his father, he threw his adversary to the ground. Radisson charged his rival and struck him with all his might. He pushed him, grabbed hold of him, knocked him to the ground. Mad with rage, the Iroquois countered with the energy born of despair. In a last-ditch effort, Radisson flung him to the ground again and, without giving him a second to fight back, dealt him a series of violent blows to the face, stomach, and head. The Iroquois was beaten. He curled up, broken and still. The fight was over.

  Ganaha and Ongienda rushed over to Radisson proudly, shouting with joy. They held him tight in their arms and congratulated him on his strength and courage. Through the pain that was confounding his senses, their protégé r
ealized that he had won. He was the stronger; he was saved. Thanks be to God! The Iroquois in his band showered their new recruit with praise and delighted in his exploit. They took him aside and stared at him in awe. In the meantime, the Iroquois in the other camp were resentful that a Frenchman had so clearly got the better of one of their own and tended to his wounds. It boded ill for them as they prepared to do battle along the St. Lawrence. They were furious, too, at the other members of their nation who had not only contributed to their humiliation but were now feting the man they refused to treat as a prisoner. The affront would have to be avenged.

  For the rest of the day, tension between the two groups was palpable. On one side, Radisson was lavished with attention. Ongienda greased and combed his hair, someone else brought him food, and Ganaha again painted his whole face red. The other side held a meeting. Ganaha joined them in the evening and after much discussion it was agreed that, to maintain good relations between both groups and make up for the loss of the young warrior who was now injured and could no longer fight, two members of Ganaha’s clan would accompany the Iroquois from the other village in their expedition against the French.

  As Radisson licked his wounds, Ganaha and Ongienda sat around the fire with a man and a woman the Frenchman had never seen before. They talked long into the night, preparing to return to their village, making sure that something similar did not happen again.

  WHEN HE AWAKENED, things seemed to have changed for Radisson. There was a strange feeling in the air. He couldn’t see Ganaha anywhere. Ongienda curtly motioned for him to stand up and walk, then bound his hands behind his back as soon as he was distracted. Radisson didn’t see it coming at all and had no time to react. As on his first day of captivity, a rope was tied around his neck. He was then shoved into a canoe. Radisson could not understand the sudden turn of events. He told himself he was right not to trust them and was annoyed that he’d dropped his guard. What was going to happen to him now? He feared the worst.

  After a few minutes of paddling, an enormous waterfall blocked the way. They were forced to get out of the canoe and climb a steep path around the waterfall to continue their journey upriver. Radisson’s whole body was aching from the fight. It was all he could to follow his captors up to the top of the headland without being able to use his hands. He felt humiliated and terribly vulnerable in spite of his resounding victory the night before.

  Once they reached the top, as he clambered back into his canoe he noticed the woman Ganaha had been talking to the night before. She moved her canoe closer to his and spoke to him for a long time in a soft, comforting voice. In his confusion Radisson could not understand everything she said, only the words brother, mother, and peace. But her smile and the look in her eyes were comforting and full of compassion. She caressed Radisson’s face and ran her fingers gently through his hair. How much better she made him feel! He would have given everything he had for her to stay close to him, by his side. But she was already moving away and motioned to Ongienda to leave. Propelled by four strong arms working extra hard against the slight current, the canoe advanced quickly and the kind woman dropped completely out of sight.

  THEY SOON REACHED the Iroquois village. From the shore where he climbed out of the canoe, Radisson looked at the high stockade that no doubt hid dwellings behind it. A broad gate opened and dozens of people poured outside to form two long lines on either side. They were mostly women and children, but Radisson could also see a few teens and old men among them. They were all carrying sticks, whips, and bludgeons, shouting, crying, and stamping their feet with joy. Radisson felt as though he’d arrived at the gates of hell. He tried to back away, but Ongienda stopped him and shoved him forward.

  Ganaha suddenly appeared amid the crowd. Radisson’s hopes soared as soon as he saw him. Perhaps his keeper hadn’t abandoned him after all. Then a woman well into middle age slid past Ganaha and strode purposefully in Radisson’s direction. She was wearing an old leather dress and her long, dark hair hung down in braids on either side of a wrinkled face that still glowed with strength and energy. Short and bubbling with life, she pushed back the people lined up around her, gesticulating vigorously. She had no trouble elbowing aside a handful of boys who stood in her way. Ongienda stopped shoving Radisson and waited for the woman to reach them. He broke into a broad grin. Ganaha stood in the middle of the crowd and tried to disperse it. As soon as the woman reached Radisson, Ongienda and his companions hurried to lend Ganaha a hand. In a firm voice she told Radisson: “I am Ganaha’s and Ongienda’s mother and you are my son. You owe me obedience. Now follow me.”

  She took him by the arm and led him to the village. They caught up with Ganaha after a few steps and the other warriors immediately formed a circle around them. Despite furious protests from a few angry Iroquois, the twelve men forced their way through the crowd and into the village. Radisson’s new mother didn’t seem to hear the protests. Straight ahead she ploughed, still leading her new son by the arm.

  Once past the stockade, the group made a beeline for a long building made from bark. They moved inside, posting two warriors by the gate so that no undesirables could follow them in. Intimidated at first, Radisson didn’t dare move in the half-light. The others motioned for him to move to the middle of the longhouse, where Ganaha quickly untied him. Gesturing and with the help of simple words, pronounced slowly, he did his best to explain to Radisson that he was now safe with his brothers, his mother Katari, and the other members of his clan, the Bear clan.

  Even though Radisson understood most of Ganaha’s reassurances, even though his keeper appeared to have once more become as friendly as he had been on their best days together on the canoe trip, he still could not quite believe his new-found freedom. His confidence had been shaken. Recent events had made him wary. Radisson was almost certain to have avoided being ill-treated by the other Iroquois in the village. But for how much longer? And why were all those people so intent on beating him? He hoped he would be safe in his new home but, after everything he had been through over the past few weeks, he still had misgivings. His companions’ good humour soon put him at ease, though. Concluding that the best policy would be to look happy, he embraced Ganaha and gave his new mother a kiss.

  CHAPTER 3

  A NEW FAMILY?

  THE VILLAGE was almost deserted: all the men had gone off to war. The longhouse of the Bear clan, which Radisson was now part of, was almost empty, even though it could hold at least one hundred. Katari had never seen so many absent at the same time. Only the women, children, and those too old to fight were left behind. And she was not happy. With everyone gone, the women had to do all the work. Radisson was sad there were only young boys to keep him company. He was forced to spend most of his time with Katari’s two daughters, who were almost his age. The prettier of the two, Conharassan, showered him with affection, always looking for a chance to caress and kiss him, egged on by her mother. Radisson didn’t know how to react. His mother— his real mother back in France, his mother who went to mass every day and was so afraid of sin —would never have allowed a brother and sister to have such a relationship. Radisson was finding it hard to adapt to so many differences all at once. To put his mind at ease, he spent as much time as he could with Katari.

  He followed her out to the fields and did whatever she asked of him. He hoed and turned over the soil while she told him tales of the French Jesuit who had spent a few weeks in her village, several years ago. He told them that Frenchmen worked the fields, that they were proud of their work and that the Iroquois should do the same. Katari agreed with him. But Radisson could see that only people from other nations— prisoners —helped the women tend the crops of corn, beans, and squash. He quickly learned from the jibes aimed at him by the youngsters in the village that it was no work for a free man, or a warrior. But Radisson could also see that he was not a prisoner like the others. He stopped fending off Conharassan’s advances and made love to her whenever he liked. He was even beginning to appreciate the affection
she lavished on him every day. He was also free to come and go as he pleased. He could go hunting just outside the village with the other boys. But those who were kept prisoner were nothing more than slaves, at the beck and call of the village women who ordered them around.

  Despite his freedom, he didn’t go hunting very often. His young companions were all too keen to laugh at him. He was French, after all, a captured enemy … and he did women’s work. He found his life here rather monotonous, truth be told. He had no friends. Conharassan was nice to him, of course, but he had to be careful, to keep his most intimate thoughts and feelings to himself. His best friend was a dog, a big, brown, friendly, clever-looking dog that took to following him around shortly after he arrived. Radisson started feeding it, petting it, and the two quickly became firm friends. He called him Bo, this dog who became his confidant. Whenever the two of them were alone, he spoke to him in French: “You know how I miss them, don’t you, boy? You understand, don’t you? I miss them all, Marguerite, François, Françoise…” Each time he felt a pang of anguish. He preferred not to dwell on the tragic event that had changed his life forever and brought an end to the lives of his two friends. Would he be able to return to Trois-Rivières and see his family again one day, he wondered. “Can you help me find the way back, boy? Think I can make it? Tell me, Bo. Tell me.” Whenever he talked to his dog like that, Radisson felt guilty for living with the people who had killed his French friends.