The Incredible Escape. The Adventures of Radisson 3 (2 page)

“There's no need. We've lost enough time as it is. If the land of the Iroquois is as rich as they say, we will have plenty of other opportunities to have a fine time of it. Tell them we are pressed for time.”

***

Radisson got up just as the sun was clearing the horizon. He saw that thirty or so Iroquois had disappeared with their canoes. They had left in silence during the night, or at the crack of dawn, without waking a single Huron or Frenchman. No one had mentioned the day before that so many of them would be leaving to go hunting. As the rest of the camp came to life, Radisson walked among the Iroquois, asking one for an extra pot, another for a piece of string or roots, which gave him a chance to spy on them.

“Where did your brothers go?”

The answers varied. Some said to hunt, others to fish, still others explained that a group had gone on ahead to prepare that evening's camp. The vague and varied information he obtained, without raising undue suspicion, got Radisson thinking. He even caught a few snatches of conversation that suggested another theory.

“Have you noticed there are around thirty Iroquois missing?” he asked Ragueneau when he came back.

“Of course I have! Atahonra is worried. He came to talk to me about it.”

“They don't all say the same thing when I ask where they've gotten to. I'm sure they're hiding something from us, Father. I heard a few things and I fear some of them have gone off to fight the Algonquins, or other allies of ours who are not included in the peace.”

“Things are going from bad to worse.”

“We need to be more careful than ever, Father. Keep your eyes open. Something strange is going on.”

Several Iroquois exchanged knowing glances and whispered among themselves when Radisson joined them in the canoe. Once they were out on the river, they fell silent. They seemed more tense than the day before. Late that morning, Radisson pretended he couldn't find something in his bags and asked his companions to wait for Father Ragueneau's canoe to see if it was in his. The truth was he wanted to make sure the canoes did not get too far apart.

An hour later, a canoe that had been lagging behind, abruptly turned around. It was carrying five women and led by a Huron warrior. Its passengers threw all they had been carrying overboard and paddled off as fast as they could. By the time the Iroquois realized what was happening, it was too late to catch them. But the Iroquois seemed troubled by the incident and stayed where they were for a long while.

The four Iroquois by his side appeared crestfallen and Radisson was convinced they would have liked to give chase, but neither he nor the Huron with them—who appeared completely taken aback—would have agreed.

The flotilla set off again, at last.

The Huron desertion seemed to be forgotten. That afternoon, the Iroquois sitting beside Radisson in the canoe pointed out a deer drinking on the shore.

“I'm going hunting when we reach camp,” he said, briefly clutching his rifle. “We shall eat well tonight.”

Further on, Radisson could see huge fish in the crystal-clear water. They would be easy to spear. He pointed them out.

“We could fish, too.”

“Good idea!” the Iroquois agreed. “We'll have a real feast!”

The sun dropped in the sky. A thin layer of clouds turned pink and orange above the horizon. The calm surface of the water glistened beneath the sacred star's reflection. A slight breeze caressed the
voyageurs
' backs. Two canoes pulled up onto a fine sandy beach and a handful of Iroquois jumped out. After a time, three shots rang out. Radisson looked on as the hunters returned, trailing a young deer behind them, to the delight of those waiting for them on the shore. The area in which they were to spend the night was exceptionally beautiful and lush.

The canoes at the front were banked on the beach of a large island in the middle of the river. The Iroquois who jumped out motioned for the others to join them, but the leader of Radisson's canoe steered them to the opposite shore. Once they were beached in the tall grass, the Iroquois sitting up front jumped out with his musket. He hadn't taken two steps when he whirled around and fired from point-blank range at the Huron sitting in front of Radisson. The warrior fell to the ground, gasping. Another Iroquois stood over him and cracked open his skull with a tomahawk. Blood flooded across the bottom of the canoe and onto the feet of Radisson, who was so stunned he had not moved.

The Iroquois who had fired the shot told him “You have nothing to fear” before running across to the other side of the island, screaming all the way. His three companions bounded out of the canoe, without giving the Frenchman another thought. They also ran off, crying, too, as though possessed. Sweat ran down Radisson's back. He still had not moved. Stunned at the sight of the Huron who lay dying at his feet, he brought a trembling hand to his knife and unsheathed it. Some of his composure returned when he set foot on dry land again, his legs weak as rags.

He followed the Iroquois' trail, his knife held out in front, a laughable defence against their muskets. His favourite weapon nonetheless reassured him. In the distance, he could hear women whimpering and children crying. When he reached the island's highest point, he hid in the undergrowth. From there, he could see the Huron women huddled together like a flock of sheep against a pack of wolves set to devour them. They cried before dozens of armed, menacing Iroquois, who had them surrounded. Young children took shelter among them. Between the defenceless women and the Iroquois, ten Huron men were trying to stand up to their attackers. They were armed only with tomahawks and knives. None of them had as much as a bow with which to oppose the Iroquois' muskets. Father Ragueneau was also trying to protect the women, holding out his arms in a cross in front of them and glowering at the assailants.

Radisson had no idea how things had gotten to this point. Everything had happened so quickly. The Huron's murder had left him fearing the worst. Alone with his knife, he did not know how he could possibly prevent a massacre.

A chief slipped in between the Hurons and the group of forty or so Iroquois. He walked up to one of his own and began to reason with him. Carefully, he took away the tomahawk he had been brandishing over his head and flung it to the ground. He went on talking to his warriors, his back turned to Radisson, who could only hear the sound of his voice, without being able to make out what was said. The women were now almost silent. When he at last turned back around, Radisson could hear the chief proposing to the Hurons that they forget the incident and put up their shelters for the night, as though nothing had happened. But nobody budged. Not the Hurons, not the Iroquois, not Ragueneau. His speech didn't seem to have had any effect. The tension had reached breaking point.

Further along the beach, Radisson discovered the five other Frenchmen taking cover behind their canoes. In fact, all he could see was their muskets, pointed at the Iroquois. He would have liked to run and join them to get a firearm of his own, but he feared he might attract the attention of an overly nervous Iroquois. So, in order not to frighten anyone, he picked himself up again slowly, emerged carefully from the undergrowth and, calmly at first then with increasing urgency, walked over to his French companions. Ragueneau did not even notice him. The Iroquois paid him no heed. As soon as he was in line with the canoes, Dufresne grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to the ground beside him.

“Get down, you idiot!”

Racine noticed his blood-covered feet.

“What happened to you?”

“I'm fine,” Radisson replied, still stunned. “It's the blood of the Huron who was with me. They killed him, shot him close up.”

“The snakes!” Dufresne exclaimed.

Suddenly the thirty Iroquois who had disappeared that morning came running out of the bushes, crying and covered in war paint. They rushed at the Huron warriors. Dufresne got off a shot in their direction. Radisson and the four other Frenchmen stayed where they were, dumfounded. The fight was as ferocious as it was unfair. In seconds, the ten Hurons had been torn to shreds by a hundred tomahawk and knife wounds. Piercing shrieks from the women could be heard over the clamour of combat.

Then a heavy silence fell over the island.

Ten bodies lay on the ground, hacked to pieces. A single Iroquois had perished, his body lying among the Hurons. No one moved for a moment that seemed to last an eternity, then a few Iroquois began dragging the Huron bodies to the river. With utter disregard, they cast them adrift at once, like rotten carcasses. The current carried them far into the distance. Satisfied, the Iroquois recovered their victim and carried him to the centre of the island, where they calmly prepared their camp.

The Huron women formed a compact, silent huddle. They kept their eyes glued to the ground, clutching their distraught children. Looking on helplessly, an incredulous Father Ragueneau had not moved. Radisson was concerned at his master's attitude. Did he still want to protect the Huron women? Was he prepared to die for them? The Jesuit watched bitterly as the Iroquois set up their camp. No one paid them any attention, not even the chief who had seemed to want to avoid the massacre—or perhaps help bring it about through trickery. Radisson could see not the slightest sign of remorse among them. At the same time, all danger seemed to have passed.

He thought back to Pierre Godefroy's warning: “The Iroquois want only to weaken us…” He had been right. They had eliminated only the Huron warriors who had posed a threat to them. Even though he had had a bad feeling since the outset, never would Radisson have suspected scores to be settled in such radical fashion, right under the nose of Father Ragueneau, who had reached an agreement with them over adopting the Hurons. That was the Iroquois way he knew—surprise and strength, cunning and swiftness—that had brought the small group victories over the Erie.

Radisson had learned a lesson. Being wary of the Iroquois was not enough. They had to be beaten at their own game, with speed and cunning. Otherwise they had the upper hand.

His head was abuzz with ideas as his companions prepared to fight the Iroquois “dogs,” as Dufresne had put it. He did not share their fear of falling victim to the Iroquois' deadly violence: Radisson would already be dead, if they had wanted to kill him. No Frenchmen had been threatened during the attack either. The French and the Iroquois were still at peace.

“They'll soon see what they're up against,” Dufresne hissed through gritted teeth.

“Take a musket,” Racine ordered. “They're going to attack us.”

Radisson rummaged around in the bags to find the muskets they had been going to trade with the Iroquois. He took one, loaded it, and set it against the canoe. He did the same with another. His companions followed suit. In no time at all, they had sixteen muskets ready to fire. If the Iroquois attacked, Racine would reload them as needed. Then they piled up packages around them to protect themselves from all sides.

Once ready, Radisson looked on at a scene that seemed completely unreal to him. The Iroquois had lit fires and were preparing their meals as if nothing had happened. A small group fed the funeral pyre where they would burn their dead warrior. A shaman cloaked in wolf skin performed a cleansing ceremony as a final tribute to the warrior and to help him return to the land of his ancestors.

Between the Iroquois and the Frenchmen taking cover behind the canoes, Father Ragueneau had at last sat down beside the Huron women, who were whispering among themselves. Radisson looked at him closely. He wondered if he should wait until the Jesuit motioned to him or if he should make the first move and walk over to him. He didn't know how to ease his master's suffering and distress. He chose to wait.

Night fell. Radisson's companions gathered wood to light a fire, but they preferred to remain in darkness to keep a closer eye on the Iroquois. Radisson prepared a few bark torches so they could move around more easily during the night. He vowed to bring one to Father Ragueneau. He would use the opportunity to try to talk him into joining them. His master couldn't spend the night where he was. Nor could the Hurons, for that matter.

Two Iroquois chiefs came down from their camp to speak with the Jesuit. They invited him to join them, with the Hurons and the other Frenchmen. They had made something to eat, and shelters for everyone. The two chiefs promised that the rest of the trip would pass by without incident. They asked Ragueneau to take part in a meeting they would be holding at any moment. As soon as they went back to their camp, Radisson went over to his master.

“There you are,” Ragueneau said. “Where did you go?”

“What did the Iroquois say?”

“They invited us to eat with them. Imagine… after all that's just happened. Do you think we should go?”

Radisson could barely make out his master's face in the ever-darkening half-light. He seemed disheartened.

“They killed the Huron who was in the canoe with me,” Radisson replied. “They could have killed me, too. But they didn't. An Iroquois told me I had nothing to fear. I think we can trust them. They were angry with the Huron warriors. Not with us. Not with the women either.”

“Perhaps,” Ragueneau sighed. “They just told me exactly that.”

The two men each took a moment to think things through. The Hurons were still debating among themselves which was the greater risk: going back to the Iroquois or staying off to one side with no means of support.

A half-moon stood out in a now almost black sky.

“I brought you a torch, Father. You'll need it.”

“Thank you,” the Jesuit replied, taking the torch without thinking.

An elderly Huron woman came up to the priest and stared at him. Ragueneau took a while to notice her.

“Yes, Tsahoni?”

“We have decided to go back to the Iroquois as long as you come with us.”

Ragueneau lowered his head in thought.